Monday, December 29, 2014

Vayechi

Genesis 47:28–50:26

By Rabbi Bradley Artson, provided by the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies, for MyJewishLearning.com

Seeing The Bigger Picture


Joseph reminds us that our perspective of reality is limited compared to the ultimate meaning that God perceives.


Remember the Midrash of the blind people and the elephant? Each one touched a different part of the animal and then described the elephant based on their own particular perceptions.

One compared the elephant to a long, powerful tube.

A second portrayed the elephant as an enormous barrel. A third, feeling the elephant’s ears, depicted it as resembling large drapes. Each person described what they knew--accurate as a characterization of part of the elephant, but completely misleading as a representation of the entire animal.

That same discrepancy between individual perception and objective reality recurs every day. All of us view the world through our own eyes, listen to its sounds through our own ears, and analyze what we see and hear through our own blend of personality, culture and training. The world we live with--a filtering of external fact through subjective perception and collective history--is literally one of our own making.

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Monday, December 22, 2014

Vayigash

Genesis 44:18−47:27 

Joseph's Moment of Truth


Revealing his true identity, the viceroy cannot control his emotions.


By Rabbi Charles Savenor., Director of Congregational Education at Park Avenue Synagogue. Provided by the Jewish Theological Seminary, a Conservative rabbinical seminary and university of Jewish studies.for MyJewishLearning.com

The moment of truth has arrived.

With Benjamin framed for stealing and sentenced to enslavement, Joseph waits to see how Jacob's other sons will respond. Joseph believes that his well-orchestrated ruse will finally expose his brothers' true colors.

Judah's Appeal

This week's parsahah opens with Judah appealing to his brother Joseph, the Egyptian viceroy, to free Benjamin and to enslave Judah in his place. Judah's eloquent petition recounts his brothers' interaction with this Egyptian official as well as the familial circumstances of Jacob's household. Benjamin, the youngest son in the family, occupies a valued place in their father's eyes, Judah says, because he is the last living remnant of Jacob's deceased wife, Rachel. In conclusion, Judah asserts that if he were to return home to Canaan without Benjamin, he could not bear to see his father's immediate and long-term pain and suffering.

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Monday, December 15, 2014

Shabbat Hanukkah, Mikeitz

Genesis 41:1−44:17

By Rabbi Bradley Artson, provided by the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies, for MyJewishLearning.com

Pharaoh has endured a night of terrible dreams.

To make matters worse, neither he nor any of his ministers understood what the dreams were about. The only person able to interpret those dreams is a Hebrew prisoner in an Egyptian jail. That person is Joseph.

Seven Years & Seven Years

After hearing the dreams described, Joseph announced that Egypt would enjoy seven years of plenty, followed by seven years of universal famine. In advance, Joseph argues that Pharaoh should appoint someone "navon ve-hakham," discerning and sage, who will store enough food to ensure the survival of the population.

Why did Joseph use both words, discerning and sage? Wouldn't either one have sufficed to describe what type of person was needed? Our traditions regard each word of the Torah as necessary. Any apparent redundancy must be there to teach a specific lesson. Each of these words, our Rabbis taught, refers to two different kinds of knowledge.

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Monday, December 8, 2014

Vayeishev

Genesis 37:1−40:23

By Rabbi Bradley Artson, provided by the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies, for MyJewishLearning.com

In the development of Joseph's character and the events of his life, the Torah portrays a bittersweet lesson about the loneliness of pride.

On the surface, there is no reason for Joseph to be lonely. He is, after all, the favorite child of his father, surrounded by 11 brothers, in the midst of a bustling and energetic family.

Joseph has the potential to fill his life with friendship, family and love. Yet his need to be preeminent, his need to belittle the gifts and experiences of this family in order to glorify his own talents, isolate him from his own kin. We get a clue about the extent of Joseph's pride from the very start.

Still Young

The Torah tells us that "Joseph, being seventeen years old, was still a lad." The Rabbis of Bereshit Rabbah, the ancient midrash on the Book of Genesis, struggle with that sentence. After all, if he is seventeen, he is no longer a mere lad! They suggest that the Torah is telling us that "he behaved like a boy, penciling his eyes, curling his hair and lifting his heel."

Like many people today, Joseph thinks he must invent a false and glamorous image in order to show his worth to himself and the world. As if that weren't sufficiently pitiful, he also feels compelled to put others down in order to be noticed and appreciated.

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Monday, December 1, 2014

Vayishlach

Genesis 32:4-36:43


Truly Present To God And People

We can learn from Jacob's encounter with Esau to meet others as we would meet God.


By Rabbi Bradley Artson, provided by the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies, for MyJewishLearning.com

Religious thinkers throughout the ages have pondered the question, "How do people have the audacity to stand in the presence of God?"  Finite in power, wisdom and longevity, human beings are paltry and insignificant when compared to a supernova or to a galaxy, let alone to the eternal Creator who fashioned those marvels.  How, then, do we have the temerity to place ourselves before God, to address God, and to argue with God?

The same question might also be leveled toward the paradox of standing in the presence of another human being.  Each of us is a universe in miniature--replete with our own depths and eddies, our hidden doubts and fears and talents.  None can ever fully know themselves, let alone claim to truly know another person.  So how do we summon the nerve to  address each other with intimacy and familiarity?

The inexpressible depth of one human soul exposed to the unfathomable profundity of another, the encounter of unknown meeting ought to silence the entire universe.  It is a marvel that we can reach each other at all.  It is a paradox that the finite creatures, humanity, presume to call to God with hope.

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Monday, November 24, 2014

Vayeitzei

Genesis 28:10−32:3

Children And Deferred Dreams


Reflected in the names of her children, Leah grows to recognize her own worth, independent of Jacob's feelings for her.


By Rabbi Bradley Artson, provided by the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies, for MyJewishLearning.com
We all dream about our lives, our families and our destiny

Born into a world we did not create, motivated by hope, energy and drive, we spend our childhood and adolescence absorbing wonderful stories of adventure, heroes and fantasies.

And we dream. We dream of achieving the highest ideals of our fantasy life...of being president, landing on the moon or becoming a star. We imagine ourselves as wealthy, or famous or wise. Venerating a galaxy of admired adults, we imagine ourselves as one of them, as one of the best of them.
In the fantasies of children, life has no end; possibilities, no limit. And we are not alone in spinning those dreams. Children may aggrandize themselves, but they do so with the active consent and encouragement of their parents, grandparents, teachers and a supporting cast of thousands.

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Monday, November 17, 2014

Toldot

Genesis 25:19−28:9

John Wayne Meets Jacob


Jacob inspires us to overcome our Esau-like desires for instant gratification and physical power.


By Rabbi Bradley Artson for MyJewishLearning.com

Esau is surely one of the most tragic figures of the Bible.

 He is a simple man, whose robust nature leads him to exult in his own health, strength and energy. Esau loves to hunt. He revels in the outdoors and in bursting limits. Esau is a man of impulse. Like Rambo or John Wayne, Esau thrives on his tremendous power, his physical courage and his own inner drives.

Modern America admires that. We distrust the intellectual. Someone who thinks too much, or who is too sensitive to the feelings of others (or to his own feelings) is held in disdain. We prefer a man who can impose his own will through a show of determination and strength, someone who doesn't plan in advance, someone who can relish the moment and trust his own passions.

America accepts the romantic notion that the truest and best expression of who we are lies in the unbridled release of our feelings. Therefore, our feelings are not--and should not be--subject to control.

The Torah asserts, to the contrary, that every aspect of being human--heart, mind and soul--needs constant training, direction and restraint.

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Monday, November 10, 2014

Chayei Sarah

Genesis 23:1−25:18

Prayer: Service Of The Heart


Abraham's servant teaches us the power of spontaneous prayer, a concept that challenges our contemporary focus on consistency and conformity.


By Rabbi Bradley Artson on MyJewishLearning.com

One of the universals of human culture is the need to commune with something larger, something that extends beyond ourselves.

We all feel the desire to speak, to create, to perform. One aspect of the human urge to communicate is worship--the simple act of noticing the awe of existence, the staggering marvel of the world and its order. Awe moves us to a silent expression of gratitude and wonder. Awe moves us to worship.

What is Worship?
For many Jews, worship means the formal ritual of reading from a printed Siddur (prayer book), listening to the chanted words of the Torah and the Haftarah (weekly reading from Prophets or Writings), and absorbing the insights of the rabbi's sermon. Worship is public, planned, and cyclical. What we did last week we will do again next week.

Today's Torah portion illumines another aspect of Jewish worship, one sadly neglected by too many Jews today. While most of us are familiar with reading the stirring words of prayer composed by other, earlier Jews, few of us are comfortable approaching God with the simple outpouring of our own hearts. The whole notion of just speaking with God sounds strikingly un-Jewish.

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Monday, November 3, 2014

Vayeira

Genesis 18:1–22:24

Rabbi Bradley Artson, American Jewish Unversity, for MyJewishLearning.com

Honesty As A Form Of Idolatry

 

Honesty is a value only insofar as it leads to growth, compassion and peace.  


Idolatry is the practice of treating something of relative importance as though it were of ultimate significance.  In our idolatrous age, we often act as though money, careers, sex appeal, or prestige are of ultimate importance, when in fact, they are only worthwhile to the degree that they can contribute to our becoming better, more compassionate and more responsible people.

Parashat Vayera highlights another source of idolatry.  It is altogether common to treat honesty as the highest value possible.  We justify an unkind remark with the observation that it is true; we make a virtue of telling it like it is, regardless of the effects of our self-centered "integrity."

Caring Form of Honesty

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Monday, October 27, 2014

Lech L'cha

Genesis 12:1−17:27

Abram and God's Mutual Faith


As Abram and God demonstrate, Judaism understands faith as deep trust despite doubt, confusion, and suffering.


By Rabbi Bradley Artson on MyJewishLearning.com

At a ripe old age, Abram receives a message from God, telling him that he will yet produce an heir, and that the child will inherit not only Abram's property, but also his father's covenant with God.

Surely God's promise would strain the credulity of even the most devoted follower. Sarah had been barren throughout her life. Now, her body no longer surged with the monthly cycle of women--childbearing wasn't even a possibility. And she herself testified that her husband was far too old to father children. Yet, despite biological reality, God tells Abram that he will have a child, and that his descendants will outnumber the stars in the sky!

In response to God's astounding promise, the Torah states simply that "because he put his trust in the Lord, he reckoned it to his credit." In that one ambiguous sentence, the Torah contrasts the rich complexity of biblical faith and the flimsy superficiality of the contemporary notion of faith.
American Definition

For most religious Americans, "faith" means belief in certain claims about the metaphysics of reality. Faith is perceived as a mental acceptance, a lack of doubt. Accordingly, true faith requires a willingness to refrain from too much thought, to ignore the difficult questions which life inevitably raises. And, as a result, when those questions do arise--as indeed they must--this faulty "faith" is often destroyed in its wake.

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Monday, October 20, 2014

Rosh Chodesh 2, Noah

Genesis 6:9−11:32

God Of Jews, God Of Humanity


The seven Noahide commandments mediate God's love for all of humanity and God's unique relationship with the Jewish people.


By Rabbi Bradley Artson. Provided by the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies, which ordains Conservative rabbis at the University of Judaism.The following article is reprinted with permission from the American Jewish University on MyJewishLearning.com.

Is Judaism a particularistic religion, concerned only with the well-being and sanctity of the Jewish People, or is it also one of the universalistic faiths, expressing a concern for all humanity in every region of the globe? To the enemies of our people, Judaism is portrayed as a narrow, legalistic and particularistic religion.  By focusing on the Chosen People--defined as the Jews--and their needs to the exclusion of everyone else's, Judaism seems to show an indifference to the rest of the world.

By its own admission, Judaism doesn't actively try to seek out converts--those who are attracted to our ways are welcome, but there is no burning drive to "Get the word out."

The God of the Bible is one who liberates the Jews from slavery, who gives them a path of life, who provides them with a Promised Land.  Doesn't that focus make everyone else peripheral, indeed negligible?

On the other hand, the God of the Bible is also the Creator of the Universe, the planet Earth, and all that it contains.  The Bible explicitly speaks of God's covenants with other people too--the Assyrians and the Egyptians to name just two.

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Monday, October 13, 2014

B'reishit

Genesis 1:1−6:8

The Two Creation Stories

An attempt to reconcile two opposing views of nature.

By Rabbi Ismar Schorsch; Reprinted from MyJewishLearning.com with permission from the website of the Jewish Theological Seminary.

The opening chapter of a book is often the last to be written.

At the outset, the author may still lack a clear vision of the whole. Writing is the final stage of thinking, and many a change in order, emphasis, and interpretation is the product of wrestling with an unruly body of material. Only after all is in place does it become apparent what kind of introduction the work calls for.

I often think that is how the Torah came to open with its austere and majestic portrait of the creation of the cosmos. An act of hindsight appended a second account of creation. One, in the form of chapter two--which begins more narrowly with the history of the earth and its first human inhabitants--would surely have been sufficient, especially since it argues graphically that evil springs from human weakness. All else is really quite secondary.

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Monday, October 6, 2014

Chol HaMo-eid Sukkot

 Exodus 33:12–34:26 & Numbers 29:23-31

This week's commentary was written by Dr. Alan Cooper, Elaine Ravich Professor of Jewish Studies and provost, JTS.   From 2010/5771


Last month, an op-ed appeared in the New York Times under the title "Aw, Wilderness!"—an obvious play on Eugene O'Neill's "Ah, Wilderness!" While O'Neill's "wilderness" was a town in Connecticut, the op-ed was about the real thing, recalling the sad incident of a skier who got lost on a trail in northern Minnesota and died of exposure. In response, the Forest Service installed markers along the trail, but when the time came to replace them the agency refused to do so, claiming that the signs violated the 1964 Wilderness Act.

The article went on to discuss the problematic balance between preserving wilderness areas and providing safe access to them. An interpretation of the Wilderness Act tilted in favor of preservation led to the banning not only of signs, but also of vehicles and tools that might facilitate access and improve safety. "As a result," the author observed, "the agencies have made . . . supposedly open recreational areas inaccessible and even dangerous, putting themselves in opposition to healthy and environmentally sound human-powered activities, the very thing Congress intended the Wilderness Act to promote."

In response to the article, one correspondent wrote that the author had "a very different concept of wilderness than many of us. We want places where safety and survival are not guaranteed . . . and I'm willing to accept the risk inherent in visiting them." As another put it, "There must remain parts of our world that are true wilderness . . . without the safeguards and conveniences of the modern world. Lives are lost in such places, as lives are lost in the larger world, but it is nonetheless good to rely solely on ourselves when we go there."

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Monday, September 29, 2014

Parashat Yom Kippur

Leviticus 16:1–16:34 and Numbers 29:7–29:11

This week's commentary was written by Rabbi Marc Wolf, vice chancellor and chief development officer, JTS.

I have a favorite parable that finds its way into much of my writing and speaking. In fact, it has made its way into parashah commentaries and sermons throughout the year. But I think its greatest relevance is during this season, between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur—the ten days of return. The story is one that David Foster Wallace included in a commencement speech at Kenyon College:

There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way. The older fish nods at the two young fish and says, "Morning, boys. How's the water?" The two young fish swim on for a bit, and, eventually, one of them looks at the other and says, "What the heck is water?"

The lives of these two young fish were such that their external reality was, at best, taken for granted and, at worst, ignored. They lived a life oblivious of their external surroundings. This, I believe, highlights the disparity between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. On Rosh Hashanah our view is panoramic; on Yom Kippur it is myopic. This difference between the two holidays is intentional; the holidays are designed to live in stark contrast. Remarkably, just eight days ago, our focus was totally different than it is now.

On Rosh Hashanah, for example, we gaze globally; on Yom Kippur, we exist locally. Allow me to illustrate with some of the liturgy from the Mahzor.

Painting the picture of God on Rosh Hashanah, we turn to the Malchuyot section of the Musaf 'Amidah. One of the three central pillars to the Musaf service, Malchuyot sets the tone for speaking of God's kingship and sovereignty. The language is universal, "Our God and God of our ancestors: in Your glory, rule over the entire universe; in Your splendor, be exalted over all the earth" (Mahzor Lev Shalem, 157).

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Monday, September 22, 2014

Shabbat Shuva; Ha-azinu

Deuteronomy 32:1-52

By Rabbinic Student Susan Elkodsi

Shabbat Shuva carries with it an air of redemption, for ourselves as individuals, and for the Jewish people as a whole. Parashat Ha’azinu, which we read on Shabbat Shuva this year, carries that message from God, through Moses, to the Israelites perched on the banks of the Jordan ready to cross into the Promised Land. Ha’azinu is Moses’ final discourse, his instructions to the people, but it isn’t a “rah rah go get ‘em” commencement type of speech. Yes, it’s a message of hope for the future, but before we get there, we have to listen to a lot of scolding and admonition regarding the sins of the previous generations.

This could explain why the parashah begins, Ha’azinu hashamayim v’adabeira, v’tishma ha-aretz imrei-fi. “Give ear, heavens, and I will speak, the earth will hear my speech.” (Deut. 32:1) If this is a message for the people, why is Moses calling on the heavens and the earth to listen? We know from reciting and studying the Shema that shin-mem-ayin doesn’t just
mean “to hear.” It suggests action: listen… pay attention… hear what I have to say, as opposed to “sit back and relax.” Do we take this verse literally, suggesting that the coming words are directed at the stars and the moon, the trees and the rocks, as well as the people? Or is it metaphorical?

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Monday, September 15, 2014

Shabbat Slichot, Nitzavim-Vayelech

Deuteronomy 29:9-63:9


This week's commentary was written by Rabbi Abigail Treu, rabbinic fellow and director of Donor Relations and Planned Giving, JTS.


My kids have a hard time taking turns speaking. While their mother tries to instill some manners, they have taken to shouting, "Pause!" in order to silence one another, a phrase they've adapted from their use of the TV remote control to temporarily stop the scene unfolding on screen.

An inviting metaphor: hitting pause on the forward motion of our lives, attending to what needs to be said or done, and then pressing the play button to continue the action. Of course, life doesn't work that way. The High Holiday season invites us to try it, though: before the new year unfolds we pause, take time off from work to be with our fellow Jews, and stand still for a few days.

Stand still, nitzavim, before we move forward, vayeilekh: the double parashah we read just before Rosh Hashanah invites us to recognize what we need to do. Stuck in the narrative while Moses talks—reviewing the history of forty years gone by and preparing for the future about to unfold—we hardly notice what the names of the parashah, Nitzavim-Vayeilekh, suggest.

The metaphors of "pause" and "play" or of "stopping" and "starting," however, do not do full justice to the rabbinic model. Yes, we are to stand still, to spend time reviewing and preparing before moving into a new year. But more than that, we must become a little disoriented, a little shaken up, in order to really be able to move forward in a meaningful way. If we simply hit pause, we haven't done what our tradition is asking us to do this month. We need to go deeper, and for that we need to be taken out of the regular, ordered rhythm of life and into someplace at once familiar and disquieting.

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Monday, September 8, 2014

Ki Tavo

Deuteronomy 26:1–29:8

Love Is Not The Opposite Of Hate; Law Is


Law is essential to Judaism, establishing an external set of moral guidelines.


By Rabbi Bradley Artson. Provided by the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies, which ordains Conservative rabbis at the American Jewish University.

Human beings never seem able to express all their hatred for each other.

Men and women war against each other; blacks and whites, gay and straight, liberals and conservatives, city-folk and suburbanites--there is no end to stereotypes, hostility and mistrust. In response to this propensity to hate, Nobel laureate Elie Weisel organized an international conference on hate in Oslo, Norway. The glittering list of invited participants included four presidents, and 70 writers, scientists and academics.

The two questions which shaped their deliberations were, "Why do people hate?" and "Why do people band together to express hatred?" Although the speeches were beautiful and the resolutions were firm, the entire event was fairly predictable, except for their primary conclusion, which seems so at odds with common sense. Ask anyone what the opposite of hate is, and they will tell you it's love. But the consensus of these most accomplished, powerful and thoughtful people was that, "Only the belief in and execution of the law can defeat hatred."

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Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Ki Teitzei

Deuteronomy 21:10–25:19

Let's Get Physical!

The commandment to remove a corpse from the stake on which it is impaled teaches us the importance of respecting the holiness of the body.


By Rabbi Bradley Artson on MyJewishLearning.com
The definition of what is "religious" shifts throughout the ages.

In antiquity, being religious meant offering sacrifices (of children, women, prisoners taken in war) and making regular gifts to the gods. In biblical Israel, it meant being aware of God's presence, by bringing animal sacrifices to the Temple in Jerusalem at the designated times.

By the Second Temple period, a new emphasis, one of ritual purity, ethical rigor, and obedience to a growing oral tradition became the defining feature of pharisaic religiosity, which the Rabbis of the Talmud extended into an emphasis on the performance of mitzvot (commandments) and study as religious acts.

In the medieval period, study and ritual purity remained important, but they were refocused through the lenses of kabbalah, Jewish mysticism. Finally, in the early modern age, social justice (for some) and celebration through song and dance (for others) often competed with the earlier identifying features of religiosity.

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Monday, August 25, 2014

Shoftim

Deuteronomy 16:18–21:9


Justice, Justice You Shall Pursue


Justice, expressed in Parashat Shoftim, is one of the eternal religious obligations of Judaism.


By Rabbi Bradley Artson. Provided by the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies, which ordains Conservative rabbis at the American Jewish University on MyJewishLearning.com
Over the last several millennia, humanity has developed a large and growing body of profound writings, words that encapsulate the hopes, aspirations and potential of the human soul.

Across the globe, religious traditions rightly exult in the majesty and depth of their sacred writings: the Bagavad-Gita, the Rig-Veda, the Dammapada, the Tao Te Ching, the Iliad, these are the spiritual heritage of humanity, a crowning glory of literary art and religious passion.

Reading these books constitutes an exposure to greatness. Yet there is something lacking in them all that the Hebrew Bible possesses in unique measure: a passion for justice for the poor, the weak, and the despised. Unlike the Buddhist ideal of a 'bodisatva' (an enlightened being) who is so pure that he can step over a beggar without remorse, Moses and Jeremiah consider justice and compassion to be the sine qua non of any true religiosity. One cannot claim to love God and not be passionate about justice. That is the primary Jewish contribution to the human spirit.

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Monday, August 18, 2014

Re'eh

Deuteronomy 11:26–16:17

Be Yourself


The gifts brought to the Temple for the Pilgrimage festivals teach us the importance of preserving our unique identities.


By Rabbi Bradley Artson on MyJewishLearning.com
Social pressure to conform is a steady and soul-deadening force.

With relentless enticements, cultures seek ways to impose similarity of worldview, of behavior, even of thought upon their members. Even contemporary society, with its laudable commitment to individuality, imposes subtle mandates through the media, through the movies, through advertisements and in countless other ways.

Small wonder, then, that the truly free soul is rare. Indeed, for many who practice religion (and for many who flee religion), that conformity and habit are nowhere more imposing than in the realm of faith and ritual.

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Monday, August 11, 2014

Eikev

Deuteronomy 7:12–11:25

The Covenant of Fertility


Fertility of the womb and fertility of the land are divine gifts.


By Rabbi Lauren Eichler Berkun on MyJewishLearning.com

The themes of fertility and barrenness are central to the biblical narrative.

It is striking how often we encounter barren women in the Bible. Sarah, the women of Abimelekh's household, Rebekah, Rachel, Manoah's wife, Hannah, and the Shunamite woman are all examples of barren women whose wombs are opened by God. Clearly, the process of reproduction holds a key to biblical theology. The very covenant of Israel is presented as a brit [covenant] of fertility. God promises Abram, "This is my covenant with you. You shall be the father of a multitude of nations...I will make you exceedingly fertile." (Genesis 17:4, 6). This week's parashah further emphasizes the connection between covenant and childbearing. Moses teaches:

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Monday, August 4, 2014

Shabbat Nachamu - Va-et'chanan

Deuteronomy 3:23–7:11

Love The Lord


Moses' message to relate to God through love, not only through fear, is especially relevant in the modern age.


By Rabbi Bradley Artson. The following article is reprinted with permission from American Jewish University from MyJewishLearning.com

What is the proper emotional attitude to take toward God? In our day, as in the past, religious human beings divide into two general camps.

Some argue that we must fear and venerate God, while others stress the need to love God.

The two modes of relationship, fear and love, have a long history within Judaism. Both yirat shamayim (fear of heaven) and ahavat ha-Shem (love of God) find ample attestation in traditional and modern writings. While most Jews retain elements of both, individuals and communities tend to stress one tendency over the other.

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Monday, July 28, 2014

Shabbat Hazon - D'varim

Deuteronomy 1:1−3:22

Rebukes And Responses


In Moses' final speech to the Israelites, he provides us with a model of effective rebuke.

By Rabbi Bradley Artson on MyJewishLearning.com; The following article is reprinted with permission from American Jewish University.

May I have a word with you? The opening words of the fifth book of the Torah begin simply enough, "These are the words that Moses spoke (diber) to all Israel." The Rabbis of the ancient Midrash Sifre Devarim note that every place the Bible uses the verb 'daber' indicates harshness or rebuke, whereas the Hebrew word 'amar' conveys a sense of praise.

Why, then, did Moses 'diber' to the Jews? Why did he speak harshly to them on the border of the Promised Land? Because his final speech to them, the culmination of his long life of service to them and to God, consisted of chastisement--reminding them that they fell far short of the sacred standards embodied in the Torah and Jewish tradition.

And did the people resent Moses' apparent harshness, as most of us would? Did people say, "He never gives us a break," or note that even at the end, he was still haranguing them, unable to focus, even for a moment, on their virtues and better natures? Apparently not.

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Monday, July 21, 2014

Masei

Numbers 33:1-36:13

The Importance Of Intention


The Torah's establishment of Cities of Refuge introduces the idea that intention determines the meaning of an action.


By Rabbi Bradley Artson. The following article is reprinted with permission from American Jewish University.

In this week's Torah portion, the Torah addresses the issue of unintentional manslaughter.

What is the appropriate penalty for someone who kills someone else unintentionally? Should there be any penalty at all?

Our parashah discusses the establishment of six Cities of Refuge (Ir Miklat). These six cities were set aside as a permanent asylum. Anyone who unintentionally killed another person was permitted to flee to these cities. Once within their walls, the manslayer was protected by law against any revenge or additional punishment.

In this way, the Torah balanced the need to insist that killing another person is objectively reprehensible, while also asserting a distinction between murder (which is deliberate) and manslaughter (which is not). Contemporary American law makes a similar distinction, mandating a different degree of severity to correspond to the different levels of responsibility due to intention and circumstance.

Three thousand years earlier, the Torah instituted those same legal distinctions based on different intentions. One way to understand the profundity of the Torah's insight is to contrast the Biblical law with other ancient standards. Ancient Greece, Sumer, Phoenecia, and other cultures all articulated a notion of asylum. In those civilizations, a murderer could flee to a local shrine and gain protection at the altar of the local deity. Whether or not the death had been intended was irrelevant to the power of the shrine to protect the murderer. After all, the pagan idol was no less holy, no less powerful, just because the murderer intended to kill his victim.

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Monday, July 14, 2014

Mattot

Numbers 30:2-32:42

No Neutrality: Silence Is Assent


The laws of nullifying vows teach us that our silence and inaction in the face of contemporary injustice and oppression is akin to assenting to it.


By Rabbi Bradley Artson. The following article is reprinted with permission from American Jewish University.

So much goes on every day, that it seems impossible to keep up with the array of human activity.

Troops march to different parts of the globe, unemployment and disease strike specific groups of people, natural disasters ravage a variety of communities, our environment succumbs to human greed, our politicians legislate, initiate and posture. With so many different activities occurring at the same time, all of them of vital importance, how can we possibly keep up?

Because there is simply so much to follow, and there seems to be so little an individual can do to affect any change at all, many of us simply respond by doing nothing at all. Life will go on without us, we reason, so why get all bothered and upset about things we cannot change?

Today's Torah portion speaks, in the language of its own age, to this timeless question--when to get involved. Parashat Mattot addresses the legal issue of the nullification of vows. It records the ancient law that a woman's vows can be nullified by her husband, provided that he cancels her vows immediately upon hearing them. If he delays in silence, her vow becomes irrevocably binding.

While many moderns are troubled by the power of men to override the vows of women, it is also striking that the Torah insists that the husband either use his power instantly, or lose it forever. Why? After all, if he has the authority to nullify her oath, then why can't he choose to exercise that power later on?

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Monday, July 7, 2014

Pinhas

Numbers 25:10-30:1

The Torah portion deals with intermarriage, a problem we know all too well today.

By Rabbi Ismar Schorsch. Reprinted with permission of the Jewish Theological Seminary.

In 1962 I graduated rabbinical school and entered the army for a two-year stint as a chaplain.

Such national service was then still required of all JTS graduates before they could take a pulpit. After completing chaplaincy school in New York, I drove to my first assignment at Fort Dix, New Jersey. I arrived in the late afternoon and decided to visit the Jewish chapel where I would preside without delay. That was my first mistake.

Outside the door paced an agitated, well-dressed gentleman in civilian clothes looking for a Jewish chaplain. I revealed my identity all too quickly and smugly, my second mistake. In the office I would occupy for less than a year (the army would reward my stellar work at Fort Dix by sending me to Korea), he unloaded on me an impassioned account about his daughter who was going to marry a young Greek in basic training at Fort Dix. I couldn't tell exactly whether the father, a wealthy man from Connecticut, was furious because the kid was Christian or poor and uneducated. In fact, the father suspected him of seeking to marry his daughter for her money. He insisted that I call in the kid to disabuse him of his folly, and I, by now floundering in my inexperience, reluctantly agreed. To my surprise, the young man came when I summoned him and turned out to be good-looking and charming. Despite great discomfort, I carried out my futile task and never heard from him or his nemesis again.

In retrospect, my baptism by fire foreshadowed the engulfing crisis of Jewish continuity in our day: Can Jews as individuals avail themselves of the unlimited opportunities of American society and still preserve their group identity? Are the twin goals of integration and survival compatible? As so often, the Torah relates to our predicament.

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Monday, June 30, 2014

Balak

Numbers 22:2−25:9

 

Spirit Strength


Balak intuited an important truth about the Israelites: Their strength was spiritual, not military.


By Rabbi Ismar Schorsch. Reprinted with permission of the Jewish Theological Seminary.

After two impressive victories against the Canaanites of the Negeb and the Amorites in Transjordan, the looming military might of Israel throws the leaders of Moab into a panic.

Only the land of the Moabites separates Israel from the Jordan River and the conquest of Canaan. Balak ben Zippor, King of Moab, knows that he is next.

In desperation, he takes recourse in an unconventional pre-emptive measure. He summons Balaam son of Beor, a sorcerer from Mesopotamia to curse Israel, making it susceptible to defeat on the battlefield. Though Balaam comes, God frustrates the plan. Within the monotheistic framework of the Torah, Balaam can utter only what God imparts to him. Hence he ends up in rapturous praise of Israel, to the consternation of Balak.

In an imaginative midrash, the Rabbis expatiate on what brought Balak to seize on this particular tactic. Awestruck by Moses, he inquired of the Midianites, among whom Moses had once found refuge when fleeing Pharoah's wrath, as to the man's strength. They responded that Moses' strength resided in his mouth, that is, his prayers were able to move God to act in his behalf. To neutralize that weapon, Balak turns to sorcery. Balaam's strength also resides in his mouth. His curse will trump Moses' prayers. Without divine assistance, Israel is eminently beatable (Rashi on 22:4).

As so often, the midrashic genre yields rich insight. Words are weapons when they carry conviction. As long as the prayers of Israel embody deep faith, a sense of chosenness and real dialogue, they have the capacity to keep chaos at bay. With the information at hand, Balak intuited that the ultimate source of Israel's dominance was spiritual and not military.

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Monday, June 23, 2014

Chukat

Numbers 19:1−22:1 - Rosh Chodesh Tammuz

Miriam--Water Under The Bridge?

Miriam's death should motivate us to recognize people today who provide nurture and support that often goes unnoticed.

By Rabbi Bradley Artson. The following article is reprinted with permission from American Jewish University.

Careers of public figures take on a life of their own, ebbing and flowing with shifts in public opinion and the latest values.

One Jewish figure whose popularity is at an all-time high is the prophet Miriam, the sister of Moses and Aaron.

While featured prominently in the Torah, Miriam's claim to fame always paled in the face of her more visible brothers. After all, Aaron was the first Kohen Gadol (high priest), the link between the Jewish people and their religion, and Moses was the intimate friend of God, transmitting sacred teachings to the people.

Compared to those two leaders, Miriam simply faded into the background. True, we celebrate her beautiful song at the shores of the Red Sea, but even that poem is overshadowed by Moses' far-lengthier song. Today, Miriam's fame rests less on any specific accomplishment and more on the fact that she was a woman.

Three thousand years ago--and in most parts of the world even today--being a woman was itself disqualification from public recognition or accomplishment. With so few female heroes, Miriam stands out precisely because we are now more sensitive to just how difficult it is for a woman to gain public recognition. Today's parasha comments on the death of this prophet, that "Miriam died there and was buried there, and the community was without water."

Rashi (11th Century, France) noticed the strange juxtaposition of Miriam's death and the shortage of water, and assumed that there must be a connection between the two. "From this we learn that all forty years, they had a well because of the merit of Miriam." Miriam's Well entered the realm of Midrash as testimony to the greatness of this unique leader.

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Monday, June 16, 2014

Korach

Numbers 16:1−18:32

To Serve With Distinction

Korah's rebellion was based on his inability to appreciate the value of diversity and distinctiveness.

By Rabbi Bradley Artson. The following article is reprinted with permission from American Jewish University.

The rebellion of Korah against Moses and Aaron is painful to most Jews who read it, precisely because it is so complex and so timeless. While we are trained to sympathize with Moses and his supporters by our upbringing and by Jewish tradition, it is difficult for anyone who is passionate about democracy not to become stirred by Korah's powerful message. Our Jewish loyalty seems pitted against our democratic commitments. That conflict hurts.

Moses and Aaron have successfully led the Jewish tribes out of slavery in Egypt and through the dangers of the wilderness. The life of the tribes is now relatively secure and comfortable. God regularly speaks, through Moses, to the Jewish people, and the families live out their lives waiting to move into the Promised Land.

In the midst of this idyllic serenity, Korah rebels. He resents having to follow Moses in all matters, and challenges him with the moving line: "All the community are holy, all of them, and the Lord is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above the Lord's congregation?"

Korah's challenge strikes to the heart of the democratic values so cherished by both our Jewish and our American traditions: If all people are created equal, then why should any one person have any authority over another? Why should one person ever have access to power, wealth or prestige in a way that another person does not?

Korah's challenge echoes in the words of Samuel and Amos, Jefferson and Lincoln, Marx and Trotsky. Great leaders in every age, these people fought for the assertion that each person has intrinsic worth, that all people have equal value.

Few in America would challenge that claim. But, we can still ask whether or not equality has to mean uniformity? All people are indeed equal (in comparison to the infinite God who created us), but we are not all the same. Equal in worth is not the same as identical in skills. Korah's flaw was to confuse those two traits--equal worth and identical characteristics.

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Monday, June 9, 2014

Sh'lach L'cha

Numbers 13:1−15:41

The Power Of Perception


The survival and success of the Jewish people stems from our ability to mold reality to match our dreams and ideals.


By Rabbi Bradley Artson. The following article is reprinted with permission from American Jewish University.

Moses instructs 12 spies, one for each of Israel's tribes, to investigate the characteristics of the land the people are about to enter.

They travel throughout the land of Israel during the course of 40 days, and they return to the camp bearing an enormous load of the fruit of the land.

Yet when they return, their testimony is contradictory. On the one hand, they assert that the land is one which "flows with milk and honey," a land bounteous and fertile. On the other hand, they also insist that the people in the land are giants--nefillim--who cause the hearts of those who see them to collapse. Based on the perceived strength of the inhabitants, the spies urge Israel not to occupy the land, despite the assurances of God and of Moses that they would do so successfully. Alone among the spies, Caleb and Joshua assert, with complete faith, that Israel should enter and take the land immediately.

What is striking about the spies' report is the central role of subjectivity in any report of reality. What mattered to them was not a simple compilation of facts, but rather an internal sense of what those facts mean: "We looked like grasshoppers to ourselves, and so we must have looked to them."

The spies, faced with the sight of fortified cities and armed soldiers, looked at each other. And what they imagined revealed a lack of imagination, a failure of vision. Rather than envisioning themselves as carried by God's promise, sustained by the covenant of Israel, they became overwhelmed by the facts as they appeared on the surface.

Caleb, on the other hand, saw the same facts and refused to bow before them. Infused with passion, conviction, and Torah, he intended to shape reality to conform to his vision. And his vision was one of a faithful Israel, led by a loving God, occupying the land of its promise. The facts looked glum--they demonstrated just how unlikely Israel's occupation of the land would be. Yet Caleb, with his idealism and his energy, proved to be correct.

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Monday, June 2, 2014

B'haalot'cha

Numbers 8:1−12:16

Trying To Remember The Reason I Forgot


Being constantly engaged in learning allows us to guard against the pervasive forgetfulness around us.


By Rabbi Bradley Artson. The following article is reprinted with permission from American Jewish University.


The human mind presents us with both a marvel and a mystery.

Capable of mastering a remarkable range of complex tasks, of remembering obscure experiences or facts, that same organ will also forget an important appointment, an acquaintance's name, or the contents of this morning's breakfast. Simultaneously able to outperform a computer in our manipulation of data into concepts, each of us also faces the unpleasant reality that we continually forget information we desperately desire or need.

Anyone who has reviewed notes taken in college or remarks scribbled in the margins of books read years ago has admitted to the enormity of what is routinely forgotten. It is not uncommon for authors to report rereading their own writing after the passage of several years with the uncomfortable sense that they are no longer the masters of what those essays or books contain.

Today's Torah portion hints at this problem, and the rabbinic tradition suggests a remarkable reason for such frustrating lapses of memory. In our portion, Moses "told the people of Israel that they should keep the Passover." Nothing surprising here, Moses often tells the Jewish people what they should or should not be doing.

But the midrash Sifrei Bamidbar objects that, in this case, the information he conveys is redundant. Didn't the Torah already relate in the Book of Leviticus that "Moses declared the festival seasons of the Lord to the people of Israel?" So why does he have to repeat himself now?

Sifrei goes on by answering its own question. "This teaches that he heard the passage of the festival seasons at Sinai and stated it to Israel, and then went and repeated it to them when the time had actually arrived to keep the rules ... He stated to the people the laws for Passover at Passover, the laws for Shavuot at Shavuot, and the laws for Sukkot at that season."Continue reading.

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Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Naso

Numbers 4:21−7:89

By Rabbi Bradley Artson. Provided by the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies, which ordains Conservative rabbis at the American Jewish University.

Situational Ethics And God

The importance of preserving the relationship between a husband and wife provides an example of the Torah's use of relative morality.


Often, we define the moral position as the one that adheres to objective standards of right and wrong. Consequently, someone who evaluates an action in the light of eternal, immutable values demonstrates a higher level of moral development than a person who uses other, more situational standards. The roots of this perspective lie in ancient Greek thought, which associated the true with the eternal--what was perfect never changed. Similarly, the highest level of morality would be immutable.

The Greek mind sought out "laws of nature" which functioned in the realm of human morality no less than in the realm of astronomy. Modern psychologists of moral development--primarily students of the late Lawrence Kohlberg--looked to those Greek suppositions and found confirmation in the moral development of boys and men. Apparently, the highest level of moral development among males involves recourse to external rules of ethical standards that are always true and always definitive.

A Feminist View

A challenge to this notion of moral objectivity emerges in the work of Carol Gilligan, who argues that girls and women base moral decisions on how the decision will affect human relationships. Rather than rules, Gilligan argues that women govern their moral lives by weighing the cost among different human beings. Consequently, their view of morality is situational and relative.

The Torah anticipates this feminist view of morality, also holding that ethics ought to be dynamic and inter-subjective: whether between one person and another, or between a person and God.

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Monday, May 19, 2014

Bemidbar

Numbers 1:1−4:20

What Is Parenting?

Transmitting Jewish culture by embodying Jewish practice is part of the responsibilities of Jewish parenting.

By Rabbi Bradley Artson. The following article is reprinted with permission from American Jewish University.

One of the greatest mitzvot (commandments) in the Torah, the very first command given to humanity, is that of bearing children.

"Be fruitful and multiply" is the necessary underpinning of any Jewish community, since without renewed Jewish people, there can be no Torah, nor any Judaism either.

But parenting is more than simple biology. Any animal can spawn, and most animals have the necessary instincts to guide their young through a relatively brief infancy before the new generation takes off on its own, guided by its own internal barometer. Humans are distinctive in the extraordinary length of our infancy and youth, the extreme degree of dependence of our young, and by a lack of instincts on which to fall back to guide us in raising our children.

Instead of biological drives, we rely on social norms and religious values to guide our parenting and to mold our children. Our friends, our parents, books, rabbis, magazines and popular psychologists all instruct us about how to raise our children and what standards and expectations we can rightly apply to them. Human parenting, then, is executed within a network of other adults, and is guided by the cumulative experience of our own communities.

In this sense, anthropologists also speak of the transmission of a traditional culture in similar terms. A culture is normally passed from one generation to another, from knowledgeable adult to learning child. Since the adult has imbibed the norms and practices of the culture from older acculturated adults, this transmission is often simply through exposure and through example--the stuff that memories are made of, i.e., watching Bubbe lighting Shabbos candles, sitting next to Zeyde at a Seder.

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Monday, May 12, 2014

B'chukotai

Leviticus 26:3-27:34

Rebuke and Reward in this World

The fate of the individual is often determined by the behavior of the community as a whole.

By Rabbi Ismar Schorsch. Reprinted with permission of the Jewish Theological Seminary.
The penultimate chapter of Leviticus consists of a divine plea to heed God's commandments. It takes the form of inducements and intimidations, promises of agricultural bounty and national tranquility and threats of defeat, chaos and exile. The future of ancient Israel in its homeland will depend entirely on its adherence to the revelation at Sinai. Aside from the poetry of the passage, its rhetoric pulsates with a tone of urgency. Free will has its risks; people may choose to put themselves in harm's way. Rebellion against the strictures of God is the persistent evil that endangers society.

Neither this collection of admonitions nor those at the end of Deuteronomy are cast in terms of life after death or the world-to-come. They are utterly different from the hell-fire sermons of Puritan New England in which compliance is coerced through damnation. The religious vocabulary of the Torah, and indeed the Tanakh, is pervasively this-worldly. Life predominates as the supreme value and relegates an inchoate notion of the afterlife--Sheol--to the margins of collective consciousness. Accordingly, retribution or reward are natural phenomena, occurring in the here and now. The language betrays no notion of a soul that transcends death.

Equally noteworthy, the audience for our concluding address is the people as a whole, and not the individual Israelite. What will be weighed in the balance is the piety and morality of the nation, which if found to be wanting will impact adversely on the fate of the minority of God-fearing citizens. To abide personally by God's will can secure one's well-being only if a sufficient number of others do the same. Hence, the paradigmatic nature of Abraham's discourse with God on the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah. How many righteous members will it take to avert the destruction of a community? Throughout much of the Tanakh the group takes precedence over the individual. The marquee actor in the drama is the nation. The Torah's legislative agenda is to forge a mass of slaves into "a kingdom of priests and a holy nation," a beacon of justice and righteousness for an ever wayward humanity.

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Monday, May 5, 2014

B'har

Leviticus 25:1-26:2

Our Love For The Land Of Israel

The commandment to bring the redemption of the Land of Israel reminds us of the inextricable link between Judaism and Israel.

By Rabbi Bradley Artson. The following article is reprinted with permission from American Jewish University.

One of the central paradoxes of Jewish history is that the Jewish people were landless through most of our history.

Yet, we were always profoundly aware of our link to the Land of Israel, perhaps because we did not live in a place we could call our own. The intense love between the Jews and their homeland permeated our prayers, our Torah and our hearts. Today's Torah portion speaks directly to the centrality of the Land of Israel in Jewish thought and deed. God instructs the Jewish People, "You must provide for the ge'ulah (redemption) of the land."

What does it mean, to bring redemption to a land? It might make sense to use tangible terms--"irrigate" the land, "fertilize" the land, even "cultivate" the land. Those are terms upon which a farmer would act and recognize. But how does one "redeem" a land?

According to most biblical commentators, this verse is understood as mandating a loving Jewish presence in the Land of Israel. Thus, Hizkuni (France, 13th century) interprets our verse to mean that "there can be no [permanent] selling, only [temporary] dwelling."


Jews do not have the right to sever their connection to the Land of Israel. That claim--our inextricable link to the Land of Israel--is at the very core of biblical and rabbinic religion. The Land is referred to as an "ahuzzah," a holding--given to the Jewish People as God's part of our brit, our covenantal relationship. Our ancestors agreed to serve only God, and God agreed to maintain a unique relationship with the Jewish People.

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Monday, April 28, 2014

Emor

Leviticus 21:1−24:23

The Pursuit Of Happiness

By Rabbi Bradley Artson, Provided by the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies, which ordains Conservative rabbis at the American Jewish University.

As identified Jews, our speech and actions reflect on our families and the larger Jewish people.


Ours is a culture that glories in individuality and autonomy.

The foundation documents of the United States affirm the right of each individual to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." Pilgrims fled England and Europe, so we are told, to practice religious liberty and to find individual freedom as well.

Justly proud of our national ideals of personal liberty and freedom, we cherish the ability to pursue happiness each in our own way. Even those Americans who came later came in search of economic freedom and personal expression. The ability to move wherever one chose, to work in any field one could, to rise as one's talent could propel a career, speaks still to the core of our ideals as Americans.

While there is certainly merit to that perspective, it reflects a different priority than that of traditional Judaism. Where American law speaks primarily of individual rights, Jewish law emphasizes duties to others. America understands "freedom" as an absence of restraints; Judaism perceives "freedom" as the ability to be fully caring, involved and responsive.
Human Connections

The syntax of the Torah reflects that interdependent notion of human connection. In describing the anonymous man who blasphemes against God, the Torah informs us that "his mother's name was Sh'lomit, the daughter of Dibri of the tribe of Dan." Why do we need such a lengthy presentation of this anonymous punk's family and kin? Alone, he provoked a fight, and he cursed God alone, so why involve his innocent mother, grandfather and tribe?

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Monday, April 21, 2014

Kedoshim

Leviticus 19:1-20:27

Ritual And Ethics: A Holy Blend


Only through the combination of ritual and ethics can Judaism fully express itself.


By Rabbi Bradley Artson. Provided by the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies, which ordains Conservative rabbis at the American Jewish University.
In any five-book anthology, the third book always forms the center of that collection.

So it is that Vayikra (Leviticus) is the center of the Torah. At the center of Vayikra is Kedoshim, the Holiness Code. This parashah is central in more than just location. A pinnacle of spirit and morality, it embodies the high water mark of all religious writing, in any period.

What makes Kedoshim uniquely magnificent is its insistence on a maximal Judaism--one which demands much, teaches even more, and which creates a completely new orientation in the hearts of those who try to take it seriously.

Kedoshim does not tailor Judaism to fit the personalities or ideologies of any particular group of Jews. Instead, it posits a lofty set of standards and then challenges the Jews of every age to rise up to match its high ideals and exalted holiness. It asks of us all to grow beyond our own comfortable conventions, our own sleepy standards, to confront our evasion of excellence.

There are some Jews for whom Judaism is primarily a set of behavior. What matters, for them, is whether or not a Jew performs the required behavior (ritual) in the proper manner. Such people measure "religious Jews" by the number of homes they won't eat in or by the punctilious performance of ritual deeds.

Yet another group of Jews see Judaism exclusively as a form of social action. Ethics, for them, is the sum and total of any "living" Judaism. Marching against injustice, petitioning Congress and writing letters to the editor--this forms the entirety of what is important in being Jewish. Either of these approaches to Judaism may be right, but neither of them captures the totality of Kedoshim.

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Monday, April 14, 2014

Shabbat Chol haMoed Passover

Rabbi Barry Leff Beth Tikvah Congregation - Richmond, British Columbia, a Conservative Congregation

One of my favorite passages in the Torah is one that we read today, on the Shabbat that falls during Pesach (Passover). Vayomer harayni na et k’vodecha, And he said, “Please show me your Glory” (Exodus 33:18).

The reason that passage resonates so strongly with me is that as I struggle in my relationship with God—as I ask God “show me your Glory”—I find it very comforting somehow that even Moses, who talked to God, who saw a vision of God in the burning bush, who was the vehicle through which miracles were performed, still had the need to ask this question. It symbolizes for me that our search for God is never complete. That no matter what kind of spiritual level we reach, a sense of yearning for more is an integral part of the religious experience. It’s a message to accept that yearning for greater intimacy with God as an essential ingredient in how we mere mortals relate to God—that we don’t need to feel frustrated or disappointed that we haven’t solved all the mysteries, or achieved a relationship as close as we would like.

I want to explore two questions today. First, why do we read this passage today? I love it, it’s a beautiful passage, but what’s the connection to Passover? And secondly, what is it that Moses is asking for? After all, he’s already on “intimate” terms with God; how do we understand this seemingly strange request?

The Torah reading for today is Exodus 33:12-34:26. The obvious connection to today is in the latter part of the reading: 34:18-25 gives an account of the three pilgrimage festivals, which include Passover.  But why did the rabbis decide to include this earlier section that talks about God’s relationship with Moses?

For a clue, we can put this reading in the context of the other scriptural readings we have today. It is customary to read Shir haShirim, the Song of Songs today, and the haftorah for today is a selection from the book of Ezekiel which talks about resurrection. 
Shir haShirim is read today because this is the spring holiday--in fact, one of the names for Pesach is Chag haAviv, the spring holiday—and Shir haShirim is clearly tied to the spring. It is full of references to flowers, beautiful fragrances, intimacy—all images we associate with the spring. Spring is a time of rebirth and renewal. Trees bud, grass grows, flowers bloom, lambs are born. Which makes the Ezekiel text understandable as the physical resurrection described is surely the most
potent symbol of rebirth we can imagine.

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Monday, April 7, 2014

Shabbat HaGadol - Acharei Mot

Leviticus 16:1-18:30

Threat And Promise Of Conformity

We can learn from and adopt only those practices foreign to Judaism that enhance and strengthen Jewish practice.


By Rabbi Bradley Artson; Provided by the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies, which ordains Conservative rabbis at the American Jewish University.

In the movie Zelig, Woody Allen portrays an individual who repeatedly rises to the pinnacle of success through his uncanny ability to become identical to those in power. Time after time, Zelig is able to transform himself into the image of people around him, and those people reward his ability by offering Zelig influence, prominence and prestige.

The movie audience sees Zelig in photographs with Indian chieftains, Nazi generals and capitalist millionaires.

In each case, he has become more like them than they are themselves. Always in the center, always a passionate advocate, Zelig's zeal and enthusiasm bear the mark of his insecurity. His very passion reveals his wish to belong.

Zelig portrays the Jews throughout history. Like him, we too have managed to adopt the look and the rhythm of the cultures in which we dwell. We take it as a matter of pride that we become better guardians of the dominant culture than are its biological children. Always under suspicion of being outsiders, we seek to prove our right to belong through our zeal and our ingenuity.

Assimilation, the drive to become like the people we live among, is a time-honored Jewish passion. It is certainly one of our consummate talents. American Jews talk, dress, vacation and work as do all other Americans. With a few exceptions, our habits and lifestyles reflect the priorities of American culture. It is no coincidence that "I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy" was written by a Jew, or that "You're A Grand Old Flag" was sung by one.

Our Torah portion addresses this issue in clear terms. "You shall not copy the practices of the land of Egypt where you dwelt, or of the land of Canaan to which I am taking you . . . You shall keep My laws and My rules, by the pursuit of which man shall live."

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Monday, March 31, 2014

Metzora

Leviticus 14:1-15:33

Is It Blasphemous To Heal People?

Even if we view leprosy as a punishment, we must work to heal the afflicted, allowing our sense of compassion to override justice or logic.

By Rabbi Bradley Artson; Provided by the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies, which ordains Conservative rabbis at the American Jewish University.

Our ancestors, like others in the ancient Near East, suffered from frequent eruptions of a variety of skin diseases, called 'tzara'at.' Many of these 'leprosies' were quite severe, and they carried a severe social stigma in every culture in the ancient world.

Countless stories in the Bible and the Talmud attest to the dread consequences of this illness and the devastation it could bring into the lives of individuals, families and communities.

According to the biblical view of how the world works, 'tzara'at'--like all illness--was a divine punishment. If everything comes from the One God, then illness, too, must have its origin in Divine will. The logical assumption was that people got their illnesses because they deserved them. The only aspect open to question was to ask which illness resulted from which deed.

A Response to What?

According to the midrash [commentary] Va-Yikra Rabbah, God inflicted this dread illness as a response to libel, bloodshed, vain oaths, sexual crimes, robbery and refusing to pay 'tzedakah' (charity). It would follow that if God punishes through illness, then anyone who tries to heal the sick would be the equivalent of one who helps a murderer escape from prison.

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Monday, March 24, 2014

Shabbat Tazria HaChodesh

Lev. 12:1-13:59 and Ex. 12:1-20

“SEA” THE MIRACLES THAT WE CAN DO??

by Rabbi Stewart Weiss Director of the Jewish Outreach Center of Ra'anana

This Shabbat we read the last of the 4 special parshiyot; Parshat HaChodesh is always read just prior to the month of Nisan. In honor of becoming a Nation, our calendar is re-ordered and life, for us, begins anew, or Chadash.

It strikes me that the 4 Parshiyot represent a progression towards the climactic events of Nisan: We begin with Sh’kalim. The word “Sh’kalim” is, of course, connected to “mishkal,” or weight (a coin’s value was – at least at one time – a function of its weight). I suggest that the first step towards change is Shikul, weighing the pattern and progress of our life and considering how we can improve it.

Then comes Zachor. In order to shape our future, we must remember our past. Who we have been, and what we are capable of accomplishing in the days ahead. Knowing that we are resourceful, resilient and remarkably gifted as a People gives us the courage and conviction to change.

Next comes Para, the mystical, elaborate ritual that transformed us from a state of spiritual dormancy to one of purified elevation. By accepting G-d on faith alone – as the chok/statute of Para Aduma requires us to do – we can rise to a new level and become a partner with Hashem.

Finally, there is HaChodesh, as we emerge from this entire process a changed and new person, confident of where we come from and where we can get to. Just as G-d creates the world new each day, so we, too, have the opportunity to start over and re-create ourselves in a “new and improved” format.

The most popular of all miracles is that of K’riat Yam Suf, the Splitting of the Sea. The pasuk in Sh’mot records that after Bnei Yisrael went safely through, Moshe stretched his hands over the water and the sea “returned in the morning to it’s power – l’eytano.” This last term is quite unusual, and the Medrash connects it to “li’t’na’oh,” to its “condition, or terms,” explaining that the Reed Sea had been created explicitly with the stipulation that, when the right time came, it would split and perform this great miracle.

Rav Shlomo Carlebach writes that the Sea had to agree to undergo a complete and total change; it went from being roaring, expansive waters to dry land. That meant that it had to go against its routine and its very nature, and this was extremely difficult for it to do. But Hashem promised that if it DID cooperate, it would achieve an eternal notoriety and fame.

The choice is the same for us. In order to change and reach higher ground, to come closer to the will of G-d, we may also have to alter our behavior and routine. But if we do, then we, too, can rise to new heights and elicit Nisim worthy of Chodesh Nisan.