Torah for the 21st Century by Rabbi Ariel Stone

Shabbat Pinhas: The Partial Nature of Knowing

“Oops. Good point; didn’t think of that.” – Moshe

“Me either. The women are right. Give them what they want.” – HaShem

Where does the idea that there is any such thing as an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-seeing deity come from? Certainly not our Torah; this week’s parashah is one of many that show this. The description our Torah offers of HaShem is not perfect; it is, however, perfectly perfectible.

Let’s dismantle a few assumptions here. The Torah does not support our view of G*d as perfect. That is a projection, probably via the Greeks, that some humans insist upon. They need it because they need to know that someone’s “got this” when they don’t, and can’t – such as in the case of senseless evil. Or they need it so that they can set up a “straw god” to reject.

Similarly, the Torah, meaning all Jewish sacred texts, are not revealed truth. That is a Christian assumption, and as such has become part of what we assume we are supposed to believe – and makes it easy to reject, all together and at once, when we find something offensive in it. Rather, our ancestors understood that our sacred texts offer a glimpse of what truths we might work our way toward.

This week’s parashah is a great example. The scene is this: in this particular text that clearly reflects a patriarchal assumption, there is a general discussion going on about inheritance, and it assumes a line of sons inheriting fathers. But there’s an unforeseen problem with that approach: sometimes offspring are daughters.

And thus it is with the daughters of a man named Tzelof’khad; there are five of them, with no brother to inherit. They argue:

לָ֣מָּה יִגָּרַ֤ע שֵׁם־אָבִ֙ינוּ֙ מִתּ֣וֹךְ מִשְׁפַּחְתּ֔וֹ כִּ֛י אֵ֥ין ל֖וֹ בֵּ֑ן תְּנָה־לָּ֣נוּ אֲחֻזָּ֔ה בְּת֖וֹךְ אֲחֵ֥י אָבִֽינוּ׃

Let not our father’s name be lost to his clan just because he had no son! Give us a holding among our father’s kinsmen! (Numbers 27.4)

In this moment, the assumption that the patriarchal approach is “enough” is disproved, and then the greater teaching moment occurs:

וַיַּקְרֵ֥ב מֹשֶׁ֛ה אֶת־מִשְׁפָּטָ֖ן לִפְנֵ֥י ה. ’וַיֹּ֥אמֶר ה’ אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֥ה לֵּאמֹֽר כֵּ֗ן בְּנ֣וֹת צְלׇפְחָד֮ דֹּבְרֹת֒ נָתֹ֨ן תִּתֵּ֤ן לָהֶם֙ אֲחֻזַּ֣ת נַחֲלָ֔ה בְּת֖וֹךְ אֲחֵ֣י אֲבִיהֶ֑ם וְהַֽעֲבַרְתָּ֛ אֶת־נַחֲלַ֥ת אֲבִיהֶ֖ן לָהֶֽן׃ וְאֶל־בְּנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל תְּדַבֵּ֣ר לֵאמֹ֑ר אִ֣ישׁ כִּֽי־יָמ֗וּת וּבֵן֙ אֵ֣ין ל֔וֹ וְהַֽעֲבַרְתֶּ֥ם אֶת־נַחֲלָת֖וֹ לְבִתּֽוֹ׃

Moses brought their case before ‘ה And ‘ה said to Moses, “The plea of Zelophehad’s daughters is just: you should give them a hereditary holding among their father’s kinsmen; transfer their father’s share to them. “Further, speak to the Israelite people as follows: ‘If a householder dies without leaving a son, you shall transfer his property to his daughter.” (Numbers 27.5-7)

Moshe models his understanding of the revealed nature of the truth he transmits: it is partial and not completely understood. Then HaShem demonstrates that our awareness of what is holy is entirely incomplete.

Maybe the best part of the Jewish approach to all this is from our Talmudic sages, so often assumed by our Western modern Jewish values to be hopelessly misogynistic:

תָּנָא: בְּנוֹת צְלָפְחָד חַכְמָנִיּוֹת הֵן, דַּרְשָׁנִיּוֹת הֵן, צִדְקָנִיּוֹת הֵן

The Sages taught: The daughters of Tzelof’khad are wise, they are interpreters of verses, and they are righteous. – BT Bava Batra 119b

The midrash explains what Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah understood, and helped their community to learn:

And then the daughters of Tzelof’khad approached (Numbers 27.1) “When the daughters of Tzelof’khad heard that the land was to be apportioned to the tribes and not to females, they gathered together to take counsel, saying: Not as the mercies of flesh and blood are the mercies of HaShem. The mercies of flesh and blood are greater for males than for females. Not so the mercies of the One who spoke and brought the world into being; HaShem’s mercies are for males and females (equally). They are for all! As it is written (Psalms 145:9) “HaShem is good to all, and mercy alights upon all of Creation.”

The mystics of our tradition call our attempts to understand the reality of HaShem like “looking through a cloudy glass into a dark room.” We are not where HaShem is; we don’t know all of what’s right, and we can’t simply read it and understand it out of a book. Our personal impressions are not completely true and our hearts are not infallible. Not even our longing for certainty somewhere (which we often project unfairly upon HaShem) can ever, really, be assuaged.

Our parashat hashavua this week carries a clear message:

The greatest leader is one who can admit that s/he hasn’t thought of that.

The truest understanding of divine wisdom is that we can only partially see it.

And learning can come from any place, any person, any time.

May we become comfortable enough with our ignorance to admit it, willing to give our curiosity more room than our need for certainty, and thus to move toward at least a partial enlightenment to illuminate the path we walk together.

Shabbat Balak: Some of My Best Friends are Anti-Zionists

Heading into the Three Weeks in 5784

וּמִפְּנֵי חֲטָאֵינוּ גָּלִינוּ מֵאַרְצֵנוּ – because of our sins we were exiled from our homeland. (Rambam, order of prayer, 3.6)

מַה־טֹּ֥בוּ אֹהָלֶ֖יךָ יַעֲקֹ֑ב מִשְׁכְּנֹתֶ֖יךָ יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃ – How fair are your tents, O Jacob, Your dwellings, O Israel! (from this week’s parashah)

Rashi: How goodly are they even when they are in ruins, because then they are a pledge (משכון) for you, and the fact that they are in ruins is an atonement for your souls

This parashah is the source of a verse well known to every Jew who davens (prays), since it is quoted as the opening line of the song that begins our Tefilah (prayers): “How good are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places O Israel!” (Numbers 24.5). It’s a jarring juxtaposition to note that in a matter of days, next Tuesday, July 23, is 17 Tammuz, we will observe a twelve hour fast called Tzom Tammuz, commemorating the destruction of the first Jerusalem Temple.

On this Shabbat, as every Shabbat, we literally begin our prayers by praising our kehillot, our congregations and other sacred gatherings. But next Tuesday, we have to remember, and face, the trauma of the destruction of all those places we cherish – places of home, of safety, of belonging.

For a century and more, the establishment of the modern State of Israel has been seen by many Jews as the longed-for resurrection of those tents mentioned in our parashat hashavua. Yet in our regular religious practice, we are reminded through the prophetic texts that our existence on that land is contingent upon the ethics we practice there:

כִּ֤י אִם־הֵיטֵיב֙ תֵּיטִ֔יבוּ אֶת־דַּרְכֵיכֶ֖ם וְאֶת־מַעַלְלֵיכֶ֑ם אִם־עָשׂ֤וֹ תַֽעֲשׂוּ֙ מִשְׁפָּ֔ט בֵּ֥ין אִ֖ישׁ וּבֵ֥ין רֵעֵֽהוּ׃

Now, if you really mend your ways and your actions; if you execute justice between one party and another;

גֵּ֣ר יָת֤וֹם וְאַלְמָנָה֙ לֹ֣א תַעֲשֹׁ֔קוּ וְדָ֣ם נָקִ֔י אַֽל־תִּשְׁפְּכ֖וּ בַּמָּק֣וֹם הַזֶּ֑ה וְאַחֲרֵ֨י אֱלֹהִ֧ים אֲחֵרִ֛ים לֹ֥א תֵלְכ֖וּ לְרַ֥ע לָכֶֽם׃

if you do not oppress the stranger, the orphan, and the widow; if you do not shed the blood of the innocent in this place; if you do not follow other gods, to your own hurt—

וְשִׁכַּנְתִּ֤י אֶתְכֶם֙ בַּמָּק֣וֹם הַזֶּ֔ה בָּאָ֕רֶץ אֲשֶׁ֥ר נָתַ֖תִּי לַאֲבוֹתֵיכֶ֑ם לְמִן־עוֹלָ֖ם וְעַד־עוֹלָֽם׃

then only will I let you dwell in this place, in the land that I gave to your ancestors for all time. (Jeremiah 7.5-7)

The heart of the present trauma that is tearing apart Jewish communities all over the U.S. emerges from precisely this ancient awareness: we do not deserve the land if we do not sanctify it with our ethical behavior. If we raise up Jerusalem above all other ethics, Jeremiah, Isaiah and Micah warn, we will lose it all – our self respect and our home.

We are about to enter the Three Weeks, a period of time that for millennia has been observed by Jews as a time of destruction apprehended and of mourning anticipated. For the next three weeks the Haftarah we chant during Shabbat morning prayers will be the ancient Jewish equivalent of doomscrolling. This period will conclude with Tisha B’Av, when we will sit on the floor to show our sorrow, and hear the haunting ancient words of Eykha, the lamentation for the destruction of Jerusalem.

These are the days of self-judgement for us Jews as a community, on all levels: as a People who stand before HaShem always, and as a kehillah that stands before each other. Another prophet, Zekharyah, asks the key question about how we will make this special time of use:

אֱמֹר֙ אֶל־כׇּל־עַ֣ם הָאָ֔רֶץ וְאֶל־הַכֹּהֲנִ֖ים לֵאמֹ֑ר כִּֽי־צַמְתֶּ֨ם וְסָפ֜וֹד בַּחֲמִישִׁ֣י וּבַשְּׁבִיעִ֗י וְזֶה֙ שִׁבְעִ֣ים שָׁנָ֔ה הֲצ֥וֹם צַמְתֻּ֖נִי אָֽנִי׃

Say to all the people of the land and to the priests: When you fasted and lamented in the fifth and seventh months all these seventy years, did you fast for My benefit? – Zekharyah 7.5

The prophet means that only when we examine ourselves and our community from a position of self-transcendence, considering that we are to be a holy people and do our level best to follow the blameless path of Abraham and Sarah, will we fulfill the mitzvah of fasting and prayer in response to the bad times. If all we do is look to judge others, our actions are useless.

I invite you to observe the Three Weeks with me this year by joining with me in study. This should always be the Jew’s first response: I need to learn the Torah that pertains to this. Or, as Rabbi Akiba once put it, “This too is Torah and I need to learn it.” (BT Berakhot 62a) Only when we truly know what our words mean to us as Jews can we call ourselves Zionist, post-Zionist, anti-Zionist, or (the newest term) Counter-Zionist. And more: if we cannot explore this question together, what are we as a community? Let the ancient words remind us of this whenever we hear them: we have to keep our tents fair, our dwelling places good.

the Torah of Anti-Zionism, Counter-Zionism & Post-Zionism

Thursdays by Zoom at 7pm: July 25, August 1 and August 8

The Reform movement of Judaism was originally anti-Zionist. The Neturei Karta, an ultra-Orthodox sect of Judaism, has always been. What Torah and Talmud teachings inform such a stance? A lot of people are using the terms anti-Zionist, counter-Zionist, and post-Zionist these days. What do they mean?

Join Rabbi Ariel to learn the Torah and Talmud texts that inform opposition to Zionism as a political ideology. We’ll explore the definitions of Zionism in light of prophetic ethical teachings, and ponder the Jewish spiritual path of those opposed to the Jewish state.

Open to all Jews and the Jew-adjacent who seek to learn. As always, this is a compassionate space. No expressions of hatred or violence (other than in the texts themselves) will be tolerated.

Shabbat Shelakh L’kha: Israel Is Neither Here Nor There

This week’s parashah is a turning point for our people, and not a good one. Astonishingly enough, the journey from the foot of Mt Sinai to the edge of what the Torah calls the Land of the Promise is relatively very short: our ancestors began to journey in last week’s parashah and already they have arrived.

So what took so long? Why did it take forty years to make a trip of a few months, at most? (When I was in rabbinical school in Jerusalem in 1986 a few of my classmates and I took advantage of the relatively new peace with Egypt to travel from Jerusalem to Cairo: it was a 12 hour bus ride, with stops.)

The scene is this: the people are camped in the wilderness of Paran, and Moshe sends twelve leaders, one from each tribe, ahead to scout out the land. The scouts come back with a mixed report: some say the land looks inviting, and others share their fear of the local inhabitants.

At this moment the Israelite people seem to collectively lose their minds. All their fears, realistic or not, come pouring forth:

וַיִּלֹּ֙נוּ֙ עַל־מֹשֶׁ֣ה וְעַֽל־אַהֲרֹ֔ן כֹּ֖ל בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל וַֽיֹּאמְר֨וּ אֲלֵהֶ֜ם כׇּל־הָעֵדָ֗ה לוּ־מַ֙תְנוּ֙ בְּאֶ֣רֶץ מִצְרַ֔יִם א֛וֹ בַּמִּדְבָּ֥ר הַזֶּ֖ה לוּ־מָֽתְנוּ׃ וְלָמָ֣ה יְ֠הֹוָ֠ה מֵבִ֨יא אֹתָ֜נוּ אֶל־הָאָ֤רֶץ הַזֹּאת֙ לִנְפֹּ֣ל בַּחֶ֔רֶב נָשֵׁ֥ינוּ וְטַפֵּ֖נוּ יִהְי֣וּ לָבַ֑ז הֲל֧וֹא ט֦וֹב לָ֖נוּ שׁ֥וּב מִצְרָֽיְמָה׃

All the Israelites railed against Moses and Aaron. “If only we had died in the land of Egypt,” the whole community shouted at them, “or if only we might die in this wilderness!” “Why is יהוה taking us to that land to fall by the sword?” “Our wives and children will be carried off!” “It would be better for us to go back to Egypt!” (Num. 14.2-3)

The midrash which expands the meaning of this account gets to the heart of the matter: there is no trust.

They [the people] said to them [Moses and Aaron]: ‘You are not trustworthy for us; our brethren [the scouts who shared their fear) are more concerned about us than you are,’ (BaMidbar Rabbah 16.21).

Torah here teaches us several truths: first, that trust in a community is not easily created, nor maintained, in the face of fear. Second, that a group of Jews (never mind the non-Jews, that’s a different teaching) can completely lose their mind – and destroy their community – over Israel without ever having set foot there.

And this is where we are this week ourselves: long before October 7 the actions of the State of Israel have been causing communities of U.S. Jews to experience divisiveness. Some Jews reach the conclusion that Israel is the least safe place for Jews rather than the haven the early Zionists sought to create; others side with feelings and center intergenerational trauma as if it excuses every act. Many Jews reject the idea that Israel should be given a pass on the occupation of Palestine, and some Jews seem to wish to “go back to Egypt” and forget there is a land to which all Jews will always be connected, since our culture comes from there.

Since World War II and the establishment of the State of Israel, the institutions of the U.S. Jewish community have known that the two reliable ways to rally any local Jewish community together was to invoke either the Holocaust or Israel. Over three generations, more and more of our inspiration and emotion was outsourced to these two historic events. And it was so easy.

The story of the scouts teaches us that these days are testing whether we are a community worthy of the name.

אַ֣ךְ בּ-ה֮’ אַל־תִּמְרֹ֒דוּ֒ וְאַתֶּ֗ם …אַל־תִּירָאֻֽם׃

only you must not rebel against ‘ה’. … ‘ה will be with us. Have no fear!” (Num 14.9)

A Jewish community can rest assured, and let go of fear, only when we act to keep the sense of the Presence of HaShem with us; this is what is meant by not rebelling.

In other words: out of fear we may permit ourselves to commit lashon hara’, in that we become unreasonably angry and hurt each other with words. We may go further and practice cancel culture, cutting ourselves off from those who don’t agree with us over Israel by leaving communities where we have long relationships and have weathered much together. And we may go so far as to commit what our ancestors called a crime akin to murder, ona’ah, oppression of others through words or acts, tearing down reputations and causing others to hate.

During my fact-finding mission to Israel and Palestine in March, I witnessed real community: Israelis and Palestinians who struggle together for shared trust and hope in a better common future, practicing the mitzvot of respectful communication, mutual caring, and the benefit of the doubt. Those Jews, Muslims and Christians who are there and suffering the most are demonstrating better than we at our comfortable distance what it means to build resilient community.

A community that falls apart over our homeland, a place where most of us have never been, is a sign that it is no community at all. Our ancestors were incapable of learning this lesson and so they died in a wilderness of meaninglessness and of failure. Nowhere in our Torah are we commanded to love the state of Israel more than we love each other; that is idolatry.

The prophets call us out over and over again for being too willing to worship whatever our eyes and hearts find compelling. Israel is, literally, neither here among us in our community: nor there, for many of us who are still considered perfectly good Jews. In a healthy community we cannot excuse our behavior with the idea of intergenerational trauma, nor, comparably, should we excuse Israel’s faults in the same way.

These are the days when we are offered the greatest test of all: do our acts have the integrity of our ethics? Only when we can say yes will we be able to go forth together, as a community that supports each other, toward whatever will be.

Shabbat BeHa’alot’kha: The Cloud Among Us

וּלְפִ֞י הֵעָל֤וֹת הֶֽעָנָן֙ מֵעַ֣ל הָאֹ֔הֶל וְאַ֣חֲרֵי כֵ֔ן יִסְע֖וּ בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל וּבִמְק֗וֹם אֲשֶׁ֤ר יִשְׁכׇּן־שָׁם֙ הֶֽעָנָ֔ן שָׁ֥ם יַחֲנ֖וּ בְּנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃

And whenever the cloud lifted from the Tent, the Israelites would set out accordingly; and at the spot where the cloud settled, there the Israelites would make camp. (BaMidbar 9.17)

Our parashat hashavua this week invites us to reflect upon what it means to be a community on the move. The Israelites have passed through the first stage of their combined existence, that of formation. The year and a bit more since the Exodus from Egypt have been spent at the foot of Mt Sinai, fashioning religious and social systems to replace those that were left behind.

Someone called the three stages of group creation “forming, storming, and norming.” In this week’s parashah, the Israelites move from the first to the second of these universally human situations. The Book BaMidbar, Numbers in English, is full of “storming”: uprisings, arguments, and complaints against each other and against HaShem reveal the Israelite community as vibrant and passionate – great qualities if the energy can be wisely shaped toward group cohesion.

What keeps a group together long enough to reach stage three, “norming”, so that one day you find yourself saying “that’s just how we do it here”?

The mythology of our people enshrined in the Torah offers experience writ large, symbols and analogies to offer us a broader perspective than we might otherwise attain, when we are enmeshed in the daily experiences of a group and our emotional responses. In true mythological fashion, the Torah describes a mysterious Cloud of Glory that constantly hovered over the Israelite camp, a clear and everpresent sign of the protection of HaShem (and some nice shade in the trackless wilderness as well).

We might dismiss the description in our parashah as in the sloppy use of the word “myth” by which some mean impossible and untrue; I mean it here in the anthropological sense of those simplified stories by which human cultures understand the deepest – and least given to articulation – human experience.

We no longer have a Cloud of Glory showing us the way – or do we? Over many generations of the development of ancient Jewish belief, the concept arose of the Shekhinah, a sense of the presence of HaShem as close and as reassuring as that ever-present, protective Cloud. This idea became a support for the minhag of wearing a kippah, or baseball hat or whatever, but always covering the head.

רַב הוּנָא בְּרֵיהּ דְּרַב יְהוֹשֻׁעַ לָא מְסַגֵּי אַרְבַּע אַמּוֹת בְּגִילּוּי הָרֹאשׁ. אָמַר: שְׁכִינָה לְמַעְלָה מֵרָאשֵׁי.

R. Huna son of R. Joshua would not walk four cubits bareheaded, saying: The Shekhinah is above my head. (BT Kiddushin 31a)

On what did Rav Huna base his declaration? Not on a literal cloud that followed him around, but on the ancient sense (borne out by modern science) that when we are together, and focused upon that which makes us a sacred community, we can evoke a sense of something greater than us, that holds us. That focus is brought about by Torah study and prayer.

שְׁנַיִם שֶׁיּוֹשְׁבִין וְיֵשׁ בֵּינֵיהֶם דִּבְרֵי תוֹרָה, שְׁכִינָה שְׁרוּיָה בֵינֵיהֶם

if two sit together and there are words of Torah [spoken] between them, then the Shekhinah abides among them (Pirke Avot 3.2)

We as a community find our way by coming together to study and learn and consider what makes a Jewish community sacred, and in so doing we learn so much about how to be good human beings. Torah study reminds us that compassion is more important than achievement, that connection is more valuable than possessions, and that community is more than any one moment of upset, anger or even embarrassment.

It’s hard to meet each other in all of our shared humanity right now; there’s a lot of stress all around us. But as we hold on to what is greater than each of us, that which we create when we are together as a sacred community that learns together about the world and ourselves, we will come to behold it ourselves. Almost as if we could see it: the Shekhinah that dwells among us, moving when we move and steadfast in those moments when we can’t. It’s in your eyes, my smile, and their offered hand.

Shabbat Naso: Use Your Words

חַיֵּ֣י בְ֭שָׂרִים לֵ֣ב מַרְפֵּ֑א וּרְקַ֖ב עֲצָמ֣וֹת קִנְאָֽה׃

A calm disposition gives bodily health; jealousy rots the bones. (Mishle 14.30)

If the Book VaYikra, Leviticus, was short on drama, the Book we are now reading, BaMidbar, Numbers, makes up for it. This week in our triennial cycle we are confronted with a text that has discomfited generations of commentators and ethicists.

The problem for us is this: a woman is labeled a sotah (from the Hebrew for “go astray” used in the verse), and made to go through an ordeal, not because of having done something wrong, but because her partner, a man, simply suspects her, with no evidence, nothing at all to justify his jealousy. He is not thinking: he is just feeling.

וְעָבַ֨ר עָלָ֧יו רֽוּחַ־קִנְאָ֛ה וְקִנֵּ֥א אֶת־אִשְׁתּ֖וֹ וְהִ֣וא נִטְמָ֑אָה אוֹ־עָבַ֨ר עָלָ֤יו רֽוּחַ־קִנְאָה֙ וְקִנֵּ֣א אֶת־אִשְׁתּ֔וֹ וְהִ֖יא לֹ֥א נִטְמָֽאָה׃

If a fit of jealousy comes over him and he is wrought up about the wife who has defiled herself, or if a fit of jealousy comes over him and he is wrought up about his wife although she has not defiled herself (Numbers 5.14)

This passage is one of the more destructive when taken out of its historical context. If among our ancestors were men whose emotions got the better of their empathy, this coerced ritual may have actually saved a defenseless woman from her husband’s private choice to beat her, even to death, on the basis of a suspicion, however untrue.

It is true that domestic abuse happened, and still happens, among all domestic partnerships. Twenty-two percent of all people in an intimate relationship will experience domestic abuse, according to the peer-reviewed Partner Abuse.

Male and female IPV perpetrated from similar motives – primarily to get back at a partner for emotionally hurting them, because of stress or jealousy, to express anger and other feelings that they could not put into words or communicate, and to get their partner’s attention.

How much damage we do when we are stuck in our emotions! The Musar text Mesillat Yesharim comments:

הַקִּנְאָה גַּם הִיא אֵינָהּ אֶלָּא חֶסְרוֹן יְדִיעָה וְסִכְלוּת, כִּי אֵין הַמְקַנֵּא מַרְוִיחַ כְּלוּם לְעַצְמוֹ … וּכְמַאֲמַר הַכָּתוּב שֶׁזָּכַרְתִּי (איוב ה): וּפֹתֶה תָּמִית קִנְאָה.

Jealousy also is nothing but lack of understanding and foolishness. For the jealous person gains nothing for himself …as the verse we mentioned states “jealousy slays the foolish” (Iyov 5:2).

In our society we often find a person’s emotions being raised up to prominence. This is probably a necessary reaction to too much primacy being given to intellect and logic in the immediate past, but we can easily see that neither extreme serves us well. Subjective reality deserve respect, but it is only one of the factors that must be considered in any situation. The question, as always, is balance, and much thought must go into achieving it:

If I’m jealous and I put my loved one through the modern equivalent of a sotah ritual (where their emotions are demonstrated to be not as important as mine), what chance does our relationship have of achieving a better state afterward?

Learning to balance the before and after, the me and the other, the cause and the effect, all are part of learning to consider the reality of having both emotions and an intellect. Bringing everything to bear rather than lashing out when we’re hurt is a form of integration of the self. In Jewish tradition, it’s how we polish the Image of Holiness that we reflect.

Alas, in our society we also often simply leave a relationship – with an intimate partner, with a friend, with a community – when our emotions are upset within it. Having been encouraged by a fee-for-service, drive-through, no one is the boss of me culture, we look to start over somewhere better, somewhere where we won’t be hurt. What we don’t realize is that being hurt is an invitation into truly coming to know our own self, our own strength, and our own part in all the relationships of our lives.

The next time you are hurt by someone, don’t withdraw. Bring forth your curiosity. Why do I feel this way? What might I learn, how might I grow, if I don’t walk away? If I don’t outsource my control over my emotions, and accuse someone else of being at fault for what I feel?

Being a grown up is hard work. Being a good Jew can help. Come and engage in community, even when you get your feelings hurt, and let it help you become your best self.

Shabbat BaMidbar: Guarding Ourselves

Is the Oregon Food Bank our enemy?

שְׂא֗וּ אֶת־רֹאשׁ֙ כׇּל־עֲדַ֣ת בְּנֵֽי־יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל לְמִשְׁפְּחֹתָ֖ם לְבֵ֣ית אֲבֹתָ֑ם בְּמִסְפַּ֣ר שֵׁמ֔וֹת כׇּל־זָכָ֖ר לְגֻלְגְּלֹתָֽם׃

Take a census of the whole Israelite company [of fighters] by the clans of its ancestral houses, listing the names, every male, head by head. (Numbers 1.2)

This week we begin reading the fourth book of the Torah, called BaMidbar. The book is called “Numbers” in English, which refers to the counting of the people who were able to bear arms at the very beginning of the book. But the Hebrew name is much more interesting, for the word bamidbar is constructed of a preposition and a noun. The preposition is ba, “in” and the word midbar means “wilderness.” But! the letters of the word in Hebrew – מדבר – can be understood as medabeyr, “the one who speaks.” It’s the same word, and without vowels, one translation is as good as the other.

In Jewish tradition, human beings are called hai m’dabeyr, “the creature that talks”, that is to say, uses words in speech and in writing. Talmudic sources remind us that using words is a dangerous activity. מָ֣וֶת וְ֭חַיִּים בְּיַד־לָשׁ֑וֹן – “Death and life are in the power of the tongue” (Proverbs 18.21)

Jewish ethical teachings warn us to be careful of our words in so many ways; to guard against embarrassing another in public, to avoid dissension among teachers, and – the most difficult – to avoid lying to oneself. We might understand this first topic in Sefer BaMidbar accordingly: first and foremost when guarding, to “guard my tongue from evil” as Rav Hamnuna Zuta prayed on Yom Kippur, according to the Talmud. The full prayer is instructive:

מָר בְּרֵיהּ דְּרָבִינָא כִּי הֲוָה מְסַיֵּים צְלוֹתֵיהּ אָמַר הָכִי: ״אֱלֹהַי, נְצוֹר לְשׁוֹנִי מֵרָע וְשִׂפְתוֹתַי מִדַּבֵּר מִרְמָה, וְלִמְקַלְּלַי נַפְשִׁי תִדּוֹם, וְנַפְשִׁי כֶּעָפָר לַכֹּל תִּהְיֶה. פְּתַח לִבִּי בְּתוֹרָתֶךָ, וּבְמִצְוֹתֶיךָ תִּרְדּוֹף נַפְשִׁי.

When Mar, son of Ravina, would conclude his prayer, he said the following: My G*d, guard my tongue from evil and my lips from speaking deceit. To those who curse me let my soul be silent and may my soul be like dust to all. Open my heart to Your Torah, and may my soul pursue your mitzvot. (BT Berakhot 17a)

Given the ethical message as well as the prominence of this prayer (included in our daily meditations after the Amidah), it’s a rare moment when some of the leadership in our community take a stand that causes some of the other leadership to feel the need to publicly distance themselves from it. But the decision, rash and ill-considered in my estimation, of some rabbis and the Jewish Federation (a social welfare organization that raises money to support Jews locally and in Israel) in Portland to attack the Oregon Food Bank for its call for a ceasefire in the Israel-Hamas war, has brought the moment to bear. Rash, because they did not stop to consider the position they put the rest of us in, nor check in with us as a courtesy; ill-considered, because in their attack they have characterized the OFB statement in ways that are not, in my estimation, consistent with the statement.

Oregon Public Broadcasting reported the words of the organizations that attacked the Food Bank, that the statement was “one sided” and would add to antisemitism. This is unfortunate, partly because for the great mass of non-Jews hearing the report, they will not notice that this is the stance of only some Jews. They will take away from this report that the Jews are against an organizations dedicated to alleviating hunger now. And so in their response to a situation that they feel is causing antisemitism, they are as likely to be guilty of that act.

Is this guarding the tongue from evil? More likely it is encouraging it; not only beyond the Jewish community, but among us, as leaders of other organizations, appalled at this conduct, are pressuring their leaders to publicly oppose it. Is this opening the heart to Torah? Not if Torah shows us, again this week, that we must be counted together or we do not count at all.

The Oregon Food Bank is not our enemy. The Oregon Food Bank would have nothing to say that could be construed as hostile to Jews if Israel was not in the indefensible process of destroying Gaza. The Oregon Food Bank, and others who have spoken up, are simply saying words we do not want to hear.

Is this the OFB’s business? As a member of Shir Tikvah noted to me, “it’s not as if hunger in the U.S. is not directly influenced by the amount of resources the U.S. puts into military spending.” Does a single hungry person in Oregon deserve less support because a Jew is upset about a political statement? Not in my opinion. Especially not when the statement is all too painfully true.

As long as Jews in the U.S. are linked to Israel, whether we like it or not, we would do best to recognize that association and all that it infers: we expect a certain standard of ethical behavior from each other, including the Jewish state. That does not include avoiding the question of self-determination for the Palestinian people until it, as every other dream deferred, explodes. And it does not include attacking others who, from their own carefully calibrated ethical stance, are doing their best to speak up for those who have no voice.

Shabbat BeHukotai: Justice, Not Vengeance

“Even though Trump wanted me executed even when it was proven that I was innocent, I’m not celebrating this verdict. We should be proud that today the system worked. But we should be somber that we Americans have an ex-president who has been found guilty on 34 separate felony charges.”

– Harlem City Councilman Yusef Salaam, one of the exonerated Central Park Five

This week we come to the end of the book VaYikra with the parashah named BeHukotai (note: the word is parashah by itself, and parashat only when it is immediately followed by a modifier. So: we read the parashah. Which parashah? This week it is parashat BeHukotai.)

The content of parashat BeHukotai is traditionally known for the hair-raising curses it lists in lurid detail. These tokhekhot, “reproofs”, can easily be misunderstood as a cheap form of threat: if you do not obey My rules, HaShem seems to be saying, I will hunt you down and torture you for generations in many creative ways.

I recently ran across a book called 1177 BC: The Year Civilization Collapsed, by Eric Cline, which chronicles a widespread decline of Mediterranean societies in the late Bronze Age. According to the scholarly consensus, the people of Israel emerge as a traceable entity just about or after that time, in the land of Canaan. In that context, the curses of our parashah are a simple list of what everybody knows happens when political upheaval and economic instability are exacerbated by pandemic and climate changes.

Cline’s point is that human civilization goes through cycles, and that the collapse of civilization can happen again, and so it is in our interest to understand why if we would forestall it in our own day.

Torah insists that we all must understand our part in society in terms of our own agency as a human community capable of justice. If we do not do justice, bad things will happen, and if we do not notice and act, it will get worse: If you will still not hearken to me then I will chastise you more… (Lev.26.18) The growing catastrophe is expressed in terms of what HaShem will do, yes; this the Torah’s way of expressing the inevitability of cause and unfortunate effect.

Our Torah’s approach, just as in the case of the catastrophic Flood that destroyed civilization, focuses on the ethics that lie underneath it all. Not in some simplistic way that seeks out the appropriate place for blame, but, going deeper, demands that we consider the interconnected way in which we are all part of what is happening.

The difference is vital, for if we do not understand our interconnectedness, blaming too easily gives way to vengeance. We look for someone other than ourselves to blame and to execute vengeance upon, and then – too easily – find ourselves faultless. And after all, HaShem says “vengeance is Mine” (Deut. 32.35), meaning not appropriately ours. Justice, the more difficult and higher good, is the necessarily condition for secure and stable society, for, as the prophet proclaims, only there does HaShem dwell:

כֹּ֚ה אָמַ֣ר ה’ שִׁמְר֥וּ מִשְׁפָּ֖ט וַעֲשׂ֣וּ צְדָקָ֑ה כִּֽי־קְרוֹבָ֤ה יְשֽׁוּעָתִי֙ לָב֔וֹא וְצִדְקָתִ֖י לְהִגָּלֽוֹת׃

HaShem says: Observe what is right and do what is just; for soon My salvation shall come, and my deliverance be revealed. (Isaiah 56.1)

HaShem dwells among us only when we are united: when we treat our neighbor as we wish to be treated, when we care for the vulnerable as we want to be cared for because they are a part of us. And, yes, when we regard the evil that others do not as theirs alone, but as a warning sign of what we would prefer not to realize is part of us, also.

Only justice will help us build the world we want to live in, and only continuing to believe in and to do justice on every little level of our lives will support us if ours turns out to be a small outpost in some looming chaos. We can’t control what happens to us, but we can, always, choose our response. We can always choose to rise above the emotions that tempt us to rejoice in our enemies’ downfall, and to seek vengeance. We can always seek out the continuing Presence we are capable of evoking.

וְאַף־גַּם־זֹ֠את בִּֽהְיוֹתָ֞ם בְּאֶ֣רֶץ אֹֽיְבֵיהֶ֗ם לֹֽא־מְאַסְתִּ֤ים וְלֹֽא־גְעַלְתִּים֙ לְכַלֹּתָ֔ם לְהָפֵ֥ר בְּרִיתִ֖י אִתָּ֑ם כִּ֛י אֲנִ֥י ה’ אֱלֹהֵיהֶֽם׃

Yet, even then, when they are in the land of their enemies, I will not reject them or spurn them so as to destroy them, annulling My covenant with them: for I ‘ה am their God. (Lev. 26.44)

Shabbat BeHar: Everything is Connected

מָה עִנְיַן שְׁמִטָּה אֵצֶל הַר סִינַי? – What does shemitta have to do with Mount Sinai? (Rashi ז“ל)

Suppose there is something going on in the universe which is to ordinary, everyday reality as our unconscious is to our daily lives? Softly, but unmistakably guiding it. Most of the time, we are unaware of it. Yet, every now and then, on account of some fluke, we are startled by the results of its presence. We realize we have been part of something with neither consciousness nor consent. It is so sweet and then it is gone. You say, But I don’t believe in HaShem…What makes you think it matters to HaShem? – Rabbi Lawrence Kushner, Invisible Lines of Connection

The first two verses of parashat BeHar, are:

וַיְדַבֵּ֤ר יְהֹוָה֙ אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֔ה בְּהַ֥ר סִינַ֖י לֵאמֹֽר׃ דַּבֵּ֞ר אֶל־בְּנֵ֤י יִשְׂרָאֵל֙ וְאָמַרְתָּ֣ אֲלֵהֶ֔ם כִּ֤י תָבֹ֙אוּ֙ אֶל־הָאָ֔רֶץ אֲשֶׁ֥ר אֲנִ֖י נֹתֵ֣ן לָכֶ֑ם וְשָׁבְתָ֣ה הָאָ֔רֶץ שַׁבָּ֖ת לַיהֹוָֽה׃

יהוה spoke to Moses on Mount Sinai: Speak to the Israelite people and say to them: When you enter the land that I assign to you, the land shall observe a sabbath of יהוה. ((Lev. 25.1-2)

What is this, out of nowhere, mention of Sinai? We haven’t seen a mention of the place of Revelation for many a week’s Torah reading. And, as Rashi ז“ל asks, why now, of all times?

This famous comment by the most famous of Torah commentators has become in our tradition the Jewish equivalent comment of “what does that have to do with the price of tea in China?” That is to say, as Rashi asks, what does shemitta, the topic immediately following the opening verse, have to do with Mt Sinai, mentioned in that first verse. What can one remotely have to do with the other?

This kind of encountering the Creation is rooted in the idea that everything can be sorted out. Our lives are full of categories: animal, vegetable, mineral; kosher, vegan, omnivore; thinking, feeling, sensing. Many of us are caught up in serious and anxiety-provoking questions of identity and practice. We are supposed to define ourselves as this and not that, with or against, clearly separating and delineating the categories of our lives, and where we belong among them.

But that’s actually not possible, because we exist across categories. Everything does.

Whether or not we’ve noticed it, the forty-nine day ‘Omer counting period we’re engaged in since the first day of Pesakh offers us an interesting chance to experience the reality of our interconnectedness. As we contemplate each day of the ‘Omer, we are invited to consider our existence as a myriad of different yet interconnected characteristics of being: emotions of judgement and mercy; intellectual understanding, physical endurance, and more.

The idea is simple: you are a complicated being. You are more than one thing at a time (an expert in some things and a novice at others, for example) and you must sometimes bear the burden of inner conflict as a result. The mystical practice of counting the ‘omer invites us to recognize our conflicts and consider how we can turn them into an awareness of our essential ability to connect even when we seem very distant. It does this using a chart of the various attributes of our existence, and tracing their interconnectedness, day by day. You can see one version of the chart here: Sefirot.

Today, for example, is the thirty-first day of the ‘Omer. On this day we are to contemplate the interface in our lives of the qualities (among many others) of tiferet and hod. Tiferet is variously understood to mean compassion, harmony, and beauty. Hod is translated as splendor, also prophecy (maybe because hod is so often used to describe the Divine Presence), and may be understood as a short form of the word for thankfulness, as well.

How can you apply these concepts to your life in this moment, on this day? Gratitude for beauty where it may be found? Compassion in the face of dire prophecy? So many mixes might seem relevant. And at the end of these few moments of contemplation, you might find your sense of being in this world on this day is expanded, just a bit. Add to that a deep breath, and you might be a little more ready for what Shabbat invites you into: a time out of time, where you can be reminded by our parashah that everything relates to everything else, no matter how strange that may seem to our limited vision.

Shabbat Emir: Torah and Disability

What does it mean to “be without blemish?”

בְּשָׁעָה שֶׁיָּצְאוּ יִשְׂרָאֵל מִמִּצְרַיִם הָיוּ כָּל רֻבָּן בַּעֲלֵי מוּמִין, לָמָּה מִפְּנֵי שֶׁהָיוּ יְגֵעִים בַּטִּיט וּבַלְּבֵנִים וְעוֹלִים לְרֹאשׁ הַבִּנְיָן וּמִי שֶׁהוּא בּוֹנֶה עַל יְדֵי שֶׁהָיוּ עוֹלִין לְרָאשֵׁי הַדָּמוֹסִין, אוֹ הָאֶבֶן נוֹפֶלֶת וְקוֹטַעַת יָדוֹ, אוֹ הַקּוֹרָה אוֹ הַטִּיט נִכְנָס בְּעֵינָיו וְהוּא נִסְמָא. וְהָיוּ בַּעֲלֵי מוּמִין.

When the Israelites left Egypt, all were blemished, because they labored with clay and bricks and ascended to the top of the building. And whoever was a builder would ascend on ladders made of those bricks. Either a stone would fall and cut his hand, or a beam or a piece of clay would enter his eye and blind him. They were all blemished. (BaMidbar Rabbah 7.1)

This week in our Triennial Cycle minhag (“custom”) of Torah study, we begin the parashat hashavua here:

אִ֣ישׁ אִישׁ֩ מִבֵּ֨ית יִשְׂרָאֵ֜ל וּמִן־הַגֵּ֣ר בְּיִשְׂרָאֵ֗ל אֲשֶׁ֨ר יַקְרִ֤יב קׇרְבָּנוֹ֙ לְכׇל־נִדְרֵיהֶם֙ וּלְכׇל־נִדְבוֹתָ֔ם אֲשֶׁר־יַקְרִ֥יבוּ לה’ לְעֹלָֽה לִֽרְצֹנְכֶ֑ם תָּמִ֣ים זָכָ֔ר בַּבָּקָ֕ר בַּכְּשָׂבִ֖ים וּבָֽעִזִּֽים

When any person of the house of Israel or of the strangers in Israel presents a burnt offering as the offering for any vow or any freewill offering that they offer to ‘ה, it must, to be acceptable in your favor, be a zakhar tamim [“a male without blemish”], from cattle or sheep or goats (Lev. 22.18-19)

Earlier in the parashah, Levites with blemishes are similarly (not identically, however) disqualified from serving as priests. What can we moderns do when confronted with this teaching, other than disavow it as out of touch with our understanding of the equal worth of all human beings?

In our Torah-centered community, for example, we are dedicated to the mitzvah of equal access for all who seek to learn Torah. In order to actualize that goal, we’ve made attending Torah study free of charge, and we’ve made sure that all our community gatherings are on the first floor of the Eastside Jewish Commons. We use microphones to amplify voices and provide a link for those who access best by screen.

What can we learn from this Torah? First, we must remember the basic tenet that every word of Torah is capable of teaching us – sometimes we just can’t see it right away. If our human instinct is to refuse to leave anyone out who wishes to participate, then we must also extend that expectation to the words of Torah themselves: if we reject the idea of blemished people being unable to serve, then let us begin to examine this disturbing Torah from the perspective that no word of Torah is so blemished that it cannot be offered in the sacred service of Torah learning.

What might be the deeper understandings, beyond the surface peshat, of this idea that each of us who wishes to come close to HaShem must be zakhar tamim?

Zakhar: this word is translated both as “male” and as “memory.” Were men expected to be storytellers, preserving the identity of the community through transmitting its history? Or are the two words merely homonyms, spelled the same but entirely different in meaning? If you know my teachings at all you’ve heard me suggest that what is required of us is not to bring all our males before HaShem in order to be acceptable, but to bring our memory, our history, our tradition, with us when we encounter HaShem.

Tamim: I noted that the comparison to sacrifices is not exact. The word tamim does not apply to the priests as it does to the animals. So: Torah does not expect that we sacrifice ourselves to HaShem; it uses the word tamim to mean something else when applied to human beings. If we compare to other usages in Torah, we see this:

אֵ֚לֶּה תּוֹלְדֹ֣ת נֹ֔חַ נֹ֗חַ אִ֥ישׁ צַדִּ֛יק תָּמִ֥ים הָיָ֖ה בְּדֹֽרֹתָ֑יו אֶת־הָֽאֱלֹהִ֖ים הִֽתְהַלֶּךְ־נֹֽחַ׃

This is the line of Noah.—Noah was a righteous man; he was blameless in his age; Noah walked with HaShem (Gen. 6.9)

וַיְהִ֣י אַבְרָ֔ם בֶּן־תִּשְׁעִ֥ים שָׁנָ֖ה וְתֵ֣שַׁע שָׁנִ֑ים וַיֵּרָ֨א יְהוָ֜ה אֶל־אַבְרָ֗ם וַיֹּ֤אמֶר אֵלָיו֙ אֲנִי־אֵ֣ל שַׁדַּ֔י הִתְהַלֵּ֥ךְ לְפָנַ֖י וֶהְיֵ֥ה תָמִֽים׃

When Abram was ninety-nine years old, ‘ה appeared to Abram and said to him, “I am El Shaddai. Walk in My ways and be blameless (Gen. 17.1)

תָּמִ֣ים תִּֽהְיֶ֔ה עִ֖ם ה’ אֱלֹהֶֽיךָ

You must be wholehearted with your God ‘ה (Deut. 18.13)

As the sages point out, Noah, described as “blameless in his age” was certainly not perfect – his age was so wicked that it brought about the destruction of the world. Abram is similarly a human being, and not perfect – even if we hold him up as our exemplar, the final use of the term makes it clear: we, all of us imperfect beings, are all to be tamim with HaShem, which in context here means loyal to HaShem only. To be “whole- hearted” is to be spiritually whole.

It is worth considering that among the deeper meanings of this teaching is this: that just as in the case of tzara’at, a visible blemish is an opportunity to learn by way of symbolism. Tamim in this way of understanding refers to spiritual wholeness, complete trust, and that rarest of modern qualities, a personal sense of integrity.

If we are to approach HaShem, then, the Torah may be hinting to us, we need to be zakhar tamim, fully aware of our place and responsibility within the vast Memory of our people, and in possession of a personal sense of peace and wholeness within us.

May our kehillah kedoshah always do all we can to make that wholeness and that belonging as accessible as we can possibly can for each other, so that we can fulfill the mitzvah of standing before HaShem as we are meant to: together, aware, and whole.

Shabbat Akharei Mot: When Memory Comes

After Pesakh, we return to the regular scheduled readings of the parashat hashavua. This week the parashah is Akharei Mot, in which we are confronted with a difficult narrative that recounts the violent accidental deaths of two young priests on their first day on the job.

וַיִּקְח֣וּ בְנֵֽי־אַ֠הֲרֹ֠ן נָדָ֨ב וַאֲבִיה֜וּא אִ֣ישׁ מַחְתָּת֗וֹ וַיִּתְּנ֤וּ בָהֵן֙ אֵ֔שׁ וַיָּשִׂ֥ימוּ עָלֶ֖יהָ קְטֹ֑רֶת וַיַּקְרִ֜יבוּ לִפְנֵ֤י ה אֵ֣שׁ זָרָ֔ה אֲשֶׁ֧ר לֹ֦א צִוָּ֖ה אֹתָֽם׃ וַתֵּ֥צֵא אֵ֛שׁ מִלִּפְנֵ֥י יְהֹוָ֖ה וַתֹּ֣אכַל אוֹתָ֑ם וַיָּמֻ֖תוּ לִפְנֵ֥י ה׃

Aaron’s sons Nadab and Abihu each took his fire pan, put fire in it, and laid incense, on it; and they offered before HaShem alien fire, which had not been enjoined upon them; and fire came forth from יהוה and consumed them; thus they died at the instance of HaShem.

There’s a poignant linkage between those two young men and all young adults, equipped as they are with all the trappings of adulthood but without yet fully functioning frontal lobes of the brain. They can be well intentioned yet ungainly in carrying out their aims as a baby calf, and the awkwardness, alas, can be deadly.

The violence on college campuses across the U.S. is caused by this conflict between the uncompromising morality of youth and the inability to see “what is being born” as a result of ill-considered actions. Without real organizing skills, hampered by a participation trophy society that has convinced them that their every feeling and action should be judged equal with all others, their good intentions go badly awry.

And Jews are the ones caught in the middle, as we often are during periods of social unrest. Unlike other marginalized communities, we are never the cool kids; there will never be a Movement for Jewish Lives joined by non-Jews everywhere in the cause of justice.

This month of Iyar on our Jewish calendar brings us the observance of two anniversaries to invite our comprehension of the morning news onto a higher level. On Sunday evening and Monday May 5 and 6 we observe Yom HaShoah v’HaGevurah, the day of remembering Holocaust and Heroism, timed to commemorate the Warsaw Ghetto uprising. Our people were starving and hopeless and yet rose up with all their remaining strength against the Nazis, and managed to hold them off for longer than the armies of Poland or France had been able to resist invasion. We remember their heroism, and, as well, we pause to remember all those who died in the years of that terrible evil.

Only a week later, we will commemorate the 76th anniversary of the founding of the modern State of Israel. It is often said that the modern State is like the phoenix that rose from the flames, but that is a Eurocentric narrative that discounts much. I will offer you more on that in next week’s email.

It is not madness for Jews, as traumatized as we have been as a community for so long, to fear the rising antisemitism in the U.S. It is, however, unwise and wrong to fault students for protesting moral evil such as that demonstrated by the current government of the State of Israel. Yes, their protests are hijacked by right wing elements. Yes, they give state power an excuse to lash out. But there is no stance more solidly Jewish than protesting injustice.

Follow the lead of Israelis who seek peace, not U.S. Jews flailing about in the world of secondary information. As Jews who care about justice, we must balance an awareness of the moral sins of the state of Israel as honestly as our ancient prophets did, yet also hold close the truth that because of antisemitism our ancestral homeland and our people will always attract far more than its share of attention and criticism.

May is Jewish Heritage Month. It couldn’t come at a better time, reminding us as it does of a greater perspective than the all-consuming daily news. Jews have a vibrant and welcoming culture: bagels! circle dances! and the Bible, source of the ethics of those passionate young people, whether they credit it or not:

צֶ֥דֶק צֶ֖דֶק תִּרְדֹּ֑ף לְמַ֤עַן תִּֽחְיֶה֙ וְיָרַשְׁתָּ֣ אֶת־הָאָ֔רֶץ אֲשֶׁר־יְהֹוָ֥ה אֱלֹהֶ֖יךָ נֹתֵ֥ן לָֽךְ׃

“Justice, justice shall you pursue, that you may live and thrive.” (Deut. 16.18)

This week, we make room for remembering and for mourning. Next week we will carry on seeking to build the better world we envision. That is Jewish culture; that is Jewish life.

Shabbat Shalom