Our friends, Dick and his wife are classical secular Jews. They do not attend synagogue regularly and do not follow the traditional rituals that so many of us do. As an example, his wife told Nancy about a particular restaurant with delicious pork chops. Well, Dick told me over dinner last week that he tries to do good deeds so that he will be rewarded after he dies. Maybe, if he’s extra good, he’ll even get to see his long-deceased parents again. “How about you, Joel,” he asked? “You go to synagogue a lot. Don’t you hope to see your parents or George again after you die?”

He was surprised when I told him that I had no expectation of being rewarded in any way for whatever good I might do while I am alive. To do good deeds in the hopes of being rewarded, in fact, isn’t being good in the Jewish sense, I told him. In that situation, it’s purely transactional; that is, If I’m good, I’ll be rewarded. There’s nothing either good or Jewish about that inducement. “Well,” he persisted, “Rewards are what the Torah says, right?” Indeed, he is right. In a number of places, the Torah teaches that obeying  the commandments leads to all sorts of good things.

(I am always a bit uneasy during conversations like this, and I envied Nancy at that point, who was happily exchanging photos of our respective grandchildren with Dick’s wife. A much easier conversation.)

Well, should we revere Gd and keep Gd’s commandments, so that good things would be our reward? My interpretation of the Torah is that just as we implore toddlers to do certain things for tangible rewards, that’s the context in which the Torah promises rewards to the Israelites for observing the commandments. Given that the Israelites were at that point as a people – in their “toddlerhood” as it were – maybe that’s how they had to be taught.

But surely we have moved beyond that. I asked Dick, “Do really believe that?” Were all the observant Jews killed through the ages just for being Jewish – were they all intractable sinners? Was the early death of my father and my son explainable in religious terms? Punishment? An ultimate reward to come? Please.  Well, if I don’t believe in Divine punishment or reward – why, indeed, am I here in shul today? What separates me from a simple secular humanist? There would certainly be nothing wrong with that.

To my way of thinking, Gemilut Hasadim, acts of loving kindness that go beyond simple ritual, and that help repair the world are, almost by my definition, acts that are not done for tangible reward. For these, we know from our own personal experiences that goodness must be its own reward. Indeed, we are taught that the reward for doing a mitzvah is the opportunity to do another mitzvah. But what about the rituals – acts – that don’t help others in an immediate way?

Well, Dick challenged me pretty good. He pointed out that the very next day, I would be in shul, with a tallit and a kippah, and would be reciting prayers. Why? Well, good grief – why, indeed?

And beyond this tallit and kippah, there is a photo that Nancy snapped of me earlier this summer in Israel, on a bus in the early morning. Because our synagogue group left so early that day, morning Shakharit would be recited while we were in transit. The photo shows me seated on the bus, praying, while wearing my grandfather’s tefillin. You may remember the story of the tefillin. It was given to my grandfather in the 1890s! Why was I wearing it? And given that I don’t believe in petitional prayer – hoping to receive a positive answer from Gd for specific requests, why was I praying at all? Dick’s question brought new doubt to my mind (actually, renewed doubt. I go through this every now and then).

Rabbi Neil Gillman wrote about ritual in his classic book, Sacred Fragments. He discusses how rituals remind us of the ideals of our peoplehood and bind us together. They bind us also from one generation to the next, providing a context through which other acts follow. Think about the rituals of lighting the Shabbat candles and blessing our children, the tradition this represents, and our tranquil and happy mindset afterwards.

Consider how we might become a bit emotional when we remember the rituals performed by family members of generations past. I know that when I wear those tefillin and feel them pressing on my chest, I feel a sense of connection. This was what my grandfather felt more than a century ago. That sense of connection is unique and could not come about in any other way.

It could take an entire talk by itself, but in social psychology, it is well understood that what you habitually do, you will ultimately feel and become. So ritual observance can create feelings. We therefore must allow our system of mitzvot and ritual create in us caring, grateful, rooted people who help the world become a better place. Will there be a specific tangible Divine reward for doing good deeds? Who knows? I certainly don’t.

The three cornerstones of my beliefs are: belief in a creator, the miracle – the true miracle – of Jewish survival, and the fundamental truths and teachings of Judaism that have endured and have been incorporated by other peoples throughout history. All three of these foundational pieces mandate – mandate –  that I – we – have a purpose, and that purpose begins with helping make the world better by making ourselves better in how we interact with people and how we respond to Gd’s commandments.

We have clung to our individual and collective roles with persistence for centuries. There’s more to Judaism than secular humanism. Our vision has been an example – a template – used by others.

And in fact, when we live our lives with a sense of purpose, direction, and the  proper treatment of others, more often than not, we will find that we are rewarded – not, perhaps in the ways that the Torah explicitly promises – we’re not toddlers any longer – and maybe not in the sense that my friend Dick hopes, but rather in a very profound sense: with feelings of satisfaction, inner peace, and pleasant relationships with others. The rituals, then, connect me – horizontally to others, and vertically, through time.

I identify with what Rabbi Jonathan Sacks wrote about in his book, “A Letter in the Scroll.” I am just a single letter in the words that are our community. Our community is just a sentence in the chapter about today’s Jewish people. And this chapter is part of the book of the history of the Jewish people.

But just as in the writing of our most sacred book, the Torah, if even a single letter of the book is missing or misshapen, it must be corrected, or the Torah is considered treif. My letter as part of the book of the Jewish people must not be missing. And it must not be misshapen.

I conclude with a paragraph from Rabbi Sacks’s book, which I read on Passover, at our sedars. “I am a Jew because, knowing the story of my people, I hear their call to write the next chapter. I, and my people, have a past, and this past commands me. I am a Jew because only if I remain a Jew will the story of a hundred generations live on in me. I continue their journey because, having come this far, I may not let it and them fail. I cannot be the missing letter in the scroll.

I can give no simpler answer, nor do I know a more powerful one.”

Shabbat Shalom!

A few weeks ago, Nancy and I were in Israel. A truly fabulous trip! One day, our group went to the Kotel – the Western Wall of the old temple. As you may recall, several years ago, there was a big brouhaha. Women, it seemed, were demanding to be able to pray there. Imagine such a horror – women actually wanted to pray in a similar fashion as men! Well, there was quite an uproar, but the Women of the Wall, as the organizing group was called, wouldn’t quit.

Protests continued, and of all things, a compromise was reached following a ruling by the Israeli Supreme Court. Today, women have their own special section – right next to the men’s section – where they can pray. And beside that is an egalitarian section, where, while still incomplete as far as its exact boundaries, women and men can actually pray together. Gasp!.

Well, you all know what happened after that? Absolutely nothing! The Wall didn’t come tumbling down. The offending women (and men) were not struck with leprosy. And aside from some die-hard men who continue to rail against these sinful creatures  (They’re not called Jews by these die-hards. They’re actually called Nazis! by these stupid people) things are pretty much mostly quiet on the Western Wall front.

I wonder if these so-called religious people still stone their children to death for disobedience, as the Torah calls for. Oh, that commandment was never meant to be taken literally? I see. So they’re already interpreting the words of the Torah!

In today’s parashah we read about the daughters of Tzelophehad – Mahlah, Noa, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tizrah. They sound like sisters, don’t they? Their father died with no male heirs, and the land is thus to be divided among other clans. The daughters make the case to Moses that the land should stay in their own clan, even though this would break with precedent and it would mean that women (women!!) would inherit (inherit!!) the land.

The daughters speak about the good qualities of women – they mention the men’s sex orgies. They also mention that it was the men who always complain about the lack of bread and water, and how it was the men who lacked faith in the Israelites’ ability to conquer the land. Why, some men even refuse to pray with women!

Moses takes the case directly to Gd. “OK ladies. You’ve made your point. Please wait out here while I think this over.” He closes the door. He summons the help of Gd. “Master of the Universe. What should we do?” “You know, Moshe, they have made a good point. Several of them, in fact. Let’s change the law! Let’s not be too obstinate here. Some of my original laws may need some revision. That’s OK. We’re wiser now than we used to be. Even I.” 

“You are changing you mind, O Holy One?”

“Well . . . . yes! I must admit – times have changed, not all circumstances can be foreseen, and so we must be willing to take note of current circumstances and occasionally make some changes. All of us.”

 So here, stuck in the middle of this parashah, with no apparent connection to what comes before or what comes after, comprising fewer than a dozen verses, is this mini drama, in which a profound lesson is taught. This then became our earliest recorded revision of Biblical law, owing to an overriding moral imperative. This is a great example of how our laws, while reverent, are responsive and can sometimes be modified without fundamentally altering the basic character of what it means to be a Jew.

Personal and collective growth is good. Inclusion is good.

This is a great example of how our laws are reverent, yet responsive. In fact, later, in Deuteronomy, Chapter 17, Gd tells Moses that when there is a legal dispute, he should  seek the counsel of judges who will decide on the law . . . in their time! This implies to me that the law must be responsive to the realities of the day – the very hallmark of Conservative Judaism.

I would also suggest to you that the way the law was changed as a result of the persuasion and the arguments put forth by the daughters of Tzelophehad changed the way the Children of Israel thought about women. The message, alas, hasn’t reached all corners of Jewish, and especially Israeli, society. But it’s reached us!

At my dear mother’s funeral in 2002, I read part of a letter to her from the corporate offices of Walgreen’s. “Dear Mrs. Tobias (She had remarried for a time, several years after my father died), Thank you for your note to us about Ernie Gibson.” Ernie Gibson was the pharmacist at the Walgreens on Northwest Highway. He had been kind to my mother in the course of business, and she followed that up with a letter to Walgreens’ corporate office. Who does that? Individual acts of kindness, apparently from both Ernie Gibson and from my mother.

And as another example, I still recall when, as a lowly college student who was a waiter in the Blue Hill Country club outside Boston, members Henry Stone and George Snyder took a moment now and then as I waited on their tables during the members’ dinners to ask me about my studies. Gratuitous shows of kindness. How special did that make me feel at the time? More than 50 years later, I still remember their names. I don’t remember the names of hardly any other members. A little bit of kindness can go a long way.

The title of today’s parashah is Naso, meaning to count. I’ve read, though, that the word actually means, “to lift up.” So why in the parashah are we lifting the heads, as it were, instead of simply counting? In the parashah, we read of how the leaders of 12 clans, in the final preparation for the sanctuary, each brought identical gifts. But unusually (to me at least), each of the chiefs of the 12 clans is named individually in the Torah. And even though they all brought identical gifts, each offering is named – one silver bowl weighing 130 shekels and one silver basin of 70 shekels by the sanctuary weight, both filled with choice flour with oil mixed in, for a grain offering. It’s similar to, instead of simply thanking those who contributed to the service, Becca takes the time and effort to mention each name individually.

A total of 75 verses are spent in this way – an extraordinary amount of verbiage! The entire section describing the Ten Commandments takes only 14 verses, and the entire adventure of the crossing of the sea 31 verses. Why on earth does this section deserve so many verses by itself? What is the lesson here?

In the ancient world, what seemed to matter most was numbers, size and strength. Monuments, pyramids, the masses. In Judaism, we are taught exactly the opposite. the individual is of supreme importance because we each carry a spark of the Divine within us. In the 147th Psalm, we read, “And Gd reckoned the number of stars; to each Gd gave it a name.”  What we value we name. Gd gave even the stars unique names. When we are called by the Still, Small voice of Elijah, we are to answer, hineni, Here I am. Gd then meets us, one on one. Our significance cannot be measured by merely a census, a counting of numbers.

In today’s parashah, and every day, Gd not only counts us, but lifts our head. To me, this is an acknowledgement that we’re all the children of Gd, and so each of us is of infinite worth. A hassidic story tells of how we should each carry two messages at the same time. One is that we are but dust and ashes; the other is that it is for us that the world was created. We’re important. Infinitely important, at that.

Although I don’t recall the exact circumstances – I must have been very young, because my father died when I was only eight, I do recall him repeating the sign-off slogan of a local TV meteorologist. 1950s. Boston. Remember, he would tell me as a small child, it’s nice to be important, but it’s more important to be nice. We are as important as we make other people feel. And that can be very important, indeed!

Today’s parashah, Kedoshim, is chock full of rules, and they fall into various categories. One category is called called chukim. These are commandments that seem to make little sense. An example prohibits us from mixing linen and wool in our clothing. Why is this sinful? Gd says it’s so, and so it is. Oh, various explanations have been given for this one. And OK, we can contrive an explanation, but some commandments in the Torah  are regarded as holy simply because Gd says so. And for many Jews, of course, that’s perfectly good enough. For the purposes of today’s d’var, I’m going to leave those aside.

In addition to the Chukim, some commandments relate to the social order and how we relate to the world at large, including, among other things, the admonition not to withhold wages and not to use false weights and measures in business. We are commanded to  leave part of our harvest for the poor. Others that we read about today involve interpersonal relations such as not to gossip, hate, take revenge, or bear a grudge.

So today I’m going to discuss commandments relating to our relationship with the world at large and the world within ourselves.

In Lev. 19:34, we read, “The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens. You shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt. I am the Lord your Gd.”

Love him as yourself? What’s love got to do with it?

In my view, the word love in this sense means an unconditional  commitment. The opposite of love when used here is apathy. So we must love others in the sense that we have a commitment to doing what we can to assure the stranger the basics of life – food, shelter and justice.

This is different from the Golden Rule, “Do unto others. . . “ you know that one. That one is transactional. We treat others well or at least refrain from treating them in a hateful way, so they will treat us in the same way. There’s no unconditional commitment  involved there. Those – that Golden Rule stuff – those are the basic ground rules for life within a group.

This talk about the stranger, though, is different. Judaism was the first civilization to put love – an unconditional commitment – at the heart of morality. And try as I might, I can’t separate the verses about the stranger from what we will read later, in Deut. 19:1-13. In those verses, we are told to set aside cities for those whose innocent blood would otherwise be shed. So-called sanctuary cities. Nor can I separate these passages from the crisis in the Ukraine, given all the refugees streaming out of that country in desperation. 

I prepared this D’var at the time I had finished reading this book, “Lest Innocent Blood be Shed.” I read the book in preparing for my tour tomorrow at the Holocaust Museum. The title is a direct quote from those Deuteronomy verses. It’s about a Protestant Hugenot pastor in WWII, Andre Trocmé. He lived under the Nazi collaborators in Vichi France. He and his entire village saved several thousand Jews, who drifted to the south of France, trying to stay ahead of the advancing Nazi army that had invaded France and was hunting Jews without mercy.  He encouraged his parishioners to protect those in need, although it would have certainly led to severe punishment if they were caught.

Pastor Trocmé said that he did not see a Jew at his door. He saw a fellow human in need of being saved from great danger. He didn’t love those strangers as the word love is generally used, but he felt a strong commitment to them as fellow humans.

And more. He told his followers that in the Book of Luke (New Testament, of course), the Good Samaritan, those who helped others in need, embodied the teaching that, “You shall love the Lord your Gd with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your might.”

Sound familiar? Directly form Deuteronomy and recited as part of the Shema – the prayer that is the watchword of our people. So in other words, in Pastor Trocmé’s view, loving Gd with all our heart, soul and might meant – meant – that we were to love the stranger. To have an unconditional commitment to their safety and well being. In other words, to be holy.

And so while we’re all familiar with the Golden Rule, and adhere to it as best we can, we are commanded in Kedoshim to do even more. Beyond refraining from hateful behavior, we’re commanded to commit to the stranger’s safety and justice. And in these times of great need for those from the Ukraine and elsewhere, today’s parashah and Pastor Trocmé teach us – command us – to do more.

So. Has the New Testament ever been cited in one of our D’vars?

OK. Now – looking inward for my other example. Another commandment that I would like to comment on. In Kedoshim, Leviticus, 19:18, we are told, “You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your countrymen. Love your fellow as yourself. I am the Lord.”

We are instructed in today’s parashah not to bear a grudge. And there’s that word love again. Another example of holiness. So important and so often ignored. Don’t bear a grudge or take vengeance.

I once read of an American Indian story about a boy who came to his grandfather, angry with a friend who had done him an injustice. His grandfather told him that feelings of anger would only wear him down, but would not in any way hurt the offending party. It’s like taking poison and wishing your enemy would die.

The boy didn’t quite understand until his grandfather said it was as if there were two wolves who lived inside him and fought each other for his soul. One wolf was vengeful and angry; the other was kind and forgiving. They constantly fought. The boy asked, “which one wins, grandfather?” The old man smiled and said, “The one I feed.”

Shabbat Shalom!

I should tell you – I wasn’t thrilled as I read through today’s parashah. The thoughts of giving a D’var on it weren’t happy ones. Setting the stage for what is to come in Leviticus, we read in the entire parashah about ritual sacrifice – the types and the specifics. Ugh!

Later in the Bible, and perhaps in response to all these rituals and sacrifices, Isaiah writes in Gd’s voice, “What need have I of all your sacrifices? I have no delight in lambs . . .Trample my courts no more! Bringing offerings is futile! Who asked that of you? Your New Moons and Sabbaths among assemblies with iniquity fill me with loathing.”

Rituals cause Gd loathing . . . Well, there goes that. Eighteen chapters of blood and animal parts must not be the main feature of our worship! Many of us would agree that too easily is religion – even ours – reduced to ritual and formula.

Abraham Joshua Heschel writes, “It is a distortion to reduce Judaism to a stream of ceremonies. No religious act is properly fulfilled unless it is done with a willing heart and a craving sole.” Prayer and worship must have some structure and form, but technically precise performance must not become its totality. Isaiah would surely agree and be proud. So where does that leave me for today’s D’var?

But wait! The title of today’s parashah – Vayikra – the very first word – has proven to be the quintessential grounds for arguments in the Torah and has been the basis for D’vrei Torah for generations. (Well, now, this is more like it!) Look at that first word of the parashah, Vayikra – a calling. Or at least that’s what it means when the aleph is put at the end of the word. But as you will notice in chumash when we begin today’s reading, the aleph at the end of the word is written in a much smaller font, almost as though it is either optional, or maybe to draw attention to what the word would mean without the aleph.

Without it, the word becomes vayikar, meaning to come upon, such as an encounter that happens by chance or perhaps a conclusion that a person might reach after a cold and detached analysis of a problem. To come upon and conclude, rather than being specifically directed to by an inner voice. Vayikar vs. vayikra.

Aha! Here is my theme! I pulled out my trusty Tanakh and recalled verses from Elijah that have repeatedly inspired me. “There was a great and mighty wind, but Gd was not in the wind. After the wind, an earthquake – but Gd was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake a fire. But Gd was not in the fire. And after the fire, a still, small voice. And the voice addressed him. “Why are you here, Elijah?”

Let’s keep that question and today’s Vayikra title in mind as we turn to our upcoming holiday of Purim. In the entire narrative, who is the missing character? Yes – Gd! There is not a single mention of Gd, let alone as the One who performs miracles and who, in this case, saves the Jews. When Haman’s plot and plan to kill all the Jews becomes public, Mordechai implores the newly-crowned Queen Esther for her help. He tells her that she will not be spared should all the Jews be killed. And he tells her that even is she doesn’t help, the Jews would be saved by other means.

And then, for me, the zinger. The one verse – Ch.5, V. 14 – that is imprinted in my mind and that stays with me all the time. “Perhaps,” begins Mordechai, “Perhaps you have attained your royal position for just such a crisis.” No mention of Gd.  But maybe this . . . is to be Esther’s Vayikra moment. Hear the call, Esther. Answer as Moses answered when he heard the calling. The Vayikra. Answer as Isaiah did when he, like Elijah, heard the Still, Small Voice asking, “Who shall I send? Who will go for us? Their answer was, “Hineni! Here I am. Send me.”

Psalm 26 encourages us to, “Test me, O Lord, and try me; test my heart and my mind, for I have set my course by you.”

Some years ago, before going into an exam room to see Mr. Thomas, I glanced at my personal notes in the electronic record, and was reminded that he occasionally served as a Christian missionary. He was seated on the exam table, his wife on the chair beside the table. After I reviewed his medical history with him, I examined him, and, during the course of our subsequent discussion, I asked him if he had been on any missions of late. He responded that he hadn’t been on any recent missions – Gd hadn’t directed him to do so in some time. “Oh really?” I asked. “Maybe you just haven’t been listening.”

May we all continually listen for the Still, Small Voice, the Vayikra, telling us what must be done, and may we all have the inner strength to answer, “Hineni! Here I am.”

Shabbat Shalom

Purim Sameach

Some time back, I listened to an episode of a podcast called, “Freakonomics,” in which economic ideas are presented and discussed in an entertaining way. In this episode, Dan Ariely, a behavioral economist, discussed the IKEA effect. IKEA, that is, the store. What researchers found was that if an individual creates something, they value it monetarily a lot more than if someone else had created that same object. Thus the name, IKEA, a company from which consumers buy the raw materials but essentially construct a piece of furniture for themselves.

The IKEA effect is as old as the Bible. In Psalm 128, we read, “When you eat the fruit of the labor of your hands, you will be happy, and it will go well with you.” (I didn’t dig that one up myself – I saw it in a writing from Rabbi Sacks.) Anyway, Ariely’s conclusion was that the effort we put into something doesn’t only change the object, it changes us, and the way we view that object. We value what we create.

In today’s parashah, we read of Gd’s instructions to the Israelites to build a sanctuary. And in one of the iconic verses in the entire Torah, the reason Gd gives to Moses was, “So that I may dwell among them.” Not necessarily in the sanctuary mind you, but among those who built it. Does Gd need the space? Of course not. But the Israelites needed the space. And as we will see in the episode of the Golden Calf, they were not yet mature enough to feel Gd’s presence. A sanctuary – a holy space – was what they needed to enable them to do just that.

The name of the parashah, Terumah, means gifts, or contributions. For those who contributed to the sanctuary, their gift was in the giving. It wasn’t the quality of the jewels on the breastplate, or the quality of the wood or the drapes. It was the fact that it was built out of the gifts of “Every person whose heart so moves them.” (25:2)

The parashah is a lesson, perhaps on how giving changes the giver. It struck me in reading this that perhaps one of the reasons why there was so much detail in the instructions wasn’t so that the tabernacle could be ornate. Rather, it was so that there would be something for every Israelite who wished to contribute, to be able to. The more people who had a part in the tabernacle’s construction, the more people would be invested, having had a stake in the enterprise.

So the question them becomes, how do we feel the holy presence – here in this room or, perhaps more importantly, once we leave the sanctuary.

Last week was the first session this semester for an online ESL class that I teach. The teachers were asked to show an object of special meaning to them to the other teachers. I showed the other teachers my grandfather’s citizenship paper from 1900. He went to school nights to learn English, having gotten off the boat from Kiev as a teenager, not speaking a word of English. Can you imagine what he would have thought if he had been told that he would have a grandson, who he would never meet, and who was now helping immigrants learn English, 120 years after he arrived, and who dedicated his class to him?

It struck me in preparing this D’var that here is the nexus between the two closely related themes of the parashah. As those who built the tabernacle in the desert must have learned, where and when people give of themselves, that’s where the holy presence resides. Giving of themselves to build the tabernacle, as giving of ourselves to any worthwhile cause creates a space for Gd to enter . . . and to dwell.

So Gd doesn’t dwell, or live, if I may use such a term, in this room – the room that houses Kehillat Chaverim; Gd lives in the builders and in the worshipers. Indeed, this could actually be a D’var about us and our kehillah. Back in 2013 we were a bit adrift for a short time, not knowing exactly what to do. Beit Aryeh was to terminate Shabbat morning services, and while we certainly could have continued attending services at Shearith Israel on Shabbat mornings, it would have been a long and unacceptable commute for some.

So with the generous offer from Guy and Becca, we essentially created this shul – Kehillat Chaverim. By building something together, we were transformed. We created space for Gd to dwell among us. As the desert-dwelling Israelites complained about the lack of water, macaroni and great living conditions, we could have similarly complained about our situation. But what we did instead was transformative. So it wasn’t what Gd did for us that made the difference, it was what we did for ourselves. . . and for Gd.

By combining two tropes of the parashah, we are taught a lesson for the ages. Creating a space for the Divine, giving of ourselves in creating that space and in other things we do in life . . . this is exactly where Gd wants us to be and what Gd wants us to be doing.

Summer of 1940. Winston Churchill (paraphrasing):

 “What General Weygand has called the Battle of France is over … (France was lost to the Germans) the Battle of Britain is about to begin. Upon this battle depends the survival of our civilization. Upon it depends our British life, and the long continuity of our institutions . . . The whole fury and might of the enemy will very soon be turned on us.

Hitler knows that he will have to break us or risk losing the war. If we can stand up to him, all Europe may be freed and the life of the world may move forward . . . But if we fail, then the whole world . . . will sink into the abyss of a new Dark Age. . . Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and bear ourselves, so that if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, (people) will still say, ‘This was their finest hour.’”

Churchill tried to inspire the British people by telling them to think about how their story would be remembered in future generations.

In today’s parashah, we read that just before their release to freedom, after over 200 years spent in exile, their enslavement, many of their male children killed, and after signs and wonders and plagues, the Children of Israel are about to go free. Moses is about to give them their marching orders. He addresses the people. What does he talk about? The battles that lay ahead? the hardship of a journey through the desert? The challenges of staying together as a people? Keeping their faith in Gd?

None of it! Moses talks about the distant future.  He asks them to envision themselves in their own land and of the chores of building the society they will have to build and the responsibilities of freedom. Of education and the duty of parents to their children. Tell your children, he repeats. Reenact the story of slavery and freedom, he tells hem. Make it yours.

Keep the story personal. Tell your children, “This is what happened to me.” You can almost hear him say, “My fellow Israelites, let us act in such a way that even if the story of the Jewish People lasts thousands of years, it will be said that this was their finest hour.”

Well, things got a bit messy in the desert. The Golden Calf, the Moabite women, you know the events. But 40 years is a long time to spend in a desert, so let’s cut them some slack.

I believe that Moses’s message was that freedom is the work of all of us in the Hebrew nation. We need our own specific identity; we need memory and the stories to encode it. We want our people to have a powerful link between generations, he might have said. And so it is for each of us now: stories of those who came before us, and hopefully, stories that will be told by those who will follow us.

We are truly blessed to have a story that then became ours – the story we tell ourselves about ourselves. And in the case of our enslavement and subsequent liberation, there is lots to be proud of. It is fascinating that we as a people not only tell of our enslavement as part of our people’s history, but are actually proud of it and relive it each year. Does any other people talk of their enslavement with pride? For we Jews this is who we were. And the question then becomes, what will we as a people now make of that history? What will we as individuals do as a result?

So to be specific: who, exactly, are we? And why are we here? How then shall we live? There are many possible answers. The Jewish ones? Easy. We are a member of a people who Gd rescued from slavery to freedom. We are here to help build a society that honors the freedom of others, not just our own. We must remember that freedom is a gift of Gd, and so we honor Gd by keeping Gd’s covenant of law and love.

And importantly, really importantly, this inspirational message applies to us as individuals as well as a people. Of course, we can be proud of our Jewish history, but what about us as individuals? Will we contributed to the story? How are we special? What have we done individually that we will be proud of as time goes by? What stories are we creating that we can pass on? In Today’s parashah, Moses said, “When your children ask you.” That is, when our children and grandchildren ask us! And maybe not only the Jewish history part, but our own contemporary story. What answers will we convey?

As Jews, of course, we have always put a premium on education. As a parent, education is one of the most sacred duties we have to our children. Maybe this will be our legacy. Our passion as Jews is study and academic pursuits. Egyptians built the pyramids, Romans the coliseum. Jews built schools. And won Nobel Prizes. As we all know, education transcends books. Educating our children might be our greatest legacy as parents and grandparents.

And of course, there’s a whole lot more we can do to favorably impact other people and society as a whole.

So we’re still here, alone among the other ancient civilizations. Still going strong, continuing our ancestors’ mission, heritage intact and undiminished. And in the end, we hopefully will have our own individual heritage that adds to the Jewish story we’re so proud of and that impacts the world as well as our family.

Three times in the parashah Moses instructs the children of Israel something akin to, “When your children ask you . . .” He wanted us to be able to teach our children a story.

In today’s parashah, we read about 3 figures who go through great struggle, and who may well have succumbed to despair. They could have lost  hope.  They could have lost the will to make things better— but they didn’t.

First, Jacob is told about the apparent death of his son Joseph, but we read that Jacob “refused to be comforted.” He had been shown a blood-stained tunic that belonged to Joseph. His sons told him that poor Joseph must have been devoured by some wild beast. And so in a somewhat cryptic phrase, we’re told that Jacob wouldn’t accept the typical mourning ritual that begins with accepting the comfort of loved ones.

Maybe he held out hope that Joseph was still alive, or maybe he was simply too grief-stricken to accept comfort. Who knows? But Jacob goes on with his life, brings his people to Egypt and, well, you know the rest of the story. So in this instance, the concept of accepting comfort remains a bit murky.

We also read this week of how Joseph ends up in prison and at the end of the parashah, Joseph is still there.  His buddy in prison forgets to recommend him for a commutation of his sentence when a dream interpretation gig comes up. You can read about it as we go through the Torah reading. All, it seems, is lost. Poor Jacob. Poor Joseph. Of course, as in a TV drama series, we know there’s more. After all, we have the whole Exodus story yet to come. How can Joseph’s story end here? Stay tuned. Joseph will have another act.

In both instances, unlike in a sporting event the story is not over until the participant says it’s over. And neither Jacob nor Joseph were ready to throw in the towel. Their greatest feats were still to play out. Joseph’s story doesn’t end as it may have in a Greek tragedy, with falsely accused Joseph wasting away in jail. As in so many other instances, though, this is the Torah – decidedly NOT a Greek tragedy. In this instance, Joseph continued to hold out hope that somehow, a better fate awaited him.

In Judaism, unlike in ancient Greek thought, fate has not been decreed. The Torah teaches that the human condition and an individual’s story are not inherently sad, nor must they be filled only sorow.

Finally, we read about Tamar. Tamar is married to Er, Judah’s oldest son. Recall that Judah is one of Jacob’s sons, and had sold Joseph into slavery. Er’s life was, “Taken by the Lord,” for unspecified displeasing behavior. As was customary in those days, Er’s younger brother then marries Tamar, but his behavior also displeased Gd, so he, too, was struck down.

Judah wonders if maybe Tamar is the problem and keeps his third son away from her, lest he also be struck with an early death. Like so many other women of the Torah, Tamar is childless. I’m sure all her friends tried to comfort her. But she refuses to lose hope of having a child and concocts a plan. Dressing as a harlot, she seduces Judah, who accommodates her.

Finally, Tamar has her child. But when she is about to be revealed by Judah as being a sinful seductress, she pulls a rabbit out of her hat, producing the seal that Judah had given her as collateral, pending payment for services rendered. Judah knows that he had been had. He was the father of Tamar’s child. Tamar is spared. She has her child – twins, in fact. All is not lost, after all! And more than that, one of her children fathers a line that leads to King David! how about that! Instead of being comforted for being childless and accepting her unfortunate fate, Tamar took action.

So in these examples, all in today’s parashah, we find different ways of how to handle really bad news and circumstances. So now I have a more current example of not despairing – of not losing hope or will – – – and of taking action.

Vladka Meed, born Feigele Peltel was a Polish woman who was imprisoned in the Warsaw Ghetto when she was 20 years old. Her entire family – her parents and her sister –  were killed, victims of one of the Nazi roundups that sent them all to Treblinka. Vladka happened to be out of the apartment at the time, so her life was arbitrarily spared.

She became a member of an active underground movement, helping to formulate and implement plans of how to repel the Nazis, and was able to be smuggled by the underground, out of the ghetto. Her role then was to pass as an Aryan, get a job, join forces with others in the underground on the Aryan side of the ghetto wall, and smuggle back into the ghetto arms and explosives, and smuggle out . . . children, who were painfully given up by their parents, who faced certain death, and placing them with wary Christian families. In harrowing detail, her book was first written in Yiddish and published in 1948, when memories were still fresh in her mind. It’s called, “On Both Sides of the Wall.”

After an endless series of narrow escapes, she sadly watched the heroic Warsaw Ghetto uprising hold off the Nazi army for 4 weeks before members of the resistance and then almost all residents of the ghetto were killed, the ghetto ultimately reduced to smoldering rubble.  Yet through this and despite all of the sadness she witnesses and describes in all its  grotesque details, Vladka does not despair. She did not lose determination and hope. She ultimately survived the war and made her way to America, on one of the first transit boats. Hers is a truly remarkable story of courage, moral clarity and perseverance.

It is possible to accept the comfort of loved ones for the inevitable sadnesses of life, while responding n a positive way. Tamar, Joseph and Jacob all respond to the circumstances of their lives in different ways, but what they had in common was that they did not retreat into an acceptance and hopelessness. Vladka Mead as well as others who resisted the Nazis have been added to that list.

For me Vlaka’s tale is an inspiration. When we think we have it tough, we just have to remember how Vladka and so many others have responded.

Family turmoil, poor parenting, elements of deceit. Yes, in the Bible.  But today’s parashah, Toldot, sounds like many contemporary families, doesn’t it?

Like many of our matriarchs, Rebecca has a tough time conceiving a child. Well, she winds up with two at the same time, and learns that the two are already fighting in her womb! Esau is born first, and as the elder son in Biblical times, he should rightfully inherit the larger share of the family property and the right to carry on the covenant with Gd. However, Rebecca perceives that Gd told her that the older will serve the younger. Note that this was not presented as a commandment, but rather as a simple message.

She doesn’t seem to try to make sense of this, but does what she can to make this “message” come true. Riding the winner from the beginning, the younger becomes her favorite – Jacob, the younger, is more cerebral and is a lot more genteel than the rough and tumble Esau. As we will see later, she crafts a plan to prevent the usual lines of inheritance from occurring.

Maybe Rebecca’s behavior is, in some ways, understandable. Less so is Isaac’s. His own father, Abraham, played favorites and things didn’t work out so well. We might think that Isaac would have known better. But nope. Unlike Rebecca, he favored his manly son, Esau. Jacob and his books and his cooking can wait. Esau and his toughness were far more suited for the needs of the day. Preparing soup? That’s women’s work! In any case, Rebecca and Isaac choose sides. As the parashah demonstrates, it didn’t work out so well.

As we know, it all started to unravel when Esau came home from a hunt and was very hungry. How hungry? So hungry that he was heard to say as he entered his home, “I’m so hungry I could give up my birthright!” Jacob, who had been cooking all day, sensed an opportunity. Before handing over a bowl of soup to his stronger, tougher, elder brother, he made Esau promise to hand over his larger share of inheritance to Jacob.That stew must have smelled awfully good! So Esau forfeits his rights to the major share of his father’s property. All for a bowl of soup!

Time passes. Isaac is about to die. Although he no longer has the inheritance rights he once did, Esau still retains the rights to a blessing. So off he goes a’hunting. He planned to prepare Isaac’s last meal just before his father’s death. Wasting no time, Rebecca dresses Jacob in a hairy, furry costume meant to deceive Isaac into thinking that Jacob is Esau. “Now who is this, really?” asked Isaac of Jacob. “Why, I am Esau,” said Jacob, in his most manly voice.

Thinking he is really addressing Esau, Isaac begins to confer his blessing. “You will have an abundance of grain and wine,” begins Isaac to Jacob. “Nations will bow down to you. (We Jews are still waiting on that one) and you will be master over your brothers . . .” Having received the blessing, the deceit of Esau is complete. When he learns what has happened, Esau is devastated. “Haven’t you a blessing for me too, father?” Esau cries bitterly.

No, says Isaac, inexplicably. Esau is so angry that Jacob must flee for his life! We read in Etz Chaim that the descendants of Esau cause much suffering and pain to Jews in later years. And all because of Rebecca and Jacob.

So how is it that these are the matriarchs and patriarchs whose behavior we should pattern ourselves after? Does a man such as Jacob, whose deceit and dishonesty caused us so much pain then and later warrant our imitation and admiration? And Rebecca? How can we look up to such flawed people when we see them exhibit such deceit and make such egregious errors?

It’s rather distressing that we, who trace our lineage all the way back through Jacob are called upon to revere him. Is this the best example we could have used? Does his later behavior warrant our admiration and identification? Well, as we will see next week, the transactional behavior of Jacob’s allegiance even to Gd is further revealed! And Rebecca pays for her behavior dearly – she never again sees Jacob.

I suppose that the Bible deliberately presents us with such flawed people because we too are flawed and imperfect. Maybe the avoidance of ideal figures is deliberate because we cannot learn from someone with whom we can’t identify. If everyone in the Torah behaved perfectly, perhaps we would simply turn away from the Torah as a source of motivation.

After all, we could never pattern our behavior after someone who never made mistakes, and we wouldn’t even bother to try. Instead, the Torah presents us with people to whom we can relate and from whom we can learn. In coming weeks, I will be eager to learn why Jacob proves to be such a wonderful role model. This week? Not so much!

The story of family turmoil is especially relevant as we draw close to Thanksgiving, when many of us will spend time with relatives who are not necessarily ideal role models for us. Maybe we’ll be fortunate and get to spend time with only ethical, morally upright people. But more than likely, that will not be the case. So the Torah’s story of familial discord reminds us that having challenging relationships is as old as the Bible.

And maybe, over the coming weeks, we will see that even those with large flaws in their personalities and behaviors do indeed have some redeeming features. When Leah was a little girl, I used to tell her that if all you look for in a person are warts, the whole world is ugly. So let’s be on the lookout for redeeming features in our matriarchs and patriarchs that we can pattern ourselves after. And as for those troublesome relatives on Thanksgiving, try to see the bright side, as I have done – Nancy’s apple pie is only a short time away!

Bereshit. Again. Weren’t we just here? Wasn’t it just yesterday that we had recently shut down because of the pandemic Did a year really pass this quickly? Sunrise, sunset. How quickly flow the years. At least most of us are back in shul again. Still grappling with the pandemic, though.

There were Adam and Eve, in paradise. Just one thing, Gd tells them. The tree of the knowledge of good and evil? Leave that particular tree alone. Otherwise, have a great time. So what happens? The serpent coaxes Eve to go ahead, have a bite. Mmmm, pretty good. “Hey Adam, try this one.” Fools that they were. And when Gd confronts them, Adam blames Eve and Eve blames the serpent. Neither takes responsibility.

So Gd tells the woman that as punishment for her disobeying Gd, not only would the pain of giving birth be intense, but, as the Talmud interprets, the emotional strain of raising children will also be intense. How true! And the man is told that not only will he now have to toil each day to raise his crops, but there will be weeds that he will have to subdue!

Why couldn’t Adam and Eve just enjoy the garden, as instructed? So Adam and Eve were banished from the garden. Eve bears Cain and Abel. Cain kills Abel. “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Again – no remorse or responsibility. “How wretched these humans are,” Gd might have said to the angels. “I made a big mistake here.”

But Gd was in a bit if a fix. If Gd didn’t create humankind and give them free will, no one would have been capable of understanding Gd or that, in fact, acknowledge that Gd even exists. The earth would have been filled with robots, lying around that ever-growing garden, eating fruit. So Gd created us because in a sense, Gd needed us. Additionally, Gd had faith in us.

Well, it didn’t work out so well, as we’ve seen. After the Adam and Eve, and the Cain and Abel fiascos, Gd “Saw how great was our wickedness” and wipes them all out and tries again with Noah. As we will see, Noah gets drunk, and, well, that didn’t work out so well either.

But Gd doesn’t give up. “One more shot,” Gd told the angels. Abraham comes along, and although there are many fits and starts and lots of conflicts, maybe there’s light at the end of the tunnel. The whole story of humanity and, ultimately, of the Jewish people began. Abraham actually agues with Gd for justice and mercy. (Remember how he argued for Gd not to destroy Sodom.) “Maybe I can work with this group,” Gd reportedly told the angels.

But all kinds of awful stuff happens. Murder. Jealousy. Adultery. Eventually, Gd had to codify behavior with the Ten Commandments. And lots more of them – hundreds of commandments, in fact. Oi!! Many of us keep trying to get things right. The Torah is our roadmap how. In Ha’azinu last week, I recalled how many years later, Moses called us crooked, perverse, unworthy, dull and witless. It reminded me of how when I was young and did something . . .unworthy . . .my mother used to tell me I must have been left behind the door when the brains were passed out.

Temptation to do evil is ever-present. We read in Bereshit of how sin couches at our door, yet we can be its master.

Well, we’ve done our repenting. So beginning with Bereishit, let’s keep trying to do better. Trying like we mean it! We’re all toiling up the steep human righteousness hill. Just as Moses never made it to the Promised Land, we may never get to the very top of this hill, but we must never tire from the climb. And to remind you what I said in Ha’azinu, we’re all like Moses. Ever striving, although we may not get fully there.

After so many pagan civilizations have come and gone, the Israel of Abraham and Moses, of Sarah of Ruth, and of Miriam still lives on. Whether or not we have faith in Gd, Gd seems to have faith in us. Let us all merit that faith in 5782.