In preparation for the High Holidays, we blow the Shofar each morning throughout the final month of the Jewish year. Every morning, the Shofar reminds us of the holiness of Rosh Hashanah, marking the start of the New Year that lies ahead.

But why do Jews all around the world blow the shofar? What is so special that we must blow it and not another horn? Why on Rosh HaShanah?

There are hundreds of explanations — Rabbi Gaon stated that the sound of the Shofar should inspire within us reverence towards God, while calling to mind the binding of Isaac and the Creation of the world.

The Shofar is mentioned explicitly several times in the Torah — it was blown by warriors going into battle and by those marking the Jubilee year. Am Yisrael, the Nation of Israel, also heard the call of this horn when receiving the Ten Commandments at Mount Sinai. The call of the Shofar is a symbolic battle cry of the Jewish People, and a reminder of the Covenant between God and us. The call of the Shofar represents all of these things — and more.

Maimonides suggests that the Shofar is a reminder for us to do teshuvah, examining one’s actions, engaging in repentance and the improvement of our ways in anticipation of Yom Kippur. The Shofar serves as a wake-up call from our human ways, and encourages us to do mitzvos.

The Rambam identifies three necessary steps to accomplish the teshuva process: regret, confession, and committing to not do the sin again.

The sound of the Shofar awakens our desire to become closer to G-d, with a yearning for meaning and fulfillment, and reminds us of the ram slaughtered by our father Abraham in a test from G-d to demonstrate his loyalty and commitment. Yet, all of these are only earthly explanations for a Divine Commandment.

We stand at the entrance to a New Year, reminding ourselves of God’s mastery of our lives, and His laws that guide our actions to goodness. We sound the Shofar after long hours of prayer, and we are vulnerable — and, in the end, we cannot rationalize the blowing of a ram’s horn.

It indeed reminds us of Biblical episodes, our humanity, and the Covenant between the Jewish People and G-D — yet Jews blow the Shofar only because it is God’s Commandment to do so. Therefore, when we blow the Shofar on Rosh HaShanah, we trust in God’s plan for us and know that His instructions represent our path to a fulfilling and meaningful life in the New Year.

To each of you, L’shana Tovah Tiketevu!

The story of the Jewish people, especially after the second Temple, is about one of the great love affairs of all time, the love of a people for specific books, the books being the 5 Books of Moses. Much of the rabbinic literature, especially the tractate, Ethics of the Fathers, reads like an extended poem in praise of Torah and a life of learning. The Torah was, said the Rabbis, the architecture of creation, written in letters of black fire on white fire, representing nothing less than the single extended name of God. For Rabbi Akiva, the Torah represents the very air Jews breathe.

The Torah is life itself!

We have reached the final Shabbat of 5781, and, fittingly, our second Sedra of Vayelech contains the last of the 613 Mitzvot in the Torah:
“And now, write for your selves this song,
and teach it to the Children of Israel.”

Rambam interprets this to mean that each person must write for himself a sefer Torah. Today, however, we accomplish this by participating in the dedication of a new Torah;

the larger principal and intent of the pasuk remains:
each one of us should make the Torah “our own.”

In other words, each of us should not only follow the specific dictates of Hashem to us through Torah and its commandments, but we should also internalize its many messages. Perhaps we will connect to the chesed of Avraham, the self-sacrifice of Yitzchak or Rachel, or the unshakeable faith of Sara. Perhaps we will become pursuers of peace like Ahron haKohen, or practice Ahavat Yisrael like Moshe, who went to visit the Jewish people before he died.

The Torah has so many diverse lessons to teach; ideal such as having courage during times of adversity, or being responsible for one’s actions, or developing a sense of discipline, OR passing on our tradition to the next generation. If we follow any of these, we indeed “own” the Torah.

Moreover, we must teach this Torah to fellow Jews. It is not enough to “keep the faith;” we must share it with others!

Two more lessons emerge from this short pasuk: The Torah should be “a song,” something that brings joy, that gets into our soul, and that we sing almost instinctively.

Kinda like the songs that we still sing frm the 60s!!!

Our Sages tell the story of a King who hired three contractors to build him a palace. He gave them each a million gold pieces & said, “Spare no expense!” The first builder decided to pocket most of the money and built a substandard edifice with cheap materials. The second improved a bit on that, but still took many short cuts. The third contractor, however, decided to use all the funds that had been given to him, and created the most superb and perfect palace he could.

With the buildings all completed, the King came to inspect, and decreed: “These palaces are for you; you will now live in them for the rest of your lives!”

The point of this is…

The King of Kings gives us the Torah and
the Judaism that we live by and study.
Let us work hard, with all the means at our disposal,
to construct the very best palace we can,
and to joyously sing the sweet song of Torah.

Shanah Tovah,  may you be inscribed and sealed for a good year.

There is a book by P.J. Long, a mom who suffered a traumatic brain injury when she fell off a horse. In her book, Gifts from a Broken Jar, she recounts this story from India about a village boy who brought water to a wealthy man.

Every day, the boy walked several miles from the village to the river and back, carrying water in two clay jars, one in his left hand and one in his right. The man paid for the water that was delivered – one full jar and one half full; the jar in one hand was cracked and its water leaked out along the roadside. Over the long months, the boy made many trips carrying water.

One day as he sat to rest before returning to the river, a spirit in the cracked jar spoke to him. “I am sorry, Master, that you have to work harder because of me. If I were perfect like your other jar, you would not need to take so many trips. And you could collect more money! I am sorry that because of me, your life is more challenged.”

The boy was surprised to hear such words. He did not think his life was being tested. He replied to the spirit, “Because of you, I am very lucky. A broken jar makes life beautiful. Come, let me show you.”

Together they walked back to the river. AND, one side of the path was bare and dusty. But along the other side, where water had trickled down from the broken jar, the way was strewn with wildflowers.

PJ Long saw the years of her life following her brain injury reflected in this story. Although her recuperation entailed tremendous struggle, she noted the unexpected gifts along the way. She wrote: “Even though things turned out differently than I might have hoped for three years ago, I now see how a broken jar can make life beautiful.”

This week’s Torah portion reflects this spiritual lesson. Last week’s portion ended with a crisis. The Israelites began to participate in an idolatrous and a orgiastic cult-like manner that led to a plague erupting among the people. Then, a priest named Pinchas killed an Israelite man and a Moabite woman who were ‘in congress’ near the sanctuary, and the plague halted.

God gave Pinchas a covenant of peace for him and for his descendants for all time. However, the text hints that Pinchas’ peace was broken.

The Hebrew letter vav is a vertical line. However, in the Torah scroll, when God gives Pinchas the covenant of peace, the stem of the letter vav in the word shalom does not extend down all the way. As Rabbi Harold Kushner notes, the missing piece of the stem indicates that the kind of peace achieved by violence will always be a “flawed and a incomplete peace.”

Thus, the portion moves from a crisis of broken peace to celebration, the same spiritual arc that PJ followed.

By making peace with our brokenness, we are more likely to cherish life.

Like the broken jar in the story, we must continue to work toward sustaining life. AND, hopefully, the wildflowers of summer will always be present as you continue your journey.

Shabbat Shalom

This week’s Parashah reveals Hashem’s indescribable love for His people.

The prophet Hoshea opens with warm words of blessing and says, “The Jewish people will be likened to the sand of the sea that cannot be measured or counted.” Hoshea digresses then and says, “And in place of not being recognized as My nation, they will be regarded as ‘the sons of Hashem.’” This passage indicates that, prior to this prophecy, they experienced serious rejection. In truth, the preceding chapter reveals that they temporarily forfeited their prominent status of Hashem’s people. Yet, one passage later we find Hashem blessing His people in an unlimited capacity conveying upon them the elevated status of “sons of Hashem.” His sudden and drastic change is amazing, from total rejection to full acceptance in an unparalleled way.

What brought about this change and

what can we learn from it?

Hoshea’s prophecy is a seemingly contradictory presentation of the relationship between the Jews and G-d. On the one hand, Hoshea compares the Jews to a Harlot who betrays her husband and cannot in good conscience claim that her husband has fathered her children. On the other hand, Hoshea concludes his prophecy with G-d’s promise that he will never abandon the Jews; and, that despite the nation’s betrayal and disloyalty, the children are still His.

In order to understand this prophecy, a little background is in order. G-d had stated to Hoshea that the Jews had sinned. Hoshea responded by suggesting to Hashem that He exchange the Jews for another nation. It was Hoshea’s responsibility as a prophet, to follow Moshe’s example and fight on behalf of the nation, not reaffirm their guilt and sins. In essence, Hoshea had spoken Lashon Harah about the Jews.

As a part of Hoshea’s training, Hashem instructed him to marry a woman who was a prostitute. He fathers three children to whom he gave unusual names reflecting his personal frustration with the Jews. He named his oldest Yizrael – The G-d Who plants. His second child, a daughter, he names Lo Ruchamah – One who does not deserve mercy. And, a third child, a boy, he named Lo Ami – Not My nation.

Hashem then told him to send away his wife and children. Hoshea begged G-d to rescind His order because he loved his family and did not want to be apart from them. G-d then says to him, and listen to Me carefully, “isn’t your wife a prostitute, and you don’t even know if your children are yours? Yet you love them! So too is my relationship with the Jews. No matter how they betray me I still love them – and, do not want to be apart from them!”

The final words of the Haftorah capture the eternity of G-d’s love for His Chosen People. “I shall marry you to Me forever…”

He therefore elevated them from their previous status of merely being his people, to the highly coveted status of His children.

Shabbat Shalom

One of the arguments separating different contemporary communities of Jews is the contention about who (or Who) wrote the Torah.  Is the Torah the direct transcript of the words of God to Moses at Sinai, so that each and every word recorded in that book is the speech of God literally?  Or is the Torah a human book, remarkable perhaps, but human nonetheless?

In the first instance, if the Torah is the literal words of God, then everything in it must be obeyed precisely as it was in the past.  After all, only a fool would mess with the Creator of the heavens and the earth!  But if the Torah is the creation of other human beings, then it is subject to human judgment, ours no less than anyone else’s.  Consequently, when there is a clash between the Torah and personal will, everyone may legitimately do what they want — even if the Torah prohibits it.

While both of these viewpoints are advanced with great passion and energy, both represent deviations from traditional Jewish understandings of what the Torah really was, and is.  The answer to the question, “Is the source of the Torah human or divine?” is a resounding “Yes!”  The Torah is the meeting place of God and the Jews — our loving response, as well as God’s invitation of love.

In today’s Torah portion, Moses receives the two tablets of the Ten Commandments, which were “inscribed with the finger of God.”  Farther on, the Torah tells us that those tablets were “God’s work, and the writing was God’s writing.”  Understood literally, it would seem that the Torah asserts that these specific words are God’s, and that God has at least one finger!

Rashi explains that one could indeed understand it literally, but he then quotes the Midrash Tanhuma, which says that its meaning is “like the case of one person saying to a colleague, ‘all of the efforts of this  person are in that work,’ so all the delight of the Holy Blessed One is in the Torah.”

In other words, the Torah is using poetic language to tell us not about the literal reality of these particular words, but that the Ten Commandments do embody divine will.  Rambam got into it, and he was more emphatic. The purpose of these words is to tell us that the tablets were “real and not artificial.”  He points out that the use of a “finger” is just as problematic as saying that God “says” or “speaks,” as if God has a mouth and a tongue too!

Rather, all this language about God speaking or writing is to affirm that the Torah reflects God’s “will and volition.”  Countless other traditional commentators reflect this same understanding.  The biblical commentator, Rashbam, says that these words simply teach that “Moses didn’t inscribe them” and Ezra affirms that even according to the Mishnah, the tablets were created before the first Shabbat preceding Creation.

No one understood this phrase to be literal.  So what is all the fuss about?  If every word of the Torah is literally God’s speech, then Judaism does not change and all should be as it always was.  If none of the words in the Torah reflects Divine will, then Judaism can be anything any Jew wants it to be.

Traditional Judaism refutes both extremes, insisting instead that our Torah is an accurate reflection of Divine “will and volition” (quoting Rambam), without making claims about literal transmission of speech.  Just as much as there was (and is) a giving of Torah that is active and involves God, so too there was (and is) a receiving of Torah that is active and involves the children of Israel.

The Torah is at once fully human and fully Divine, charged with an electricity that can launch a people into eternity, while allowing Planet Earth the opportunity to enjoy a World of peace, tranquility, and happiness.

Shabbat Shalom

In Parashat Re‘eh:

We learn that we have an obligation to care for others.

It is haShem’s Commandment to us!

With this obligation to God, Moses continues his second speech to the Israelites preparing them for entering the Promised Land. He speaks about values and behaviors, which lead to blessings; OR, to curses. So beware!!! Would you like to receive blessings or curses? It is your choice through your actions. Our Torah portion teaches us that blessings do not arrive just because we ask God for help! HE bestows blessing if our actions exhibit certain values and behaviors. The Israelites will receive their blessings should they live according to the Commandments of haShem, as they enter the new land.

Through Re’eh, we learn that if we live a life of ethics, values, and morals – they will bring blessings to us from God.

“Moreover, if there is a needy person among us, a disadvantaged individual in any of the land that haShem has given to us, G-d says to not harden your heart and shut your hand against this individual. Rather, you must open your hand and give that person help, for whatever he needs.

Give to him readily and have no regrets when you do so – for in return, haShem will bless you in all your efforts and in all your undertakings.”

“There will always be people in need in your land, which is why God commands you to “open your hand to share that which your brethren needs.”

The Mishnah and the Talmud elaborate on this notion of sharing, introducing us to the value of tzedakah: charitable giving or philanthropy. Maimonides followed up with his “Eight Degrees of Charity”.

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks takes the value of tzedakah even further. According to Rabbi Sacks, and, please listen-very carefully), “To know God is to act with justice and compassion, to recognize his image in other people, and to hear

the silent cry of those in need.”

One can imagine a society that fastidiously observes the rule of law, and yet contains so much inequality that wealth is concentrated into the hands of the few, and many are left without the most basic requirements for a dignified existence. There may be high unemployment and widespread poverty. Some may live in palaces while others go homeless. HaShem did not contemplate this kind of environment, or these living standards.

There must be justice not only in how the law is applied, but also with respect to how the wealth of G-d’s blessing are distributed.

This is tzedakah! It is a part of our society, implemented not by power – but by moral responsibility and the network of obligations created by the

covenants at Sinai.

Talking about tzedakah in the Parashat today, I would be negligent if I did not share some of what I know about Poverty in Dallas. I have worked with thousands of disadvantaged and at-risk young people that are growing up here – in a cycle-of-poverty – that passes from one generation to the next, L’dor V’dor.

From the DISD Data Portal – 130,437 students are growing up and classified as “Economically Disadvantaged”. Those are nice words for growing up in Poverty.

The Dallas Morning News reports that almost 281,000 people live in POVERTY in Dallas today.

The former reading czar for Dallas Independent School District, Robert B. Cooter, says that the School District is failing to teach most kids to hit the mark in reading. Only 15% (please, listen carefully), only 15% of all DISD students tested proficient in reading by the fourth grade. Moreover, 55% scored in the lowest category – – – below basic.

We all know that literacy is the gateway to opportunity in America!

I researched and discerned the above economic statistics prior to the Pandemic and the economic crisis it created for our Country this year. I have no idea about the current economic landscape for the young people to whom our nonprofit is of service, and the 281,000 people living in poverty. WE live in harsh economic times. Jobs have disappeared, evictions and foreclosures are at an all-time high, and people are having trouble feeding their families. There are hundreds of thousands of people in Dallas not coping well with today’s economic crisis.

WE have to empower the young people with the necessary tools to remove themselves from the Cycle–of–Poverty into which they were born. IT has to start somewhere…

This is tzedakah in action. This is God’s Commandment! Let’s help the adults of tomorrow – climb out of their neighborhoods of poverty today, and give them a chance to explore, learn about, and enjoy the real world as WE know it!

Maimonides shared…

The highest degree of tzedakah, exceeded by none, is when YOU assist a poor person, strengthening him in such a manner that his falling into neediness again – will never happen!

I wish each of you a safe and spiritual Shabbat Shalom!

With the beginning of the New Year, many of us have already started writing down and thinking about what, if any, resolutions we might want to make. Knowing that some of our resolutions have appeared on previous years’ lists, we know all too well how easily we can forget our best intentions when other things get in the way.

This week’s Torah portion, Vayigash, teaches another lesson which is equally, if not more worthy of a New Year’s resolution. It is part of the story of Joseph.

As we recall the story, Joseph’s brothers, in an act of jealousy and cruelty, had thrown him in a pit and sold him into slavery. Once a slave, Joseph managed to win his freedom and ultimately became the Viceroy of Egypt. Now, Joseph’s brothers were in Egypt because of the famine back home, to buy food and the necessities of life for their families. They came before Joseph who controls all of the supplies, but they did not recognize him. As the brothers bowed before him, an emotional Joseph yells out, “I am Joseph, your brother, the one you sold into slavery so many years ago!”

It would not be at all surprising to think Joseph might want revenge upon his brothers. After all, because of their actions, he was sold as a slave, ended up in a land far away, served time in prison, and spent many years in isolation, away from his beloved father, Jacob.

Thereafter, his brothers return from Egypt loaded down with food, provisions, and gifts. Arriving home, they report to their father the miraculous news that Joseph is still alive, and is in Egypt. After fainting, Jacob says, “It is enough; Joseph my son is still alive.”

There is such a thing as “enough”. The restoration of love between parent and child, between spouses, between friends – THAT is enough. A life lived with morality and purpose, THAT is surely enough. A community passionate in the service of God, THAT is clearly enough. As the Mishnah says, “Who is rich? One who is happy with his portion.”

Contentment is the only source of peace of mind.

Satisfaction is still our only wealth.

And, LOVE, after all, is the only possession… It is enough!

Let’s take a short break, I have a question for our learned scholars… 

Why did Joseph not go see his Father, Jacob, in the intervening years after he was out of slavery, to let him know that he was alive, healthy, and prosperous?

I am lost on the subject; even Google doesn’t know. Anybody?

Having revealed his identity, and rather than respond with anger or hatred, Joseph pleads with his brothers to let go of their own guilt and sadness, assuring them that what has happened to him has been part of God’s plan. Having had years to ponder what happened so long ago, and how he might respond to his brothers, Joseph may have had fantasies of how to make his brothers pay for their actions.

Yet, in the end, he realizes that while the moment might seem sweet, it would not last. It would destroy his brothers and, in the end, destroy himself… It would not change what happened between his brothers and him, nor would it change all that has happened since that time, much of which was actually good for him. Moreover, it would not change the fact that his brothers are still his brothers. Any act of vengeance would only continue the cycle of hurt and destruction – for his brothers and for himself. As Gandhi once said: ‘An eye for an eye – can…

…make the whole world blind.

Yes, said Joseph, I am the brother whom you sold into slavery, and that fact remains. However, sadness and regret lead to revenge and that is the deepest pit of all. And, I am no longer in that void. Instead, I am choosing to live life in the present not in the past, to love despite the hurt, and to reconcile over the pain. My life has unfolded in a way that I could do God’s work. Therefore, in the end, it is not about me and it’s not about all of you, but about the goodness and blessings of the life we have all been given.

In this Parasha, I am struck by Joseph’s willingness to make sacrifices for his father’s God.  Joseph does not ask, “what’s in it for me?”  Instead, his guiding questions are “what do I owe God?  What does God expect of me?”

Judaism cannot survive unless Jews are willing to make sacrifices on its behalf.  God cannot make a difference in this world unless we are willing to maintain our posts regardless of personal pain.  Needy Jews (and non-Jews alike) will not be helped unless we help provide the resources and energy necessary to assure the presence and health of Jewish institutions, coupled with the charities for those in need, whomever they are…

Once upon a time, Jews understood that communal institutions deserved their support and affiliation—not for what each individual got out of them at that moment, but because those institutions allowed us to take care of each other and to serve God.  Bikkur Holim committees visit the sick and insure that no Jewish person in poor health is neglected.  Hevra Kadisha – assures us of the proper and loving care for the remains of deceased Jews.  Menachem Aveilim are committees that provide Shiva Minyanim and comfort mourners while assuring that they have food to maintain their health, despite their sorrow.

In addition, the Minyanim assures that a sizable number of Jews are always on hand to pray, to study, and to provide community to all who need it.

Once upon a time, Jews gave to charities—both Jewish and non-Jewish—at a far higher rate than their gentile neighbors did.

Members of those organizations did not give of their time and their money because it felt good.  They did so because that was what a mensch does. Like Joseph and Jacob, they were prepared to make a sacrifice for the greater good of their fellow Jews, their fellow human beings, and their brit, the covenant with God.

Alas, it looks like those days are ending.  If I do not enjoy it, I quit.  If I do not need it, I stop supporting it.

We pay attention to a part of Hillel’s wisdom, recorded in the Mishnah: “If I am not for myself, who will be?”  However, we are less attentive to Hillel’s next line: “If I am only for myself, what am I?”

The problem with only staying involved when it serves our own interests is that we can no longer count on each other during our own moments of need, and that includes everybody.  If we do not support synagogues, federation, and charities for the sake of others, why should others stay involved for us?

We had this problem during the last century; nobody came to help our Jewish brethren in Europe, until the Allies invaded and conquered Germany in 1945. The losses were dreadful, with atrocious and appalling numbers. Non-Jews in Poland and Germany, as elsewhere – knew what was happening. They knew the nature of that sickening smell in the air, the smoke that hung over their cities. However, WHO came to help us? Why did THEY not do something?

Anything – to stop the atrocities being committed every hour for 12 years?

In a world in which everybody looks out for number one, we never add up to much.      Why? Because, ONE is the loneliest number in the world!

Perhaps – making a sacrifice to help others is a good investment for us to make. If we brave the wilderness of the less fortunate, and learn how we can help, maybe we can work together. ALL of us, working collectively and in concert, can make planet Earth a better place for one another to live.

I must thank the following people who provided spiritual inspiration during my preparation of this D’var Torah.

Rabbi Cheryl Peretz

Rabbi Bradley Artson

Rabbi Shefa Gold

Rabbi Ephraim Pelcovits

In closing, I wish each one of you a Safe & Spiritual Shabbat Shalom…

Parasha Toldot is a story of unwise parental love and the tragedy. At the beginning of the story, Isaac and Rebekah spend many lonely years praying for a child, and then comes the twins – Esau and Jacob. Rebecca found that pregnancy was much harder than she had anticipated. She was in a great deal of pain and Rebecca reached out to God, “If, so, why this me”, talking about the pain of pregnancy. God told Rebecca that she was pregnant with twins, and that these children would each lead a future nation. In responding, God did not remove Rebecca’s pain but helped her to see the bigger picture by imparting significance to her suffering. God reminded her that her life – and her current pain – was a part of something larger, and this purpose gave her strength to endure.

Rebekah and Isaac’s long childlessness ought to make them particularly grateful for both of their sons. Yet, this is not the case. From the outset, the parents divide their loyalties and their love. Isaac favors Esau, his rough-and-tumble boy, the skillful hunter and family provider; “he is the man of impulse like Rambo or John Wayne”. Esau thrives on his tremendous power, his physical courage and his own inner drives.

Rebekah prefers her mild-mannered Jacob. Jacob lives with one foot in the future. Less powerful than his burly brother, Jacob compensates by using his mind and by weighing the consequences. He prefers to skip a meal if that means he will acquire the birthright of the covenant. Jacob was a dweller of tents who enjoys intellectual and spiritual pursuits.

The story of Esau and Jacob is the story of these two conflicting approaches to being human. Esau comes home after a day of hunting and he wants to eat.  Meanwhile, Jacob has prepared a pot of lentil stew.  Here, the man of action meets the man of forethought.  Acting on impulse, Esau demands to be fed.

Responding with calculation, Jacob agrees to sell his stew in exchange for Esau’s birthright. Living in the present, Esau sees no benefit in his birthright.  After all, it does not satisfy his hunger, so his parting with his birthright represents no real loss.

The rest of the Parasha is one long tale of the deceit, trickery, and misery that follows from Isaac and Rebekah’s unequal application of love.

Rebekah even connives against her blind husband. Esau is left tearfully begging his father for words of love and kindness that the old man cannot or will not bestow. “Father, have you just one blessing to bestow?” By the end of the story, the family is irrevocably broken. What began with so much promise ends with alienation.

In truth, the whole Book of Genesis is the story of the disastrous consequences of treating love like a zero-sum game, a limited commodity which must be rationed out and fought over. Again and again we read about characters who struggle for limited love – Cain and Abel, Sarah and Hagar, Isaac and Ishmael, Jacob and Esau, Rachel and Leah, Joseph and his brothers. In every case, the result is violence, loss, or grief.

Genesis records the infancy of our People, when we were still young and selfish and did not know that there is always more room in an open heart.

So many issues in this Parasha. There is Avimelekh and Isaac; the King befriends Isaac, and then the King terminates the relationship because Isaac’s business had grown so large, and Avimelekh could only be friends with someone dependent on himself. Later, it becomes clear that Isaac has God’s blessing, and Avimelekh sees the possibility of benefit from a relationship with Isaac. He again approaches the Patriarch to formalize a friendship. Avimeleka is the kind of friend that the Talmudic Rabbis warned of when they said, “There are many persons who eat and drink together, yet they pierce each other with the sword of their tongues.

Imagine how devastated Isaac must have felt receiving Avimelekh’s friendship, and then later – the abrupt termination of their friendship! And, then the King wants the friendship again… WOW!

This secular notion of friendship denigrates people by viewing them as tools to be used, rather than hearts to be esteemed.  Contrast that with a lovely midrash (found in Jellinek’s Bet Ha-Midrash) that speaks of the Jewish view of friendship—one that recognizes human beings as infinitely precious, worthy of our deepest loyalty and love.

Another story…

The outcome of a war parted two friends who had previously lived in the same country….  One of them, visiting his friend by stealth, was captured and sentenced to die as a spy.  But the man implored the king who had decreed his death: “Your majesty, give me a month’s respite so I may place my affairs in order.  At the end of a month, I will return to pay the penalty.”  The king said, “Who will be your surety?” The man answered, “Call in my friend, and he will pay for my life with his, in the event I don’t return.”  To the king’s amazement, the friend accepted the condition.  On the last day when the sword was about to descend, the first friend returned and placed the sword at his own neck.  The second friend begged him, “Let me die in your place.”  The king was touched, and pardoned them both, asking them to include him as a third in their remarkable friendship.

True friendship is not a utilitarian tool—friends are not objects to be used and then abandoned when they no longer serve our needs.  A friend is a treasure to be cherished and guarded, a level of fidelity that takes constant effort: As the Yalkut understands, “it is difficult to acquire a friend.”

To offer the unconditional caring and love that one human being can bestow upon another, to see the chance to know someone else as an opportunity to witness God’s steadfast and reliable love is a great gift, both to the recipient and to the giver. Those who see friendship as a series of functional connections—to be used and then abandoned, can never know the joy, peace, and depth that comes with unconditional love.

True friendship is a form of hesed—love that need not be continually earned; it is a CARING – that is its own justification.  Only in the context of hesed, that true love between people, as well as the love of God towards humanity, can we risk exposing our souls and our hearts to each other’s insight, only then can we risk healing each other’s wounds, and only then can we, in turn, allow ourselves to be healed.

Judaism and the values it cherishes depends on precisely that kind of love and loyalty. In a society where change is so rife that it borders on the chaotic, Judaism provides a shelter in the storm. Loyalty to the practices of our sacred tradition clears a path that others have successfully trod before, and shines a light that has illuminated countless lives through the good times and the bad. Judaism teaches us, in the words of Rabbi Louis Finkelstein, “to change as little as possible, as late as possible” in order to nurture our ancient brit with God and our people’s sacred way.

This week, let us turn from the story of a broken family to the redemptive start of the month of Kislev, which culminates with the festival of Chanukah. Let us turn our attention ahead to the message of its candles: That light can be spread freely without diminishing the original light, that the shine of one candle is enhanced, not dimmed, by the brightness of its neighbor.

It is incumbent upon me to share that my inspirational guidance for today’s D’var Torah, came from the following scholars…

Rabbi Adam Greenwald

Rabbi Ilana Berenbaum Grenblat

Rabbi Bradley Artson

Thank you for your time.

I wish each of you a safe and spiritual Shabbat Shalom.

There is a familiar story of a man searching the sidewalk for his keys and looking frantically under the streetlight. When questioned by a passerby who found out that the man was searching for his keys, the man admits that he lost the keys inside his house. However, since the light was so much brighter outside under the streetlight, he thought it best to look here.

We read this and think … what a fool, looking for his lost object in obviously the wrong place, just because it is the “easiest” place to look. But at least this fool knows what he lost and where he lost it.

Can we say the same thing?

Many of us are not only looking in the wrong place for our lost objects, but we are not even certain what we are looking for. And yet, we are driven to search on and on. To what end?

According to Freud, the primary drive of man is the pursuit of pleasure. “Not so,” said Nietzsche, “the primary drive of man is the pursuit of power.” Viktor Frankl, a world-famous Psychiatrist who suffered for three years in concentration camps, losing his family and pregnant Wife, he established “logotherapy”.  His theory is that the primary drive of man is not pleasure or power, but the search for meaning.

Many of us have an inner ache, a discontented restlessness, without knowing why. Frankl coined the term, “Sunday Neurosis,” an existential anxiety formed from the vague awareness people get that their lives are empty and meaningless when they are not otherwise distracted by the work week. Some remain bored and apathetic; others try to fill the void, but cannot succeed because we cannot fill a spiritual hole with non-spiritual stuff. Yet, we keep trying.

So if a human being’s primary drive is the search for meaning, where do we look? If it is not in darkest Africa, or north in Alaska, maybe it is on a therapist’s couch, or in the self-help section of the bookstore. Or, how about the sanctuary? – – – Where do we look?

In the Torah portion Nitzavim, Moses tells us exactly where to look. It is not in heaven. Nor is it across the sea.

“Rather, the matter is very near to you—

in your mouth and your heart—to perform it.”

Moses spoke these words to the Jewish people on the last day of his life, knowing that it was the last day of his life. The stakes couldn’t be higher. What is so hard, “that it is near and dear, and that we are to perform”?

“To love God, to walk in His ways, and to observe His commandments.”

In a few word, to embrace the Torah.

YOU might say, “but Torah is not the meaning of my life.” Well, let’s look at it this way. If your view of Torah is that it is a bunch of dry, archaic “do’s” and “don’ts,” commanding strict, mechanical-like adherence to meaningless and empty ritual, then I would totally agree with you. I wouldn’t find that meaningful in the slightest.

But that’s not my view of – in the “matter of Torah.”

If your religion doesn’t make you a better person, spouse, parent, friend and lover of your fellow man, it’s not the “matter of Torah.”

If your religion doesn’t make you compassionate with a desire to alleviate suffering, it’s not the “matter of Torah.”

If you are not inspired to love justice and truth, and strive to live humbly with integrity, then it’s simply not the “matter of Torah.”

The “matter of Torah” that Moses tells us to look for…

is within us, in our hearts.

It has to be real, and we have to own it. Otherwise, it may as well be high up in the heavens or across the distant sea, for it means nothing if it is too

far out of our orbit for us to see that it is relevant.

But let’s be clear. It is we who push Torah away, if we say it’s not relevant or accessible.

And as long as we keep this lie on our lips,

we will keep looking for meaning – under that streetlight.

That doesn’t mean we get to decide on our own

what Torah is, or what it means.

It doesn’t mean that we can overlay the Torah with the imprimatur of our emotions or political viewpoints. Many phenomena exist objectively and independent of us. Certain things just “are,” like the sun, moon, or gravity, which do not need our “buy-in” to be real and to affect us. On the other hand, while Torah also has an independent truth and reality, Torah very much wants our “buy-in.”

G‑d wants our partnership.

THAT is the challenge: to take the light of an independent G‑dly reality and, through a loving G‑d, walking in His ways and observing His commandments, His words become our truth. We ask G‑d to “circumcise our hearts,” to remove the spiritual impediment and barrier that keeps us locked in the illusion of separation from G‑d and each other.

When our hearts beat with the knowledge of this truth within us, then the “matter” is in our mouths. It drives our speech and our actions. It’s who we are at our core. THEN, we are free to live in the joyful vibrancy of a harmonious life.

While we are necessarily concerned with finding the meaning of our lives, let’s begin by finding the meaning of life itself. Then, we will find our real purpose and ourselves. Then, the object with the light will coincide, and unlike the fool,

we will be looking for the right thing

in the right place.

 In developing this D’var Torah I would be remiss if I did not mention and thank the following individuals for their inspirational guidance and help.

The Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks

Mrs. Hanna Perlberger, Esquire

Rabbi Elisha Greenbaum

Thank you for your time.

I wish all of you a safe and spiritual Shabbat Shalom!

Shanah Tovah!