One of the many stories in Bereshit is that of Adam and Eve. In particular it is the shame that Adam and Eve experience upon eating the forbidden fruit. Rabbi Manis Friedman, co-author of “Living a Life that Matters” relates Adam and Eve’s emotional response to these three aspects of shame: 1) humility, embarrassment and guilt.

Following the deed of eating from the Tree of Knowledge, Adam and Eve experience the feeling of humility, the first of three parts of shame. This was distinguished by their awe of and bifurcation from G-d.  The almighty G-d was a much larger, omnipotent and universal, presence than Adam and Eve which created a foundation of humbleness and resulted in a ‘spiritual separation’ from G-d.

The second aspect of shame, their feeling of embarrassment due to exposure, was uncomfortable and resulted in vulnerability and fear causing them to seek out ‘fig leaf gear’.  Let us also remember that thousands of years later the Talmud would set the record straight about the act of embarrassment towards others as the equivalent of murder.

Embarrassment occurs when a norm or ‘boundary’ is violated. For most of us walking around daily in clothing is a norm we observe in public. Of course our private lives are, well, private. Adam and Eve realize this immediately once their ‘eyes become open’ after eating from the Tree of Knowledge. Their modesty strengthens as they grab the fig leafs due to their need for privacy and desire for recapturing their innocence.

Rabbi Friedman believes guilt is a third aspect of shame. This builds upon the emotional experience for Adam and Eve following their snack from the Tree of Knowledge. This is emotional guilt rather than the act of guilt for say an unlawful behavior.

According to Rabbi Friedman, guilt is the result of a broken or damaged relationship. In the context of Adam and Eve’s relationship with G-d, they did not violate nor not follow a commandment. They basically ignored the ‘commander’. Today, some may feel they have violated a spiritual trust with G-d by failing to follow the law of Torah. One of our recourses is seeking absolution through repentance during the high holidays to clear our conscience for peace of mind. But how do we achieve repentance?

Did G-d forgive Adam and Eve for their transgression? Well yes and no.

It is not exactly and clearly laid out for us aside from the humility that they adopted and the embarrassment they shielded themselves from with the fig leafs.  We do know about the punishment G-d imposed for Cain and Able (their son’s).  So if Adam and Eve were to repair their relationship with G-d what might it have looked like?

The topic of shame is dynamic and complex. Rabbi Friedman’s explanation of shame has been condensed and hopefully simplified for today’s D’var. Perhaps, according to Rabbi Friedman’s definition/explanation of shame, it would have gone something like this:

1) G-d says to Adam and Eve – “I realize you are feeling rather small  humbled and fragile – which is actually a really healthy way to feel after this transgression and that is OK and acceptable;

2) “Secondly”, G-d states, “I get that you feel rather embarrassed over this situation since you have awakened from a perfect world I created just for you before you ate from the Tree of Knowledge due to a false narrative provided by the serpent. I also realize that you believe your privacy was ignored, disregarded and deemed unimportant. You attempted to get that back through the fig leafs and your desire for modesty and most importantly the feeling of privacy”;

3) “Finally”, G-d might have said, “you are experiencing a sense of guilt feelings. You feel despair, unworthy, estranged and alienated specifically over our relationship.  You obviously feel your innocence has been lost and your also wondering if I, the almighty G-d, will accept you for your imperfections and the free will you have exceeded.  It’s clear our relationship needs to be strengthened. So here’s what we need to do. 

If you, ask me, G-d, to forgive you for your transgressions, and accept you the way you are, I will do so. By seeking this repentance, and receiving my acceptance, you will become innocent, whole, emotionally un-violated and healed once again”.

In summary, Rabbi Friedman believes the correct application of repentance will work to repair damaged relationships with those we love whether G-d or another person.  In accomplishing this we need to regain the innocence we had prior to the damaged relationship. Humility, embarrassment and guilt are the path that can get us there and the vulnerability of shame is the road that leads us back to our innocence.

In this new year may we all return once again to our innocence and remember our need for acceptance and forgiveness for ourselves and others. Also may we have a new year where we see and understand others the way we would like to be seen and understood. Good Shabbos!

Today’s Torah portion is Ha’azinu, the 2^nd to last portion, getting near the end of the Torah. The sidra begins with the song/poem that Moses introduced at the end of the last Parashah, Vayelech. Through a variety of metaphors, G-d’s faithfulness to the Israelites in the past and into the future is extolled. This contrasts with Israel’s often ungrateful behavior, which can only lead to destruction. There is mention that the people will turn from G-d in the promised land.  Yet, G-d’s mercy for his people will prevail. G-d can be trusted to rescue them ultimately. At the conclusion, for the final time, Moses stresses to the people the importance of observing G-d’s Torah. He then ascends the mountain, from where he will behold the Promised Land and spend his final moments.  This is just before Moses dies. The word tsor, rock, is used referring to G-d, possibly for the first in the Torah.

As I was asked to talk about a trip I made, I will continue, it also has elements of past and future. About 5 years ago I explored if there are still world’s fairs or expos and found they have them every 5 years. My parents often spoke of the 1939 NY World’ Fair where they saw the clover leaf highways years before they were built.  As a child my family and I went to the 1964-65 NY World’s Fair where we saw picture phones for the first time and Expo 67 in Montreal showed multi screen images in movies and we rode the world’s first commercial hovercraft. I liked Expo so much I told my father I wanted to return and we returned the same summer. I flew for the first time, he flew for the 2^nd time, the first when in the army flying in WWII in Italy. We often talked about the Expo trip and seeing the future in the pavilions. I lived long enough to see which of the predictions from the world’s fair and expo would happen in 50+ years later.

I decided I wanted to go to one more expo and the next was in Dubai, supposed to begin Oct. 1 2020. Due to covid it was not cancelled but postponed one year. Then it opened, but due to omicron I had concerns about going, but eventually wanted to go so much I went to Dubai end of Feb. I stayed at the one hotel inside the Expo. Covid vaccainations were required to enter the Expo and masks were required indoors. I thought I would get to 4-5 pavilions a day due to long lines like I had seen at the other events, but when I got there anyone over age 60, and there weren’t too many, got a lanyard and card and could bypass the lines. So there could be 75 or more people in line and I just walked right in, sometimes through the VIP line. I got to 15-18 pavilions a day. I went to about 80 out of the 200 pavilions, 192 were countries and 8 were companies.

It was more than I expected. There was loads of pavilions full of displays on the themes of sustainability, recycling, the environment, and mobility. So many ideas of new technologies with prototypes of new vehicles, new cancer fighting innovations, cataloguing of DNA of all animals and plants, air taxis, recycling, many countries doing far more than in the US, hydrogen powered airplanes, once they figure out how to safely store and transport hydrogen, commercial planes without pilots or flight attendants. Not to mention all the entertainment and parades as I walked from pavilion to pavilion. Also I was fortunate on the timing of my visit since I was able to visit the Museum of the Future which just opened in downtown Dubai. The museum begins entering an elevator which simulates travel in the year 2070 from Dubai to Dubai’s colony on Mars. Many countries are planning to have the first colony on Mars. The top floor in the museum is like the colony, with jobs to do, ability to monitor capturing plastics from the world’s oceans from Mars, and so many imaginative ideas. Then the next floor of the museum had a sign at the entry. It read “ In 2030, _________ passed obesity as the world’s greatest health risk”.   Depression, anxiety, and loneliness. Interestingly one cause was described as being due to iphones, social media, remote work, remote schools, lack of face to face contact. But they have solutions with technology, such as soothing vibrations. Back to the expo. I would start out each morning when the expo opened, I had a lot to see.  Early one day I went to the Morocco Pavilion, took an elevator up 8 stories and exited to a very Zen courtyard with a sloping walkway and many rooms off of the walkway. Some were on Moroccan culture, fashion, technology, the arts. There were 4 Arab men way ahead of me I could see way on lower levels in the courtyard. I then got to a room where they were seated. I normally would have skipped the room, but they were there awhile and I thought maybe there is something to this. The room only had blocks as benches to sit on and a high ceiling with a pendulum in the middle of the room. It was a zen or meditation room. I sat there awhile, although the men were still there when I left. I went back to the courtyard, as I said it was early and not many people were in the pavilion and I saw no one in the courtyard. As I proceeded to walk to the next room and I was flooded with good memories of my time at the Expo with my father. I thought about how I lived to see 50 years in the future, if the predictions from the expo came true and I won’t see 50 years in the future now. But I am good with that. Since I saw no one, I actually spoke out load as if my father were walking next me, telling him I loved going to the expo with him and wanted to go to one more and here I was in Dubai. My father loved a walk. With the High Holidays, and finishing reading the Torah and starting at the beginning, this is a time of year to reflect on the past, present, and future, make use of the opportunity.

Good shabbas, shana tovah and chag sameach.

With the high death rate attributed to Covid over the past couple of years, the war in Ukraine, and the passing of Queen Elizabeth last month, we have been inundated with death. Many within our community lost loved ones during this time, and the world has faced astronomical levels of death.  1.06 million people have died in the US and 6.55 million people have died worldwide from Covid. While the magnitude of these numbers is unimaginable, it feels as if we are getting numb and complacent to death. So, you must be thinking this is going to be an upbeat few minutes.

It became a popular tradition during the peak times of Covid for news anchors to read a list of names each day of a few people who lost their lives to Covid. Some of the Jewish anchors would end the reading of their list with, “may their memory be a blessing”, a common expression that we Jews use to offer condolences. I have always struggled with what exactly does, “may their memory be a blessing” mean.

The phrase is derived from the popular acronym that we use following the name of the deceased. The Hebrew letters zayin, lamed are commonly seen as z”l following a name representing  זכרונו/ה לברכה  (Zikrono Livrakha) which means of blessed memory or may his/her memory be a blessing. I remember my father would always use the term, “Alav Ha-Shalom” , may peace be upon him/her, following the mention of a deceased loved-one.

My previous understanding of “may his/her memory be a blessing” was it had a similar meaning to the term, RIP – Rest in Peace. I decided to research the derivation of זכרונו/ה לברכה  (Zikrono Livrakha) to better understand why, we as Jews use this phrase.

My favorite interpretation of the phrase, “may their memory be a blessing” is to understand, to appreciate and to benefit in your life from the good blessings that the departed created while on earth. The tzedakah one provided to individuals and to the community, the teachings that a parent provided to their children, the positive influences that were left behind, and all the other good deeds should continue even though they are no longer with us on Earth. When we say, “may their memory be a blessing”, what we are wishing is that you, the community and maybe even the world will benefit from their presence in our lives now and in the future.

For those of you that were here this past Shabbat, Joel spoke about his goal to focus on increasing the number of good deeds he performs. He mentioned in parasha Lech Lecha G-d says to Abraham, “You will be a blessing”.   It struck me at that moment there is a tie-in to the mention of blessings here to the use of the phrase, “may his/her memory be a blessing”. Thank you Joel, for helping to set this straight in my mind.

The Torah is constantly juxtaposing blessings and curses. Blessings reflect G-d’s approval and require that we create life, that we treat others with kindness and that we live in peace. Curses represent dealing with the bad and the personal struggles we face in life to do good. In Lech Lacha, G-d says to Abraham, “You will be a blessing. Be a blessing and I will bless those that bless you”.  We should make the best of what we have and strive to do better to help others by focusing on the acts of kindness. But with 24/7 news, phone alerts, social media, email, etc. it becomes too easy to only see the negative.  Our focus today on asking for forgiveness and recalling how we have wronged others may cause us to lose focus with all the good we have done in the past year. Tomorrow is more important than today, because tomorrow 100% of our attention should be on blessings, on doing good deeds in the new year ahead.

It is a natural emotion to be sad as we approach the Yizkor service because we miss our loved ones. We remember the time we spent with a parent, with a sibling, with a child or with other loved ones, and realize we will never be able to physically be with them again. Focus on the memories of the blessings they left behind. I recall the numerous organizations my father served on the board for, his love for the synagogue, the money and time he contributed to tzedakah, how he always treated others kindly and fairly, and the lessons he taught me that I have tried to pass on to my family. These are the blessings that will continue to live – hopefully for generations to come. Use this time to recall the blessings that your loved ones imparted for future generations. And hopefully their blessings have become a role model for you to create blessings and for you to perform acts of loving kindness for the benefit of your family, for our community and for the world.

May their memory be a blessing.

Each day during morning minyan in the month of Elul, we hear the blast of the shofar. On Rosh Hashanah as we hear the shofar, we read in our  prayer book that the still, small voice is speaking to us. And we hear it if we  listen. The hazzan’s voice stays with me for a long time as I recall how it  was choked with emotion as the Unetaneh Tokef prayer is chanted.  

Unetaneh Tokef – the sacred power of the day. So what do we make of it?  In my old prayer book, the translation of the final verse was, “But  repentance – teshuvah, tefillah – prayer, and gemillut hasidim – acts of  loving kindness avert the severe decree.” It was later changed to “avert the  severity of the decree;” now it is translated as, “transform the harshness of  the decree.” 

And this coming week – more emotion as I listen to the Kol Nidre prayer.  Emotion not because of the translation of the prayer itself, but rather  because of all my ancestors who listened to the exact same melody and  the exact same words on the exact same night. An old Hasidic tale  teaches that on that night, all those ancestors are with me, bound together  once more.  

We are but dust? All of life is for naught? Within a few short generations we  will be forgotten and it will be as though we were never here? Not necessarily. Judaism counters the notion that our lives ultimately don’t  matter and that we are, in the end, irrelevant.  

The Talmud teaches that those who save a single person, it is as though  they have saved an entire world. What does that mean? If you do a good  deed that impacts a life in a positive way, you may influence that life in such  a way that the recipient of the good deed will live a life that is just a little bit  different. And a small difference can make all the difference in the world.  When we read about the lives of consequential people, we often learn of  seemingly inconsequential events that shaped how they viewed the world,  or enabled them to achieve great things. The impact will last far into the  future. And we can be that difference! 

The great Jewish philosopher Maimonides said, “One should see the world  as a scale with an equal balance of good and evil. When one does a good  deed, the scale is tipped to the good – and the world is closer to being  saved. When one does an evil deed the scale is tipped to the bad – and the  world is closer to being destroyed.” 

I liken all my experiences and all my interactions as being placed in the denominator of a great fraction. The good ones become the numerators.  All I really care about is how many numerators I have. It’s sort of like taking  photos on a trip. All of the photos I take are in the denominator and only  the good ones are in the numerator. I don’t really care how many are in the  denominator. I can easily delete those (as I’ve frequently done). I simply try  to maximize the number of photos, events and experiences that are in the numerator. I’m most concerned with collecting numerators in my life. The  denominators? Who cares? I try to maximize and focus on the numerators. 

The message of Judaism is that we really need to focus on the need to  create numerators! Most of us have had some pretty tough or even awful  times we’ve gone through. For some, we’re still going through them. So  maybe that’s the purpose of the Modeh ani statement when we first arise,  in which we give thanks for the gift of another day. Another day is an  opportunity to add to the numerators in our lives. 

Why should we say this short prayer? In the Art Scroll Siddur, the  introductory section on prayer expresses it this way, “Prayer is not a  shopping list of requests. Primarily, it is an introspective process, a  clarifying, refining process of discovering what one is, what one should  become, and how to achieve the transformation. Indeed, the  commandment to pray is expressed by the Torah as a service of the heart,  not of the mouth.” The new day represents that opportunity to put into  action that which will tilt the scale of Maimonides. To perform mitzvot. To  make the world better. To move Maimonides’s needle just a bit toward the good side. 

In a few weeks, we will read in Lech Lecha, Ve-Yae b’rochah – You will be a blessing. We must each look upon that phrase as a commandment rather  than a promise. Not only must we count our blessings and be grateful, but  we must be a blessing to others. Acts of gamillut hasidim – loving kindness  – have the effect of transforming darkness to light, and we must be the  candle. It is up to us to live each day such that if we knew it were to be our last, we  would still have reason to find happiness. We need to count our blessings  and be grateful for them, and we need to take it upon ourselves to resolve  each morning to create numerators – both for ourselves and for others. And  we must take p the challenge to be G-d’s partner in the unfolding history of  humankind. 

Shabbat Shalom

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!

As we all spend this time together striving to get written and sealed into the Book of Life for a good year, let’s take a few moments to evaluate our acts over the prior year. Can we do better this year?  Did we follow the three-prong test to success? Repentance, prayer and acts of righteousness will remove the bad decree.  Today I’d like to focus on one of these three prongs; namely, prayer. Simple, yet so complex. How can we successfully pray? Will our prayers be received well by our Maker? Given the potential of not performing prayer well, shouldn’t we want to pray well?

Clearly, most people pray on occasion. Sometimes we just need to have a chat with G-d. More often, we want or need something. Sometimes we face dire times. Where else can we turn for help? Perhaps we even take the time occasionally to praise G-d and thank Him. Yes, we do pray.

So, why the reluctance to attend services throughout the year? And why the disdain for prayers laid out in the Siddur? It’s hard I know to drag yourself to the synagogue throughout the year to listen to the same stuff over and over again. Perhaps you feel that you have better things to do with your time. Also, why come to pray when you don’t feel like praying? After all, don’t you pray when you feel like it or when the need arises?

Okay, I understand that the prayers are written in Hebrew, except for the occasional prayer read in somewhat archaic English. And you don’t speak Hebrew, let alone understand it. How can one have feeling for something not understood? What is gained by saying a bunch of mumbo jumbo? How paradoxical that we are going to rely in part on this mumbo jumbo today to try to guarantee us a good year next year.

Now, back to my title.  Does G-d Hear the Prayers of a Deaf Mute?  I suspect that most, if not all, of us would agree that G-d certainly does not abandon the deaf mute. Doesn’t this suggest that successful praying may not lie in what we say? Or even in our ability to say it. Even silent prayer and prayer that is not understood, I contend, can be successful prayer.

Let’s take things a little further.  What about the prayers of the Hara Krishna or other groups that chant?Do their efforts constitute prayer? Wait a minute. Don’t we also chant? Don’t we sing prayer songs with da-da-das and ay-yai-yais in place of words?  If you have ever attended a Duchan service, you have listened to the mystical chanting of the Kohanim. Thus, chanting, words without meaning, and other forms of apparent mumbo jumbo can be justified as prayer.

Therefore, it would seem that prayer is not reliant on what you say or even on how you say it. So, what is the key to successful prayer? This key lies in Kavanah.  Kavanah is a spiritual intensity that one should try to reach when praying to raise the mundane to the elevated status of prayer.  This is most difficult to achieve and should not be taken lightly. If you can reach this level by saying words that mean little or nothing to you, then more power to you. If you can reach these heights by merely chanting, then chantaway with all your heart. Like the deaf mute who can neither hear nor speak, feel your prayers. This is how you demonstrate intensity and Kavanah. Sing your prayers loudly and proudly. Don’t be bashful. I’m not aware of any Rabbi complaining that people pray too fervently. The bounds of Kavanah are virtually endless. Have feeling. Show feeling. And it wouldn’t hurt to take some time to study the prayers being recited from the Siddur to better understand them and appreciate their essence. How nice it is that prayer mavens took the time to develop for us a system of routine prayer that allows us to pray together.

In closing, allow me to wish all of you a good year and a good decree. May your prayers in the coming  year be as intense as your zeal for life.

This week’s torah portion begins: “Atem nitzavim hayom kulchem” which means: “You stand this day, all of you.” Moses is speaking to the Israelite community one last time before they enter the Promised Land and before he dies.

Moses prepares the Israelites to enter the covenant with God. He tells them that God’s covenant belongs to every member of the community regardless of age, gender, or social station.  It includes the pious and faithful as well as the rebellious and confused. Its expansiveness extends even to include the countless generations yet to come. He is holding every member of the community accountable for their actions.

God redeemed the children of Israel from the horrors of ancient Egyptian slavery, cared for them throughout their sojourns in the desert, and gave them a system of ethical and ritual laws to sustain them as a community in a difficult ancient world. It is essential that the community live according to the covenant established for them.

Though Moses names every class and subgroup within the community, he simultaneously invites his audience to let go of the labels and the social segregation they represent. Moses encounters people with little personal experience of being together as more than a community of convenience. Moses gathers this new generation, bids them to look around at everyone else, and feel a shared commitment to the covenant. Moses’ strategy is to make them feel connected to each other as they attach their minds to a universal covenant.

One of the best ways of turning a diverse, disconnected group into a team is to get them to build something together. Hence, the  Mishkan. The best way of strengthening relationships is to set aside dedicated time when we focus not on the pursuit of individual self-interest but on the things we share, such as praying together, studying Torah together, and celebrating together – in other words, Shabbat. So, Shabbat and the Mishkan were the two great community-building experiences of the Israelites in the desert.

Jewish life revolves around two institutions: the home and the community. Each is endowed with unique meaning, and between these two-private and public spaces-education, ritual, and everyday life takes place.

A community is a group of individuals connected to each other by one or more attributes. Just as denoted by the root and suffix of the word, common – unity, a certain segment of the population is united by a familiar thread. Establishing a community is a way to bring people together to educate and support each other. It consists of a group of people with common and shared interests.  As human beings, we need a sense of belonging, and  that sense of belonging is what connects us to the many relationships we develop. Unity is where we find comfort in difficult times.

While most people need to be part of a community for life’s necessities, many people want to be part of a community because there is something very fulfilling about being part of a group of people who share something more substantial than geographical location. It makes individuals seem less lonely. A community is a safe place.

According to Harvard health, community involvement leads to a reduction in stress and also greater life satisfaction.

Jewish families cannot live in isolation. To live a full Jewish life requires engagement with other Jews, a Jewish community, a kehilla. The community provides services and experiences that the home cannot, and in addition, fellowship and participation in community have inherent spiritual value in Judaism.

The Talmudic pronouncement expressing the unity of Jews, “Kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh” is usually translated as” all of Israel is responsible for one another.” This is what community is about- taking care of each other.

Rabbi Jill Jacobs says that it is no accident the Jewish people call themselves “Am Yisrael”-the people of Israel. A sense of peoplehood has long been a defining characteristic of the Jews. On an everyday level, this focus on peoplehood is translated into an emphasis on community as a primary organizing structure of Jewish life. Wherever Jews have lived, they have built synagogues, established communal organizations, and created systems of communal governance. In order to be a suitable place to live, a community must provide for all members’ spiritual and physical needs. In contemporary times, Jewish communities have sprung up around other types of institutions, including Jewish Community Centers, schools, camps, local Federations, and Jewish non-profit organizations. In all these cases, a building or organization serves as an initial point for a group of people who then begin caring for each other and taking care of one another’s needs.

Throughout the Torah, community is a value which is held with highest of importance. Historically, this was because if you were not connected to an identifying community, you were quite literally lost. But as our modern age continues to advance at warp speed, young people, in particular, are becoming distanced from community and getting lost in a sea of digital pseudo-connection.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks says that religion creates community, community creates altruism, and altruism turns us away from self and towards the common good.

Judaism is of its essence a collective endeavor, and as a result it is deeply communal in its spirituality.   Jewish teachings emphasize the open house, the extended family, and welcoming the stranger.

Though the precise structure of Jewish communities has changed according to place, time and current interest, membership in a Jewish community has always demanded a sense of shared destiny, manifested in the obligation to care for other members of the community, as well as the joy of partaking in other’s celebrations.

By magnifying our strengths in the community, we can build a stronger, more powerful and effective congregation. Why do we need a more productive Kehilla? There are things that we can do in a community that cannot be done as individuals. We must take responsibility for speaking up for others in need. It takes us one step closer to perfection as a congregation and Jewish community.

(Adapted from a teaching by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks.)

Ki Teitse contains more laws – 72 – than any other parsha in the Torah, One verse, however, stands out because it is so counter-intuitive:

“Do not despise an Edomite, because he is your brother. Do not despise the Egyptian, because you were a stranger in his land.” (Deut. 23:8)

These are very unexpected commands. Examining and understanding them will teach us an important lesson about our teachings.

As we know, Jews have been subjected to prejudice more and longer than any other nation on earth. Therefore, we should be doubly careful never to be guilty of it ourselves. We believe that God created everyone in Gd’s image. If we look down on other people because of their race, religion, etc, then we are demeaning Gd’s image and failing to respect human dignity.

If we think less of a person because of the color of their skin, we are repeating the sin of Aaron and Miriam when they spoke against Moses because of the Cushite woman whom he had married.” They looked down on Moses’ wife because she apparently had dark skin, making this one of the first recorded instances of color prejudice. For this sin, we read that Miriam was struck with leprosy.

Jews cannot complain that others have racist attitudes toward them if they hold racist attitudes toward others. “First correct yourself; then seek to correct others,” says the Talmud. Our Tanach contains negative descriptions of some other nations, but always and only because of their moral failures, never because of ethnicity or skin color.

Now to Moses’s two commands against hate, both of which are surprising. “Do not despise the Egyptian, because you were a stranger in his land.” This is perhaps unexpected because the Egyptians enslaved the Israelites, and then refused to let them go despite the plagues that were devastating the land. Aren’t these reasons to hate?

But the Egyptians had initially provided a refuge for the Israelites at a time of famine. They had honored Joseph when he was elevated as second-in-command to Pharaoh. The evils they committed against the Hebrews under “a new King who did not know of Joseph” were at the instigation of Pharaoh himself, not the people as a whole. Besides which, it was the daughter of that same Pharaoh who had rescued Moses and adopted him.

The wisdom of Moses’s command not to despise Egyptians is still relevant today. If the people had continued to hate their former oppressors, Moses would have taken, as the expression goes, the Israelites out of Egypt but would have failed to take Egypt out of the Israelites. They would have continued to be slaves, not physically but psychologically. They would be slaves to the past, held captive by the chains of resentment, unable to build the future. To be free, you have to let go of hate.

No less surprising is Moses’ insistence: “Do not despise an Edomite, because he is your brother.” Edom was, of course, the other name of Esau. There was a time when Esau hated Jacob and vowed to kill him. Additionally, before the twins were born, an oracle told Rebecca, “Two nations are in your womb, one people will be stronger than the other, and the elder will serve the younger.” (Gen. 25:23) Whatever these words mean, they seem to imply that there will be eternal conflict between the two brothers and their descendants.

Why then does Moses tell us not to despise Esau’s descendants?

The answer is simple. Esau may have hated Jacob, but it does not follow that Jacob should hate Esau. To answer hate with hate is to be dragged down to the level of your opponent. As Martin Luther King Jr, wrote, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.”

When Esau met Jacob for the last time, he kissed and embraced him “with a full heart.” Hate, especially between family members, is not necessarily eternal and inexorable. Always be ready, Moses seems to have implied, for reconciliation.

Moses’ two commands against hatred are testimony to his greatness as a leader. It is the easiest thing in the world to become a leader by mobilizing the forces of hate. That is what is done even today, often using the internet to communicate paranoia and incite acts of hatred and violence. As we know, Hitler used prejudice and demagoguery as a prelude to the worst-ever crime of humans against humanity.

The language of hate is capable of creating enmity between people of different faiths and ethnicities who have lived peaceably together for centuries. It has consistently been the most destructive force in history, and even knowledge of the Holocaust and other genocides has not put an end to it. Even in Europe. Even today. It is the unmistakable mark of toxic leadership.

Great leaders make people better, kinder, nobler than they would otherwise be. That was the achievement of Lincoln, Gandhi and others. The paradigm case was Moses, the man who had more lasting influence than any other leader in history.

He did it by teaching the Israelites not to hate. A good leader knows: Hate the sin but not the sinner. Do not forget the past but do not be held captive by it. Be willing to fight your enemies but never allow yourself to be defined by them or become like them. Learn to forgive. Acknowledge the evil people do, but stay focused on the good that is in our power to do. Only in this way do we raise the moral sights of humankind and help redeem the world we share.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shabbat Shalom!

If we had to choose only one Torah portion to summarize the entire Torah, which would it be? We could make arguments in favor of the various portions, but we would have to consider Parashah Vaetchanan as a strong contender. In this week’s parashah, we find a compilation of the Torah’s “greatest hits,” both in law and narrative. It opens with Moses’ pleading unsuccessfully with God one more time about entering the promised land. This is followed by Moses’ reminder to the Israelites that they were an unruly bunch, grumbling and complaining along the way as they wandered through the wilderness. He tells them that they should be prepared for an imminent change of leadership as they prepare to enter the Promised Land. And he warns them to pay careful attention to the laws and rules that he has given to them and that they should not add anything or subtract anything from them because all of this teaching comes from the covenant made with God. We find a restatement of the 10 Commandments. We read the words of the Shema and V’ahavta – verses stating our belief in God’s unique oneness and instructing us how to love God by teaching the Torah to our children. The people are reminded to recall their redemption from slavery in the land of Egypt and are warned against turning to idols.

Moses warns them that when they have children and grandchildren and have been in the Promised Land for a long time, they will grow corrupt and do evil in the eyes of God. He tells them they will anger God. They will not endure long in the land but will be entirely be wiped out. God will scatter them among the nations, and they will be left few in number among the nations to which God will lead them. There, they will serve man-made gods. Then, in the distress that they will endure, they will return to God and listen to God’s voice. God will not forget the covenant he made with their forefathers.

Throughout Deuteronomy, Moses reaches a new level of authority and wisdom. For the first time we hear him speak extensively in his own voice, rather than merely as the transmitter of God’s words to him. His grasp of vision and detail is faultless. He wants the people to understand that the laws God has commanded them, are for their good, not just God’s.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks points out that over and above what Moses said in the last months of his life is what Moses did. He changed careers. He shifted his relationship with the people of Israel. No longer was he Moses the liberator, the lawgiver, the worker of miracles, the intermediary between the Israelites and God. He became Moshe Rabbeinu, Moses, our teacher. He wanted to explain, expound, and make clear. He wanted the people to understand that Judaism is not a religion of mysteries which are intelligible only to a few. It is for the “inheritance of the entire congregation of Jacob.”

At this defining moment of his life, Moses understood that, although he would not be physically with the people when they entered the promised land, he could still be with them intellectually and emotionally if he gave them the teachings to take with them into the future. Moses became a pioneer of perhaps the single greatest contribution of Judaism to the concept of leadership: the idea of a teacher as hero.

Heroes are people who demonstrate courage in the field of battle. What Moses knew was that the most important battles are not military. They are spiritual, moral, cultural. A military victory shifts the pieces on a chessboard of history. A spiritual victory changes lives. A military victory is almost always short-lived. But spiritual victories can – if their lesson is not forgotten – last forever.

Not only does Moses become a teacher but he tells the entire people that they must become a nation of educators.

But the text acknowledges that it is not so easy to teach the Israelites in an effective and enduring way. Moses constantly calls for the Israelites attention –” listen! “- Shema-just like a teacher trying to call an unruly class to order. He seems anxious that what he is saying will go in one ear and out the other, or so he suggests by repeatedly encouraging Israel not to forget. Between the lines, there is frustration recognizable to anyone who knows what it is like to try and teach students who are incorrigible and do not want to learn what we want them to learn. Moses’ complaint about the people can be described in modern terms as” student resistance”, which is the refusal of students to learn what their teachers try to offer them. Sometime students will be overtly defiant, directly challenging the teacher’s authority, but often such resistance is passive or indirect – students will simply disengage or dropout. Teaching is supposed to be for their benefit, and yet in a confounding way, students often reject it.

Why do students sit in the back of the room and read and send text messages when their presence in a college classroom is supposedly of their own volition? Why don’t they read more? The answers to these questions are not straightforward. The students themselves – their background, their feelings, their interactions among themselves – are part of the answer, but so too is the performance of the teacher.

Our tradition remembers Moses as our teacher. The goal of the teacher is to struggle or grapple with the most effective way to leave an impression on one’s students. The teachers who make the largest impressions on one’s life challenge their thinking and their beliefs and push them to thinking critically out-of-the-box yet remain guiding and encouraging during the process. It was not just the material these teachers conveyed but the teachers, themselves, who made the impressions. Students have different types of intelligences, and successful teachers can instruct so the material resonates for all students.

A good teacher knows what to say to a weak student who, through great effort, has been better than expected, and to a gifted student who is at the top of the class but is still performing below his or her potential. The people who have had a decisive influence on our lives are almost always those we feel understood us in our own individuality. We were not, for them, a mere face in the crowd.

In an article by Rabbi Lazer Gurkov, he suggests that the teachers who had the most impact on him were the ones who showed the most kindness. Although you would think that if a teacher’s role is to teach, the most erudite scholar would have been the most memorable teacher. But that is not the case. The teachers who taught him the most were those who he was most willing to learn from. And those were the teachers who showed kindness. The erudite teacher will explain much but teach little.

Teachers shape society, handing the legacy of the past to those who build the future. That insight sustained Judaism for longer than any civilization and began with Moses in the last month of his life.

Despite Deuteronomy’s pessimism, its educational goals have been succeeded, beyond the author’s expectation. Students are still learning Torah thousands of years later. Understanding how this feat was accomplished requires studying the interaction of untold numbers of Torah teachers and not always compliant pupils. And the beginning of the story lies with Moses, the first in Jewish tradition to deal with how to teach students who resist being taught.