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   

Parashat HaShuvah - Beshalach - "Tu Bishvat and Our Songs of Freedom." Exodus 13:17-17:16, Haftarah, Judges 4:4-5:31

A number of years ago in the backyard of my home in New York I planted a plum tree, pear tree and apple tree.  When we purchased the trees the people at the nursery told us that it would be at least three years before those trees would bear fruit.  Unfortunately we moved out of that house about 18 months after the trees were planted and never got to enjoy their produce.  So on this day of Tu Bishvat, a celebration of trees and what they mean to our planet, I realized that trees and freedom (a subject of this week's parasha) have a lot to do with each other in the sense that they both take time to grow. How is this so? 

Once the Jews and the others who joined them left Egypt they would once again be faced with this reality, “could Pharaoh try to take us back into his evil treatment as slaves again,” unspoken words they may have wondered, but dare not utter. Freedom comes with a price. Just look at the daily Israeli news at the rising numbers of young IDF men and women who have given their lives in order for the nation to live in freedom, safe from terror and hate. Freedom is never free; there is always an associated cost. Israel’s freedom from slavery also was not free either. But freedom is something that also takes time to grow and mature, just like trees, meaning that we come to learn that freedom is a mindset and just not a right. Still in the end, for those now free slaves, they begin their travels knowing that the price of their freedom may be losing it once again. 

We read in this week's sedra, parashat Beshalach, while being pursued by the Egyptians from behind and facing the Sea of Reeds before them, they say to Moses, “Was it for want of graves in Egypt that you brought us to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us, taking us out of Egypt?” (Ex. 14:11). In response, according to one Midrash (Mekhilta DeRabbi Shimon Ben Yochai 14:11), they respond, “We would be sorry for our slavery in Egypt, our death in the desert is harder for us than our slavery,” meaning it would be better to labor and die as slaves in Egypt then to die as free people in the wilderness. The Talmud (Arakhin 15a) reacts to the graves in Egypt differently.  Talmud tells about Israel’s two lessons from the sea, “one [was] when the Jews descended into the sea, and one when they ascended from the sea.”  Upon their descent they learned to not let their fear control them, upon their accent they began to learn that they were truly free.

Rabbi Arthur Green compares Israel's descent and ascent into and from the sea to a child who does not want to take the medicine from a parent, to that same child who gets better, only to understand why their parent made them take the medicine in the first place.  Likewise after leaving Egypt the only way the Jews could see the hand of God that led them to freedom was by completing the journey through the sea. Let’s not read that the wrong way. This is not some arbitrary test that God is putting the people through to measure their faithfulness and allegiance to this God who took them out of Egypt, but a change of world view. The healing from the medicine taught the child that the parents gave the medicine for a good reason, but the child had to be healed first to see that. In the same way, it was not until Israel crossed the sea that they realized on the other side that they were free.

Understanding their freedom (as opposed to just being free) as they stood at the seashore, they sang “Shirat HaYam“ or the Song of the Sea that was a joyous celebration of their newfound freedom. Yet being free and understanding they were free were not the same, and once they recognized that they would truly be free. W. Gunther Plaut (Modern Jewish Commentary on Torah) wrote that Israel's freedom was not just to celebrate the virtue of being free but was “the foundation of [their] spiritual life.” In other words Israel’s “right” of freedom was about others, just not themselves, and that is the part they would need to grow to understand. 

In the book of Judges (Jud. 17:6) we read that they each did what “was right in their own eyes,” but that is not a “right” of freedom according to Torah. In Torah what is “right” begins with loving our fellow person like ourselves, how we treat parents, raising our children in the ways of our traditions and values, visiting and caring for the sick, attending funerals and going to the house of Shiva, celebrating with those who are due honor, making our spiritual lives of prayer and learning just as important as taking care of our physical health, being there for those in need, going the extra step for the sake of others, caring for our larger Jewish community family and just not our own as if we live in a vacuum.  Our right of freedom, just like a tree, grows and matures in its support and tikkun for those around us, which is the idea of “right” in Torah. That is the song of freedom we sing, just like they sang when they crossed the sea.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky     

Parashat HaShuvah - Bo - "Hope is a Verb." Exodus 10:1-13:16, Haftarah, Jeremiah 46:13-28

This sedra, parashat Bo, celebrates the almost complete freedom of the slaves after many, many, many years of being held in captivity under the wicked hand of Pharaoh. During our Passover Seder(s) we read a prayer called the Vehi Sheamda, which says, “And it is [the Torah] that has stood by our ancestors and for us. For not only one [enemy] has risen up against us to destroy us, but in every generation they rise up to destroy us. But the Holy Blessed One delivers us from their hands.”  This is unfortunately a prayer of truth; as Jews we have enemies, but as a way of life Judaism is a faith of hope that will always believe in better possibilities for tomorrow.  As Jews we know there will always be “pharaohs” in our world, whether it be Hamas, Hezbollah or the Houthis. Yet we will not allow for a culture that is okay with hate. We will not sit quietly as others see October 7th as if it was a normal event or an isolated occurrence. 

Every Friday night, on Erev Shabbat, we recite the Kiddush that in part says “zecher litziat Mitzrayim,” recalling when God took the Jews out of Egypt.  Jewish parlance views “Egypt” as our week that is full of responsibilities and obligations, whereas the Shabbat is a day that we can be free from those things that rule over us during the week.  But the Shabbat is also a reminder of the hope that a day will come where we will be completely free, and even if not in our lifetime, we hope for the day when freedom is the norm; the idea of hope is laced throughout Jewish prayer.  Regarding hope, Cantor Cheryl Wunch writes, "Hope is an intangible, somewhat undefinable, esoteric concept. It's a word that we all use, and yet likely means something different to each of us. We are told not to lose hope, not to get our hopes up, and that all we can do is hope. Hope is not a feeling, nor is it an action. Hope is just a thought, and most times, a fleeting one.”  Cantor Wunch tells us that hope will become “fleeting,” to which I will add happens when our hope is only measured by a narrow set of expectations. But when we realize that hope is learned, nuanced and experienced, we also see that it (hope) has the ability to become sustainable.   

Both in Va’era last week and Bo this week we find that Moses needed hope. Moses was a fugitive, always looking over his shoulder when he met the divine at a bush, only to be asked to be THE advocate for Israel's freedom. Moses also struggled with being slow in speech and questioned whether the people or Pharaoh would even listen to him. In the end Moses made the decision that despite all those things he elected to stand upon his Jewish sense of duty and obligation, not to mention his trust in God who he encountered, making them the foundation of his sense of hope.  In turn Moses then asked Israel to do the same by putting their trust in God although life had brought them to despair. This was accomplished through the story of the wonders Israel experienced, what we call the ten plagues. The final plague also begins our first taste of communal ritualized religion as we recall the Exodus yearly, to include the plagues during the Passover season.  What we shall see is the Lamb was tied into Israel's hope as they journey into the future. 

Jewish freedom began by eating the Paschal Lamb and putting its blood on the door-post and lintel of the homes (in Torah “blood” is a sign of purity because it represents life).  They also ate with the lamb the maror, bitter herb (12:7-8), as well as the bread that did not rise, matzot (12:29). But the Passover was only one night, and for the next seven days they only ate matzot, what we call Chag HaMatzot, the festival of unleavened bread (13:6-7). Finally we learn that to partake in the Passover both Jew and the Egyptian had to be circumcised (12:44). In the Talmud (Pesachim 70b), regarding the Paschal lamb in particular, “the Merciful One says: “And you shall slaughter the Paschal offering,” the lamb sacrificed was important enough to stand on its own.  Here we further recall that the lamb sacrificed was distinct from the rest of the offerings (see Ex. 12:5).  Why? It was personal. The Paschal lamb was the only sacrifice that was slaughtered by the Israelites as opposed to the priests. The offering of the lamb became a personal act to identify with its meaning.  What for? The lamb “shall be to you one of remembrance,” the day to recall a deliverance from slavery.  How come? Because the lamb reinforced the idea of hope (the meaning), which is why “On the first day you shall celebrate a sacred occasion” (Lev. 23:7). What they celebrated is the hope that there would only be better tomorrows and no one would ever be forced to be slaves again.  We celebrate the same thing even if slavery may mean something else to us.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks - of Blessed memory - writes that “Judaism is a religion of details, but we miss the point if we do not sometimes step back and see the larger picture.''  The details of the Paschal Lamb, the maror and the matzot are just details, but the bigger picture is “hope.”  The lamb is replaced by its lessons. Moses was Israel's partner in hope just as we are partners for others who have lost hope along the way. The same hope that Moses had for Israel's release from captivity, and the same hope that after 116 days of captivity (as of Shabbat) the hostages will come home from Gaza, is the same hope that needs to journey with us each and everyday.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky