Show and Tell – Parshat Nitzavim-Vayelech 5784

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One of the things that has stuck with me from when I was doing the coursework for my Master of Education degree was learning about the different modalities through which people best receive information. It’s commonly divided into auditory, visual, kinesthetic, and tactile (the last two are often combined), but it’s more likely that our strengths lie in some combination of these.

We each process information more easily in a certain way; no two people’s brain pathways are exactly the same. My 8-year-old Matan is an auditory learner; he hears something, and it sticks with him. Trust me, never mention the possibility of getting ice cream to him. On the other hand, I’m a tactile and visual learner. The best way for me to retain information is to actually write it down myself. By reading it and then rewriting in my own handwriting, my brain more reliably retains information. While most of my classmates were taking notes on their laptops, I was still there with a pen and paper scribbling away.

One of the aspects of Jewish living and practice that I find so compelling is that the rabbis themselves, and even the Torah, seemed to understand the need for these different modalities to make the tradition accessible to all. This is just one of the ways that Judaism has endured for all these years.

This week we read Parshiyot Nitzavim and Vayelech, the two Torah portions that often surround the High Holy days. Parshat Nitzavim reminds us that life gives us choices and that the proper path is to repent, to follow the rules, and to generally be good people. Parshat Vayelech teaches us about Moshe’s process to transfer leadership to Joshua and the final words he will share as the leader of the Israelite nation. The final words begin Moshe’s goodbye to the people Israel.

As God is giving the final instructions for Moshe to relay to the people, we are instructed that the Torah is to be read out loud so that those who did not stand at Sinai can still hear and learn its laws. It says this clearly in the V’ahavta: we’re instructed to read and discuss the commandments. We must listen to them, but also write them down. We are to wear them on our arms and heads and to act them out. We are the “People of the Book” for good reason, and the way our story lives on is by us telling it over and over again, and in every possible way.

Expecting the Worst – Parshat Ki Tavo 5784

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I am a catastrophizer. That means I foresee catastrophe, real or imagined. I cannot watch my children run down a hill without picturing them falling and getting hurt. When there are reckless drivers on the road, I envision a car accident waiting to happen. Even in situations that aren’t life-threatening, I can let the worst-case scenario get the best of me, whether it’s a program that might flop or vacation plans that might fall through. It’s easy to want to give up and ask why do it if it’s just going to end up terribly anyway?

Rationally, I know my kids won’t injure themselves every time they play, and I know that sometimes things turn out just fine even if they don’t go as expected. But our brains seem to be very good at getting us worked up anyway, and believe it or not, the Torah knew this would happen and warns against it.

Our Torah portion this week, Parshat Ki Tavo, brings us closer to the final lessons God wants the Israelite nation to learn before they enter into the promised land. Our text reminds us again of the blessings and curses that come to us as we choose to follow or ignore the laws of the Torah. Specifically, we learn of the requirement to make an offering of “first fruits” for the priests in the Beit HaMikdash, and the different ways in which we are supposed to thank God and give praise (before prayer was a daily activity). Finally, the text reminds us of how we’re supposed to take time to rebuke one another when we’ve made a misstep and the ways in which we can do so with compassion and kindness.

In the midst of the section of warnings against stepping out of line with God’s commands, we read this verse in chapter 28, verse 67: “In the morning you shall say, ‘If only it were evening!’ and in the evening you shall say, ‘If only it were morning!’ – because of what your heart shall dread and your eyes shall see.” In other words, as bad as the reality will be, you will fear that the future will be worse. Fear of misfortune is often worse than any actual misfortune that might occur, as our imaginations conjure up all sorts of dreadful experiences we may feel we deserve.

I’m guessing I’m not alone. It’s easy to fall into catastrophizing because the human imagination and our anxious brains are phenomenally creative. However, nothing beats experience, and the Torah this week reminds us to let experience rather than overthinking set our expectations. One by one, perhaps we can work to silence our “what ifs.”

To Live Forever – Parshat Ki Teitzei 5784

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As a rabbi I am privileged to be with families in their most joyful moments and in their lowest moments. I am often the confidante with whom people share their fears, desires, and wishes when they have nowhere else to turn. It is in this work that I have often been asked about what happens to our loved ones after they die. And the truth is, I don’t know. No one does. Well, physically we know that our bodies decompose and go back to the dust of the earth from which we were formed. Spiritually, however, we just don’t know. While we have people who have been miraculously revived after a medical death, we don’t have concrete or consistent data. While we might believe that the soul “returns” to God after we die, the question remains, does the soul survive in any significant way? Is reincarnation real? Can my deceased loved one still be present in my life?

My answer to these questions is generally one of inquiry and wonder: what do you think? I could argue both sides of any theory on what happens spiritually to our souls after we die. What we’re really asking in this question is to know, perhaps, that our lives mattered, that when we die we’re not simply vanished from the world.

Perhaps there’s some guidance, if not definitive answers, in this week’s Torah portion. This week we read Parshat Ki Teitzei. We receive laws about war and taking care of hostages, laws about our clothing, laws about family relationships, including parents and children, laws about taking care of the poor, and so much more. Ki Teitzei is actually the Torah portion with the most number of mitzvot (commandments) in it, but the recurring theme is how we should execute and fulfill the mitzvot prescribed to us.

Chapter 25, verse 6 discusses a levirate marriage in which a married man dies childless and his brother takes the widow as his wife to father a child who will be considered as the son of the deceased man. Why is this the prescribed process? The Torah explains that it’s because his name should not be blotted out. This seems to reflect the belief that death does not put an absolute end to an individual’s existence. A person’s name should not disappear forever once they die. Instead, our names and even our presence in the world live on forever by virtue of our actions in the world while we were alive.

There might be different ways of phrasing the question of life after death and just as many guesses as to the literal answer, but the one thing we know for certain is that what we do in life determines how we’re remembered in death. Not in the way that fame and celebrity provide their own version of a legacy, but in the way that people will remember how you made them feel.

To Come In Peace – Parshat Shoftim 5784

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It’s hard to look at this week’s Torah portion and not think about what we as a Jewish people have gone through in the past week or what peace-loving people everywhere have endured over the 11 months since October 7th. Parshat Shoftim primarily focuses on the legal system, on justice, and on understanding context for rulings, but amid these laws, we read about going to war. Especially prescient is chapter 20, verse 10: “When you approach a town to attack it, you shall offer it in terms of peace.” It’s in this section that we are guided by what most of us would argue is the basic code of humanity, which prohibits hostage-taking, rape, and murder, atrocities that have been all too present on our minds thousands of years later.  

As more hostages are murdered, as the conditions in Gaza worsen, and as hundreds of thousands of Israelis line city streets in protest, the future is unclear. Over the past year, it has become normal for regular conversations to include an almost daily reflection on the morality, necessity, and effectiveness of military strategy. Each of us has an opinion of Israel and how the country’s leaders have responded to Hamas’s attack on October 7th and the way in which this response has been carried out. But these opinions do us no good, because here we are, still stuck and unable to end the horror. 

Though we’re not engaged in war on American soil, what makes things difficult for Jewish people on this side of the world is that the past year has thrown the values and ethics of being Jewish into question. As Jews we’re asked to defend our right to a homeland or the right to exist at all. The word Zionist has become a pejorative. Fear and misinformation refuse to loosen their grip on the world. 

Let me back up to say that broad strokes are not helpful in any of this conversation; there is far too much nuance to cover meaningfully in this short writing. However, it is in these moments when I feel frozen in this destructive cycle that I turn to the Torah as the guide for what to do. Even in horrific times, the text tells us that our initial instinct should not be violence, but peaceful negotiation and discussion first. Peace is the preferred option, always.  

I’m not naïve enough to believe that this is how the world works. It’s true that the Torah is also filled with examples of war as a necessity, which seem to go against this commandment. But I do believe that peace, however long it takes, is the best way forward. The Torah is our Tree of Life, a living history from which we learn, grow, and one day become the society it prescribes. May it be soon in our day that peace will embrace our whole world and nation will not threaten nation.  

Come Together – Parshat Re’eh 5784

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Do you have a summer birthday like Matan and I do? Or a birthday that often falls during winter or spring break in school? As an early August birthday, I never quite fit into the “have a party and be celebrated” norm. In fact, I don’t recall ever having a traditional birthday party on my actual birthday as a kid. For many summers, I was at camp, so I didn’t even celebrate with my family. True, camp traditions can be fun too, but I couldn’t help feeling like I was missing out on some essential part of childhood. The good news is it doesn’t matter quite as much as an adult, and I have a whole new enjoyment and appreciation for my birthday celebrations now. 

Certain times of the year call for parties. There’s something powerful about having these milestone gathering moments. Celebrating becomes about more than the event; it’s about being in one another’s presence. The Torah this week establishes this quite helpfully.  

In our Torah portion this week, Parshat Re’eh, we hear about the importance of having this type of village surrounding us. In our parshah we learn of the blessings and curses that will come with observance (or lack thereof) of the mitzvot we’re given. We receive some final warnings about following the laws against idolatry, laws for keeping kosher, and the importance of treating each other as equals. Finally, we receive some more information on our three pilgrimage festivals: Passover, Shavuot, and Sukkot. 

The meaning behind the “pilgrimage” festivals is self-explanatory. Instead of celebrating at home, we were to travel and celebrate communally. Why do we have this commandment not to stay home, but to gather as a people for these festivals? The Torah answers this question by suggesting that celebrating together automatically increases the significance of these holidays. If we’re not around each other, what if we forget the importance of these festivals or forget them altogether? 

In other words, celebrations are meant to be had together, and multiple times a year. It’s a helpful reminder that while there are holidays that don’t require a minyan or a congregational event, gathering together, especially when it’s “out of season,” can elevate our tradition in ways that go beyond the prescribed rituals. With that in mind, I’ll see you at Shabbat services.