Torah Tidbits - What Does the Torah have to say about Thanksgiving - Parashat Yayetze 5786

What might this week’s parashah, Vayetze, have to do with Thanksgiving? Perhaps everything—beginning with Jacob’s startled exclamation upon awakening from his dream: “Surely God is in this place—and I did not know it.” But how?

The rabbis teach (Bereishit Rabbah 69:7) that Jacob’s words reveal not simply surprise, but hakarat ha-tov, the spiritual discipline of recognizing goodness. Jacob becomes aware—perhaps for the first time—that blessing does not begin only in moments of triumph, but in the very places of fear, uncertainty, and transition. His thankfulness emerges not despite his tribulations, but through them. This becomes the ongoing saga of his life: hardship intertwined with insight, struggle braided with blessing. The blessings of his past—and those to come—become for Jacob a perpetual invitation to gratitude. 

There is a similar intent with the haftarah reading where the prophet Hosea talks about Israel being made whole once again (Hosea 14:4-7). In their context we can say that those verses describe God’s restorative power—healing what is broken, renewing what is withered, and offering Israel a chance to flourish again. Another chance is always a reason to be thankful.

As we enter this season of giving thanks, our minds naturally turn toward todah, toward noticing the blessings that surround us and acknowledging the good that sustains us. In this light, after Jacob’s dream of the ladder at Bethel when be says, "Surely God is in this place and I did not know it," it is one of the most honest and vulnerable lines in all of Torah, because it admits something that is just as relevant today, we often discover holiness only in hindsight. Yet his words also remind us that holiness so often hides in plain sight. The Sefat Emet teaches that God’s presence is found everywhere, but it is human awareness—da’at—that flickers on and off. Much like Jacob, we often perceive God’s presence only in retrospect. Thanksgiving, in many ways, is a ritual of hindsight: recognizing the moments we rushed past, the gifts we overlooked, the goodness we did not know at the time.

To help us with that sense of awareness each day upon waking we say a prayer of gratitude, Modeh Ani (modah for the ladies) that says, “I give thanks to You living and everlasting God for You have restored my soul with mercy. Great is Your faithfulness.” While I think naturally this becomes more sobering as you get older, it's good for even a young person studying for their B’nai Mitzvah, or about to “walk” to receive a graduate degree, that tomorrow is never guaranteed and we must be thankful for today because of all the blessings that are a part of it. How often do we hurry through our days without recognizing the quiet blessings that hold us up—family, friends, community, the small kindnesses that punctuate our routines, the breath that animates us, the love that steadies us? The “noise” of the world around us cannot be given the power and/or platform to take from us the gratitude that we have for what we have been given.

Thanksgiving becomes our annual reminder of Jacob’s revelation—“God (or whatever good you want to look too) is in this place, and I did not know it.” It is an invitation to slow down, look again, and recognize what may have been hidden in the rush of life. And as we turn toward the light of Hanukkah, this teaching feels even more fitting: miracles noticed only after the oil has already begun to burn.

May this Shabbat be a part of a long weekend of Thanksgiving that can deepen our awareness, soften our hearts, and help us say with sincerity: I am so thankful today for what I might have missed yesterday.

Shabbat Shalom and Happy Thanksgiving,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky 

Torah Tidbits - When Deception is not Okay - Parashat Toledot

 

This week’s parsha, Toledot, offers few surprises—family dynamics are familiar to us for sure. We read about the births of Esau and Jacob, twins, though Esau was born first. Despite being raised by the same parents under the same roof, the brothers were very different. Anyone with siblings—or has more than one child—knows this well: same upbringing, different personalities.

A clear display of sibling rivalry, Esau was rugged, an outdoorsman who loved hunting—a classic “meat-and-potatoes” type of man, who was clearly Isaac’s son. Jacob, in contrast, was more like his mother, Rebekah—a homebody described as an "eish tam yoshev ohalim," a mild man of tents who raised livestock and enjoyed cooking. Jewish tradition also tells us that Jacob spent much of his time studying Torah, and even the stew he cooked was a “mourner’s stew,” as he grieved over the death of his grandfather, Abraham (Bereishit Rabbah 63:10–13). Because Jacob was more spiritually minded, the Rabbis depict Jacob as the one to carry forth the family's legacy.

But when Isaac grew old and knew his death was near, he intended to bless his firstborn, Esau. This distressed Rebekah because God had told her before the twins’ birth, “The older shall serve the younger” (Gen. 25:23). Rebekah believed that the prophetic blessing belonged to Jacob, who was destined for spiritual leadership, and not Esau. To correct this error she devised a plan: Jacob would disguise himself as Esau, deceive Isaac and receive the blessing (Gen. 27). Jacob hesitated, but Rebekah persuaded him, saying, “Let your curse be on me, my son; only obey my voice” (Gen. 27:13). She was ready to endure the fallout regardless of the toll, let alone what it would add to the family drama. Knowingly? Difficult to think she was oblivious to the impact of her choices.
 
Rashi (12th century) explains that Rebekah acted on divine knowledge unknown to Isaac, confirming Jacob as the chosen spiritual heir. Nachmanides (13th century), however, raises a moral concern: the deception is ethically troubling and leads directly to Jacob’s later exile and conflict with Esau, showing that good intentions do not excuse harmful methods or consequences. Indeed, Rebekah’s plan fractured her family. She never saw her sons together again, and the narrative records no further conversation between her and Isaac, suggesting possible estrangement. A Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 67:9) teaches that Rebekah’s silence reflects her grief and the heavy emotional cost of family disunity. These are family dynamics no one wants.

The Torah presents Rebekah’s cleverness as instrumental in fulfilling God’s covenant through Jacob, whose lineage became the people of Israel. Yet her story also underscores the importance of moral responsibility. By relying on deception and not talking with Isaac about her concerns, she achieved the divine plan but compromised her integrity as a wife and a mother, even though we hail her as a matriarch. Yet, Proverbs 12:22 reminds us: “Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord, but those who act faithfully are a delight.”

Is deception ever okay? There are Jewish teachings that say if telling someone distressing news will only cause more pain such as with a health related issue, then it is okay not to be fully disclosing. Still, you cannot apply that across the board, and certainly not here. So, as with the case with Rebekah, even when intentions align with God’s will, ethical choices can have lasting consequences that are not the best.  Rebekah's reliance on manipulation fractured her family and caused unnecessary harm. Her story challenges us to consider the importance of honesty, how we communicate truths, and the value of nurturing open relationships within our families—blood or otherwise. This is a timeless Torah based lesson about dialogue and relational dynamics.

Shabbat Shalom and Rosh Chodesh Kislev,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky

Parashat HaShuvah - Matot-Masei - "Family Ties - Why they Matter." Numbers 32:2-36:13. Haftarah, Jeremiah 2:4-28, 3:4

 

I was born and raised in the Fairfax section of Los Angeles.  Fairfax back then was full of many Jews who came over from Europe after WWII, and when you walked down the street there were many open markets selling an array of things, kosher restaurants and the like.  While Fairfax has changed over the years, perhaps it is best known for Canter's Delicatessen, which is still there today and always busy.  I also recall going to a Jewish preschool, and it seemed like everyone I knew was Jewish, but I will also tell you what I miss about that time.  Our block, Lindenhurst Ave., was full of families with kids my age, kids who I played basketball with, watched cartoons and rode our bikes together.  It was a time that as I got older I looked back at with foundress, but also appreciation.  

Life is not the same today, and although there still are Jewish neighborhoods, like Pico-Robertson in Los Angeles or parts of Brooklyn in New York, those tight knit communities are not like they used to be.  Part of the reason has to do with how Jewish people moved into the suburbs and scattered.  When we moved as Jew’s perhaps we moved onto a block with other Jewish families or maybe we were the only Jew’s on the block, no longer gathering at the local synagogue for some community event or a B'nai MItzvah, not to mention that something that was a ten minute walk turned into a 45 min drive.  I think for those reasons (and others), my need to recapture that community feeling became something that was more intentional, and just not natural.  While not exactly alike, we see this sense of intentionally in this week's Torah reading, Parashat Matot-Masei.

Matot-Masei are read together and conclude Israel's story of wandering in the wilderness (Deuteronomy reflects the teachings they received while encamped on the eastern side of the Jordan River just before crossing into Canaan).  While Masei is a recap of the 40 year journey itself, Matot addresses the tribes (matot, in Hebrew) to remind them that like a personal family unit, the tribes of Israel/the Jewish people are also a family regardless of size, purpose or influence, Priest or Levite.  As such the primary message of Numbers was (and is) about “unity,” and whether with the spies or with the followers of Korach, when that unity was broken there were consequences.  This is why Moses gets mad at the tribes of Gad and Reuven, who basically said they were happy with the land east of the Jordan and did not care to go into Canaan itself.  Moses basically said, how can you do that to your family?  How can you turn your back on their needs and separate from the rest of us?  The Sfrono (16th century Italian Rabbi) sums it up when he teaches, “what is the point in your undermining the resolution and morale of your brethren? You are repeating what the spies in the last generation did!”

When the people of Gad and Reuven heard this, they got it.  In this case because of their connection to the rest of the people, once they secured their personal families and possessions, they enter the land with the rest of the tribes and say,  “we will not return to our homes until the Israelites — every one of them — are in possession of their portion“ (Num. 32:18).  While it is true Gad and Reuven can say “we have already received it (our inheritance) on the eastern side of the Jordan” (Rashi on 32:19), Gad and Reuven also understood that their tribes inheritance was only fully valid when the rest of Israel inherited their portions in the land of Canaan also.

The tribes of Israel all grew up in the same neighborhood, lived on the same block and attended the same school and place of worship.  That is what I recall when I think back to my early days in the Fairfax section of Los Angeles.  What made it intentional later in life is I had to look for Jewish community events, connecting with Jewish causes or going to synagogue functions and the like.  Likewise, no longer could I just walk into the store on the corner with a wall dedicated to advertising what was happening in the neighborhood and/or greater community.  But today people ask why be a part of a synagogue anyway as my kids have had a B’nai Mitzvah, dues are too high, I rarely see anyone or my synagogue is not as welcoming as it used to be. Further questioning, understandably, the effort to be involved. Does it matter or does it meet my personal needs and identify? It is not as clear as it once was if it is the right place, even asking if Jewish life works anymore as new life needs and wants have risen.  It's a choice, since it is intentional, that much is true.  

Israel's story of wandering in the wilderness ended with a reminder that they're all family even if their personal lives took a different path, but also that their future success and being was based on that same sense of relationship. That is no different today, and while I think that our community may see things differently, I also have to ask has the breakdown of community been a loss? I know I have said it before, and I will most likely keep saying it as I believe it to be true, but October 7th was both a lesson and a wakeup call to be unified both as Jews and Jewish communities.  This Torah teaching email goes out not only on the 300th day that our hostages remain in Gaza, but that this war continues. I hope all of us in our own way hear the message of Matot-Masei that reminds us: no matter what our individual family units look like, or how imperfect people may be, as Jewish communities worldwide our individual/family concerns are not just our own, and visa versa. How much does the breakdown of family mean?  How much does the breakdown of the Jewish community connection matter?  Those are questions that I think each of us need to answer. 

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky       

Parashat HaShuvah - B'chukotai - "The Laws of God as a Mirror of Inner Self-reflection." Leviticus 26:3-27:24 Haftarah, Jeremiah 16:19-17:14

 

The final parasha in Leviticus, B’chukotai meaning “ my laws,” is only read separately from Behar during leap years.  B’chukotai is about keeping the laws of God, beginning with glowing rewards if they are kept, to be followed by negative consequences if they are not. This parasha, and the book, ends with the sanctity of human gifts to God in terms of Temple tax, animals for sacrifice and their value if redeemed since all what is given is now the property of God (Talmud, Bava Kamma 69b).  But is this section not flawed to the modern mind?   What does doing the right thing, in this case keeping the ways of God have to do with the assurance of rain, or if not kept the miscarriage of a pregnant woman?  Does this mean that God’s willingness to bless Israel was solely conditional?  They did for sure, and maybe if we think cause and effect - even if not the same - it is likewise today?

 

What does it mean in the opening verse of B’chukotai, Leviticus 26:3 that says,  “If you follow My laws and faithfully observe My commandments?”  According to the Sifra, an earlier Midrash on Leviticus, it means that “the Holy One … yearns that Israel toil in Torah [thus per Psalm 81:14-15] if My people heeded Me, that Israel walked in My ways!’ [Isaiah 18:19 saying their] peace would be like a river and your righteousness like the waves of the sea [keeping] all My mitzvot all the days, so that it be good for them and for their children forever."  The Midrash teaches that we must busy ourselves to learn and live according to the ways of Torah in order to have life's riches guide our paths that we then pass down to our children, ways which pave the way of life upon the roads of peace and success.  Okay, but what does that exactly mean? 

 

Rebecca Goldstein, a teacher of Philosophy, wrote about the difference between "Jewish Secularism vs. Secular Jewishness." Simply “Jewish Secularism” is a matter of “sociology,” you engage in non-religious activity such as reading The Wall Street Journal, watching FOX news or CNN, going to a Baseball game, taking in a movie, all while being faithful to Torah. “Secular Jewishness” is about continuity and discontinuity with Jewish values and practices, something Goldstein would say is “an outlook, a platform, a code of behavior.” As such Goldstein further says that Secular Jewishness “is not a religion per se but it has something in common with religion, namely what philosophers call normativity, meaning that secular Jewishness makes certain claims concerning human values, the kind of life it is good to lead, the kind of life that one ought to lead.” In this case “Secular Jewishness” upholds a commitment to “the Jewish values” that resonate with a larger platform that is driven by a “secular worldview” (meaning non-religious).  This is part of a much larger discussion on sociology and religion. 

 

What about the laws then? The problem with the Law is we read them as rules as opposed to reflections of what is holy and good. If we see Jewish law in the backdrop of what Rebecca Goldstein calls “Secular Jewishness,” while a working theory of life, it is not necessarily connected with our "divine image" that propels our holy spark within.  This of course presumes the belief that we are spiritually in relationship to our greater sense of self and God that powers us to do what we do in terms of our practices from Shabbat to the holidays, b'nai mitzvot to social action, or even just to be part of a community of like thought, traditions and practices, values, ethics or what have you. Still, it must be pointed out that these very same practices emerge from the laws of God that “Secular Jewishness” calls good life theories clothed in Jewish culture.  Law in Torah is more than a system of religious practice, it is a road-map to our inner human world.  

 

Imagine that world with me where we ”do not turn to idols or make molten gods for yourselves,” meaning we avoid the idols of greed or class distinctions, treating all with justice, thus “You shall not render an unfair decision: do not favor the poor or show deference to the rich.”  What might the world look like if we do “not hate our kinsfolk in our heart,” or to that end do “not take vengeance or bear a grudge against members of our people,” reminding us to “Love your fellow [Israelite] as yourself,” as well as to those who are not like us (non-Jews in context), “you shall love each one as yourself, for you have been strangers,” or outsiders. From the perspective of Torah law reflects our inner holiness and sense of goodness as opposed to rules that many have come to see as antiquated or unnecessary although Jewish culture is still embraced in one way or the other.  Modern minds or not, perhaps if we follow the laws as reflections of the yearning of our inner beings we will experience a world that looks very different than the one we see around us, or find peace and/or success, even though it might not look how we thought.  The Laws of God might not not change the world, but it will change us within it. 

 

And the end of a book of Torah we say, chazak, chazak, v'nitchazeik, may we "Be strong, be strong, and we will strengthen one another" as we learn and grow together.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky

Parashat HaShuvah - Kedoshim - "From the River to the Sea." Leviticus 19:1-20:27, Haftarah, Amos 9:7-15

Oh no, you misunderstand!  “From the River to the Sea '' has to do with the Mississippi River to either the Pacific or Atlantic oceans.  From the river to sea (you choose what direction) we are in the midst, as we know, of a serious problem on our college campuses.  Imagine with me for just a moment a place where people of different religious and political views would sit down together on those same campuses to seek a mutual outcome of goodness as they listen and understand each other.  Okay, I guess you can see me as optimistic, delusional or simply just naive?  I see myself as optimistic because I believe that love is greater than hate, mutual benefit is greater than selfishness, and the answer always begins with loving our fellow person even when others turn their back on that same love. 

In this week's parasha, Kedoshim, we read the well known verse that says, kedoshim t’yu ki kadosh ani adonai elohaychem, “You shall be holy, for I, your God, am holy.” Case and point, the Torah does not call us to be good, honorable or worthy - although that is implied in the mitzvot - but to be holy.  In Acharei Mot it concluded with Laws about sexual relationships and the collective sins of Israel in what became the Yom Kippur service today. As such Rabbi Ayeh ben David writes that while  Acharei Mot established “the essential minimal boundaries for acceptable social behavior … Kedoshim will attempt to advance this standard (of behavior) to higher and more profound levels.”  This happens when an act of holiness emerges from our soul-based traits, or middot, which manifests in behavior.  But “holiness” is not a theological word like the Christian word “sanctification,” where a person is sealed by the Holy Spirit, more so than holiness is a sought after level of humanity that is consistent with the ways of Torah to reflect our inner holy spark in connection to God.

One of those key behaviors of Kedoshim is love. We read in Leviticus 19:17, “You shall not hate your kinsfolk in your heart,” followed by the words in 19:18, “Love your neighbor [here fellow Jew in context] as yourself.”  Still, the Torah makes it clear in 19:34 that such love expands to all humans (Jew and non-Jew alike) outside of our community circles (different religions, etc), teaching “The strangers who reside with you shall be to you as your citizens; you shall love each one as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”  In Judaism we have another tradition of love called “Ahavat Yisrael,” which means “love for another Jew” but also means the support of the state of Israel.  The middah (soul-trait) of love toward others begins with the middah of Ohev et HaMakom, or loving God.  This type of love is found in the “One who loves God occupies themselves with the Divine's most valuable treasure. Diligent study of Torah is therefore an expression of a love for God. Through study, one learns to recognize the Godly path and express one's love of God by emulating God's ways."  Simply put, love for God is love for the ways of God (think V'ahavta) that underscores how we love, and therefore, treat others.

Being Holy, per Rashi, is to adhere to the commands regarding eating or personal behaviors (see Acharei Mot) whereas for Nachmanides even doing those things (per Rashi) can not stop someone from loathsome behavior.  Again, in response Rabbi Ayeh ben David writes that “the challenge of becoming holy is reflected is the exertion of self-control precisely within the guidelines of Torah.” Notice the word exertion, a word that means effort not only physically but mentally. This reminds me of the question in Pirkei Avot “Who is mighty? He who subdues his [evil] inclination.”  Subduing what is wrong takes physical and mental exertion, but doing what is right, thus loving others we are in conflict with, takes even more physical and mental exertion.

In closing I’d like to share a thought from Rabbi Elisha Wolfin.  When it is said in Kedoshim, “Love your neighbor as yourself,” Rabbi Wolfin takes issue with the translation “your neighbor” because it is to narrow and misleading,  Here לרעך (l’ray’ah’cha) is the root רע (rah) that can also mean wicked or bad.  For Wolfin the one who receives love or hate is not just a neighbor or a friend but is the “ultimate other who is everything that is not I,” whereas the one who loves, or hates, “is actually a projection (of self) onto another.”  If the students on our college campuses, in particular those who directly or indirectly engage in Anti-semitism or Islamophobia, projected love - which is holy - on “the other” as opposed to hate, then maybe we might see a shared mutual outcome from the river to the sea.  Naive, maybe, hopeful, absolutely - I'll take that everyday.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky                  

Parashat HaShuvah - Acharei Mot - "We must be Mindful of our Responses." Leviticus 16:1-18:30, Haftarah, Ezekiel 22:1-19

I am conflicted as I read this week's parasha, Acharei Mot.  This is the parasha where we find the basis for our modern day Yom Kippur service and begins an important part of Torah called the Holiness Code that is about ethical human conduct in every aspect of life.  Yet, I am just as concerned with what we are witnessing on our college and university campuses, not only here in Texas, but elsewhere throughout the country.  As Jews and a Jewish community we need to be in the know, but also know that how we respond is just as crucial. 

In Los Angeles, at UCLA, a Jewish student there named Gaby said, “I myself have been bullied and harassed online … I know people that have been involved in physical altercations.”  Putting the physical attacks aside, the well documented words spoken against Jewish students are said to be justified as free speech, reflecting the current debate on campuses surrounding the 1st amendment.  As such, the head of the American Jewish Committee in New York said that “we celebrate free speech,” which is an American constitutional right.  Yet he also said,  “but when the debate that’s taking place results in the intimidation and harassment and silencing of one party, there is not free speech for everyone.”  Still, a NYC official said in disagreement, “Columbia should not be calling the cops on its own students for engaging in nonviolent protest.”  Are words that incite hate and disrespect others a “nonviolent protest.”  The teachings of Judaism would say no. In fact Judaism would say that while diversity of thought includes disagreement, words such as “we want Jewish genocide” should not be protected by the label of free speech. It is not “free speech” if it becomes an existential threat to another's freedom. 

Reuters reports that “The demonstrations across the country have been met with counter-protesters accusing them of fomenting anti-Jewish hatred. The pro-Palestinian side, including Jews opposed to Israeli actions in Gaza, say they are being unfairly branded as antisemitic for criticizing Israel's government and expressing support for human rights.”  That is fine, protesting a conviction is the American way even if others do not agree. It is also perfectly allowable to call out a government you disagree with.  But Jews, and non-Jews, who are “branded as antisemitic” has more to do with associating with or agreeing, chas v’chalilah (God forbid), with those same people who call for Jewish genocide.  As a Jew, I am unable to support even other Jews who call for the deaths of Arabs (or anyone) who do not fit a Jewish world view (war is another conversation).  As a person who values human life,  how can there be a call for Jewish deaths?  Unfortunately, this is what we are dealing with, but thank God the American Jewish, and even Christian support for Israel, is strong.

Back to Torah. In this week's parasha we read in Leviticus 17:10, “And if anyone of the house of Israel or of the strangers who reside among them partakes of any blood, I will set My face against the person who partakes of the blood; I will cut that person off from among kin.”  Robert Alter in his commentary states, to which I agree, that this is about a person, a human life, as opposed to being about Kosher issues (see Rashi for example).  Nadav and Avihu, back in Leviticus 10, brought “strange fire” into the tent of meeting and died.  The reason, while many, is because they elected to do what was wrong and suffered for it.  Aaron, the High Priest, in this week's parasha is told there is a right way to enter the Holy Place in contrast to Nadav and Avihu.  The way we go about things matters. How we demonstrate makes a difference.  The words we use are important. 

If so then obviously It is wrong to allow hate to exist and call for the death of Jews.  Yet It is wrong to actively seek revenge and respond in a hateful way as a Jewish community.  It is wrong to think a conviction to oppose Israel makes Jewish lives unworthy.  Yet it is just as wrong to respond in like fashion and let that type of thinking have ownership over the the Jewish worldview.  When we fight anti-Jewish hate or the antisemitism that is in front us, go and take part in a pro–Israel rally or support your Federation, use your voice to celebrate all life, Jewish or not!  But unlike Nadav and Avihu who did not consider the results of their actions, we must be mindful of our responses. Likewise our fight, like Aaron the High Priest who entered the Holy place, has to have life-affirming rules of engagement. Per the Holiness Code, we must be led by the ethical human conduct that respects others who disagree, although we must always oppose hate.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky    

Parashat HaShuvah - Torah Reading for Shabbat Passover - "Passover Musings - the Messy Middle." Exodus 33:12-34:26, Haftarah, Ezekiel 37:1-14

 I hope everyone had meaningful Seders this year!  This week for the Shabbat of Passover we have a special Torah reading that reminds the listener that God made a covenant with the Jewish people rooted in the Torah to include our holidays.  In that reading we find a well known passage (we read it during the High Holidays) about the characteristics of God who is "compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, extending kindness to the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity, transgression, and sin.” During the week of Passover (and Sukkot) when we reflect on God’s characteristics we are asked to reflect on our own. The freedom that we recall during Passover is a characteristic of God, and therefore us as well.

Rabbi Abraham Cook, who was the founder of the modern Chief Rabbinate of Israel, teaches that each of us during Passover is to recall, or rediscover, our own freedom within. Thus Rav Cook writes, “What makes us truly free? When we are able to be faithful to our inner self, to the truth of our Divine image - then we can live a fulfilled life focused on the soul's inner goal.” Passover is just not a time to remember the freedom of the slaves of old and Jewish history, although it tells us about our past, but it speaks to our today also.  On the Seder plate we have two places for bitter herbs, Maror (מרור) and Chazeret (חזרת). Both tell the story that “the experience of the Jewish people’s slavery in Egypt, which was not initiated all at once, but rather conducted gradually and so grew progressively more bitter.” But the ongoing bitterness of slavery is generational, meaning that while most people today have not been physical slaves in Egypt (or the Shoah), we all suffer because of the effects of racism and antisemitism, lack of rights for minorities, women and the LGBTQ+ community.  There is fallout from the political polarization in this country that continues to divide people, the bitterness of disinformation and balanced reporting, pain and suffering from illness and disease, abuse of power and position and the list can go on.  Bitterness is not a one time thing but lingers. We can also become captive to the bitterness that has the power to engulf, and therefore, enslave us. That is part of the story too. 
 
Today we are suffering the bitterness of the evil of Hamas and its aftermath. I began my Seders this year by saying (as I am sure many of you did as well) that this is no ordinary year, we have families and friends who are being held captive right now in Gaza, although we continue to say l’olam lo shuv, never again. I recently read words by Rabbi Marc Katz of Temple Ner Tamid in Bloomfield, New Jersey who has called the situation for us Jews (and Jewish communities) in Gaza a “messy middle.” It's a “messy middle” because this is not black and white as Rabbi Katz further wrote that as people we “can hold a lot of things at once, and you can feel for the Palestinian people, you can feel for the Israeli people. Compassion is not a zero-sum game.”  The Rabbi is saying that the “messy middle” reflects that many Jews in Israel and around the world do not want to fight, do not want to see innocent people on either side suffer or die, and want to see both Jew and Arab raise their children and families freely without threat. Yet they also see the need to fight the evil of Hamas that must be destroyed while knowing the world criticizes Israel and more innocent people will have to die in order to secure Jewish and Arab freedom so two people can live side by side. The Jews in Goshen were the same; they just wanted to live in peace, yet innocent people (Jews and innocent Egyptians) had to die in the process.  Today we have a new battle that rages, the battle for our Jewish and Israel supporting young people who are entering the university system. This battle is fighting for the right to walk on campus in safety, to learn and voice opinion without fear, to stand up to antisemitism, but also islamophobia.  Seeking a win-win is truly hard for all, hence a "zero-sum game," but evil must be eradicated and people freed.

Last week I mentioned the words of the Abarbanel, who wrote, “By spilling a drop of wine from the Pesach cup for each plague, we acknowledge that our own joy is lessened and incomplete, for our redemption had to come by means of the punishment of other human beings. Even though these are just punishments for evil acts, it says, “Do not rejoice at the fall of your enemy” (Proverbs 24:17).”  Our sense of compassion can be compromised by the chametz (leaven) of anger, or even hate, one sided justice, fear and grave disappointment.  What does chametz have to do with this?  Again calling on Rav Cook he teaches that the “leavening agent” (chametz)  that makes “dough rise” is added to change the doughs “natural shape and characteristics.”  As humans we must seek out what is natural shape in order “to be faithful to our Divine image.”  The chametz of anger and fear (etc.) can also change our “natural shape and characteristics” of love and compassion both for friend and foe.  When we recall the plagues we recall those who died for Israel's freedom from slavery, yet we are never to rejoice that their freedom came and the expense of an Egyptian life, no matter how evil.  The "messy middle" says be angry at evil but do not rejoice at the death of a life, even of an enemy. 

According to our Divine Image we have the middah (characteristic) of rachmones, or mercy, compassion, forgiveness and empathy (reflecting God's character above).  The Passover story is challenging us to live in the “messy middle” in order to hold true to our truths and have compassion for those who do not. When we rid our lives of the chametz that gets in the way of such a lofty goal, then per the words of Rav Cook, we are truly free.

Shabbat Shalom and Moadim L'Simcha,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky 

Parashat HaShuvah - Metzoa - "Verbal Purity at Passover." Leviticus 14:1-15:33, Haftarah, Malachai 3:4-24

When we recount the plagues during our upcoming Seders we are not to be gleeful when recalling those who tried to keep the Jews captive and suffered even unto death.  Our posture is not to be: they tried to kill us, we won, let’s eat, no. no no.  In fact the Abarbanel (a-bar-ba-nel, 15th century Rabbi) wrote, “By spilling a drop of wine from the Pesach cup for each plague, we acknowledge that our own joy is lessened and incomplete, for our redemption had to come by means of the punishment of other human beings. Even though these are just punishments for evil acts, it says, “Do not rejoice at the fall of your enemy” (Proverbs 24:17).”

When Israel sang after they crossed the sea the words of Shirat Hayam (the song of the sea from Exodus 15, where Michamocha comes from) their focus was to be on the freedom gained, not the destruction of enemies who drowned.  This is found in our Seder when we sing “Avadim Hayinu,” we were slaves, now we sing songs of praise, not for the death of enemies, but because we are free!  We read in the Talmud (Sanhedrin 39b) that God is said to have rebuked the angels for celebrating after the drowning of the Egyptians, a lesson that Judaism as long taught applies to us, hence the words of the Abarbanel above.

This week's parasha, Metzora, like last week’s Tazria, speaks of afflictions that have been connected to Lashon hara, or evil speech.  Speech obviously comes from our mouth, rooted in the intentions of our hearts and minds, thus out of our mouth comes words of compassion or words designed to hurt and even hate.  The book of Mishlei (Proverbs) captures both.  Words that are affirming and compassionate are “Pleasant words that are like a honeycomb, Sweet to the palate and a cure for the body” (Prov. 16:24). Yet regarding words designed to hurt others, words of anger and hate we also read in Mishlei, “More had fallen by the tongue than had fallen by the edge of the sword” (Prov. 27:18).

Last Shabbat I mentioned how almost everything we do is preceded by brachot (blessings), 91 in total between the three times of prayer per day alone, but also prayers over food, drink, study, be wonderment of creation (like with the eclipse), human uniqueness, healthy bodies and so on. The purpose of the brachot are to speak holiness and goodness into our daily activities, albeit the mundane and the sacred alike, activities that include the words that come from our mouth (verbal and by image both convey messages). Interestingly, regarding the brachot, there is none that we say before we speak.  I reached out to a colleague who shared his thoughts on the matter, suggesting words from the daily Amidah (I thought the same) that say, “You (God) favor humans with perception and teach understanding. Grant us knowledge, understanding and intellect from You.”  In other words, we have all the intellectual ingredients within us to direct our speech and choose to make it holy, or not, before the words even leave our mouth.

Today, it seems like people often use their words for harm. This will get me in trouble with someone I am sure,  but all the posted satire that we see online about political figures or what have you, for Judaism, falls into the category of Lashon hara, a true metzora (affliction) because they create a negative image to damage another.  According to teachings of Judaism it is not about whether it is true (lashon hara does not mean a lie), but it is about the intent to do harm.  Let's bring this back to Passover. There is a kabbalistic teaching that says that the word Pharaoh (פַּרְעֹ֑ה), can also spell “פה רע” (peh rah), which means  “evil mouth.”  Pharaoh according to Zohar (III, 205b) is the very illustration of the "the evil tongue", i.e. slander, a gross misuse of the power of speech and the like.  Pharaoh treated those who he felt were inferior to him in harmful ways, he did not have compassion on human life in general.  His words were meant only for harm and self affirmation. We learn from this that our words must be the opposite.

Therefore we too have the power of speech, speech that we are to use to verbalize our compassion on our enemies who wrong us, even if they don't deserve it (yes hard to do).  In fact the Chofetz Chaim, who writes extensively of proper speech, would teach that the lack of verbal compassion is a form of Lashon Hara.  We are being asked during our Seders to give thanks for our shared freedoms, and to celebrate our diversity and common humanity.  I heard it said that diversity is not about uniformity but harmony.  Living in harmony with others is about being okay and tolerant with others who we may not agree with, allowing our speech to be celebratory of our human journeys and not the differences that separate us.  Yet the Seder also asks us to have compassion on our enemies, those who seek to harm us, which is why we recite the plagues and the story of the sea out loud. May we never lose our compassion and words of mercy for those who seek to impose barriers on our freedoms.  The Pharaoh’s of this world will have their day of reckoning, we can bet on that, yet we must not lose our sense of goodness or compassion on account of them.

Shabbat Shalom and chag pesach sameach,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky 

Parashat HaShuvah - Tazria - "Measure by Measure." Leviticus 12:1-13:59, Haftarah, 2 Kinds 4:42-5:19

We live in a world of words.  Speaking words is a big deal in Judaism. I’d like to focus on two outstanding issues regarding words that we hear everyday. The first is our march toward the November elections.  While my intention here is not to pick sides, what I will say is that most of what I hear/read today is not a bipartisan approach to the important issues that we face as Americans. More often what I tend to read is about failed human characteristics and personal attacks.  Beneath such words there can be truth, absolutely, and that must guide us come November. But for Judaism the truth does not get to dictate how words are used if they produce hate inspired words that seek to assassinate another person. The second is the mainstream words of the anti-Israel rhetoric that permeates our news. Is it all lies? No, of course not, but a lot of it is not full-truths either, leaving many people with less than factual information both about the Israel-Gaza war and our own governmental policies toward the Jewish state. So while these points should be an important matter as Jews and Jewish communities, what does this have to do with this week's parasha, Tazria? 

In his book, Shemirat HaLashon, guarding of the tongue, Rabbi Yisrael Meir Kagan - the Chofetz Chaim (pursuer of life) - writes about what he calls מִדָּה בְּמִדָּה (mida bimedia) or “measure for measure.”  Putting it another way he is talking about the karma of bad deeds that will impact the future which are tied into spoken words.  The Chofetz Chaim connects מִדָּה בְּמִדָּה (or karma) to what our tradition calls Lashon hara, or evil speech. The idea of lashon hara comes from this week's parasha, Tazria, where a skin affliction called a tzaraat is understood to be leprosy, which our tradition interprets as the affliction of the tongue. The Chofetz Chaim intends to show how lashon hara can have an impact not just at that moment but down the road, and he does that by looking at the story of Judah and Joseph.  In this case although Judah stood up for the life of his brother he opted to sell him into slavery instead. As such Judah’s hate was the basis for selling Joseph into slavery and lying to his father about Joseph dying at the hands of an animal.  For the Chofetz Chaim the long term impact of Judah's words were felt much later in the story of Rehoboam, the son of King Solomon, who was a descendant of Judah. In this case Rehoboam was approached by the people who asked him to remove the heavy burden of taxation and other such concerns upon the nation.  Unfortunately, not only did Rehoboam refuse the request, but said that his rule would be harsher than his father King Solomon.  As a result of Rehoboam’s choices Israel was split into the Northern and Southern Kingdom that led to being exiled into Babylon and the destruction of the first temple.  The Chofetz Chaim teaches that the latter was based on Judah’s unwillingness to forgive, which began a chain of events that he calls מִדָּה בְּמִדָּה (measure for measure), in turn creating bad karma for the generations that followed. 

Maimonides in his Mishneh Torah (Human Dispositions 7) writes, “There is a much more serious sin than [gossip] … that is lashon hara.”  Gossip according to Judaism “causes unforeseen negative consequences.''  Although it is normally unintended to be harmful gossip  - hey did you hear about so and so they are having an affair - there is plenty of harm in that statement!  Lashon hara by design is intended to do harm, which is why it is more serious than gossip.  Maimonides therefore also teaches that refraining from lashon hara has a “prohibition relating to deprecating facts about a colleague, even if they are true.”  Lashon hara is just not about words designed to harm the target of those words, but by default, also those who embrace the words of the one who is attacked.  We read in the Talmud (Arachin 15b) a well known teaching about how lashon hara impacts the “one who speaks malicious speech, and the one who accepts the malicious speech when he hears it, and the one about whom the malicious speech is said.”  More than that we also learn in this Talmud that unless lashon hara is “destroyed” it will “kill” even if not a physical death. Lashon hara is never okay, never just a passive thought or a good suggestion to embrace. 

Again, how do the things we hear today impact us as a Jewish community in connection with this parasha?  Remember that the Book of Leviticus is asking a lot of us in terms of our character and behavior, it can be a hard book to digest because of that. Later on we read in Leviticus 19:2, “You shall be holy, for I, your God יהוה, am holy,” but what does that mean?  While I will save that for another time, you can be sure of this one thing: it has everything to do with how we conduct ourselves in life, which very much includes how we use our words. How many families have been torn apart by powerful words of hate and disagreement over today's climate of politics?  What about the misuse of words designed to hurt Israel that have been given the power to create problems, not just now, but for generations to follow who will no longer support Israel because of words that are not true?  Whether about America's attitude toward Israel or the election, I wonder if the Chofetz Chaim would give the same warning, מִדָּה בְּמִדָּה, the karma of our words could have a negative affect tomorrow.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky 

Parashat HaShuvah - Ki Tisa - "The Wise Heart Does." Exodus 30:11-34:35, Haftarah, 1 Kings 18:1-39

Last week in Israel I experienced a great deal in a very short period of time.  Anyone who has any kind of pulse on Israel knows that what we read daily in most news outlets doesn't do justice to the reality on the ground.  The society of Israel has many moving parts that we just do not hear about, vital parts that make the whole. Our Torah this week speaks to that very thing.

Here in Ki Tisa we meet two very important people; Bezalel and Oholiav. These men had a skill, a craft assigned to those who were “כל חכם לב“ (col-cacham-leiv), or any wise heart.  In this context כל חכם לב simply means all who are skilled.  Bezael and Oholiav took from some of hat’rumah, “the gifts” that were collected by Moses, and used their skills to cut stones and carve wood, to make the menorah, priestly garments and even the altar.  The Jewish mystical tradition from the Zohar teaches that Bezalel and Oholiav complemented each other.  In this case Bezalel’s soul was rooted in the right side of Divine attributes, those of kindness and love. Oholiav’s soul, on the other hand, was from the left side of judgment and discipline. To build the Tabernacle, a perfect balance of the two sides of the attributes were needed, and that was brought about by Bezalel and Oholiav's diversity of giftings to create something special.

According to the Talmud (Berakhot 55a), “Bezalel was called by that name on account of his wisdom,” a name that means in the shadow of, in this case the shadow of God. Oholiav, literally “fathers tent,” meant that his heart was the “tent” that housed his wisdom.  We further learn in the Talmud (also Berakhot 55a) that wisdom is birthed within us, waiting to be revealed, thus God “only grants wisdom to one who already possesses wisdom.”  In the case of Bezalel and Oholiav their skill is not only a divine gift already possessed within them, but must be exercised to make its mark.  In connection with a person’s gifts, Rabbi Arthur Green in his teaching on Ki Tisa reminds us about the thirteen elements used to build the Mishkan, such as gold, silver, scarlet thread, etc. Rabbi Green likens those 13 elements of material used to the 13th middot of Mussar, which is “devotion,” or mindfulness. Bezalel and Oholiav were mindful of their craft, and devoted their skills to build a holy place for all Israel, recognizing that their gifts were for the benefit of the whole.

Most of the time we hear about the IDF, their efforts to defend a country from detractors who seek their demise all around. Their effort is herculean, not only because they must contend with enemies on every side, but also because they are greatly criticized.  Israel’s attitude despite all the noise and condemnation is very simple: the evil around us must go because it cannot live at our borders any longer. It was beneficial to be there, to hear from the people who are in the midst of this fight, hear about the pain of what is going on and the regret that they must even fight at all, let alone the disappointment with a government that let them down, asking where was our army, why didn't the people who are tasked to protect us see this coming?   But Israel is full of Bezalel’s and Oholiav’s, people who are כל חכם לב, wise of heart, who realize each has a role that is very important, even more so right now.  So not only did we meet with IDF soldiers and other military personal, not to mention the President of Israel - Isaac Herzog,  but we met with representatives of United Hatzalah, Israel Trauma Coalition, Shaarei Zedek Hospital and Zaka, each playing an important role along with the IDF to being about healing and safety throughout the land of Israel and for its people. The fight continues, the tears of loss continue to flow, but so does the determination of those who call Israel home, so much so everywhere you look you read, אנחנו ננצח (anachnu n’netzayach), we will win!

The joint effort of Israel was a lesson for me, a reminder of how each plays a role and no one role is more important than the next.  In Israel, this situation was forced upon them for each to respond, and the “someone else will do it” mentality can mean the difference between life and death. What motivates us if it's not life and death?  Our gifts make the difference in bettering the world around us, our communities, helping those in need and embracing those who feel isolated, using our money and time to support worthy causes and efforts, not to mention as Jews and Jewish families we must support our synagogues to ensure that generations to come will know and live the values of Jewish life. Likewise, we must do what we can to help keep Israel safe from those who seek to wipe Israel off the map. May we too embrace the 13th middot of Mussar, which is “devotion,” or mindfulness, as we use our wisdom of heart to make what is around us better today than it was yesterday. 

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky 

Parashat HaShuvah - Ki Tisa - "The Wise Heart Does." Exodus 30:11-34:35, Haftarah, 1 Kings 18:1-39

Last week in Israel I experienced a great deal in a very short period of time.  Anyone who has any kind of pulse on Israel knows that what we read daily in most news outlets doesn't do justice to the reality on the ground.  The society of Israel has many moving parts that we just do not hear about, vital parts that make the whole. Our Torah this week speaks to that very thing.

Here in Ki Tisa we meet two very important people; Bezalel and Oholiav. These men had a skill, a craft assigned to those who were “כל חכם לב“ (col-cacham-leiv), or any wise heart.  In this context כל חכם לב simply means all who are skilled.  Bezael and Oholiav took from some of hat’rumah, “the gifts” that were collected by Moses, and used their skills to cut stones and carve wood, to make the menorah, priestly garments and even the altar.  The Jewish mystical tradition from the Zohar teaches that Bezalel and Oholiav complemented each other.  In this case Bezalel’s soul was rooted in the right side of Divine attributes, those of kindness and love. Oholiav’s soul, on the other hand, was from the left side of judgment and discipline. To build the Tabernacle, a perfect balance of the two sides of the attributes were needed, and that was brought about by Bezalel and Oholiav's diversity of giftings to create something special.

According to the Talmud (Berakhot 55a), “Bezalel was called by that name on account of his wisdom,” a name that means in the shadow of, in this case the shadow of God. Oholiav, literally “fathers tent,” meant that his heart was the “tent” that housed his wisdom.  We further learn in the Talmud (also Berakhot 55a) that wisdom is birthed within us, waiting to be revealed, thus God “only grants wisdom to one who already possesses wisdom.”  In the case of Bezalel and Oholiav their skill is not only a divine gift already possessed within them, but must be exercised to make its mark.  In connection with a person’s gifts, Rabbi Arthur Green in his teaching on Ki Tisa reminds us about the thirteen elements used to build the Mishkan, such as gold, silver, scarlet thread, etc. Rabbi Green likens those 13 elements of material used to the 13th middot of Mussar, which is “devotion,” or mindfulness. Bezalel and Oholiav were mindful of their craft, and devoted their skills to build a holy place for all Israel, recognizing that their gifts were for the benefit of the whole.

Most of the time we hear about the IDF, their efforts to defend a country from detractors who seek their demise all around. Their effort is herculean, not only because they must contend with enemies on every side, but also because they are greatly criticized.  Israel’s attitude despite all the noise and condemnation is very simple: the evil around us must go because it cannot live at our borders any longer. It was beneficial to be there, to hear from the people who are in the midst of this fight, hear about the pain of what is going on and the regret that they must even fight at all, let alone the disappointment with a government that let them down, asking where was our army, why didn't the people who are tasked to protect us see this coming?   But Israel is full of Bezalel’s and Oholiav’s, people who are כל חכם לב, wise of heart, who realize each has a role that is very important, even more so right now.  So not only did we meet with IDF soldiers and other military personal, not to mention the President of Israel - Isaac Herzog,  but we met with representatives of United Hatzalah, Israel Trauma Coalition, Shaarei Zedek Hospital and Zaka, each playing an important role along with the IDF to being about healing and safety throughout the land of Israel and for its people. The fight continues, the tears of loss continue to flow, but so does the determination of those who call Israel home, so much so everywhere you look you read, אנחנו ננצח (anachnu n’netzayach), we will win!

The joint effort of Israel was a lesson for me, a reminder of how each plays a role and no one role is more important than the next.  In Israel, this situation was forced upon them for each to respond, and the “someone else will do it” mentality can mean the difference between life and death. What motivates us if it's not life and death?  Our gifts make the difference in bettering the world around us, our communities, helping those in need and embracing those who feel isolated, using our money and time to support worthy causes and efforts, not to mention as Jews and Jewish families we must support our synagogues to ensure that generations to come will know and live the values of Jewish life. Likewise, we must do what we can to help keep Israel safe from those who seek to wipe Israel off the map. May we too embrace the 13th middot of Mussar, which is “devotion,” or mindfulness, as we use our wisdom of heart to make what is around us better today than it was yesterday. 

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky 

Parashat HaShuvah - Terumah - "The Heart of the Matter." Exodus 25:1-27:19, Haftarah, 1 Kings 5:26-6:13

Last week in Parashat Mishpatim we learned that the listed mitzvot had everything to do with the human heart and therefore are about ndivut (נדיבות), or generosity.  In general these mishpatim sought to protect the vulnerable of society such as widows, orphans, slaves or poor persons, a group in the community who can be taken advantage of by those with aspirations of power and greed.   As such we read one particular mitzvah that says “If you lend money to My people, to the poor among you, do not act toward them as a creditor; exact no interest from them” (Exodus 22:24).

In the multi-volume work, Sefer HaChinuch, its author (a matter of debate in Judaism) tells us that this command is about the partnership between the borrower - what they need - and the lender - what they determine they can give and why.  But lending money to a poor person is also a greater obligation than tzedakah (charity), because the borrower must humble themselves and ask perhaps out of shame, while the giver must not make them feel worse in response and are obligated to help meet that need.  But according to Sefer HaChinuch the purpose of this mitzvah is not to help a poor person get back on their feet in order to fend for themselves going forward. The primary reason has to do with the one who lends the money. In this case we learn that it is the “will” of God to make this a learning opportunity, “teaching” the lender is to be “accustomed” or even “trained” in the Divine inspired inward traits of “kindness and compassion.” Giving to help another is a matter of generosity, but it is also kindness and compassion, which for Torah stems from heart.

But kindness and compassion is far more than a way of being, but is the middah (trait) of ndivut (נדיבות), or generosity we mentioned above. Interestingly we find the same word here in this week's sedra, Parashat Terumah, regarding giving to build the Mishkan; the traveling tabernacle in the wilderness that was the forerunner to the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. Giving things of value, to help build this “sacred space,” was by yidvehnu libo (ידבנו לבו), literally “to make willing his heart” (or to freely donate or contribute). So we read “Tell the Israelite people to bring Me gifts; you shall accept gifts for Me from every person whose heart is so moved - yidvehnu libo” (Exodus 25:2). Both ndivut and yidvehnu are of the root n-d-b (נ-ד-ב), although a different verb pattern, but share a common place. In the same way kindness and compassion are foundational middot in order to “lend” to those in need, one must be “willing of heart” in order to “donate” for the sake of the Mishkhan. This type of ndivut, generosity, can only come from a heart of kindness and compassion to unselfishly give for the betterment of others, therefore for oneself.  Here in Terumah that blessing is tied into helping to create the gathering place of the Mishkhan.

As such we read the well known verse that says, “And let them make Me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them" (Exodus 25:8). According to Sefer HaChinuch this previous verse is not just a happy suggestion, but a command.  As a command, the Torah is making two underlying assumptions.  First, people need a sacred space.  Second, each person is responsible to help make sure others have it. Yet, this verse must be read in partnership with Exodus 25:2 above that giving is a matter of heart and not of compulsion.  So yes, while a command cannot ultimately control a person's actions - that's an issue of personal motivation and free-will - a command has the ability and fortitude to help frame the human journey.  This command asked the people to have generosity (ndivut) with what they own in order to acquire zechut (merit) to help build a place of worship and community gathering. Yet, in order to do that a person has to be willing to give of, and from, themselves. But for Torah, the giving to protect the needy of the community (from Parashat Mishpatim) and the giving to help build the Mishkan (this week) for community gathering and worship, are no different.

It is no different today either. How many emails do we receive from organizations asking for money to give to Israel right now, let alone other places such as the American Cancer Society or Red Cross (the list can go on of course).  Giving of resources is one thing, but there is the giving of our time and effort, something that always battles the limitations of not only time, but allegiance and obligations to other matters. Whether asked to give generously to the building campaign of our synagogue or to be apart of the team that delivers food to the homeless every Sunday, both are a matter of ndivut, both are a matter of self-sacrifice, and both are a matter of kindness and compassion that is motivated by yidvehnu libo, freely doing so out of goodness, not matter what we may be doing. This is the heart of the matter.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky

Parashat HaShuvah - Mishpatim - "Mutil-Level Living." Exodus 21:1-24:18, Haftarah, Isaiah 66:1-24

Parashat Mishpatim begins, “These are the rules (mishpatim) that you shall set before them.” Jewish tradition teaches that the mishpatim (ordinance, judgements) were also given at Sinai; the “ten words” in the morning and the “mishpatim” in the evening (Midrash, Shemot Rabbah 30:3).  Nevertheless, what can we learn about their placement after the ten words?   

One of the first topics of mishpatim (53 of the 613 mitzvot are here) has to do with the laws about slave ownership (Exodus 21:2-11).  Ibn Ezra teaches, “There is nothing more difficult for a person than to be subjugated to another person. This is why the Parshah begins with the laws of how the Hebrew slave is to be treated.” The Torah does not speak against the idea of slavery (“servant” in this context), but is concerned about the dignity, rights and honor of a slave.  Issues such as the mistreatment of a slave, to also include bodily injury and even death, as well as slave property rights, are listed in juxtaposition with the responsibilities of the owner. This is held in contrast to Pharaoh who owned the slaves in Egypt but had no responsibilities or accountability to how those slaves were treated.  As Torah teaches, both slave or master (analogous to employee-employer) are (supposed to be) equally free since both are created in the image of the divine and receive the same honor. 

Parshat Mishpatim is also a further explanation of the “ten words.”  Such themes in Mishpatim include crimes against others (do not kill, do not steal), animal rights, respect of another person's property and awarded damages (do not covet), fair treatment of others and ethical behaviors (honor your mother and father, do not lie), equal rights in law and judgment (Keeping the Sabbath is equal for all, servant or master alike). The general message here, as it is with the slaves, has to do with equal rights that are framed as civil order. The divine mandate of equality is found as the standard of continuity between disputing parties rather than the genesis of the commandments (see. Exodus 22:8), or as a bridge linking the fair treatment between a creditor and a borrower with ethical business practices (Exodus 22:27).  The entire premise of such laws again begins with the theme that all are equal in judgment regardless of the situation. 

Rashi also embraces (per the above Midrash) that both the ten words and the ordinances (the mishpatim of this parasha) are a product of Sinai.  But Rashi raises the following issue: "Why is this section dealing with the ‘civil laws’ placed immediately after that commanding the making of the altar?” (see Exodus 20:21-22).  His answer, “To tell you that you should seat (i.e. provide quarters for) the Sanhedrin in the vicinity of the Temple.”  The “ten words” (law) stood next to the Altar (religious/spiritual).  In the same way the Sanhedrin adjudicated (law) everyday life sitting next to the Holy Temple, the Beit Hamikdash (religious/spiritual).

In his work, Shmirat HaLashon (Guarding our speech), the Chofetz Chaim teaches that all human good is impeded by the acts of “lashon hara” (evil speech) and “rechilut” (gossip).  But it is not just those sins per our tradition that Chofetz Chaim compares to murder (Talmud, Arachin 15b), but also harm from bad behaviors. Thus the Sages taught "Blessed is he who does not smite his friend,” which for the Chofetz Chaim includes acts of “theft, robbery, cheating, and the like” that have everything to do with the denigration of human dignity and rights. As such, the Chofetz Chaim further teaches that “because of the sin of lashon hara the Shechinah (presence of the Divine) departs from Israel,” disconnecting basic human decency from the divine image within.  Putting it another way, Rabbi Arthur Green says this belief that all is One (think Shema) “rejects that there is a sharp division between the spiritual life and the commitment to societal transformation.”  In Judaism our worldly behaviors are intertwined with our divine spark within. This is part of the message in Mishpatim.  

Daily we are reminded of that relationship, in Jewish morning prayer we read, “Lord of all Worlds” (רִבּוֹן כָּל הָעוֹלָמִים), notice not “world” (עוֹלָם) but “worlds” (עוֹלָמִים).  We are human on many levels, and while our bodily presence is intertwined with our divine image, we also live in the physical world being guided from the inner convictions of that image. That is Judaism, wide enough to fit us all, but a multilevel existence.  Mishpatim makes it clear that within the boundary of Law (and their laws differ from ours naturally) if human rights and ways are subjugated to others the result will be transgressions against human equality.  Avoiding all that can be said about happenings around the world, as our hearts continue to be heavy regarding Israel and other events both abroad and at home, I will say this; while the subject of Law will always include disagreement and frustration, the subject of human equality must be the forerunner in every Jewish conversation, either in Washington or at home.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky 

Parashat HaShuvah - Yitro - "The Experience." Exodus 18:1-20:23, Haftarah, Isaiah 6:1-7:6, 9:5-6

In Parashat Yitro we come to one of the more well known parts of Torah, Israel stands together at Mt. Sinai to receive the ten words, or the colloquial language is the ten commandments.  At Sinai, who is Israel?  That was Moses’ question when he wrote later about God who would “make this covenant, with its sanctions, not with you alone, but both with those who are standing here with us this day before our God and with those who are not with us here this day” (Deuteronomy. 29:13-14). Those standing here?   “Here” is right before they entered Canaan, but what about those who stood “there” at Sinai some 40 years earlier?  A teaching from Talmud (Shevuot 39a) says “here” was “there,” as not only “those who stood at Mount Sinai'' who were receivers of Torah, but also “ the subsequent generations, and the converts who will convert in the future." In the same vein we further learn from a Midrash (Midrash Tanchuma, Nitzavim 3) the answer to the question, “Why does it say, Those who are here; and those who are not here without using the word, standing?”  Rabbi Abbahu (an earlier Talmudic Rabbi) supplies the answer; “Because all the souls were there, even though their bodies had not yet been created.”  If that is so then our connection to Sinai is more spiritual as we were not there, but really it is both/and.  How might we understand this?  First, the passing down of Torah, which we commonly say came from God at Sinai, is the role of the parents (not just fathers) to their children and was foremost in Moses’ mind.  We see this as he gathers the people at Sinai where he speaks “to the house of Jacob and declare to the children of Israel'' (Exodus 19:3).  A Midrash (Pirke de-Rabbi Eliezer [41]) defines just who that is, thus we read:  “Go, speak to the daughters of Israel [and ask them] whether they wish to receive the Torah.' Why were the women asked [first]? Because it is the way of men to follow the opinions of women, as it is said, ‘Thus shall you say to the House of Jacob’ – these are the women -- ‘and declare to the Children of Israel’ -- these are the men.”  This is suggested in Proverbs 1:8 that says “My son, heed the discipline of your father, And do not forsake the instruction of your mother,” which was understood by Rabbi Yitzchak Yaacov Reines (an early Zionist Rabbi) to mean that the guidance of the mothers Torah carried more weight than just the fathers instruction.  Our lesson - words give meaning, words are tangible. Second, Sinai itself. While we are charged with the need to pass these words down to every generation, today our relationship to Sinai is more existential as we were not there physically.  Regarding Sinai as a historical event Rabbi Arthur Green, probably to the chagrin of some, “makes no claim for the historicity of Sinai,” which he sees in the arena of “myth and symbol [of] a much deeper truth than that history,” the idea being that Sinai became a “sacred tale around which our lives are woven.”  Teaching a view that is consistent with a Neo-Hasidic ideology, Rabbi Green would say that the human-God interactions (that would also include Sinai) began in Gan Eden (garden of Eden) when God asks Adam, “Ayekha,” where are you, words that for Green are “the call from God within.”  Were those words audible or were they just perceived?  While there is conversation about what language God spoke the real question is how and what did Adam hear?  Adam heard God because he was fashioned as B’tzelem Elohim, and since Adam was in the image of God he could hear his inner “divine silence” although it was not audible.  Another lesson - what we hear is not always words. The same is so for Moses. While Moses was physically at Sinai his instructions and teachings were more so his response to the same question, ayekha, where are you?  What Rabbi Green is saying is that the words Moses spoke to Israel that day did not come directly from God although they were divinely inspired. As such, what Moses responded to was the question ayekha that produced words birthed from his “divine silence,'' only to be made tangible when spoken and written (remember Green calls Sinai a myth). Regarding those who were present during that Sinai myth we read,  “On the third day, as morning dawned, there was thunder, and lightning, and a dense cloud upon the mountain, and a very loud blast of the horn; and all the people who were in the camp trembled” (Exodus 19:11). What they heard was an experience, the experience of ayekha. What they experienced and responded to were sounds that had no particular language.  What they heard was a language they each knew and could understand. What does that mean and what does that have to do with those of us who were not at Sinai? The Midrash (Exodus Rabbah 5:9) about hearing the Torah in multiple languages was about a diversity of languages to make Sinai’s message universal. Yet I think it can be individualized to each who stood (and stands) at Sinai even if it was only in their (or our) soul before the donning of the body (see Midrash Tanchuma above). Therefore in closing, borrowing once more the words of Rabbi Green, Sinai became an experience that is a “sacred tale around which our lives are woven.”  Rabbi Green would say that today the question ayekha continues to call “out every human to participate in it, each in our distinctive way.”  We too, being at Sinai, will experience sounds (maybe words, maybe nature, maybe our inner divine silence) that we can also understand if we listen. Sinai was not an ordinary event but a life altering experience.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Adam Ruditsky