Too Young to be a Rabbi – Parshat Vayeshev 5779

Screen Shot 2018-11-29 at 9.48.18 PM.png

If I had a dollar for every time someone either told me I looked too young to be a rabbi or that I was an old soul, I could have finished paying back my student loans long ago. I have always been an old soul in a younger body. When I was younger, I often preferred to hang out with the adults over my peers, and I was more comfortable in situations that seemed “adult” and less “angst-filled teen” even when I was an “angst-filled teen.”

However, given my young age, I’m also constantly reminded that I look too young to have wisdom, or to teach people decades older than me about a religion thousands of years old. I usually laugh it off, knowing that age is simply the number of years since birth, not a milestone of wisdom. Wisdom is attained through experiences, learning, and living. And in my 36 short years I’ve learned quite a bit from the experiences life has thrown at me.

Parshat Vayeshev reminds us of all the complexities that might come with age. It begins with Joseph’s youth and the problems he encounters when trying to relate to his siblings through his dreams. They subsequently sell him, which results in their father Jacob going into a deep period of mourning. Joseph finds himself in Egypt, interacting with young and old alike and using the skills that once turned off his peers to his own benefit.

Joseph’s relationship with his father, and thus also his relationship with his brothers, is sealed in the way he is described in chapter 37, verse 3: “Now Israel loved Joseph best of all his sons, for he was the child of his old age; and he had made him an ornamented tunic.” This verse is somewhat confusing. Benjamin was in fact younger than Joseph, so why did Joseph retain the preferred status? The answer for both Rashi and the Kli Yakar, a 17th century commentary on Torah, lies in the words used in Hebrew to describe Joseph. For Rashi, “ben z’kunim” refers to Joseph as a child with the mature wisdom of an older person. Thus, Joseph is wise beyond his years, and that made him unrelatable to his brothers, but the perfect peer for his father. The Kli Yakar understands it to mean that Joseph could be playful with children and mature in the company of adults. Joseph was a chameleon of sorts.

We spend so much time reinforcing to our children that they should just “be themselves.” But what if who they really are inside doesn’t match the “self” we expect them to be because of their age or sex or development? Respect and open communication are possible only when we value each person because of what they offer individually, not because of a category we put them in. A very philosophical statement, right? Well, perhaps I’m wise beyond my years.

True to Myself – Parshat Vayishlach 5779


A while back someone asked me what I like to do with my free time, and it took me a second to come up with an answer that was simply about me. Before having kids, I loved going on long walks, cooking, reading a book (often in just a day), learning, and going to movies. Since having kids, I’ve read three books in five years, I rarely cook something other than the necessary dinner cooking, and I can count on one hand the number of movies I’ve seen in a theater since Shiri was born. And I don’t remember the last time I stayed awake through a movie at home. About the only thing I still do for me alone anymore is long walks. Those are essential.

When the world around us gets busy, and life starts to consume us, sometimes we have to let go of pieces of ourselves in order to continue growing. Our Torah portion this week, Parshat Vayishlach, reminds us of what it might be like to live fully as yourself, even as the world around you is changing. Jacob is preparing to meet his brother Esau after their fallout and struggles in his dream with the angel who changes his name to Israel. The brothers meet and part in peace, and the story continues with the birth of more sons to Jacob and the different ways in which his children misbehave. But before all the fun begins, Jacob has a realization about his character while living with Laban.

In Chapter 32, verse 5 we read Jacob’s message to his brother: “To my lord Esau, thus says your servant Jacob: I stayed with Laban and remained until now.” In Hebrew, Jacob uses the word garti, as in “I lived there.” Rashi, the great Medieval commentator, reminds us that garti is actually an anagram of taryag, the numerical value of 613 used to represent the 613 commandments in the Torah. Rashi extends this by teaching that Jacob’s words actually mean “I stayed with Laban, but maintained my integrity; I was not corrupted by him.”

There are so many ways in which our interactions in the world are influenced by those around us. From the ways in which we behave day to day to the hobbies we take on, we are influenced by our status in life, and the relationships in which we find ourselves. When we’re around people who make bad choices, we’re often more likely to do the same. But, when we surround ourselves with positive role models, we may follow suit.

What can be difficult is choosing to do the right thing, even when depravity seems to surround us. As Hillel teaches in Pirkei Avot, “In a place where there are no people, strive to be a person.” May we all be like Jacob, hold true to ourselves, our values, our core beliefs, and may we help others to shine out in the world around us.

Does God Leave You? – Parshat Vayetzei 5779


A year ago as I was teaching our 6th graders our “Tidbits of Torah” class, where we read a small section of each parshah in order to prepare for their b’nai mitzvah Torah portions, one of the verses we read elicited this question. Does God ever leave you?

The context for this question comes in chapter 28, verses 13-17:

And the Lord was standing beside him and He said, “I am the Lord, the God of your father Abraham, and the God of Isaac: the ground on which you are lying I will assign to you and to your offspring. Your descendants shall be as the dust of the earth; you shall spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and the south. All the families of the earth shall bless themselves by you and your descendants. Remember, I am with you: I will protect you wherever you go and will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

Parshat Vayetzei begins with Jacob on the run from his angry brother, fleeing his home and the mess that has become of his family dynamic. Exhausted, he lies down and has this crazy dream in which God comes and speaks to him. God gives Jacob marching orders, a legacy to hold and create, and a full sense of his mission in life. We examined these verses that day in class, and the students quickly wondered what it meant that God “will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

Does it mean that there are times in our lives when God is not with us? Does it mean that God’s promise to us covers both our past and our future, so God is of course always there? Do these verses mean that if our perceived destiny is fulfilled then it was God’s wishes? These were weighty questions coming from 11 and 12-year-olds.

We came to the general consensus that perhaps God is always with us, but is actively engaging in our lives only in those times when we need it most. Even the students who questioned the notion of God playing any role in our lives agreed that whether or not people believe in God, God might still believe in us and journey through life with us as a presence.

Personally, I have come to the conclusion that God is always present in my life in some way. Sometimes it feels like a blessing, sometimes more like a curse, but God’s love is always there and only leaves when my soul returns to its final resting place.

Now it’s your turn to answer: What does it mean to you that “I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you?” The wonderful thing about learning together is that we often end up with more questions than answers, which simply means more exceptional learning opportunities!

Where There’s a Will – Parshat Toldot 5779


You know those moments you have when you realize you’re an adult? I had one of those a few years ago when Duncan and I sat in our attorney’s office preparing items like our advanced medical directives, our wishes for our children, and our estate plan. I admit we got a little teary-eyed as we sat there and decided who we’d ask to care for our children if anything should happen. We didn’t get quite as emotional when it came time to decide what to do with our beloved dog Stanley; in fact we laughed a little thinking about how even a dog needs a contingency plan.

We thought about how we might divide up our special pieces of jewelry and made sure that our housing documents were in order. And we had serious discussions with each other about our wishes for end of life. The entire process felt very adult and somewhat terrifying, yet at the same time calming and oddly satisfying. While we can never actually plan for every situation that might arise, I certainly feel like this process gave us peace of mind.

Throughout life we spend a lot of time thinking about “what if” situations, and it’s our forefathers in the Torah who give us the first example of acting and concretizing our plans. This week we read Parshat Toldot, in which Isaac and Rebekah become parents. The pregnancy is not easy, and the twins are anything but calm. Jacob and Esau are very different, and each is feisty in his own way. Esau sells his birthright to Jacob for lentil stew, and Jacob tricks his father into getting the blessing his brother deserves. Esau finds out, and his outrage over the incident causes Jacob to flee for his life. The portion ends with Esau growing up and rebelling against the family in his choice of life partner.

As the drama and chaos occur, we learn about Isaac aging. In chapter 27, verse 2 he says, “I am old now, and I do not know how soon I may die. Take your gear, your quiver and bow, and go out into the open and hunt for me some game.” The text continues as Isaac guides his son to create a meal so that ultimately he can do his final fatherly duty: bestow blessing, share inheritance, and say goodbye.

The Shulchan Aruch, the code of Jewish law, uses the words “I am old now” to teach us that those who tend to the dying must ask them whether they have put their affairs in order. Our modern legal body that guides the Conservative movement, the Committee on Jewish Law and Standards (CJLS), goes further to remind us that in addition to arranging for our assets to be disbursed, we must also take care to provide medical directives and ethical wills for our families.

Besides the memories of a life well lived and loved, the final gift we have to share with loved ones is the gift of planning. Our Torah this week teaches us that the more guidance we can give our loved ones to care for us and know our own wishes, the less stress and chaos we create. If you haven’t yet created a living trust or will, take the time to offer those close to you this gift – not just the gift of the value of the items you’ll leave behind, but more importantly, the gift of compassionate concern for the people who live on after you.

Good Grief – Parshat Chayei Sarah 5779


Do you ever feel completely wiped out? Sometimes I feel so bone tired and knocked down, I could just sleep for hours. Bear in mind I say “hours” and not “days” because I’m a parent of young children who still wake up weekly in the middle of the night, so the luxury of consecutive hours of sleep sounds beautifully restorative. Everything is relative, right? It’s even worse when I’m sick. On days when I’m under the weather, I just want to lie on the couch and not move until the cold is gone.

And then there are weeks like this one when complete devastation knocks me down the hardest. It seems impossible to go on, and yet, somehow we must.

This very week, the Torah happens to teach us how to go on, find courage, and be a blessing. We read from Parshat Chayei Sarah, which makes the transition from one generation to the next. Beginning with Sarah’s death, we learn about Isaac and his courtship with Rebekkah, the list of Abraham’s decedents, and the death of Abraham and his burial at the cave of Machpelah. Through it all the family continues to push their way from experiences of loss and grief into the next chapter of life.

It seems crazy that Abraham, and then Isaac, would be so quick to bury their loved ones. When we experience a loss, the paralyzing emotions we experience are in direct conflict with the pace at which our tradition encourages us to move on. Nevertheless, the Torah instructs us to waste no time in burying the deceased. In chapter 23, verses 3-4 we read, “Then Abraham arose from beside his dead, and spoke to the Hittites, saying, ‘I am a resident alien among you; sell me a burial site among you, that I may remove my dead for burial.’” Even in his deep grief, Abraham does not allow himself to wallow just yet; instead, he rushes to honor his beloved Sarah and give her a proper, timely burial.

As Jews we are commanded to bury our dead quickly. There are many reasons for this, but perhaps the most important is that it actually helps the grieving process. We, the living, must be able to say goodbye and have some closure if we are to fully grieve and move forward. Shiva allows for seven days of direct community support, and saying Kaddish for a year ensures that mourners continue to have indirect support as they keep their loved one close.

Through everything we do in Judaism, we walk yad b’yad (hand in hand), as the name of our grief partnership program here at Neveh Shalom suggests. The reason is simple – it’s so that we never have to experience life, or death, alone. May we strengthen and lift one another up, in happiness and in grief, and may all our lives be a blessing.