Love Lift Us Up – Parshat Eikev 5778

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“Love is a four-letter word.” It’s a humorous nod to the frustrations and difficulties we encounter in even our closest relationships. Perhaps the real frustration is that love has so many sides to it. Think of all the ways we both praise and denounce this emotion in popular music. “Love stinks” and “love hurts” and “love bites.” Yet, “all you need is love” and “I will always love you.” Love is supposed to be this positive notion of warmth and connection, but there are plenty of challenges and harsh realities that go along with it. Letting go of a loved one can be extremely painful, and a broken heart at the end of a relationship hurts physically and emotionally. Sometimes love comes with strings attached, which complicates things further.

The Torah this week in Parshat Eikev brings us back to the give and take of a loving relationship. Last week we read the V’ahavta and learned about all that we should do to love God. This week we read of what happens when God loves us. The parshah begins with a reminder of the blessings and rewards of success that will come to the Israelites if they guard and observe the Torah and all its commandments. We are then reminded of our responsibility to remove idolaters from our midst. The final section of the parshah is a reminder of the Israelites’ experiences in the desert, their missteps, and what they learned from each of these moments.

The text begins with the main elements of God’s promises to the patriarchs in addition to the land of Israel. “And He will love you, and bless you, and make you multiply.” This relationship suggests that God’s love is a blessing, and that blessing manifests itself in the continuation of our nation. While being a great nation and inheriting a great land are essential for our prosperity, love is always included as a benefit of being chosen by God.

Abraham Joshua Heschel said, “Only a blessing that flows from love deserves to be called a blessing.” Love is ultimately at the core of how God shows blessing to the Israelites and how we fulfill our end of the agreement by multiplying. How fitting that this lesson of love between God and humankind and from person to person comes as we near the High Holidays, a time when we ask forgiveness from God and our fellow humans. May we use this as a reminder into the new year to approach all our interactions from a place of love.

How Lucky You Are – Parshat Vaetchanan 5778

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There are countless conversations I’ve had with people in generations before me about how lucky I am to live in the world today, and I feel similarly about my kids’ lives. It seems that every new generation has certain things easier and faster. Need to know information? Google it, or even better, let Alexa tell you. Back in my day – who’d have ever thought I’d be saying “back in my day” – I had to use the card catalog and encyclopedias to find information. These days, if you want to find something to watch on TV, just speak into the remote. Believe it or not, I remember being the remote, getting up to tune the knob to another channel. These advances in technology give the older generation some perspective, but sometimes it’s difficult for the younger generations to understand just how lucky they are, especially when forced to suffer inconveniences like a dead iPhone or when there is actually “nothing” on TV.

Technology aside, the phenomenon of generational comparisons goes back to Moses in the Torah. The Israelites are constantly pointing out how much better life was before they left Egypt; they don’t yet grasp how lucky they are to be free. Parshat Vaetchanan, which we read this week, offers some insight into this concept. The Torah portion continues with the retelling of the laws here again in the book of Deuteronomy. We also read about God’s persistent refusal to allow Moses to enter the Land of Israel. The Torah then issues a caution to uphold the mitzvot as the key to building an Israelite society. Moses then sets three cities of refuge, and we receive probably the most well-known instruction in the Torah, the Shema. 

The text begins with the following words from Moses:

I pleaded with the Lord at that time, saying, “O Lord God, You who let Your servant see the first works of your greatness . . . Let me, I pray cross over and see the good land.”

Moses begins by asking to see the land of Israel. He does this publicly, in front of the nation. Several commentators pick up on how out of character this is for him. Moses rarely pleads on his own behalf, always for the greater community. Yet here he is facing his own mortality and the fact that his mistake has cost him seeing the land of Israel, and he is heartbroken.

Perhaps, as one final lesson to the Israelites, Moses is trying to teach remorse for sins and show them the true blessing of living in a free land, which he won’t experience. Perhaps he’s showing them that you should never lose hope about what may come and that even our deepest prayers may be eventually answered. Whatever the impetus for this plea, it’s a reminder that each generation walks a unique path. It may not always be easy to see in the moment, but we are all blessed to live in the world today.

Creatures of Habit – Parshat Devarim 5778

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A few year ago, the summer before Matan was born, we bought a new couch. Our old couch was still in great condition, but we expected, and rightly so, that a larger couch would better suit the needs of our growing family. We went and sat on many couches looking for the right balance of child friendly, clean lines, adequate seating, and comfort. We settled on a couch that was a sectional and included a chaise lounge.

Previously, my regular couch spot had been the corner of the sectional. Everyone knew this was my spot. But with this new couch, I had great visions of using the forward-facing chaise lounge to relax with my feet up, back straight, TV ahead. What happened? The couch arrived, and my grand plan to move to this new spot lasted only a few months after Matan’s birth. Back to my corner I went. After so many years in the same spot, it just didn’t feel right to move. The perspective was different, the cushions not squished just so, and it simply didn’t work.

As human beings we are hardwired to become creatures of habit. When we stay somewhere too long, or do something the same way long enough, it can be very difficult and even painful to make a change. The Israelites are acutely aware of this in our Torah portion this week, Devarim. Devarim stresses the covenant between God and Israel and looks toward Israel’s future in a new land as they build a society that pursues justice and righteousness. The central theme of this section of text is monotheism – the belief in one God – and building a society around the laws we’ve been given over the course of the four previous books.

The Israelites at this point in the Torah have been stationary for a bit. They have created camps outside the land of Israel and grown as a nation. They have become accustomed to this transient lifestyle, and there is some concern for how they will adjust to their new land. In Moses’s first discourse to the people, he begins, “The Lord our God spoke to us at Horeb, saying: ‘You have stayed long enough at this mountain.’” God understood the danger in the people growing too comfortable where they were, reluctant to move toward an unknown future.

A big shift can be scary, but our growth as an individual or community often requires a change. A growing family needs more space, just as a growing synagogue or school might. When we first got the new couch, I went back and forth in different spots for three months so that I could properly nurse and snuggle with Matan. It wasn’t a huge, life-altering change, but the discomfort of changing routine and losing my cozy corner was both physical and emotional. While living in the routine and within our (sometimes literal) comfort zone is easy, and even necessary at times, we grow and learn much more when we stretch into new, uncharted territories. Parshat Devarim reminds us that it is our job to keep moving, to search out the next challenge, and to overcome it together. Does that mean I’m giving up my spot? Not a chance.

 

Taking a Breather – Parshat Matot-Masei

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Last year PBS aired a special program about astronaut Scott Kelly’s homecoming and readjustment to life on Earth after living on the International Space Station for 11 months. Segments included discussions of what’s next in space travel, including theoretical travel to Mars, and the tests conducted to track changes between Kelly and his twin brother Mark, who remained on Earth as the control part of the experiment. One of the most compelling clips was of Kelly learning to walk again after spending nearly a year in zero gravity.

While I can’t imagine that degree of readjustment, I can distinctly recall the culture shock of reentering society every summer when I’d come home from camp. It would take a few days to settle in to sleeping in a quiet room by myself and being responsible for my own food choices again. Even the loud blare of the TV after a few weeks without it was difficult to readjust to. When I came back from my year in Israel, I remember thinking that the fat 2-liter bottles of pop (yes, pop) we have in America were so funny looking compared to the slender 1.5-liter bottles they had in Israel. Each time I tried to reenter society, I would need a few days, possibly even a week, to decompress and wrap my head around the change in environment.

I realize there’s quite a chasm between astronaut Scott Kelly’s readjustment and my own, but it turns out that the whole notion of taking time to rest before reentering society after a life-changing experience is as old as the Torah itself. This week we read the final sections of text from the fourth book of the Torah, Bamidbar. Parshiyot Matot and Masei begin with the discussion of the different vows Israelites might make, and then they detail the requests of the various tribes as they get ready to enter the Promised Land. The chapters end with the final placements of all the tribes as they prepare to divide their land inheritance.  

In chapter 31, verse 19 we read of the Israelites coming back from a war of vengeance. The warriors who have engaged in battle and caused death are not allowed to come back into the camp for a week’s time. This behavior was beyond what was (and is) generally acceptable for members of our society, but was permitted during times of war. Because of this, the soldiers are permitted to reenter society, but only after they have taken that one week away, outside of camp. This was done both for sanitary reasons of corpse contamination and as an emotional transition back to the world of normal living.

Included in these parshiyot is the reminder that transitions, whether in and out of major life events or just returning from a summer away, require an adjustment period. Life can be pretty challenging at times, and you owe it to yourself to take time to regroup before returning to the demands of daily life.

The Same, But Different – Parshat Pinchas 5778

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When I was pregnant with Matan, I heard many well-meaning reminders not to compare the two children. It is inevitable, though, that we look for similarities when we look at our children. Whether in the way they look (my two look exactly the same), the age at which they meet certain milestones (Matan is slightly faster in some respects), or their nature in general, I find it difficult to stop myself from noticing how they’re alike. The only problem is that all the tricks and parenting strategies I’ve honed with Shiri will fail on Matan, and I’ll be forced to remember that while they may look the same, they are completely different children.

This doesn’t just apply to parents. If you have a sibling, you have likely gone through this too. Perhaps you’ve had the experience of sitting in class on the first day of school, when a teacher reads your last name and then makes a comment about your older sibling who had the very same class. You’ve instantly gone from being an individual with your own identifying qualities to being linked to whatever behaviors and expectations – good or bad – the teacher associates with another member of your family.  

The Torah is full of stories of siblings and the wrongs or rights they’ve done to one another. We hear stories of sibling rivalries, betrayal, and support. Our parshah this week, Pinchas, is no exception. The Torah portion bounces from event to event; you’ll get dizzy trying to keep up. We begin with the story of Pinchas (identified as Aaron’s grandson) and the extreme action he took against those who defied the prohibition of idolatry. Then we move to the daughters of Zelophechad (Joseph’s great-great-great-grandson), who want to inherit land after their father’s death because he had no sons. Then Joshua is appointed Moshe’s successor, and we end with the sacrifices we are to make for Rosh Hodesh and the holidays.  

During the recalling of the census, we learn the following:

Born to Pallu: Eliab. The sons of Eliab were Nemuel, and Dathan and Aviram. These are the same Dathan and Aviram, chosen in the assembly, who agitated against Moses and Aaron as part of Korach’s band when they agitated against the Lord.

We learned the story of Dathan and Aviram earlier in the Torah when they joined with Korach and caused a great deal of trouble. Suddenly, here in our parshah, we learn that there was a third brother, Nemuel.

This older brother didn’t join his younger brothers in their nefarious activities, which means we now have the narrative of three brothers, raised in the same environment and with the same parenting, who did not all turn out the same. Can you imagine Nemuel going to school and having people find out he’s the older brother of the two troublemakers?

This week’s parshah offers an interesting version of the nature versus nurture debate. We see that brothers can be similar biologically, yet have opposite values and leadership qualities. It’s a helpful reminder – whether with students, children, or siblings – not to rely on assumptions, but to judge each person on their own merit.