Lech Lecha – what does it mean? it could simply mean, “Go forth,” but look, this is Jewish scripture. It has been parsed for centuries. For rabbis, the more cryptic, the better. And also, the words are followed by such evocative phrases like, “to a land that I will show you,” and, “I will bless you.” You get the sense early on that we’re on to something BIG! So actual translation and meanings are as numerous as the stars in the heaven.

In Etz Chaim, go forth is explained as, “betake yourself,” in true biblical prose. In Stone, it is translated as,  “Go FOR yourself,” – a “favor” from Gd – presumably because, as it says in Stone, “I (Gd) will make a great nation from you. You will have children.”  (Abraham had been fatherless until this time.)

For me personally, I always have looked upon the phrase as a calling to be bold. Get out of your comfort zone. Get moving. Times a’wasting. Look at the biographies of famous or of simply successful people, and you often find a singular moment in which they heard the command, lech lecha. And to make it a bit less cosmic: have you heard the expression, “Fortune favors the bold?”

That expression may, in my way of thinking has its truth and its roots right there. After Gd tells Avram to go from what is familiar, Gd promises to bless him. These successful people have, in one sense of another, heard the command. Go from this place. Leave the familiar. Be bold. And once they hew to that command, their lives are irrevocably changed.

I’m currently reading a detailed and very interesting book about Harry Truman. Truman was a struggling farmer, having moved back to the family farm to help his father manage things. Truman had worked as a timekeeper on the railroads for several years before that. No education beyond high school. At age 29, well past the usual enlistment age, he enlisted in the military so he could help the country in World War I. While in the military, he made some contacts who would eventually be instrumental in Truman’s entering politics. Politics! His family was shocked and indignant. What did he know about politics!?!  Harry Truman’s inner voice told him, “Lech lecha, Harry!”

There’s another phrase that immediately follows lech lecha. In Chapter 12:2, it is written, “I will make you a great nation, and I will bless you; I will make your name great and you shall be a blessing.” “You shall be a blessing” is also the translation we find in Stone.This implies that Gd would show favoritism to the descendants of Abraham. That’s Gd’s promise. Personally, I don’t like that particular translation very much.

In this old chumash, edited by  Hertz, the translation is, “Be thou a blessing.” It is more of a challenge – a directive.

My view is that our lives take on more meaning when we in fact take this as a command. As a challenge, rather than as a promise. The same is true when we consider Gd’s statement to Abraham later in the parashah – that Abraham’s offspring shall be as numerous as the stars in the heavens.

I feel that our lives are much more enriched when we take this as a challenge. It’s largely up to us to fulfill Gd’s promise, to make Abraham’s descendants – us – as numerous as the stars in the heavens.

Well . . . here we all are. Descendants of Abraham. Not quite as numerous as the stars in the heavens, but time isn’t finished yet.

So when we combine the two simple phrases – Go forth. Be a blessing to others. Now we’re getting to a yet different place.

Lech Lecha means leaving behind that which is comfortable. Being unpredictable in taking a risk. With sufficient discipline and courage, we can rise above the usual economic and psychological forces that keep us in a particular box. It was 40 years ago this very month, in 1979, that my friend Jim Kallal told me, “You know, Joel, that can’t be done.” He was referring to my plan to leave Hartford, CT, where I was doing my cardiology fellowship, move to Dallas, and to go into solo practice at that! In those days before the internet, communication and plan-making were much, much different than they are now. Well, next July, I will celebrate my 40th year in practice – the same practice I started in Richardson, in 1980. Lucky to find an opportunity? Sure, but remember – fortune favors the bold. Put another way, I was fortunate to be young and dumb!

So be bold and be a blessing to others. Aha – the Jewish perfecta!!

Abraham was to become the forefather of an eternal people. The Jews would be willing to stand outside the then-accepted laws of nature. So what for other people was natural – land, home, family – in Judaism are the subjects of our laws and commandments. We must strive for them, and work hard to make them better. They can’t be taken for granted. They are not a given.

In an era of idolatry, we saw the universe  as the product of a single creative force. So it was not meaningless, but coherent. When power was worshipped, we created a society that cared for the powerless, for the orphan, for the widow. When other societies were insular, we are told to remember the stranger, for we were once strangers in the land of Egypt.

It meant in the subhuman conditions imposed on Jews in the Warsaw Ghetto, the Jews set up makeshift schoolhouses and classrooms. When war was the test of manhood in the ancient (and not-so-ancient) world, it meant striving for a peaceful society. In the materialism that we know all too well today, it means that we are known best not by what we buy, but by what we give.

All of this comes to us from outside ourselves, as it came to Abraham. We are summoned to make a contribution to the world. Lech lecha for the Jew means hearing and responding to the still, small voice of eternity. Pulling us, pushing us, to continue the journey begun by Abraham. Being a blessing to others and to the world writ large.

Last week, Nancy and I attended the annual meeting of the Dallas Jewish Community Foundation, where close to twenty “unsung heroes” were honored because of how they gave of themselves to make their particular organizations, and thus the world, better. It was so moving and inspiring to hear how people heard a calling, regarded their mission in terms of being a blessing to others, and in turn, seeing the world as something to be improved, and who have done their part to help do so.

Maya Angelo, the wonderful African American poet, who died in 2014, once said that, “Courage is the most important of all the virtues, because without courage you can’t practice any other virtue consistently.” Fulfilling the commandment to “lech lecha” takes conviction and a sense of mission. It takes much courage to leave one’s comfort zone and work to improve the lives of others.

But that’s what Jews do!

Last month, I saw a patient in the office named Mike. Mike is a fully alert and competent 77-year-old man who has been through lots of heart and circulatory issues. He had a major heart attack in 1990, 29 years ago, when he was 48. It left his heart quite damaged. He had 4-vessel coronary artery bypass surgery at that time. Since then, he has had his aortic valve replaced, then his mitral valve. Then he needed a pacemaker, and he’s had stents to open the arteries in his legs. Good grief! Still, he and I soldier on. Together.

I’ve learned over the years that  asking about their family make patients feel special. Don’t tell Mike, but I keep notes right in his electronic record, so I’ll sound like I remember his family. But to really hit a home run, there is one more step – anyone know what it might be? Ask to see a photo!

So at the end of his appointment last month, I asked Mike about his family. At the time I first met him, his children – I believe he has two sons – were both in college, a couple of years apart. The oldest was about to graduate. Now he has several grandchildren, the first of which has just graduated college. So of course, I asked to see a photo. He took out his phone and scrolled to the picture of his grandchildren. He got to the photo of his oldest, in her college graduation gown, with her family – parents and siblings. And then he started to cry. Sobbed like a baby! Whooaa – what to do? I gave him some tissues, sat right next to him on the exam table, and put my arm around him. I didn’t have to say a word.

I can’t know what was going on in Mike’s head, but I suspect that at that moment, the enormity of what has happened to him and what these years have enabled him to see and to experience hit him really hard. I don’t know whether he had thought about it much before – his emotions lead me to believe that maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he hadn’t taken enough time to take a step back and realize . . .

Rabbi Bradley Artson of the AJU talks about how people typically move from task to task. Obligation to obligation, occasionally forgetting or not appreciating great moments because we turn them into these tasks and obligations. So I want to weave together some things I’ve read and experienced during this past year, and maybe give us all some take-aways.

We often need a reminder to remember to enjoy and savor special moments – or simple moments, for that matter. The moment is passing. We all need a call. Rosh Hashanah is that call.

A tiny bit of psychology is in order here. Affective forecasting and the Arrival Falacy are terms relating to our ability to predict how events will make us feel. There is a tendency to think of only the upside of our goals. So we predict that becoming a manager in our company or earning a certain amount of money will make us feel satisfied and accomplished. Well, we get there, but alas, there is no lasting satisfaction. The terms describe how people are deceived into thinking that if only they can achieve a particular goal, all will be well in their lives. They will achieve lasting happiness and fulfillment. It could be a goal in work, it could involve finances, it could involve making a school sports team or getting a particular grade in school. Parents can push and push and push their kids, but even if the kids achieve all their parents hoped they would, there is no guarantee of happiness – for the kids or for the parents.

Our satisfaction upon achieving goals may well be quite short-lived. We may find that our new position brings with it a whole new set of work-related problems. And our wealth might come at a time when we have health or family issues that overwhelm us. Things aren’t at all what we thought they were going to be! That’s Affective Forecasting and the Arrival Fallacy. We think we will know how we’ll feel if only . . . but at what cost, for how long, and with what concurrent issues?

Achievement doesn’t equal happiness – at least not in the long term. We’re pretty good at knowing what will make us, and maybe our kids, happy in the moment, but we’re not very good at all at knowing how good a particular achievement will make us (or them) feel in the long term.

Instead of saying, “Dayenu!” (now, you see, I’m starting to get into the Jewish stuff), we’re disappointed that there is yet another step on the ladder. That all is not bliss. That for all we have, there always seems to be one more missing item.

Well, today will be the good old days before too long. So we must not wait until then. We must cherish moments now, taking time to enjoy those around us. After all, we’re all on the same bus, ultimately going in the same direction. And seldom can we replicate moments of joy.

So with that as the background, here are my proposals to apply in the coming year:

First. Several weeks ago, Nancy and I went to North Carolina for the wedding of the child of friends. The father of the bride, Andrew, walked his daughter down the aisle. Andrew had a very serious bout with cancer last year, and it was uncertain whether he would survive. And here he was. I don’t know about Andrew, but I got very emotional as I watched him walk past me, arm in arm with his daughter.

So number one is: beginning this New Year, make a resolution to say modeh ani – I give thanks –  when you wake up in the morning.  These are the first two words of a one-sentence statement: Modeh ani l’fonechah melech chai v’kayom, shehechezahtah bi nishmati b’chemlah rabah ehmunatechah. “I thank you, living and eternal sovereign, for Your kindness in restoring my soul. How great is Your faithfulness.” I make this declaration every morning as I am getting out of bed.

But if you don’t want to say the whole statement, I hereby give you permission to simply say, “modeh ani.” I give thanks. We live in a series of miracles. Appreciate them. Put your arm around your loved ones. Things happen. Time is fleeting. Appreciate the moments. That is what Rosh Hashanah, and perhaps the shofar, are about – that we must awaken. Don’t fall asleep. Time is passing all of us by. Judaism teaches that we have the task and the privilege of bringing light to each other and to a world that sorely needs it. As Jews, we have the task of illuminating the world with the light of Torah. Let us all awaken and be grateful for the miracles around us and that are ours to enjoy.

Thinking back to Mike, I believe he realized at that moment the extraordinary gift of time that he had received. Time in which he was blessed to see his children grow, mature and themselves become parents.

 Number two. I recently finished humor writer Dave Barry’s book about aging, and the lessons he’s learned from his dog, who is also in the later years of her life. One of them was that what made the dog the happiest was just to be with the family. Curious about lots of things, sure. But being with those who were important to her gave her more pleasure than anything else. Very simple. This was one of several lessons the author learned from his aging dog. We probably already know it – but it’s time to put the lesson into action.

So number two is: spend as much time and be as close as possible to those who mean the most to you. Maybe we have individually found what numerous studies in psychology have been telling us for years: the most important predictor of happiness is spending time with those we care about and with those who care about us – in other words, relationships.

And my third and final proposal: Make memories, and remember those memories. Appreciate special moments.

—Bernie and Joan White (Simma’s parents) celebrated their 50th anniversary in Jerusalem this past year. They had all their children and grandchildren with them. Bernie had 2 photos framed – one had all the grandchildren and the other, the entire family. What a keepsake! What memories Bernie and Joan created for their entire family!

—Another example. Last year, I spoke of my granddaughter Lucy’s baby naming and the indelible memory I had of that event. I can still picture the rabbi carrying Lucy into the congregation, holding her up for all to see. The newest member of their congregation, as he said.This year, I will always remember our trip to visit Lucy (and her parents) last month. She sat on my lap, looked me in the eye, smiled, and said, “Peerpa.” She then presented to me, upon my request, each ear, finger, her cheeks, her chin, and so on, so I could kiss them. Individually. All ten fingers, ten toes, and one nose! How sweet. Indelible memory.

Nancy and I saw wondrous things on our trip to southern Africa in July. We saw animals that are monogamous – living with the same mate until death do they part. We saw animals that are fiercely protective of their young – elephants, for instance, live in entire clans! It was truly magical. When we returned, as I always do, I made a photo book from our trip. Each time I look at it, I relive and enjoy once again the special memories from those days.

Do you know that there is an actual neural pathway in our brain for each memory we have? A unique map for everything that we remember! Whether it be a family event like visiting Lucy, a trip Nancy and I took, or some other special event, those memories have literally become part of me. The more I look at the photos and the more I relive special family moments, the more embedded the memories become. In that very way, those who have been closest to us through our lives are now, actually, part of our brains. They’re part of us! That’s why that moment of Lucy on my lap gets replayed in my mind virtually every day – so it will become further embedded in my brain and will always stay with me.

In Judaism, to remember – zachor – is a mitzvah. We are commanded to remember events of the Jewish people, like the Exodus. Personally, I take this a step further – I feel that the mitzvah of zachor also applies to joyous events of our lives – weddings, births, bar/bat mitzvahs, etc.

Although our tradition sets aside several times a year for the special remembrance of our deceased relatives called, of course, Yizkor, in Judaism, to have joy is also a mitzvah. The upcoming festival of Succot is called, “The season of our Joy.” The Ashrei prayer talks of our joy. Gratitude and Joy are common tropes throughout our liturgy.

So now, on Rosh Hashanah, these are my 3 proposed resolutions: let us resolve to give thanks for each day – modeh ani. Let us resolve to spend as much time as possible with those who mean the most to us, making joyful memories. And let us resolve to experience and remember and be joyful for the wondrous moments in our lives. Let us remember, and let us be joyful.

To our brothers and sisters in this wonderful Kehillah, Nancy and I wish you all shanna tovah. May we all have a sweet year, filled with joyous events.

In the 2004 Presidential campaign, Senator John Kerry said that he was for the Iraq war before he was against it. He was caricatured for the entire campaign, and may even have lost the election, in part, because he was thought to be a “flip-flopper.”

A few weeks ago, Joe Biden, currently running for President, was roundly criticized for backing away from his support for the Hyde Amendment, restricting the federal funding of abortion. Of course, those funds heretofore had gone to poor women through the medicaid Program, and so the poor were disproportionately affected by the provision of the law. Vice President Biden’s explanation – there is no need to go into it this morning –  seemed perfectly cogent to me. No matter whether you agreed with the Hyde Amendment or not, there was little about his statement or his reasoning that could be faulted. And yet, the criticism came pouring down from all sides.

It is as though people say, “Damn the facts! You must never change your mind!” How crazy is that?

A recent Freakonomics podcast centered on the issue of changing one’s mind, asking why it sometimes seems so difficult to do. Several reasons were given – ego, overconfidence, inertia and financial cost. Methods were explored that would make it easier to see an issue from another vantage point. In the end, one must look at changing one’s mind from a different perspective. Rather than a marker for lack of conviction, changing one’s mind can be thought of as akin to saying, “I’m smarter today than I was yesterday.” or, “Facts have changed, and I’m flexible enough to absorb new facts, and judge accordingly.” That’s a sign of strength rather than weakness.

In today’s parashah, we read about the daughters of Tzelophehad – Mahlah, Noa, Hoglah, Milcah and Tirzah. Ancient Jewish law called for property to be divided among male heirs upon the death of the patriarch. But in Tzelophehad’s case, he had no male children. The property would have thus not stayed within the family. This seemed unfair the Tzelophehad’s daughters. They went to Moses, told him of their grievance with the existent law and highlighted their good qualities and the good qualities of women in general, while reminding Moses of what belonged on the male side of the ledger – the organization of the Golden Calf episode, sex orgies, etc etc.

Men! It was always men who complained about the lack of food and water, and it was men who lost faith upon hearing the scouts’ report about the cities of Canaan – how they saw themselves as grasshoppers in the eyes of their potential enemies. Women were the optimists, accommodators, peace makers.

(and imagine – there are still some Jewish congregations that do not let women lead davening or read from the Torah!)

Anyway, Moses addresses Gd about the matter. We can imagine the conversation. “OK ladies, I understand your position. Now please step out for a moment, while I think this over.” He then summons Gd for guidance. After all, Jewish law was Jewish law.

Gd, of course, heard the whole argument, while of course remaining out of sight of the women. OK, so the women left. Moses called out, “Master of the Universe, what should we do? They make sense, but they are making a request that is against Jewish law!”

“You know, Moshe,” said Gd, “They are honorable, and they are passionate. And in this case, they are right! 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, Gd!”

“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 change. 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.

In the introduction to today’s parashah in Etz Chaim, the editors mention how, at the end of the last parashah, Phineas killed an Israelite man and a Moabite woman because their flagrant immorality profaned Gd’s name. The Etz Chaim editors reference the Talmud, which, it seems to them, would have rebuked Phineas. In this particular instance, the rabbinic court would have said, “The law may permit it, but we do not follow that law.”

In fact, in Deut, Ch 17, Moses tells the Israelites that in a dispute over a law, they must seek the counsel of judges, who would decide on the matter . . . “In their time,” as it says in the Torah. Again, implying that the laws must be responsive to the realities of their day – the very hallmark of Conservative Judaism.

I would suggest that this legal change, brought about by the persuasive powers of the daughters of Tzelophehad, changed the way in which the children of Israel thought about women. “The Feminine Mystique” of course, was author Betty Frieden’s book from the early 1960s that is credited with starting the modern feminism movement.

Today’s parashah begins Judaism’s own feminine mystique, which is carried on in our own kehillah by the many women who take part in our shul’s life. About that, we’re not about to change our minds!

There are so many topics that I could speak about today:

—Nancy and I recently took a trip to trip to Japan. The radically different culture of the Japanese could easily be woven into a D’var.

—My recent bicycle marathon to support the MS Society. Throughout that very long ride, I kept thinking, “There must be a D’var somewhere in here!” In fact, much of what I will discuss was “written” in my head during that ride.

—Today’s parashah. This will get a mention in just a moment.

Fitting for a bar mitzvah boy, I decided to discuss my own faith and my affirmation of that faith

First, since we’re here today to celebrate the 55th anniversary of my bar mitzvah, I would like to tell you about my most powerful bar mitzvah memory and the exact moment – yes, moment –  when I actually became a bar mitzvah. . . .

Today’s parashah provides a good launching pad for discussing why today I strongly affirm my Judaism. Perhaps the main feature of the parashah is a listing of Gd’s rewards and punishments that come about depending on whether or not one follows Gd’s commandments.

But . . . does Gd really act in the world in this way? To be honest, I don’t know. Maybe the rewards and punishments for certain types of behavior as described in the parashah were simply the best way to influence the Jewish people, much as one talks to a toddler. After all, at the time this was written, the Jewish people at that time were still in their “toddlerhood,” if you will. Are we really ultimately rewarded for acting morally and following the dictates set forth in the Torah? And punished if we do not? Can any of us really know for sure?  Not me.

Emet Ve’Emunah, the statement of beliefs of Conservative Judaism, published by the United Synagogue, JTS and the Rabbinical Assembly,  acknowledges that when we think about Gd, we are filled with perplexity, confusion, uncertainty and doubt. That’s what it says! And that describes me.

What I do have more certainty about is that people whose happiness and joy are pegged to material things are doomed to despair and frustration. But by internalizing the profound messages and lessons of the Torah and our Great Books we can get past this frustration and infuse our lives with purpose, experiencing a far more durable inner peace and happiness.

Well, what are some of those profound messages in our teachings?

—The sanctity of life

—The infinite worth of the individual

—Justice, Justice you will pursue

—Love your neighbor as yourself

I could go on and on.

I understand that it’s possible that we might be nothing more than a swirl of dust and there may be nothing beyond what humans can see and feel, but I live better – more fulfilled – when I do so with a sense of a larger purpose as dictated by these Judaic principles. In that sense, Judaism “works” for me. It provides me a sense of mission – a sense of purpose.

And here’s more: even if I was certain that I am indeed just a swirl of dust and there is nothing beyond – no ultimate reward or punishment – nothing – even with that certainty, I wouldn’t regret or change the things that bring richness and joy to my life. These include:

—my Shabbat mornings here at Kehillat Chaverim

—my faithful relationship with an “other” – Nancy

—The charitable giving Nancy and I do

—The message of the Passover sedar – to act as though I personally was a slave in Egypt, so as to remember the downtrodden.

So here’s the key point: to me: whether Gd in fact acts in the world doesn’t really matter in terms of how I live my ife.

See, even if my perceptions about Gd are filled with confusion, uncertainty, perplexity and doubt, these perceptions don’t apply to Judaism. On the contrary, And if it winds up that I was wrong, I would still not feel as though my life was spent in vain. Oh, I will perhaps wish that I could have enjoyed shrimp scampi or a BLT sandwich, but still, still, I would not have given up these Shabbat mornings here at the kehillah with friends, and I would not have regretted learning Torah to the extent I have, because those things have given me much joy and sense of purpose. So if all this Jewish and Gd stuff turns out to be a delusion, as delusions go, this is a good one. And in fact, it’s so good, that I believe it may really not be delusional at all.

Those profound, enduring lessons of Judaism that I mentioned earlier – equality, the infinite worth of the individual, the sanctity of life, the pursuit of justice . . . those lessons were radical in their time. Who had ever heard of equality and justice in the ancient world? And so even if they weren’t Divinely inspired – if they had come from a relative that was that prescient and wise, you might not adhere to all else that relative had to say, but you would sure listen!

Those lessons, and the miracle  – truly, the miracle – of Jewish continuity after all we as a people have been through, instill in me a strong belief that it is up to me and to other Jews to bear witness to these fundamental principles and to be Gd’s partner in the unfolding history of humankind. That’s why I do what I do and why I care so deeply about Jewish continuity. So whether I’m rewarded or punished, whether Gd acts in the world or doesn’t – none of that matters a bit to me.

On this, my bar mitzvah anniversary, I conclude with a paragraph from Jonathan Sacks’s “Letters in a Scroll.” This may sound familiar to some of you – I read it at our Pesach sedars each year.

“I am a Jew because, knowing the story of my people, I hear their call to write the next chapter. I did not come from nowhere; I have a past, and if any past commands anyone, 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 of a more profound one.”

Shabbat Shalom

A couple of weeks ago, a box came to our door. A very large box. I mean really, the box was taller than me! Lucy, it seems, has outgrown her overnight “pack and play,” and she will be visiting soon. The large box contained her new crib. And not only a crib mind you, but when the time comes, it converts to a small bed.

Assembly required. Uh-oh.

Now in fairness, Nancy offered to hire someone to put this together, but no – I told Nancy this was something I should be able to do. And so that very night, I unpacked this large piece of furniture and looked at all the parts. One word came to mind: OY! Of course, it came with a set of instructions and diagrams. The barrel bolt goes here, be sure to put the hex nuts around each screw, part A slides over part B, etc. And heaven help me if one step is done incorrectly, as I found out the hard way.

I can read the minds of our newest grandparents in the shul – yes, Mike and Rachelle, when the time comes, I will gladly help you assemble a similar overnight dwelling for Henry.

I got to sleep later than usual that night, and awoke much earlier than I expected, with soreness in muscles I never even knew I had, but with a revelation – I had an idea for my D’var! Having read today’s parashah with dismay – and wait until the rest of you who have D’vars following mine in Leviticus – I was now on my way.

You see, the instruction manual for the crib needed to be followed exactly if the job was to be done right. And what is our parashah? A very long instruction manual about ritual sacrifices.

Here’s part, somewhat shortened and clarified, of a portion of today’s parashah:

“And if his offering is a goat, he shall lay his hand upon its head. It shall be slaughtered before the Tent of Meeting; its blood shall be be dashed against all sides of the altar. He shall present the fat that covers the entrails; the two kidneys and the fat that is on them; and the protuberance on the liver, which he shall remove . . . had enough?

OY . . . So there it is. An instruction manual by any other name.

And it doesn’t get much better. In coming weeks, we’ll read about skin diseases, mold in the home and, well, you get the picture. All of this seems quite alien to us. But we can’t do without it. It was our ancestors’ early attempt to find Gd and to walk in Gd’s ways. So let’s go on an abbreviated and selective journey across several millennia and discover what has become of the manual we find in today’s parashah.

A couple of millennia after Leviticus was written, along came Isaiah. First chapter!

“What need have I of all your sacrifices?” says the Lord

“I am sated with burnt offerings of rams

I have no delight in lambs and he-goats

You come to appear before me – who asked that of you?

Bringing offerings is futile!

incense is offensive to me

Your new moons and fixed seasons fill me with loathing

They are a burden to me. I cannot endure them

And when you lift up your hands, I will turn my eyes away from you.”

Whoa! I guess there should be no Judaic instruction manual for Isaiah.

Perhaps a century or two after Isaiah wrote his words, the first Temple was destroyed. The Temple was replaced by synagogues. Sacrifice was replaced by prayer. Centuries later, the Talmud was compiled. In the first chapter of Mishna Brachot, the questions are not about sacrifice but rather, it is asked: “From what time can the evening Shema be recited?” Certainly far removed from finding a protuberance on the liver!

The debate rages in the Talmud about this prayer and that ritual, until Rabbi Eliezer denounces the whole exercise: “When prayer is fixed – made routine – it is no longer genuine prayer,” he says. Prayer that becomes fixed and statutory, with no feeling is like the instruction manual for the crib. Like just another technical manual that we can get online. Isaiah would have been proud of Eliezer.

Those ways – those ritual sacrifices – have now been replaced by other rituals. Long ago, we became more comfortable around a holiday table than around an altar of sacrifice. Our davening, our prayers are now the ways many people draw closer to the Divine. The text might be challenging, but there are lessons hidden within, and it’s up to us to find them.

From Leviticus to Isaiah, to the Mishna, to Abraham Joshua Heschel.

In his book, “Gd in Search of Man,” here are a few of Heschel’s quotes: “It is a distortion to reduce Judaism to a cult or a stream of ceremonies.” And this: “No religious act is properly fulfilled unless it is done with a willing heart and a craving soul.” No other area of observance required such strict adherence to formalities as the ritual at the Temple in Jerusalem. But he also writes, “Gd asks for the heart, not only for deeds; for insight, not only for obedience, for understanding, not only for acceptance.” Quite a change, over millennia, from Leviticus.

If we looked at old papers we wrote in our youth, we would probably cringe a bit, just as we cringe when reading Leviticus. But that very act of cringing when reading papers from our youth shows that we’ve grown, and cringing when we read some sections of Leviticus shows that we’ve grown as a people. After the Jerusalem Temple was destroyed and the Jewish people was dispersed, synagogue services replaced the sacrificial rites that we read about still. Our current day rabbis are in many ways, derived from the priests of the Bible. Modern-day Judaism began with what we will read this week. May we always remember our roots – personal and religious.

And by the way, by late that evening, the crib was fully assembled.

We are in the midst of the seminal moments of our narrative as a people, and so I’m honored to give the D’var today. A couple of anecdotes to start, one recent and one much older. I will then relate them to today’s parashah.

In what will be remembered as one of the great feats in athletic history, American Colin O’Brady, skied across Antartica, a 932-mile journey, pulling all the supplies he would need on a sled. The sled weighed over 300 pounds at the beginning of the effort. Remarkably, he covered the final 77 miles in one final sleepless, 32-hour burst, becoming the first person ever to traverse Antarctica from coast to coast solo and unsupported. His quest began on November 3, and ended on December 26.

O’Brady’s transcontinental feat was remarkable enough; but to complete the final 77 miles in one shot — essentially tacking an ultramarathon onto the 53rd day of an already unprecedented journey was astounding. When interviewed about how he could possibly find the strength to do what he did in that final burst, he said, “I was getting emotional and nostalgic”. “I was reviewing the entirety of the expedition in my mind, and I was aware that I’m going to tell this story for the rest of my life.” He was inspired by how he would tell his story.

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 how their story would be remembered in future generations.

Two very different examples, but how these stories would be told in the future was at least part of the motivation for enormous effort and courage.

Now of course, with respect to the Torah you all understand by now that I don’t take the Biblical stories literally. But the lessons we glean from them are critical to our understanding of who we are as a people. This is our narrative. It is who we are, and what we have in common. The story of the Exodus explains that we believe that tyrants will fall, that freedom is of paramount importance, and that we have individual responsibility to ensure that these lessons are carried out.

And in today’s parashah, we find an extraordinary narrative. The ninth plague has been exacted on the Egyptians. The tenth – the deaths of the first-born – is about to occur. After this plague, Gd tells Moses, Pharaoh will finally relent and order the Israelites to leave. Many of the rituals of what is to become the Passover sedar are taught to the Israelites, and, anticipating what Pharaoh’s reaction will be and their impending flight from Egypt, Moses addresses the Israelites.

They are about to embark on a long and arduous journey. They had been slaves all their lives and had no idea what would befall them. What would Moses tell them? How would he help them harness the courage necessary to leave what had become a predictable if unpleasant life? How did he inspire them as they prepared for the big event?

He talked to them about their children, and the children who will be born in the distant future. As you’ll read, three times in chapters 12 and 13, Moses returns to the same theme. “When your children ask you . . .” He doesn’t speak to them about the enormous challenge facing them but rather about how the story would be told in the future.

The Israelites are not yet free, and yet Moses directs their attention and their purpose to the far reaches of the future. He wants the story passed along. They are implored to think about generations far into the future.

From this directive of Moses flows the lesson for us – that we must live our lives in such a way that our children will know their family’s story and their people’s heritage. The similarities to the parashah of the quotes and the stories I began with now become clear. Those stories were not about the past or even about the present. They were about the future, and how the past would be remembered. And that was part of the inspiration for great achievements.

And one more small but for me, very inspirational point. Before the 8th plague, Pharaoh offers a deal to Moses. “Moshe,” he said, “You can go, and take a few of the other trouble makers with you. But the women and children must be left behind.” “Thanks, but no thanks,” said Moses. “Either we ALL go or none of us go!” In Judaism, men, women and children, young and old. Worship of Gd is not confined to the men, the elite, the young, or any particular group. In the house of Israel, all are included.

As you know, I’m from Boston, and my hometown football team is the Patriots. Two years ago in the Super Bowl, the Patriots produced the biggest comeback in the Super Bowl’s history. Fox sports carried the game and had some of the players wear microphones. One of those was the small but skilled receiver for the Patriots, Julian Edelman (His father is Jewish, by the way). At one point, the Patriots were losing 28-3, and Edelman, trying to inspire his teammates, was heard on mic twice, yelling, “What a Helluva story this will be, boys!”

Perhaps in his rejection of Pharaoh’s offers earlier, and in his exhortation of the Israelites, Moses was thinking, “What a helluva story, this is gonna be!”

You may remember that the phrase lech lecha is one of my favorite expressions in the Torah. I used it when I gave my Kehillahversary talk last spring, speaking of how our members faced a difficult choice when services were terminated at Beit Aryeh. We collectively made a bold decision, and we’ve been rewarded for it.

In today’s parashah, Lech Lecha, Gd tells Abraham to seek a new life in a new land, where his people will ultimately grow in number. Leave your comfort zone, Avram! Be bold. Seek something better. And I, Gd, will be with you. So here I go again.

Lech lecha, James Rosenberg.

On October 2, 2010, James helped establish “Arts & Education 4 DFW Youths.” This is a life-enriching program providing disadvantaged youths the opportunity to experience live performing arts and educational programs at local colleges, and museums. These are coupled with scholastic programs to enhance their knowledge. In 8 years, it has facilitated the attendance of more than 5,500 youngsters at performing arts productions, educational programs, and sports’ venues. A decade or more ago, could James have imagined he would have been involved with such a project? Yet here he is. And still davening on Shabbat. Reading Lech Lecha.

In today’s parashah, Gd tells Abraham, “Lech lecha.” To leave all that was familiar. At first, he wasn’t even told where he would wind up. Personally, I view it as a call to action – imposing a more active role in his life. As we read the parashah today, I view it as a call to us – a challenge.

In a similar vein, we read in Etz Chaim that Gd told Abraham Gd would make him a blessing. I favor a different translation – one that was actually used in the Hertz Bible, where it says, “BE a blessing.” I believe that Gd was challenging Abraham, and now us, to become a blessing to others by leaving our comfort zones and to look for ways to fulfill Judaism’s vision of the world. Well done, James.

Lech lecha, Larry Tobin.

Larry first learned that he had liver disease in 2005, only a few months after moving to Dallas from California. A doctor at Baylor advised him that he had cirrhosis – no alcohol involved in Larry’s case. Larry was told that his liver would last a maximum of five years with there being no cure, and with a low probability of getting a liver transplant. She advised him to enjoy the next several years.

Well, his own liver lasted more than eleven years, and he did indeed subsequently undergo a liver transplant, receiving it in December, 2016. Back in the early 2000s, Larry and Terry couldn’t possibly have foreseen what they would have gone through. Yet Larry maintained courage and good humor through it all. And here he is. Still davening on Shabbat. Reading Lech Lecha. (Truthfully, I’m not sure that the Chicago Cubs’ World Series win in 2016 wasn’t part of some Faustian deal Larry made with Gd. I mean, how improbable was THAT?)

As I spoke about on Rosh Hashanah, and as with other lessons from the Torah, the key question in our parashah today isn’t, “Was Abraham a real person?” but rather, is his story real? Am I living it today? When Gd said to Abraham, “Lech lecha! Go from this place!” That’s our story, isn’t it? We don’t know what’s in store for us; we don’t even know what will happen tomorrow, but that story – our story – our narrative depends largely on us. What we do and how we act. You’re a shining example of grace and courage to all of us, Larry.

Lech lecha, Ron Steiner.

When Ron realized that both his girls would be going off to college in August 2015, and Melissa had taken a job they thought would have her traveling a great deal, he felt he had to do something to keep himself busy, so in mid-2014, he made the decision to enter a PhD program. Can you imagine doing such a thing? To get back into the academic world, study, write, and still maintain a full-time job? You know, Ron is as smart as the next guy, but to go full-bore into this academic pursuit? Hmmm. I know you haven’t finished yet, Ron, but yasher Koach!

It’s hard for us to imagine the future, what it holds in store for us and what we ourselves will be like. Not only can’t we know what it holds, but we can’t imagine how we will react to it. Almost all of our lives’ major events are experienced by us differently than how we would have anticipated. Additionally, we can’t accurately predict how we ourselves will change.

In a recently published psychology study, people were asked how much they anticipated they and their lives would change over the next 10 years. They consistently reported that they felt they would change very little. What they are now is what they will be later.

Now we could look at young adults in their late teens and say to them, “Just you wait. You’ll see. Your life will change very much. And indeed, when people were then looked at in their late 20s, 10 years older, they reported wholesale changes in their behavior and habits. Much more change than they as 18-year-olds would have guessed.

Certainly, we might anticipate this discrepancy when it comes to young adults, but what was so interesting in the study was that the same discrepant results occurred through the whole spectrum of life. So when, for instance, the researchers asked people in their late 50s how much they felt they and their lives would change over the ensuing 10 years, the answer was generally, “Not very much. I’m pretty well cooked. This is how I will be.” But when people in their late 60s were asked how much they and their lives changed in the past 10 years, they reported that things changed a lot. And the discrepancy was similar to what the responses were of those 40 years younger!

Ten years ago, my office was in Richardson, I was 57 years old, and going along smoothly. Listening to Rabbi Glickman each week. For a number of reasons, I decided to leave Richardson, and start a solo practice at the Baylor Plano Heart Hospital. The financial people in my company were strongly against my decision, feeling that my practice would die on the vine. But a year later, I was so busy that I was looking for an associate to join me, and we just added a third doctor. And oh, yes, in the interim, I battled metastatic lymphoma, Beit Aryeh closed on Shabbat, and, well, here I am. In a new practice setting, giving a D’var Torah at Kehillat Chaverim! About Lech Lecha! Who could have guessed?

And finally, lech lecha, Mike Raboy.

Mike was born in 1950 in a Displaced Person camp in Munich, Germany after World War II ended. Through the auspices of a Jewish Federation program, he was brought to San Antonio exactly one month later. And by the way, Mike’s bar mitzvah parashah is . . . Lech Lecha! Can you imagine?

What’s in store for you? Are you ready? Lech Lecha!

Shabbat Shalom.

Thank you for the honor of presenting a D’var Torah on Rosh Hashanah.

Our lives follow many rhythms as we go through the year – the seasons, the English calendar, birthdays, and others. To me, Rosh Hashanah means that the year is “officially” starting. The Holidays coincide with the academic year, and for so much of our lives, things pretty much revolved around that cycle. And in just one week, we will observe Yom Kippur, which of course begins with Kol Nidre.

My single favorite service of the year is that one – Kol Nidre. I always get a bit emotional as I hear the melody. My connection with the service and that particular prayer has little to do with its actual words. In fact, if you read the words, you can easily see why Christians used it against Jews – the prayer specifically says that all vows that we make in the coming year are to be annulled! Who could trust a person who would annul all promises as soon as they are made?

No, my emotional connection runs deep because of the haunting melody of the Kol Nidre prayer. The prayer and the melody go back centuries. Today’s melody is the same that my ancestors heard on that solemn night. I once mentioned to Cantor Zherebker at Shearith Israel what an emotional connection I had to Kol Nidre, how I envisioned my ancestors chanting the prayer right along with me. He told me that there is an old rabbinic midrash that on that night, they are all there with me. . . What a beautiful thought. Wow. . . Conjure up that powerful image for a moment. I still choke up at the very portrayal – we’re all together on that most solemn night. And even more, beyond Gd judging me, I will have to account to all those ancestors of mine as I ask the question, “Well, how am I doing?”

This year, I’ve had two emotional experiences that brought me together, if you indulge my vision, with my ancestors.

One occurred this past May. Our granddaughter Lucy had her baby naming in New York. Leah spoke beautifully about her grandmothers, for whom Lucy was named. Her Hebrew name is thus Tzippura. After Leah spoke, the rabbi said the priestly blessing over Lucy. Leah and Ross lowered their heads, and my emotional moorings began to get a little wobbly. At the conclusion of the blessing he took Lucy from her parents and – gad! – raised her aloft.

With Leah and Ross in tow, he marched into the congregation, announcing to the congregants that here was their newest member. As the rabbi held Lucy, I could feel the presence of those who were close to me – parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles – and even those who I didn’t know – the many who came long before me. They were all there, watching the service . . . and smiling. As I tried to hold it together, I kept telling myself, “This doesn’t have to be so hard!”

The second moving experience occurred as I gathered very old photos from Nancy’s and my family. I decided this spring to digitally scan many of these photos and create a book. I’m in the midst of the project now, simply awaiting the restoration of 6 or 7 old and worn photographs before they can be included in the book. I can barely look at some of these photos without becoming emotional – my parents on their honeymoon, for instance, looking right at me through the camera lens, with large, bright eyes. Or the last picture of my dad, only a month or so before he died, with the 8-year-old me draped over his shoulders, both of us smiling with glee and with pure joy.

When the Kol Nidre prayer is chanted, when I recall the image of Lucy being held aloft by the rabbi, and when I look at these old photos of my family and of Nancy’s, the two different extensions of my life come into sharp relief. One before me and one after. It becomes obvious to me that my narrative – my story – like your story – didn’t begin with me. With us. It didn’t begin when our parents met. Or even our grandparents. It goes further back – back all the way to Abraham. To Sarah. We are the sons and daughters of Abraham, of Sarah, of Rebecca, of Jacob. And our stories don’t end with us. We are part of a long chain – a chain that is as extraordinary as it is beautiful. A chain that is eternal. What a priceless gift! What a magnificent vision!

That story comes alive for me when I read the Torah each week. To me, the beauty of the Torah and in fact, of Judaism, is that our religion lives and breathes when we make its stories our stories. If we look at the Torah as a history book, we will inevitably have doubts and perhaps disappointments. But the Torah isn’t and was never meant to be a history book.

The key question isn’t, “Was Abraham a real person?” but rather, is his story real? Am I living it today? When Gd said to Abraham, “Lech lecha! Go from this place!” That’s our story, isn’t it? We don’t know what’s in store for us; we don’t even know what will happen tomorrow, but that story – our story – our narrative depends largely on us. What we do and how we act.

The Exodus – did it happen exactly as it was written in the Torah? Who cares? The lessons of the Exodus endure. Tyrants fall. Maybe not as quickly as we would like, but they ultimately fall. Freedom wins out. And making the story of the Exodus our story, we realize that it’s up to us to be Moses and help others unshackle bonds. It’s up to us to be Miriam and pack our tambourines when all looks beak, because better days are in store, if we make it so.

In some very deep sense, we all have a yearning, not only for our lives to matter today, but for our lives to have lasting significance. To leave the world better than we found it. When viewed in the context of the great sweep of time, we are here but for an instant. But if our lives are to have significance, if we are to be a force for good in the world, those seemingly trivial marks that we make each day add up, and we become part of something much bigger. And when placed in the context of those who came before us and those who will come after us, we are but a link in a very long chain. What a beautiful image, right?

In 1974, my grandfather died of pancreatic cancer. He was a tall, strapping man (like his grandson, maybe?). I never recall him being warm and overtly loving. And after my dad died in 1959, I never even recall him smiling. No laughter; no joy. He lived in Boston, where I was born and raised. His final hospitalization came while I was doing a clerkship in Hartford Connecticut, a few months before I was to graduate from medical school. I traveled home to Boston and went to the hospital to see him for what would be the last time. I recall the visit because it was so distinctive, and his behavior so unusual for him.

From his bed, saying not a word, he pulled me by my shoulders close to him, hugged me and smiled, looking deeply into my eyes. Very uncharacteristic of him. Maybe my Zadie tasted, for the first time, eternity. His father had been a doctor in a small village outside Moscow, and maybe now, in his last days, he viewed me and indeed his own life in a very different way. He was looking at eternity through my eyes, as his parents and grandparents surely looked at eternity through Zadie’s eyes, in their old Russian shtetl. They then put him on a boat to leave for America, never to see him again.

So next Tuesday evening when Mike chants the Kol Nidre prayer in that ancient melody, close your eyes. Taste eternity. Feel the presence of all those who came before you and who heard that same melody. It’s OK to shed a tear or two during the prayer. Soak in the moment. Hold it close. . .

Nancy and I wish all of our brothers and sisters in the kehillah a year filled with sweetness and joy, and may we all have much to celebrate together.

L’shanah Tovah. Chag Sameach!

In the podcast “Hidden Brain,” psychologist Azim Sharif discussed how religion started, thousands of years ago, as a means of social cohesion. The early pagan religions relied on the threat of supernatural punishment as a means of inducing behavior that kept groups together.  As social groups enlarged from maybe one or two dozen people to groups of hundreds, then thousands, an individual needed to have means of trusting other individuals, since not everyone knew every other person in the social groups. Indeed, supernatural punishment and reward is still one of the main inducements that caused – and keeps – some religions to become so large. In this regard, Judaism is an example of just this promise/threat scenario.

Today’s parashah lays out for us in stark terms how we are supposed to observe Gd’s commandments. “See, this day I set before you a blessing and a curse: a blessing if you listen to the commandments of the Lord your Gd, which I enjoin upon you this day. And curse, if you do not listen to the commandments of the Lord your Gd but turn away from the path that I enjoin you.” We read about how we are to deal with those who worship “false Gds.” We are to put them to death! And we are to destroy all other houses of worship besides our own.

There are a couple of really disagreeable segments in this and other parashiot such as instructions to the Israelites to kill those they plunder in their quest to conquer and inhabit the Promised Land. These portions and the curses that result from noncompliance are sometimes pointed to by nonjews when they depict our Bible as being filled with punishment and violence.

Well, I personally don’t believe that tangible punishment awaits us if we sin. Nor do I believe that we will be rewarded in any tangible way for performing good deeds. I don’t need to be addressed as a toddler. I – we – each must find our own way in which the commandments speak to us, informed by our people’s story and teachings. I have also spoken before about ritual and its importance.

So you have here a committed Jew who is at least somewhat observant, but who doesn’t believe in Divine reward and punishment. How do I reconcile that? I would be happy to reiterate my personal theology with you, but having done that from the bimah already, I want to focus on a different aspect of today’s parashah.

I’m only mentioning this fire and brimstone portion of the parashah to contrast it with what I consider the more positive portions, gratitude and rejoicing.

I recently finished a book by Jonathan Ruach (Ruach – he must have been Jewish, right?) called, “The Happiness Curve.” The book describes how one’s self-measure of happiness is relatively high in early adulthood, sags appreciably before reaching its trough, usually in a person’s mid-40s to early 50s, and then climbs again. This is found irrespective of the country studied and the gender analyzed, and is independent of socioeconomic status. It’s really an amazingly consistent finding, and the author does a great job giving numerous reasons why this may be so.

The trough in the happiness quotient follows the dashed dreams of our youth and is exacerbated by financial realities, the realization of the limits of what we will be able to achieve in our lives, the feeling of, “Is this all there is,” our inevitably growing list of infirmities, finding ourselves in a “sandwich generation,” new burdens – imperfect kids, spouse, etc, etc.

The good news is that this changes, and an upswing in one’s “happiness score” occurs in the form of a relatively comfortable acceptance that life is messy and imperfect. So how can Judaism help? In fact, Judaism just might have at least a partial answer, helping us raise the depth of the trough and shortening its time frame.

I believe that, in addition to following certain rituals, odd though it may seem, one of the ways we honor Gd is to feel joy – to rejoice. The word for this in Hebrew is simcha, or some derivative of it. The word is found more in today’s parashah than in all the other books of the Torah combined! As you all know, Judaism teaches us to count our blessings. We are taught to say 100 blessings a day. We even have a blessing upon seeing a rainbow. Indeed, our Shabbat service starts out with a list of items for which we should be grateful.

In the book, Ruach points out how a sense of gratitude helps lift us out of the happiness trough. Here is where our parashah comes in. Today’s parashah conveys the importance of rejoicing – of being grateful for the blessings which were bestowed upon us.

When my daughter Leah was small and would sometimes complain about one or another friend, I used to tell her that if all you see are warts, then the whole world is ugly. In a similar way, although life is filled with pain, we are commanded in today’s parashah to rejoice as well. Indeed, the talmud relates that one of the questions we will be asked by a heavenly court when we die will be whether we enjoyed all the gifts that were ethically ours for the taking. Being grateful is a way of thanking Gd. True joy though, reaches beyond the boundaries of ourselves and touches the lives of others. Maybe that’s why our parashah includes rules of giving to others, and in that way, cultivating a sense of community.

So why bother to cultivate such an attitude? Expressing gratitude may make others feel good, but what about us? Aside from following the commandments of the Torah, is there any tangible value? Well, as it turns out, the answer is yes.

In his book, The Science of Gratitude, Robert Emmons discusses a study of nuns in the United States, whose writings, attitudes and subsequent health records were followed for over 60 years. The nuns kept personal journals, and the results were startling. The more positive emotions that the nuns expressed when they were young – the more gratitude, hope and love that was in their writings – the more likely they were to be alive and healthy . . . 60 years later!

A multitude of studies since the nun study has linked wide-ranging health benefits to thankfulness – benefits that are physical, psychological and interpersonal. It’s not difficult to see that people who frequently show gratitude and thank others tend to have closer social bonds.

Numerous sociology studies have consistently pointed out that a sense of awe and gratitude does wonderful things for us, including a heightened sense of altruism and a resultant concern for others.

In this as in so many other ways, the Bible has shown its wisdom. Gratitude is good for others, but it is also good for those who are grateful. A sense of awe and gratitude not only makes for better Jews, it makes for healthier and happier Jews!

In Judaism, it’s a great mitzvah to find joy.

Last Shabbat, I was having lunch with the Steiners right here. When I told Melsissa the title of my d’var for this week, “Roffman Goes Rogue,” she said, “Ha! Again?,” and Ron said, “Why am I not surprised?” Well, sometimes I do come at this from an unconventional direction. Many years of reading about decision-making, social psychology and medicine has served me very well in my profession, where old assumptions and dogma can lead us astray. When studying Torah, taking a fresh look can give new insights, and the wondrous way that torah is a guide for life never ceases to amaze me. So with that in mind . . .

This is a parashah about death. The story of the red heffer gives detailed purification instructions after one comes in direct contact with a dead person. Also in the parashah, Miriam dies, Moses and Aaron are condemned to death. Aaron dies. And then in the haftorah, we would have another death – this time a very senseless one – but it is omitted because of an error by our sages – we’ll get to that in a couple of minutes.

In the parashah, the feature that gets the most attention is when Moses strikes a rock, bringing forth water for his stiff-necked rebels, and Gd tells him that because of what he had done, he will soon die. As you can imagine, scholars have had a field day with this. What did Moses do to deserve such a harsh judgment? He struck the rock instead of speaking to it? Come on, Gd, don’t be so thin-skinned! Anyway, we’ll get back to that. Well, each of these four examples carries its own message, and together they add up to become what is a very important and powerful parashah.

The first death in the parashah is that of Miriam. Such an important figure in the story of our people. Ensuring that Moses will know his origins after he was cast into the river by his mother and saved by an Egyptian princess. Supporting others during their journey in the desert. Five Hebrew words – part of a single verse – was all that was written about her death. Well Miriam’s passing will not be given short shrift here at KC! After we read that Miriam has died, the very next verse tells of the subsequent lack of water for the Israelites. Remember that a midrash tells of a well of water that followed Miriam in the desert. Now, without Miriam, the Israelites missed the nourishment of the body and, perhaps, the nourishment of the soul by Miriam herself.

Rewards for good deeds are often very private affairs, such as when we perform acts of loving kindness for one another. But just as the simple description of Miriam’s death was followed by the lack of water for the entire Israelite nation, a small act of kindness that we perform can have a profound effect. Miriam was beloved by a nation and is now revered by us.

But at the time of her death, little was made of it. It doesn’t lessen her importance, which has become magnified through the years. Just as the Talmud says that one who saves a life, it is like saving an entire universe, Torah teaches that one who performs a single good deed can have a profound effect on an entire life.

The next death is that of Aaron. Torah teaches that he was also a beloved figure because of the way he brought people together. It is told that he would bring two quarreling people together by telling each privately that the other felt terrible about their rift, but was embarrassed to come forward. Of course, they would then reconcile.

He bestowed his vestments upon his son just before his death, and we read that the people mourned for 30 days – this is where our tradition of sheloshim comes – the 30 days of mourning for a close relative. This priest of the temple – maybe the equivalent of Alan! – was regarded as close kin to all the people. And in the case of our shul, maybe this applies to not just Alan, but all of us. After all, in our small kehillah – community – we’re all participants in our shul and are regarded as kin by one another.

Instance number three. In the haftorah, the previously outcast Yiftach is brought back by the Israelites to lead them in battle, to be a powerful general. He makes a Faustian bargain, telling Gd that if his battle is a success, he will offer as a burnt offering “Whatever first comes from my house upon my return from battle,” fully expecting one of his many livestock to be the first “greeter.” Does anyone remember who greets Yiftach when he returns home? Yes – his daughter. But this key element of the story is left out of the haftorah! And in Etz Chaim, the commentary about the haftorah doesn’t even mention this climax to the story. Read the commentary in Etz Chaim about the relationship of the haftorah to the parashah – I think it’s a bit contrived!

The whole parashah is about death: the red heffer sacrifice, the deaths, or at least the sentences of death of 3 great leaders of the Exodus. The haftorah ends with verse 33. In verse 34 in the Book of Judges, we read that it was Yiftach’s daughter who comes out to greet him and is subsequently and tragically put to death. The entire chapter in Judges ends with verse 40. Would it have been so difficult to include this major feature of the entire lesson? Seven more verses! This could have given a meaningful and purposeful juxtaposition between the deaths of beloved people in our history versus a death brought about by selfishness and arrogance. Clearly, this was a mistaken omission by our sages.

Anyway . . . Torah teaches that arrogance comes before the fall. Yiftach was a great warrior, brought back by the Israelites to lead them in battle. Do we remember him kindly? Do we remember him at all, except for one portion of a haftorah? He was so sure of a happy would-be ending and as a result, lost his only child.

Now on to Moshe. What did he do to merit such a harsh judgment? As you know, speculation in our tradition’s writings runs rampant. He struck the rock rather than speaking to it. He lost his temper with the Israelites. And on and on. So what was the real reason? Nothing . . . and everything. Effective leadership requires many traits – bold actions, humility, patience, foresight.

Yes, Moses lost his temper, insulted his people and said that he (not Gd) would provide water for them. Maybe he lost his leadership focus from fatigue (after all, he had been leading the Israelites for decades). Maybe he lost his focus from grief (after all, he just lost his sister, Miriam) and maybe all of this gushed out, just as the water gushed out, with this singular episode.

Anyway, for Moses, it was time. In my view, his death sentence maybe wasn’t a death sentence at all. Maybe Moses wasn’t being punished. Maybe Gd’s words were simply foretelling what was inevitable. It wasn’t that Moses committed some great sin. It was that he was human. And as for all humans, there comes a time. We can and should put off this time as long as we are able. We all carry burdens, just as Moses did. For most, the burdens only increase with age. But for those with wisdom, fortitude and equanimity, when that time does come, they are revered, as Moses was.

And so while we would just as soon forget the arrogance and selfishness of Yiftack we hold dear Miriam’s acts of loving kindness, Aaron’s gift of reconciliation, and Moses’s skills of leadership. The accounts of events in the Torah may not have actually happened, but they are truthful. The Torah has given us three great examples and lessons that even contrarians can aspire to.