Love and Logic – Parshat Yitro 5771

Eve PosenLeave a comment
“Because I said so.”  I remember growing up and asking the never ending question of “why?”  Why do I have to clean my room?  Why do I have to eat my vegetables?  Why? Why? Why?  And when all other answers had been exhausted, my question would be met with “Because I said so!”  Even now as a teacher, when the students begin to ask the same questions which have already been answered over and over and over again, I admit to seeking a little bit of a relief by saying “because I said so.”
It is in our nature to question why we must do what we have to do.  If we do something nice we have to know what we will get in return or what the consequence will be if we do something not so nice.  Educational philosophy encourages us to answer from a place of love and logic, and “because I said so” is neither of these two.  The “Love and Logic” reasoning teaches that we should embrace our students, show them compassion and empathy, and greet their questions (and even misbehaviors) not from a place of anger but from a place of understanding.  Most important in this system is that the consequence of an action must logically match the action.  For instance, when I slammed my bedroom door one too many times as a child, my father simply removed the door from its hinges.  I learned that lesson quickly.  A positive reinforcement for an action like helping to put away the groceries might be the opportunity to pick the next flavor of ice cream for the household.
The Torah also comes primarily from a place of love and logic.  This week’s parshah, Parshat Yitro, is laden with Mitzvot and in particular, those 10 golden rules we learn to live by.  The middle commandment serves as the transitional point from the first to the second group of declarations because it incorporates both religious and social dimensions.  This commandment also employs the “love and logic” reasoning.
Chapter 20, verse 12 teaches:  “Honor your father and your mother, so that your days on the land that God has given to you will be lengthened.”  Even though the text teaches doing this (honoring your father and mother) so that you will receive that (long life) our natural inclination to question forces us to ask why is long life is the appropriate reward for honoring one’s father and mother?  “Because I said so” does not not quite suffice here.
The commentary of Toldot Yitzchak from Rabbi Yitzchak Karo tackles this question.  Rabbi Karo teaches: “All of the laws in the Torah can be matched action for action.  But if this is true, then the text should have taught, ‘honor your father and your mother so you will be honored.’”  It would make sense to have similar reasoning between action and consequence.  What does living a long life have to do with honoring one’s parents, he asks.  The answer is that one who has lived for a long period of time will be honored.  In other words, the Torah teaches “honor your father and mother” with the reward of long life so that you will be old and honored as well.
The answer here is not “because I said so,” but rather another one of our golden rules:  do unto others as you would want others to do unto you.  We are obligated to treat one another with love and logic because it is only logical that we learn from what we see, from how we are treated and from how we live.  Long life comes as a reward for asking why, but also knowing when to stop; when to go with your gut and when to accept the answer of “because.”  Think about how our world would be if we all employed love and logic, if our long lives were filled with honoring one another, just because.
Family Discussion Questions:
  1. Our ‘ethical covenant’ speaks of holiness and truth.  A core principal with each of these is acting with Emunah, faith.  How can your family employ the faith of love and logic in your daily life?
  2. The Torah grants that long life is a reward, something good.  What will you do with your “long life”?

Are We There Yet? – Parshat BeShalach 5771

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This past summer, my husband and I made the trek driving from Los Angeles to Dallas in preparation for my work here at Levine Academy.  We got in the car early Monday morning with our TripTik in hand, counting down the maps and miles.  The drive east out of California was beautiful:  the magnificent scenery of the desert, the grandeur of the mountains, until we reached . . . boredom.  Then I think back to the fifth grade trip I took earlier this school year to Sky Ranch.  In comparison, that drive was only about 2 hours, but 20 minutes in I heard the all-too-familiar question, “Are we there yet?” 
It is only natural when we’re on a journey, whether or not the destination is determined, to want to know when the next rest stop or the end point is coming.   This week’s Torah portion, parshat Beshalach, finds us at the beginning of a journey which will last 40 years for the Israelites as they travel away from Egypt.  Of course even when walking, the entire trip does not need 40 years, but God, as the driver, makes a few executive decisions.  After all, it is important on a road trip to carefully map out your rest stops, tourist attractions, and any construction along the way.  God knew the passengers well and how easily they were scared, so perhaps taking short cuts through the warring lands was not in their best interest.  Instead, God the navigator decides to take the long way.  While not as direct, God hoped this path would lead the Israelites to strengthen themselves individually and as a community along the way. 
But like all groups of travelers whose trips seem to drag on forever when the scenery is boring or when construction adds an hour or two, the Israelites complain over and over and over again.  The whiny, bored chant of “Are we there yet?” begins to weave its way through the Israelite nation.  The people left Egypt where they had food, water, shelter, and work to journey in the wilderness without any clue as to what would happen next.  They haven’t yet felt the freedom of the wilderness or experienced the manna, the dew-like, magical food from God.  The people are terrified and fragile, and they complain incessantly throughout this journey. 
Then suddenly in chapter 15, as the Israelites are in the throes of one of their kvetching rants and wishing to go back, God surprises them.  God parts the sea and the people move through to safety.  And for the first time in their existence since Egypt, the first time for them as a whole, they see the miracle of God, they see the sea split and their lives saved.  In this moment, the whining, the nervous frustration, and the fear seem to melt away as they sing “Ozi V’zimrat Ya, Vayehi Li Lishuah.”  Adonai is my strength and my song, He will be for me deliverance.
While this is only a momentary pause for celebration in the Israelites’ arduous journey, the change from “are we there yet” to a song of praise is rather refreshing.  Like the Israelites, we often get caught up in asking, “are we there yet.”  We’re easily pulled into the mentality of needing to know and not able to recognize the moments of strength, beauty, and good in our world.  When we go on our individual journeys, we may not see the sea split per se, but we have the ability and even the obligation to call out in song, and just for one moment allow the “are we there yet” to be “wow, I’m here.”
Family Discussion Questions:
  1. Our ‘ethical covenant’ reminds us that we have an obligation towards creating holiness in our world.  As a family, how can you remember to stop and say “I’m Here”?  what effect to you think this act might have on our society?
  2. The Israelites called out Ozi V’zimrat Ya, what is your song?

Tell Me More, Tell Me More – Parshat Bo 5771

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One of the aspects of my job I love the most is telling and hearing stories.  Every morning and afternoon I am regaled with wonderful stories from our students about their day, what they did last night, where they are going this weekend, what their brother or sister said to them.  I hear stories all the time.  And, of course, come Thursday afternoon, the chit chat at BLS carpool is about which story I’ll tell this week.  I love trying to find the perfect story that matches the values and lessons I want to convey on a particular week. 
Our parshah this week, parshat Bo, brings us into the narrative of Moses and the Israelites as they prepare to leave Egypt.  We are told of the final three plagues, including the slaying of the first born Egyptian sons.  And, interestingly, we are given instructions on how to remember this story.  We learn of the laws of Passover and how to celebrate for years to come; we learn that we are to wear Tefillin on both our arm and our head to remember the exodus from Egypt; and we are commanded not only to remember this, but to retell the story of the Exodus, the story of Passover, to our children. 
The text teaches in chapter 13, verse 8:  “V’higadetah L’vincha:” and you shall tell your child.  We hear these words over and over again in the Passover haggadah, and of course we tell the story then, but what about the rest of the year?  The text teaches that we have an obligation to tell our children the story, to instill within them the joy of freedom, the gift of community, the blessing of life, and the belief in God.  The story we tell here is the story of memory and a narrative of questions. 
The brilliance of our text and heritage shines when reading about how God and Moses anticipate the nation’s reactions in future generations.  Verse 14 understands and expects the quest to know more and the need to ask.  The text states:  “And when your child says to you, what does this mean?…”  The question is not if, but when.  It is a given that questions will be asked.  Our Torahencourages us to ask questions and discuss the answers.  More than this, the Torah begs us to share our stories, our history and heritage with our children.  Parshat Bo, reminds us that if we don’t know from where we’ve come, we cannot know where we will go. 
We are all familiar with stories, whether they’re from Dr. Seuss or Shel Silverstein, the Bible, or, most importantly, our own lives and the history of our family.  In fact, much of what we learn and absorb comes from what is told to us through the narrative of a movie, song, play, book, or television show.  It is this culture of storytelling that gives us the opportunity to learn and grow with each retelling, and by sharing it, we encourage deeper understanding and internalization of the rich heritage that is our gift.
Family Discussion Questions:
  1. TELL YOUR STORY.  Spend some time this Shabbat sharing your family’s narrative history with your children.  
  2. Our ‘ethical covenant’ speaks about citizenship.  What lessons can you learn from your family’s story?  What can you teach from it to create a more fair and just society?

D’var Torah: Parshat Vaera: Papa Can You Hear Me?

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A year ago I came to visit our wonderful school for the first time.  I was ushered between services, classrooms, and meetings with teachers, parents, and staff.  As you can imagine, it was a lot to take in.  In the midst of this whirlwind tour was a visit to our Early Childhood Center (ECC) to witness the Monday morning Havdallah celebration.  The students were attentively moving through their routine when we arrived at the Shema.  This Tefillah is usually one of the first learned by young Jews, and according to tradition, the last words a person should say on their death bed.  The Shema is the one line creed of monotheism.  We teach that we cover our eyes so that we can be in our own private space.  In the ECC all of the students got their “Shins” ready, using the three middle fingers on their hands, cupped their ears to show that they knew that Shema means to listen, and then covered their eyes to recite this line.  I fell in love with these students and found it inspiring that at such a young age they were already so attuned to the meaning of the line.  Yes, this line expresses our belief in one, singular God, but more profoundly, it calls on each of us to listen and hear.
In our Parshah this week, Moses is attempting to cajole the Israelites into formation in order to leave Egypt.  He is set to serve as their leader, but is met with a few challenges.  In parshat Vaera, Moses is given a message from God to share with the Israelites, but as we learn in chapter 6, verse 9, “When Moses told this to the Israelites, they would not listen to Moses…”  After his message falls on deaf ears, Moses is hesitant to go and speak to Pharaoh, giving to God the excuse that “The Israelites would not listen to me; how then should Pharaoh heed me, a man of uncircumcised lips!”  Moses is frustrated; he’s been speaking, but no one is listening, and if they are listening, they do not appear to really hear or understand what he’s saying. 
The Sfat Emet, the late 19th century commentary by Aryeh Leib Alter of Poland, interprets Moses’ words as a poignant moment in leadership.  He teaches that if the Children of Israel refuse to listen to their leaders, then their leaders cannot speak.  Thus, the would-be spokesperson’s lips are turned into “uncircumcised lips.”  This implies that leaders can only truly lead if they are listened to.  Without an audience, a leader has no followers.
In our daily lives, we seem to be good at giving our attention to whomever is speaking, but how much do we actually hear?  Our parshah teaches about Moses’ “uncircumcised lips;” he has a message, but his mouth is unable to share it without assurance that it will be heard.  It also appears that the Israelites have uncircumcised ears.  They are unable or unready to heed God’s message, to truly hear what their mission is.  Perhaps this moment in our narrative teaches us that we have a double duty.  Our task is to open our ears, hone our listening skills, make our Shin, and really hear what we are being called to achieve.  Once we have done this, our lips will be opened, and we too can become leaders like Moses.  We must be able to both listen to one another and speak up for those who have yet to have their lips opened. 
Moses heeded God’s call and answered.  Our challenge is to hear the calls of those around us and answer with actions, love, and blessing.
Family Discussion Questions:
  1. Our ethical covenant teaches us that we must respect others through Shmiat HaOzen, a listening ear.  How do you make sure that you not only listen to others, but also hear their message?
  2. What are some ways you can be a better listener so that family members and friends don’t speak with “uncircumcised lips”? 

Waterworks – Parshat Vayigash 5771

Eve PosenLeave a comment

According to some research, human beings are the only animals that cry in connection with emotions.  We cry when we’re upset, angry, or scared.  We cry when we’re happy, when the emotion of joy wells up inside of us.  Occasionally we even laugh so hard we cry.  Sometimes our tears rain in big drops; other times, it’s a chronic drip.  Sometimes a cry is silent, tears streaming without sobs, and other times we sob and sob and cry and cry until there are no tears left.
This week’s parshah, parshat Vayigash, is punctuated with tears.  It begins in chapter 45, verse 2 ofB’reishit with Joseph revealing himself to his brothers, which is such an emotional moment that his tears are heard throughout the kingdom.  The text states:
“Joseph could no longer control himself before all his attendants, and he cried out, “have everyone withdraw from me!”  So there was no one else about when Joseph made himself known to his brothers.  His sobs were so loud that the Egyptians could hear, and so the news reached Pharaoh’s palace.”
One can imagine Joseph trying to stifle the emotions deep within him.  For as long as it has taken the brothers to go back to Cana’an and then back to Egypt, Joseph has been keeping his emotions in check.  Joseph knows who these men are, he knows that they are his family, and he has just learned that his father is still living.   His emotions reach their boiling point in this moment, and he can no longer hold them in.  He has an outburst of big tears and heaving sobs as he rejoices in this reconnection with his siblings. 
Twelve verses later in chapter 45, verse 14, the emotions run forth again.  Here, Joseph is reunited with his brother Benjamin, his only full sibling, his link to his father and his mother.  As the text teaches, “with that he embraced his brother Benjamin around his neck and wept, and Benjamin wept on his neck.”  These tears are joyful tears accompanying an embrace that Joseph and Benjamin have longed to enjoy.
The final tears shed in our parshah are found in chapter 46, verse 29.  “Joseph ordered his chariot and went to Goshen to meet his father Israel; he presented himself to him and, embracing him around the neck, he wept on his neck a good while.”  These tears are ambiguous.  We know that someone cried on someone else’s neck “a good while,” but it is unclear as to whether it is Joseph or Jacob (or both) who cries. 
Rambam (Rabbi Moses ben Maimon), the medieval philosopher and scholar, suggests that Jacob is the one who weeps.  He asks, “By whom are tears more easily shed?  By the aged parent who finds his long-lost son alive, or by the young man who is ruler?”  For Rambam, the tears must be tears of an emotional parent, tears of joy at this miraculous event.  Joseph, the “ruler,” must not be crying according to Rambam because it wouldn’t make sense to shed tears of joy at this event when so many more major events have happened in his life.  It almost seems as though Rambam would deem it inappropriate for Joseph to cry yet again.
However, Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo ben Yitzchak), the 11th century commentator on the Torah and Talmud, suggests that it is Joseph who sheds the tears out of a mixture of strong, conflicting feelings, while Jacob offered a prayer of thanks to God.  Rashi interprets the tears to be tears of joy that are shed as Joseph continues to ride the wave of emotions that come as a result of reuniting with his family.
Each of these sob fests is marked with intense emotions, but not apologetically so.  Joseph and Benjamin aren’t ridiculed for their display of brotherly love.  Jacob (or Joseph) doesn’t let any stoicism stifle his feelings.  There’s no holding back as the emotions come to a head.  The tears in this week’s parshah are tears of thanksgiving, tears of joy, and perhaps tears of sadness.  Most importantly, they are linked together by the courage to cry and a supportive environment that allows this freedom of emotions without restraint.  As we learn in this week’s parshah, if we humans are connected by nothing else, it is the healthy expression of feelings of love and loss.  Sometimes, all you need is a good cry.
Family Discussion Questions:
  1. Our ‘ethical covenant’ urges each of us to honor and love one another, mecaved/ohev zeh et zeh.  Joseph and Jacob are reunited after a long time apart, their emotions are intense.  Sometimes we take for granted that someone knows we honor them.  As a family, how do you show that you honor and love one another?
  2. Rambam taught that Jacob must be the one crying because “Joseph the big leader” doesn’t cry.  Rashi teaches that Joseph cries.  Which commentator do you agree with?  Why?  Who do you think cried?