In the late 1990’s, I was teaching middle schoolers at Shearith’s religious school. Before class one Sunday morning, I stopped the rabbi in the hall and told him that the time had come – I was going to discuss a really big issue that day – the elephant in the room. The rabbi had a look of deep concern – what was I going to bring up to these adolescents? “Today,” I said, “We’re going to discuss . . .Gd!!” the rabbi was greatly relieved and joked that yes, in a religious school, the subject of Gd may well indeed belong. So today, I’m going to do it again – a really big subject.

I signed up for this d’var based on the calendar, not knowing which subjects were included in the parashah. When I reviewed it, I found the dreaded verse – Leviticus, 18:22, and knew my time had come to discuss it. “A man shall not lie with another man as he lies with a woman. It is an abomination.” And later in the parashah, 20:13, the death penalty is invoked as punishment for homosexual relationships. There are lots of other possible topics in this combined parashah, but I can duck this subject no longer. And just as Fred did several years ago, I’m going to take a stab at this.

Now as we are all too familiar with, the Torah has issues – in many ways, women don’t count as much as men, slavery is allowed, whole populations should be wiped out after war. Gd speaks in real words . . . and seems to have anger management issues! And on and on.

But the truths of the Torah lie not in concrete measures and quantities, but in values. For instance, one truth of the Torah is that the arc of the universe bends toward justice. Pharaohs and tyrants are ultimately brought down. The downtrodden are depicted as Gd’s very children. We live those truths and so many others by separating the holy from the profane, and we use our various rituals as means of depicting which is which, thus constantly reminding ourselves of that separation. But the actual words of the Torah are not necessarily to be taken literally.

For the most part, the Orthodox have no conflicts with literal translation. The Torah is the word of Gd, and that’s that. To not follow it is to be doomed. Of course, the Torah also states that recalcitrant children should be stoned to death. Well, that was never intended to be taken literally, they claim. Well, so they already concede that the Torah, as Heschel said, is one big midrash. Some of the Torah is to be taken literally. Other portions, not so much. Who, exactly, arbitrates that?

The Reform regard the Torah as just stories and suggestions, not feeling bound by its commandments. It was produced by Judaism in its infancy, and they have little regard for its dictates. Homosexuality? No problem for them. They take into their congregations Jews, non-Jews . . . whatever. Just be a good person, the Reform say. Well fine, but there’s nothing especially Jewish about that. And who, exactly, decides what being a good person is, anyway?

The Conservative movement has it right. Issues like homosexuality are taken very seriously. Words of the torah are halakhically binding, but those words must be interpreted in the context of their times, changing very slowly, but not set in . . . stone . . . as it were! So slavery was accepted by the world as a whole when the Torah was written. It was not banned in the Torah, but it was tightly regulated and restricted. This represented a marked change from the norm of those days. Only much later was it completely banned. And in its perhaps most major split with Orthodox custom and belief, we Conservative Jews regard women in a fully egalitarian manner.

We Conservative Jews have always regarded the words of Torah as being, perhaps, Divinely inspired, but informed by the values of the time. And that’s true of so many consequential documents. Our very Constitution, for instance . . . We hold these truths to be self evident that all MEN are created equal? Come on, now, Tom (Jefferson)! So we adapt. We yearn for wisdom and connection, and the Torah has bound us together and has changed the world in the most profound ways.

So where does this leave us – how does all this apply to those verses concerning homosexuality?

The Conservative movement dipped its collective toe in the water in the 1990s, found the water too cold, and recoiled from taking a stance on the tougher implications of the verses. The 25 rabbis that comprise the CJLS – the Committee on Jewish Law and Standards – tackled the issue again some years later, and in 2006 issued a responsa – a decision that represents the position of the Conservative movement. Not surprisingly, it straddles the fence.

And it does so because it recognizes that some issues can’t be tidily wrapped up in a single conclusion. The way these responsa work is that if a certain number of rabbis among the members of the CJLS are of a particular opinion, that opinion becomes a valid standard that other Conservative rabbis may follow. In this case, two were adopted.

One view was that a specific act – anal intercourse – was forbidden, but that other behavior was fine. This view held that gays and lesbians could apply to rabbinic schools and that Conservative rabbis could perform commitment ceremonies. It was a relatively liberal stance that was accepted by 13 of the 25 rabbis on the committee.

The reasoning was that the specific act in question was expressly forbidden in the Torah – and thus was “biblical” – but the other restrictions were not in the Torah – they were rabbinic, and could thus be reinterpreted. They further maintained that kavot habriyot – human dignity – mandated that other restrictions be lifted.

Another view was more restrictive, accepting that although homosexuality was not a choice, but rather was innate, still, although rabbinic in authority, there was not enough justification for reversing the prohibition against all types and forms of homosexual behavior. They felt that the definition of human dignity in the competing responsa was contrived. Restriction from the rabbinate was maintained, and no rabbi could officiate at a commitment ceremony. This position garnered an equal 13 votes.

Wait – how could 25 rabbis yield 26 votes? And there were additional votes for a couple of other positions as well! This is so Jewish . . . it seems that this is not like an election, where one candidate or another is chosen by the voter. It’s more like a buffet – Cherry pie? Fine, I’ll have a piece. And yes, I also would like a chocolate chip cookie. Rabbis could vote for one position, another, two of them, or ALL of them!

So it seems that one rabbi wanted to maintain the pluralism of the movement, and felt that precisely equal votes for these two positions would dramatically express just that. So he voted to accept both!

As I looked at all this, read the responsa, read commentaries, and so forth, it will not surprise you that I personally come down on the more “liberal” side of this. Our understanding of human nature has evolved enormously. Would a compassionate Gd have made a human with evil written directly into his or her DNA?

Of course not.

I encourage you to read the various positions and commentary about this topic and see what you think.

In my view, though, we’re all Gd’s children. Every one of us.

Shabbat Shalom!

There are many important items that we could discuss in today’s parashah, which is packed with laws. Today, I wish to discuss some overriding themes and some very specific laws or sets of laws, and how they apply today.

I have heard it said by non-Jews that Judaism in a religion of laws and rules, and that it is a very “dry” religion. this is a mischaracterization of our faith. A mischaracterization! As you will see, the laws we read today have been crafted to create people and communities that are sensitive to the weak and the disenfranchised. The Jewish vision of justice is based not on abstract principles or beliefs, but on the concrete memories of the Jewish people. We are called upon to teach justice by first putting it into action in our own lives.

First, please note that the parashah begins with a vov – “and,” as in, “And these are the laws you (Moses) shall set before them (the people.)” There is thus made a connection between the “Big 10” from last week and the commandments we read about today. One group is thus no more important than the other. All of these additional laws were revealed at the same time and would seem to be equally binding. Now on to the principles.

One principle is that of the “nudge.” The parashah actually begins with rules regarding slaves. With so many restrictions imposed on slave ownership, this, I believe, is a “nudge” against slavery itself. Sometimes, Gd doesn’t command us directly in a particular direction. Sometimes, it’s just a nudge. Maybe an outright ban on slavery would have been too radical a change for the nascent Israelite Nation, and so a gentle nudge was more appropriate. As we all know, it took many years before slavery was finally made illegal. And of course, our country fought a great war over the issue, but we eventually got there.

And actually, I wonder if the same sort of nudge is at work with respect to the laws of kashrut. I gave a talk a couple of months ago to the Jain Society of North Texas, and was asked if, because of our philosophy against killing, Jews were vegetarians. I responded that in my opinion, our Bible has set up a grand bargain, or compromise. We are told that we can eat meat, but the rules to which we are held are very restrictive. I actually wonder whether we will eventually outlaw all killing of animals – even for food. Seems to me a similar dynamic might be at play, taking place over centuries, between the eventual outlawing of slavery and the eventual outlawing of killing animals for food. Anyway, so this is one principle – the nudge – and one specific law or set of laws.

As an aside, the adherence to these rules serve as constant reminders of my particular identity and of my particular place in the world. As you know, Nancy and I returned from a trip to far-away Patagonia  a couple of weeks ago. Though the food on the trip was generally quite good, I had constant issues – eating no nonkosher beef, veal, shellfish, etc. I was often left with very limited choices. A couple of times, I was asked about the rules of kashrut. I should be clear that I do not keep strictly kosher, but the restrictions that I adhere to caused me to stand out a lot among this group of a couple dozen people, who ate together for 10 days. What is the basis for these rules, I was asked on one occasion. Cleanliness? No – I adhere to them as I do because they are written in our Bible. For me, it’s a way to maintain a distinction and an identity.

So that’s one principle and specific set of rules – the nudge and the laws of kashrut.

The second principle is the very exacting nature of the laws as they are written. Today we transition from the grand canvas of the Ten Commandments to the granularity of Judaism. We find that Gd is in the details. I would argue that as much as the “Big 10,” these additional scores of laws define us as Jews. This is where the rubber meets the road. So the big picture of last week leads to the details of this week. Let’s say, for instance, that just last week, Alan’s goat was gored my Mona’s ox. The goat, it seems, strolled across their border and actually had been on Mona’s property. So who is at fault? Talmudic scholars have spent countless hours deliberating over just this sort of detail. And note that the relative wealth of Alan and Mona doesn’t matter at all when it comes to the application of these laws. One law applies to all.

Even though many of the laws are subject to interpretation, they are very specific and generally lead to a more compassionate world. In Chapter 22:24, we find an example of a law that is applied to great social benefit today. We are told that if money is loaned to the poor – to “My people,” no interest should be charged. Now it isn’t clear to me that this law applies to Jews exclusively, since it refers to the, “poor among you,” but still, this verse formed the basis for the establishment of Hebrew Free Loan Associations.

Most of these organizations were formed in the early part of the last century, before there was a series of social safety nets. I’m proud to be a member of the Board of Directors of the DHFLA, which was formed in 1935. It has served as a lifeline to those facing eviction, hunger, illness, and other financial challenges. I would be happy to discuss our association with you over kiddush. So here is a very clear and specific rule that applies to all. It is not arcane and it is not difficult to carry out.

Note that as part of this second principle of particularity we have our third principle: “Mishpat Echod” – one set of laws. As I mentioned, there is no distinction between rich and poor. No one is above the law. In fact, the laws are here to be learned by all. They are all laid out before us – not spoken in some code, to be hidden away. So we have one set of very particular laws. Details!

Yet another principle – the fourth that I would like to touch on – is that although they were handed down at Sinai, we read that the rules written in today’s parashah applied to all who were there, yes, but also to all who were not there. They are timeless. As you know, there is a midrash that we were all at Sinai – all Jews then and all whose unborn souls were to become Jews later – us. In fact, I’m sure I met Larry there – And I remembered him because he was wearing a Chicago Cubs cap instead of a kippah even then! Who could have known then that both of us (I’m a Red Sox fan) would suffer for many decades, but that we would both ultimately be redeemed?

A verse I want to discuss that reflects this absolute timelessness of the laws is Ch. 23:9. “You shall not oppress a stranger, for you know the feeling of the stranger, having yourselves been strangers in the land of Egypt.” Unchanged over the centuries and equally applicable to all of us today. This verse summarizes the social vision of the Torah, seeking to impart a sensitivity on all of us.

We are being nagged about this! This reminder is repeated 36 times in the Torah. We are commanded to show special sensitivity, since we can identify with the powerless. This is a timeless command that we reenact each year at Passover. And it is repeated over and over in our daily liturgy today, many centuries after the laws were handed down.

First we were nudged; now we’re being nagged! We still read about our experience in Egypt, with the admonition to be compassionate towards the poor and the powerless, because we continue to identify with their fate. So the nagging features of the laws constitute this fifth principle.

So Mishpatim sets the course – the rules laid out in today’s parashah brings the vision of a compassionate world to earth in concrete terms, and  according to the principles that I discussed today:

• the nudge;
• Gd existing in the fine details of life;
• the fact that the laws apply to all of us equally – mishpat echod;
• the timeless applicability of the laws and
• the importance of some laws as reflected by their repetition.

These laws and admonitions are designed to make us more compassionate and sensitive to the needs of others.

And the details in today’s parashah bring the law, the vision for a better and more compassionate society here to earth, where we need it most.

Shabbat Shalom

Americans as a group tend to be an optimistic people. This has been a salient trait of Americans throughout our history. Heck, our founders and first citizens must have been incredibly optimistic to put up with what they had to put up with. Not only do Americans generally look forward to the future, but some of our politicians have made it their mantra to “Never look back!” As we will see, though, this is not the Jewish way.

In my favorite magazine, the Atlantic, a Pew study was cited that not only showed the general optimism of Americans compared with people in other countries, but we also bucked another trend. While the importance of religion is generally inversely correlated with the wealth of a country, the U.S. is just the opposite. Though relatively wealthy compared to most all of the other countries in the study, more Americans state that religion plays an important part of their lives than in other countries with comparable wealth.

So optimism and the importance of religion are common features and traits of many Americans.

This coming week, we will be granted an opportunity to tie our American optimism with our Jewish faith, and to start anew. This week, we observe Rosh Chodesh Elul, heralding the coming of our annual period of self reflection. Yes, the High Holidays are coming to a shul near you. While this is our chance to steer ourselves in the direction of the person we always wanted to be, the mandate of Elul does not, alas, involve wiping the slate clean or forget-ting past mistakes. Not so fast! In keeping with the Jewish parental tradition of lay-ing on the guilt, it is about confronting who we  have been, so that we can grow into being a better person.

As a way into Elul, the first three verses of today’s parashah lay out for us in stark terms that we are supposed to observe Gd’s commandments.

“See, this day I set before you a blessing and a curse: 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.”

But there are a couple of really disagreeable segments of the parashah such as in-structions to kill those plundered by the Israelites in their quest to conquer and inhabit the Promised Land. These portions and the curses as I just read are sometimes pointed to by nonjews when they depict our Bible as be-ing filled with punishment and violence.

Now as you know by now, I 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. That’s simply not my theology. And neither I nor, I suspect, most of you, believe that sinners must be killed on the spot, as our Torah commands. So I have a problem in using those 3 verses as I enter Elul and as I think about my own life. We each must find our own way in which the commandments speak to us, in-formed by our people’s story, teachings and traditions.

And one of the key teachings for me in today’s parashah is that it tells us to find joy. In fact, the root of the Hebrew word for joy, (samech, mem, chof -simcha, right?) appears once in each of the first four books of the Torah. It is found 7 times in our parashah alone.

Some of you may remember a story I told sometime back – I was biking with Ephraim Weiss, Shelley and Simma’s son – mentoring him so he could get his Boy Scout merit badge. On one drizzly morning, I told him how great it was to be able to enjoy the sun. “The sun’s not out today, Dr. Roffman.” reported Ephraim. “Sure it is, Ephraim,” I said. “You just can’t see it because it’s behind the clouds.

In Judaism, in addition to enjoying the creature comforts we might strive for, we are taught to cultivate an awareness of the sources of wonder and joy, and to become sensitized to and enjoy those things that can’t be measured or quantified. This was what I hoped to convey to Ephraim.

The task to change some of our traits, as Elul implores us to do, might be tough. But while we embark on the difficult task of self-improvement, appreciating the joys and wondrous things that happen to us should be easy. And as we are taught this week, it’s also a mitzvah. Our Torah has many dictates and laws that might seem arbitrary, unimportant and even disagreeable. Make no mistake, though, our teachings are a blueprint for living and for finding fulfillment. For living a life that matters. And finding joy is a big part of that.

As a bookend to the verses I read at the very beginning of the parashah, our parashah concludes with the “rules of giving” that was to apply to sarifices we were to bring Gd on each of our 3 pilgramage holidays – Pesach, Sha-vuot and Succot. I would posit that these rules apply not only to the 3 festivals, and not only to Gd. In our contemporary world, we don’t actually believe that Gd needs our gifts. And we have certainly and thankfully given up the practice of sacrifices long ago. But our living Torah dictates that we use the guidelines as a template for giving in general.

The rules are, first, that we must not come to the table, as it were, empty handed. We must be appreciative of our blessings and we must be generous in return. The second rule is that we must give according to our own gift – that is we are to use our own unique attributes and talents – something that reflects our own abilities, skills and passions. We all carry a spark of the divine within us and we are all unique.

So Gd wants us to be who we are – special in our own way. The unique gifts we give to make the world better are a recognition that we are obligated to fight social conformity and mindless habit. And given that we each carry a spark of the Divine within us, it could be argued that gifts that we give to others – tangible or intangible – are in fact, gifts to Gd.

Elul is about first remembering – who we really have been, and second – looking ahead to who we want to be and to what we really want to accomplish. By under-standing our story as Jews and coming to terms with our past, we can navigate to a just and righteous path. In this way, we approach Elul in a way that is very different from the stereotypically American way of never looking back that I mentioned ear-lier.

As we begin the Season of Repentance, may each of us be blessed with the strength to look at our lives anew, to feel and appreciate the joys that have been granted us, to discover and become who and what we should be, and to give our unique gifts to others and to the world. May we all emerge wiser and stronger when the shofar blast concludes our observance of Yom Kippur.

Shabbat Shalom

Some years back, I was riding in an organized bike ride in Waxahatchie. The ride had hundreds of riders, and it was a warm and windy day. I was going along with the wind at my back – at a really nice clip. The realization descended on me gradually that I was on the wrong route. I hadn’t seen other riders for some time, except one in my little rear-view mirror on my helmet. No one else was on this long country road. I slowed to let the other rider to catch up. He was wearing a number, so I knew he was in the same ride as me.

As he came alongside me, I said hello, and told him that I had good news and bad news. He must have thought, “Who is this?” I Told him that the bad news was that I was quite certain we were not on the correct road. Somehow, we had missed a turn. He looked around, realized that I was right, and his face took on a look of consternation. The good news, I reported . . . . was that we were making excellent time! We pulled over, and a farmer (whose outfit didn’t look anything like ours) looked at our route map and told us how to get back on the right road. We were just a few miles off.

So there we were – until that point, speeding along, without the proper direction. (already sounds like a religious lesson, doesn’t it? You were wondering how I was going to segway this into today’s parashah. Have no fear!)

In today’s parashah, Gd tells the Israelites what their rewards will be if they obey the commandments. All of the commandments. Gd goes on to describe what the consequences will be for disobedience. These curses that will befall the sinners are called the tokhechah.

Tali Sharot, is a cognitive neuroscientist at University College of London who wrote a book that describes examples of how hope is a better motivating factor in inducing an action, while fear is more useful in impeding an action. This is consistent with how the Torah teaches us. When explaining the consequences of sinning, we’re not told that we and the world would be better off if we didn’t behave in this way. We are told that we will be severely punished! Similarly, we are told that we will be rewarded – handsomely – by following Gd’s laws. So this is a very simplistic and almost childish approach to coaxing proper behavior in a person or in a group. But as I explained in an earlier D’var that I gave on this parashah, this is how you treat a toddler, and the Israelites were in their “toddlerhood” as a people.

In one of the commentaries I read, the point was made that a particular word, keree – kuf, reish, is mentioned a number of times in this portion – I counted 7 times – and is found nowhere else in the entire tanakh. Well, you can just imagine how Jewish scholars have had a feast trying to figure this one out! There seems to be some dispute as to the exact meaning of this word.

As is often the case, many commentators have turned to the Rambam, Maimonides for his explanation. He teaches that this word is quite similar to another Hebrew word, mikrei. Recall my D’var on the very first parashah in Leviticus. It begins with the word vayikra. But the aleph at the end of the word is written in the Torah in a small font, and the meaning of the word changes dramatically, depending on whether the aleph is used in the word. Well, the meaning of mikrei changes in a similar way if just one letter is exchanged for another. Well, kirei, mikrei, change a letter . . . Quite an extrapolation, if you ask me. There is no small-font letter here, and the word in question must be related to another word in this explanation. Quite a stretch.

The issue of kiree’s meaning actually seems very simple to me (consistent with my simple mind when it comes to analyzing these parashot). In Etz chaim as well as in most of the other translations I’ve looked at (5 in all), the word is usually translated as contrary, or hostile.

As in, if you behave with hostility to me (Gd), I will behave with hostility to you. And since we are taught that we all carry a spark of the divine within us, treating a fellow person with either dignity or with hostility is akin to treating Gd with dignity or hostility. And the person (or Gd) will behave toward us in kind. It seems that the word can also mean nonchalance – if you treat me casually, then I will treat you casually. To me, very simply, we reap what we sow.

When my ultrasound technologist, Vaishali Kapadia began working for me, she commented about how my patients were so nice. I told her that they were neither more nor less nice than other patients. But when a person is greeted with a smile and with respect, most of the time they will respond in kind. And I’m very particular about how patients are treated when they come to my office. So yes, if we simply follow the Golden Rule, Do unto others . . . most of the time, we will be met with pleasant behavior in return.

So now let’s go a step beyond immediate reward and punishment. The Torah gave the Israelites a sense of purpose and a direction. No people more than the Jews has insisted that humanity has a purpose and an eventual destiny. The individual matters. Bill Sutker gave a D’var some time back in which he spoke about how we are all important to our kehillah. Everyone has a role, and everyone must do their part. This is yet another example in Judaism about how the individual matters. Everyone is important. We have all been created in the Divine image, and so we all have infinite worth.

People who endeavor to change the world – in however modest a way – even those who try to impact our kehillah in their own way – have a purpose, a mission. As Rabbi Sacks said in one of his teachings, “To give human life the dignity of a purpose – a proper direction – that is what we as individuals and what we as Jews are called upon to show the world.”

This quest to have a mission actually squares with my “Kehillaversary” talk. The three cornerstones of my belief are: belief in a creator, the 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 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. Our vision has been an example – a template – used by others.

And 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 mentioned, but rather in a much more profound sense: with feelings of satisfaction, inner peace, and pleasant relationships with others.

A month or so ago, I was riding my bike with Ephraim Weiss. Ephraim is the 11-year-old son of Simma and Shelley Weiss, friends of our congregation. As some of you know, I’m mentoring him so he can get his Boy Scout merit badge in cycling. As we took a break on that cloudy, drizzly morning, I said how great it was to be able to enjoy the sun. He looked up at the clouds and drizzle. “The sun’s not out today, Dr. Roffman,” he said. I told him that we were indeed enjoying the sun that morning, we just couldn’t see it because it was behind clouds.

As we approach the High Holidays and our season of reflection, I would like use a central message of today’s parasha as a foundation for our own mediation, prayer and thought.

Judaism recognizes an attitude of joy and gratitude to be a pious response to the blessings in our lives. We are instructed numerous times in the Bible and in our liturgy to rejoice, to celebrate – our customs and traditions, our laws and rituals, the blessings in our lives. Today we chanted the joyous prayers of Hallel, to celebrate a new moon. A new moon – really?!?! But though it might seem a bit more than is warranted for such a common event, this reflects a mindset – a glass half-full instead of one half-empty. The Talmud teaches us to say 100 blessings a day, and in so doing, we are taught to appreciate the mundane. To do so requires practice and sometimes a paradigm shift in our approach.

Instead of thinking about clouds and drizzle, my lesson to Ephraim was to appreciate just being able to get out on his bike and ride! Of course, I recognize the limits to this – some things don’t have a bright side, and even on that morning, when it started to rain more heavily, my post-Ephraim ride with my friend Greg was curtailed. But for most of life’s situations, the bad stuff can at least be mitigated in some way by that for which we should be grateful. So how do we cultivate this approach in our daily lives? One avenue is through our relationships with others.

Martin Buber was a professor at Hebrew University. His basic teaching was that there are 2 basic models with which we interact with other people and with the world as a whole. One is what he calls “I-it.” We interact with an object or a person so we can get something back in return. Perform well at work, get a raise or a promotion. Pay money for a movie, be entertained. Be pleasant to someone, they interact with you in a favorable way. Most of our daily interactions are of the I-it type.

In what he calls an I-thou relationship, on the other hand, there is a deep and caring connection. This is where Judaism finds holiness. Dating might begin in an I-it relationship, but if it evolves into an I-thou one, there is a chance for a long-term bond that can become a source of great joy and fulfillment. Our interpersonal relationships have the potential for holiness. For wonder and the giving of self. Jewish texts are replete with teachings of the holiness of special interpersonal bonds. These I-thou relationships involve not only romantic ones, but those with friends, and even with nature. During my recent trip to Alaska with Nancy, during a group discussion, I spoke of how blessed I felt to be able to witness the majesty of the natural world.

Buber taught that a derivative of the central teachings of Judaism is to remain open to the possibility of these relationships and of wonder and to cultivate those moments all the time. With others, with the things around us. These moments and the possibilities of this cultivation can’t always be planned. But we must be prepared for them and encourage them. Some people go through their whole lives without such encounters; others constantly search for them, and build on them. These I-thou relationships are a potential source of much joy, but they don’t happen spontaneously or without the proper frame of mind.

Another way to fulfill the mitzvah of finding joy in our lives, as written in today’s parasha can be exemplified by a talk given last year by NY Times columnist David Brooks, entitled, “Are you living your resume or your eulogy? Our resume includes our titles, the positions we held in our jobs and how we spend much of our day. But our eulogy won’t discuss most of this. No one will ultimately care that we achieved Gold status on our credit cards because of all the travel we did for work. And while our life’s work will certainly be listed in due course, what ultimately matters will be not our I-it moments, but rather our I-thou moments. What kind of friend, parent, presence in the community were we? Were we there to help others? This is what will be talked about in our eulogy. Did we call? Did we care? Did we remember? Did we make time? While I was undergoing chemotherapy some months back, I can’t begin to tell you how much it meant when people sent even short notes and texts telling me they were thinking of me and pulling for me to heal.

Resume-building too often comes at the expense of our eulogy. As Jews, we are, of course commanded to work, to provide, to, “subdue the earth,” as is written in Genesis. But if we don’t love, live, encounter, and create I-thou moments as bonds, we are only, in the words of Rabbi Brad Artson, an agent for the transfer of assets.

The President of the American Enterprise Institute, Arthur Brooks, writes about how we should strive for “abundance without attachment.” We all have learned that our most cherished memories are not about things but about experiences. Material pleasures are great, but our ultimate happiness and satisfaction with our lives will be determined by things that cannot be quantified or counted. I distinctly remember many of my experiences with Leah during her childhood, but have no recollection of what brand of jeans she wore.

In Abraham Joshua Heschel’s book, “God in Search of Man,” he writes, “If the world is only power to us and we are all absorbed in a gold rush, then the only God we may come upon is the golden calf.”

Today’s parasha has many dictates and laws that sometimes might seem arbitrary. Some years ago, I had a discussion with Rabbi Glickman about this and other, similar portions of the Torah. Are those who follow its ways necessarily happier? Are they rewarded in a material sense? Of course not.

Make no mistake, though. The teachings are a blueprint for living and for finding fulfillment. For living a life that matters. One that includes family closeness, enriched by numerous I-thou moments, and rewarded by inner peace and tranquility.

So in addition to enjoying the creature comforts we strive for, we are taught in Judaism to cultivate an awareness of sources of wonder and joy, and become sensitized to and enjoy those things that can’t be measured. We are taught to create and appreciate I-Thou moments. A midrash teaches that after we die, we will be called on to account for all the pleasures in life that we did not realize and fully appreciate. At the same time, Maimonides taught that we need to assure the peace and comfort of the powerless, the poor and the stranger. True joy reaches beyond the narrow boundaries of the self and embraces others as well.

In Judaism, it’s a great mitzvah to find joy. And to a large extent, fulfilling this mitzvah is in our hands.

Seven months ago, I stood before you at the end of Shabbat services and told you that I had cancer and that an MRI showed that it had spread to my bone marrow. A bone biopsy that Monday would define the exact type of cancer I had. The only group setting in which I made such an announcement was right here. You have been there for me all along, giving me moral support every week. You provided plenty of “virtual” hugs on the days when direct contact was not allowed for me, and I came to shul wearing a mask. I am, of course, grateful for the medical care I’ve received, and I am also grateful for my Jewish heritage and faith, which are responsible for some of the underpinnings of my emotional strength. The combination of good medicine, Nancy, and my shul have enabled me to heal.

So these underpinnings that I speak of – how exactly did Judaism help? What are the lessons and the points of emphasis of Judaism that helped me maintain emotional strength and helped sustain me? There are five key features of Judaism that are pertinent here, the last of which will explain my somewhat cryptic title.

1. Judaism teaches us to appreciate the seemingly mundane.

Upon awakening in the morning, I immediately say a prayer. It begins with the words, “modeh ani,” I give thanks. It is a very short prayer, in which we express gratitude for simply awakening and being able to live. As soon as I say this prayer, my mind moves along to what is in store that day. Instead of surveying how I feel and cataloging my bodily grievances, I think instead of what is to be done with my day. Patients to see. Friends to reach out to. Spending time with Nancy. Judaism’s emphasis on giving thanks for life – after all, we are taught in the Talmud to say 100 blessings a day – takes the emphasis off the negative. How extraordinary it is that Judaism encourages us to acquire a worldview in which nothing is taken for granted. We say prayers over food and for waking up in the morning. We even have a prayer upon seeing a rainbow. Not that adversity doesn’t exist and needs to be dealt with. And let’s face it – some days are just horrid. But for me, just being able to awaken next to Nancy – what could be sweeter than that? Just as pouring a few drops of milk into a glass of water colors the whole glass, a few drops of life’s blessings can change the whole complexion of a day that might otherwise be filled with physical discomfort and emotional gloom. Judaism teaches us to “count our blessings.”

2. Judaism teaches faith and optimism.

This is certainly not original analysis by me – many of you have heard this before. When the Israelites crossed the sea after escaping their Egyptian tormentors, Miriam and the other women took out their tambourines and broke into song and dance. So there they were in Egypt. In such a hurry to leave, they couldn’t even allow time for their bread to rise, so we celebrate with matzoh. Only the Jews would celebrate such a momentous event by eating such vile food as the “Bread of Affliction!” Anyway, on even the worst of my days over the past few months, I would tell Nancy at dinner that tomorrow would be better. That we would have the opportunity to play the tambourine again. Judaism teaches that tomorrow’s events are not necessarily certain, and that we have a role in shaping those events.

3. Judaism emphasizes the importance of ritual

The simple ritual of attending Shabbat services on Saturday morning, seeing friendly faces, and engaging in the timelessness of our prayers provided me with an anchor. That anchor’s connection was both horizontal: to my friends and to other Jews who were doing the same thing at the same time, and vertical: the connection to what my ancestors did before me. It gave me peace and strength to feel the connection with Jews everywhere and at all times, knowing that even in illness, what I was going through was nothing different from countless others, and just as they do and did, I responded with my Shabbat morning ritual.

The connection to my dear friends in the kehillah – you – gave me such strength! I typically planned D’vrei Torah the day after my chemotherapy treatment. And the very first time I led the P’seukei Z’mirot and Shakharit portions of the Shabbat service was also the day after a treatment. The mission to make Shabbat a special day, I’m convinced, gave me strength. And learning and preparing to lead those portions of the service after I was diagnosed with cancer added to my sense of mission.

In Judaism, we know how special Shabbat is, and even if we have differing levels of observance, the day can still be special. My growth in davening and leading our shul in prayer was a response to the holiness of the day, and achieving personal growth even in the face of adversity is a traditionally very Jewish response. In my case, there was an additional benefit: practicing those portions of the service in the early morning hours before seeing patients helped take my mind off the symptoms that resulted from my treatment.

4. Judaism doesn’t try to explain the inexplicable.

In Pirkei Avot, we read, “It is not in our power to explain the suffering of the righteous or the tranquility of the wicked.” I certainly do not mean to paint myself as a righteous person, but there is a larger point here. The Book of Job and the Talmud teach that adversity and illness find us even without our being culpable. I realize that many Jews would disagree with my particular theology, but I don’t believe that my lymphoma was the direct result of God punishing me or, for that matter, Nancy, or my daughter Leah. I also don’t believe it was the direct result of God teaching us a particular lesson. My feeling is that God created the universe and the rules of nature, and disease is simply a manifestation of that. While there may well be an overarching endpoint to God’s universe that I can’t see and don’t grasp, that would have seem to have little to do with each and every individual occurrence on earth.

The Torah, the Talmud and the writings all have the same message – it is not in our ability to explain illness and adversity. Although I do not view my illness as being divine punishment, I can still accept the challenge of our faith to continue to try to make the world better, act by single act. I can even, if properly motivated, use the illness as an opportunity to be an example of how to handle adversity with equanimity, courage and the determination to continue to do what I am called upon to do – as a member of my family, as a physician, as a friend, and as a Jew.

5. Judaism is a culture of life.

Judaism doesn’t much concern itself with Angels, and we don’t emphasize heaven, hell and damnation. We can’t know what comes later, and we can’t know what follows our lives on earth. We can, however, affect the world, in even if in a small way. We can help shape what comes next, and that is what Judaism constantly reminds us.

Rather than a leap of faith, Abraham Joshua Heschel teaches that the Jew is asked to take a leap of action. We are taught to not accept suffering as God’s will or God’s punishment. We are taught to alleviate it. Every moment of life is sacred, and no act of kindness is wasted. Each moment of our lives provides an opportunity to do good – for us and for others. By changing ourselves we can change the world. In fact, our writings teach us that our mission is nothing short of tikkun olam – to heal the world.

There is no glory in illness. We are told to heal the sick and to relieve suffering.

There is no glory in poverty. We are told to feed the hungry and to clothe the naked.

There is no glory in death. We are told to choose life. To preserve it. To make the best of it that we can, no matter the circumstance. And to appreciate it, extracting from it all the enjoyment we possibly can.

Last month, I actually had an experience on my bike that could be a metaphor for life and death, and for Judaism’s message. I was riding early one Sunday morning. I came upon a red light and, of course, stopped. Next to me at the red light rolled up a man on a motorcycle. In the metaphor, my bike and I represent life; the man and the motorcycle represent death. There we were, side by side at the intersection.

I looked over at death and nodded. Death smiled at me and gave me a thumbs up sign, looking approvingly at my form of exercise and transportation. Life returned the thumbs-up sign and playfully called across the lane to death, “Wanna race?” Death smiled at me, as if to say, “Silly boy. You know I’m going to win this race. I always do.” I, however, was determined. I looked back at the road, bracing myself for the race. My foot was in the toe clip, and I was ready to go. The cross light turned yellow. I gave a final glance both ways to be sure there were no cars trying to beat the light. The coast was clear.

The light turned green. Life was off to the race! I stood up from the saddle to gain more power. With several quick turns of the pedal I felt a surge of excitement and exhilaration. I glanced back over my left shoulder at death. The biker was just now entering the intersection. Life yelled out, in a really loud voice, “I’m winning!!!” Just then, I heard a loud VROOOM!!! And then, WHOOOSH – death passed me as though I was standing still. Death won the race after all.

By my estimation, I was leading the race for around five seconds. But those were five glorious seconds. Those five seconds in which life was winning the race were a tiny fraction of my whole ride that morning, much as our lives are a tiny fraction of the great sweep of time. But even with my hours of riding that morning, they were the five seconds that I remember the most. They seemed elongated in time, and I derived every bit of enjoyment I could while I was still ahead in the race. In reality though, the time was gone in a flash. . .

The Talmud teaches that when we die, we will face a heavenly court, in which there will be a number of questions for us to answer. They are, in my interpretation, whether we were honest in our business dealings, whether we set aside time for Torah, whether we tried to heal the world and whether we helped sustain the Jewish people. Elsewhere in the Talmud, we read of another question–whether we made time to partake of all the pleasures that were available to us in life. That is, did we appreciate the blessings in our lives and enjoy those which were accessible to us.

So my dear friends, pedal as hard as you can. The motorcyclist is revving his engine.

Shabbat Shalom

This D’var Torah is an excerpt from “Making Every Day Count. A Jewish Doctor Confronts his Illness,” by Joel Roffman, M.D., and was reprinted by permission. Mazo Publishers, 2015.