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January 31, 2023

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Divrei Torah (Weekly Sermons), Exodus (שמות)

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Talking Face to Screen: My Chavruta with ChatGPT – Bo 5783

The robots are here. ChatGPT was released to the public on November 30 by OpenAI. In less than two months, it is already creating massive disruptions in many aspects of modern life.

ChatGPT is a computer program that can understand and respond to people’s words. It can help with different language tasks like answering questions and making sentences.

That definition, by the way, was composed by Chat GPT when I asked it what it was, and instructed it to give the answer in a simple style mean to be delivered orally.

It is selling itself a bit short, however. ChatGPT is far more powerful than it describes, making quite a few headlines just in the last week. Here are a few examples:

It has been used to write computer code.

A recent attempt to use Artificial Intelligence to argue a case in traffic court was shut down by the State Bar of California, which threatened the person who came up with the idea with possible prosecution for the unlicensed practice of law.

Schools have been totally taken by surprise. A student can have ChatGPT compose an original essay, or any other written assignment for that matter, in a matter of seconds.

This week, it was reported that ChatGPT was able to score passing grades on law school and business school exams.

The temptation for a stressed out student to turn to this free tool is pretty hard to resist. It is already happening. Schools are rushing to come up with ways to either prevent students from using it or to incorporate it into curricula.

Wondering how this might impact religion, I spent some time this week in conversation with ChatGPT. I asked it to do the following

Write a 150 word D’var Torah about the importance of parents transmitting the story of the Exodus to their children, based on verses from Parashat Bo, using a commentary by Rashi

Here was its answer, and I am editing it a little for brevity. ChatGPT tends to repeat itself:

This week’s Torah portion, Bo, highlights the importance of parents transmitting the story of the Exodus to their children. Rashi, one of the most famous commentators of the Torah, comments on the verse in Exodus 13:8, “And you shall tell your son on that day, saying, ‘It is because of what the Lord did for me when I went out of Egypt.” Rashi notes that the verse commands parents to transmit the story of the Exodus to their children through verbal storytelling. This is because the story of the Exodus is not just a historical event, but a personal one that has ongoing relevance and significance.

Rashi emphasizes that passing down the story of the Exodus from parent to child allows the child to connect to the story on a personal level, and to internalize its lessons and values. Additionally, Rashi notes that the story of the Exodus should be passed down not only to one’s own children, but to all children, “to your children and to your children’s children.” This emphasizes the importance of passing on the story for the benefit of future generations.

In short, this week’s Torah portion highlights the importance of parents transmitting the story of the Exodus to their children, as it is not only a historical event but a personal one that has ongoing relevance and significance. Parents are commanded to tell the story verbally, to their own children and to future generations, to ensure that the story will be passed down and remind the connection to our heritage and to God.

Not bad. It is a perfectly serviceable D’var Torah. Kind of conventional, if I am going to be critical. But it is certainly consistent with sermons I have given in the past.

In general, it seems that it is able to create original content that is consistent with the “average” quality of what can be found online. Its dataset, by the way, stops before 2021, so it has no knowledge of current events.

I have to admit that during my conversations with ChatGPT, I found myself feeling guilty at times about asking it tedious questions, or for pausing too long between my responses. I’m sure that, after time, I will be less likely to anthropomorphize the algorithm.

I decided to push it in a more theological direction. Parashat Bo includes the tenth plague, the killing of the firstborn. The Israelites are instructed to paint the doorposts of their homes with the blood from the Pesach sacrifice. This will serve as a sign for the Angel of Death to “pass over” their homes, thereby allowing the Israelite first born children to survive.

So I instructed ChatGPT to compare and contrast ChatGPT with an angel. Here was its answer.

ChatGPT, or Generative Pre-trained Transformer, is an AI language model created by OpenAI, while an angel is a supernatural being found in various religions, including Christianity, Judaism, and Islam.

The main difference between ChatGPT and an angel is their nature and origin. ChatGPT is a machine learning model, created by humans using advanced technology, while angels are believed to be supernatural beings created by God or a higher power.

Another difference is their abilities and purpose. ChatGPT is designed to generate human-like text based on patterns it has learned from a large dataset. It can answer questions, generate creative writing and perform many other natural language processing tasks. While angels, according to religious belief, have the ability to communicate with God, perform miracles, and act as messengers between God and humans.

In terms of intelligence, ChatGPT is considered to be highly intelligent, but it is limited to the scope of its training data and the algorithms that have been programmed into it. On the other hand, angels are believed to possess superior intelligence, wisdom and knowledge, as they are considered to be closer to the divine.

It did not want to bite. So I followed up, “But how are they similar?” Unable to avoid the question, it listed three similarities. I’m going to paraphrase a bit. ChatGPT can get a bit wordy:

Both ChatGPT and angels can be considered as messengers or communicators. ChatGPT can generate text based on patterns it has learned and can provide information or respond to questions, while angels are believed to act as messengers between God and humans, communicating God’s will and messages to them.

Both ChatGPT and angels can be considered as sources of knowledge or information. ChatGPT can provide information based on patterns it has learned from its training data, while angels are believed to possess superior intelligence, wisdom, and knowledge, as they are considered to be closer to the divine.

Both ChatGPT and angels can be considered as having the ability to transcend time and space. ChatGPT can generate text based on patterns it has learned, regardless of the time and place, while angels are believed to have the ability to transcend time and space, and can appear and disappear at will.

So I responded: According to Maimonides in the Mishnah Torah, angels have form but no substance, like ChatGPT. Both angels and ChatGPT are sophisticated non-human intelligences. Angels serve at God’s command and do not have independent will. Similarly, ChatGPT cannot do anything other than follow its programming. Thus, it also lacks free will.

It acknowledged my point.

You are correct, Maimonides in his “Mishneh Torah” describes the nature of angels as having form but no substance. According to Maimonides, angels are spiritual entities that do not have physical bodies, but they do have a form that allows them to perform their functions. This is similar to how ChatGPT is a non-physical entity that exists only in the digital realm and is able to perform its functions through its programming.

You also pointed out correctly that both angels and ChatGPT are sophisticated non-human intelligences, which serve at the command of a higher power. Angels serve at God’s command and do not have independent will, similarly, ChatGPT cannot do anything other than follow its programming and also lacks free will.

I went for what I thought would be the kill. Does it not follow that the ChatGPT’s programming functions as God?

Here’s the answer I got.

No, ChatGPT’s programming does not function as God.

ChatGPT is a machine learning model that was created by humans using advanced technology, it is a product of human design and engineering. It follows a set of rules and instructions (programming) to generate text based on patterns it has learned from its training data. The programming of ChatGPT is a set of instructions to the computer that enables it to perform certain tasks, it does not have consciousness or free will.

On the other hand, God is typically understood as a supreme being, the creator and ruler of the universe, who is often believed to possess qualities such as omniscience, omnipotence, and omnibenevolence. God is believed to be the ultimate source of morality, justice, and purpose in the world, and to have the power to intervene in the natural world, as well as to have the ability to create and sustain everything that exists.

It is somewhat reassuring that the robot resists being compared to an angel and following God’s will. But is it coming for my job?

I asked it about the integrity of a sermon written by an algorithm. It took a bit of back and forth for me to figure out how to best frame the question, but in the end I was impressed by its response. Does a sermon written by a machine learning model have less validity or integrity because it is not written by a human? I am not talking about the technical accuracy of the sermon, but rather of its spiritual integrity. Does it matter whether it was written by a machine or a human?

The answer was so good I gave it a “thumbs up.”

From a spiritual perspective, the source or origin of a sermon may not be as important as its content and message. A sermon written by a machine learning model like ChatGPT could still convey valuable spiritual insights and teachings, as long as the model was trained on a diverse and high-quality dataset of religious texts and sermons.

However, it’s worth noting that sermons are often delivered in a religious context and are a medium of human connection. The act of preaching is often not only about passing on information but also about connecting with the congregation, engaging with them, and providing them with guidance, support and inspiration. A machine model like ChatGPT may not have the ability to have personal experiences, emotions, self-awareness, or consciousness, and it does not have the ability to introspect, reflect or have any sense of self, which may affect the emotional and spiritual impact of the sermon.

And this brings us back to Parashat Bo. The instructions that the Israelites receive just before they leave Egypt are about personal connections. Our ancestors, and us, are instructed to transmit our experiences to our children through a medium that transcends words.

It has been thousands of years since that initial command, during which the technology has changed many times. At first, the stories were personal and unscripted. Gradually, these oral traditions became codified in permanent words. We call those words the written Torah and ascribe to them Divine provenance. They are holy, sacred words.

Those words were eventually written down on scrolls. The scroll gave way to the codex, what we call a book. For some reason, we held out against this new, far more convenient technology. For two thousand years, we Jews have stubbornly refused to change with the times and still read out of hand-written scrolls on without vowels or trope symbols. This is the most difficult, inefficient way imaginable.

What is Torah? Is it the scroll? I would argue that it is the words. Does the form in which It is transmitted matter? Perhaps there is something in this clumsy medium that fosters the personal connection, that encourages experiences between people.

In any event, the hand-written codex eventually became supplanted by the printing press. Now, the sacred words could be inexpensively disseminated far and wide. Great news, no?

Rabbi Hayyim ben Bezalel, the brother of the Maharal of Prague, did not think so. He complained in the 16th century about the printing and spread of the Talmud. What could be wrong with that?

He was concerned that Jews, reading it on their own, would make lots of errors and draw incorrect conclusions. The proper place for the study of Talmud was in the Yeshivah, where students could learn under the guidance of experienced teachers. He wrote a diatribe on the topic. But note as well that what concerned him was the impersonal nature of reading words out of a book by oneself. He wanted to retain the face to face transmission of knowledge and experience.

It goes without saying that Rabbi Hayyim lost his battle against the printing press. I can only imagine what he would have to say about the internet.

It is now possible to access the entire canon of Jewish sacred literature in its original language and in translation, along with most of the important commentaries written over the past two thousand years, many of those also in translation. All for free. I do it all the time in my work.

The ability for dissemination of sacred words and religious ideas has never been greater. And yet, we do not hold the newer media in the same high esteem.

The words of Torah are considered to be so sacred that when they appear in writing on any substance, whether scroll, book, handwritten page, or photocopy – we treat it as holy. It is forbidden to throw it away – it must be stored in a genizah and buried.

But what happens when those words are digitized?

There is no problem deleting God’s name from my computer. I don’t kiss the screen when I close down my browser window, the way I might do with a siddur or chumash. Nor do I bury my cell phone or laptop when it is time to upgrade.

Humanity is now at the next technological turning point. We no longer need human beings to translate experiences and ideas into language. We now have the algorithm, and it is going to be increasingly difficult to distinguish whether what we are reading was created by a human or a robot. From this moment on, you are not going to know for certain whether what I am teaching was written by me or by a robot.

Like Rabbi Chayim ben Bezalel, there will certainly be some who lament this new development and argue for its suppression, but the cat is already out of the bag. We are going to have to learn to live with it. This is the last thing I asked ChatGPT:

I am a Rabbi. In 25 words or less, do you have any final messages for my congregation?

This was its answer:

Focus on compassion, empathy and making the world a better place for all, rather than judgment and punishment.

Words to live by.

Posted by

Rabbi Josh Berkenwald

Posted on

November 12, 2022

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Divrei Torah (Weekly Sermons), Genesis (בראשית)

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Abraham, Isaac, Sarah and their Alter-Egos – Vayera 5783

So much has been written and spoken about the Binding of Isaac, the Akeidah. The story, as it appears in the Torah, is so spare, especially of emotion, that its meaning is determined through the experience of the reader.

What do we know from the words in the Torah itself? God commands Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac. Abraham obeys without any apparent hesitation. When Isaac asks him about the sacrifice, Abraham dodges the question. Isaac does not seem to struggle against his father’s attempts to bind him to the altar.

Abraham expresses zero hesitation through to the very end, to the extent that the angel has to call out his name twice to stop him from slaughtering Isaac.

Finally, according to every indication in the text, Abraham passes this test with flying colors, as indicated by the angel’s blessing of Abraham for having demonstrated his fear of God.

That is the canvas. To create the portrait, we are going to have to apply the paint ourselves.

This morning, I’d like to look at a version that appears in Midrash Tanchuma, which is dated to the early middle ages. The style of the midrash is to quote a section from the Torah, and then to expand on its meaning. In the interest of brevity, I am going to skip over parts of the midrash.

The midrash will feature Abraham and Isaac. It will also bring Sarah into the story. The fourth character appears nowhere in the text. You’ll know when we meet him.

The midrash introduces Abraham as eager to fulfill God’s command, and in full control of his actions. As we jump into the story, Abraham is considering an important issue.

Abraham had asked himself: What shall I do? If I tell Sarah all about it, consider what may happen. After all, a woman’s mind becomes distraught over insignificant matters; how much more disturbed would she become if she heard something as shocking as this! However, if I tell her nothing at all, and simply steal him away from her when she is not looking, she will kill herself.”

What did he do? He said to Sarah: “Prepare some food and drink so that we can eat and rejoice.”

“But why is this day different from other days?” she asked. “What is the nature of our celebration?”

He replied: “When a couple our age has a son, it is fitting, indeed, that they should eat, drink, and rejoice.” Whereupon she prepared the food.

While they were eating, he said to her: “You know, when I was a child of three, I already knew my Creator, yet this child is growing up and still has had no education. There is a place a short distance away where children are being taught, I will take him to be educated there.”

She said to him: “Go in peace.”

[Then the midrash quotes the Torah]: And Abraham arose early in the morning (ibid., v. 3). Why did he arise early in the morning? He had said to himself: Perhaps Sarah will change her mind and not permit me to go; I will arise before she gets up.”…

This is shocking. Abraham flat-out lies to Sarah. He knows how she will react if she finds out what he plans to do with Isaac. The midrash characterizes it, at least in Abraham’s mind, as the weak-mindedness of women, but I detect at least a little bit of guilt on Abraham’s part.

It is a great setup for what comes next. The midrash jumps ahead. Abraham and Isaac are on their journey when they meet a traveler.

Satan appeared before him on the road in the guise of an old man and asked: “Where are you going?”

Abraham replied: “To pray.”

“Does a person going to pray usually carry fire and a knife in his hands, and wood on his shoulders?”

“We may stay there for several days,” said Abraham, “and slaughter an animal and cook it.”

The old man responded: “That is not so; I was there when the Holy Blessed One ordered you to take your son. Why should an old man, who begets a son at the age of a hundred, destroy him? Have you not heard the parable of the man who destroyed his own possessions and then was forced to beg from others? If you believe that you are going to be able to have another son, you are listening to the words of a trickster. And furthermore, if you destroy a soul, you will be held legally accountable for it.”

Abraham answered: “It was not a trickster, but the Holy Blessed One who told me what I must do. I am not going to listen to you.”

There is no indication in this midrash that Abraham knows the true identity of the old man. As far as he is concerned, it’s just another old man, like himself. His first instinct, when asked where he is going, is to lie. When challenged on the lie, he doubles down.

Then, remarkably, the old man suggests that this mission of Abraham’s to sacrifice his son did not actually come from God, but from hamastin, in other words, from Satan himself. Abraham’s response? “No it wasn’t.” I’ve got to say, not a super strong comeback. The midrash goes on.

Satan left him and appeared at Isaac’s right hand in the guise of a youth. He inquired: “Where are you going?”

“To study Torah,” Isaac replied.

“Alive or dead?” he retorted.

“Is it possible for a man to learn Torah after he is dead?” Isaac queried.

He said to him: “Oh, unfortunate son of an unhappy mother, many days your mother fasted before your birth, and now this demented old man is about to sacrifice you.”

Isaac replied: “Even so, I will not disregard the will of my Creator, nor the command of my father.”

He turned to his father and said: “Father, do you hear what this man has told me?”

He replied: “Pay no heed to him, he has come only to wear us down.”…

Apparently, Abraham has been passing off the same lie to Isaac as he had told Sarah. Satan, who is honest throughout this story, tells Isaac the truth. When he asks his father about it, Abraham avoids the question.

Are these the words of someone who is confident that he is doing the right thing?

The midrash goes on to address another problem in the text. The journey to Mt. Moriah is not actually that far. So why does it take them three days to get there?

When Satan realized that they would not pay any attention to him, he went ahead and created a river in their path. When Abraham stepped into the river, it reached his knees.

He said to his servants, “Come after me,” and they did so.

When he reached the middle of the river, the water reached his neck.

Satan seems to be genuinely concerned for Isaac’s welfare. If the truth could not convince Abraham or Isaac to change their course, then maybe he can put an insurmountable obstacle in their path.

Thereupon, Abraham lifted his eyes to heaven and cried out: “Master of the Universe, You chose me; You instructed me; You revealed Yourself to me; You said to me: I am one and You are one, and through you shall my name be made known in My world. You ordered me: Offer Isaac your son as burnt offering to me, and I did not refuse! Now, as I am about to fulfill Your command, these waters endanger my life. If either I or my son, Isaac, should drown, who will fulfill Your decrees, and who will proclaim the Unity of Your Name?”

The Holy Blessed One, responded: “Be assured that through you the Unity of My Name will be made known throughout the world.”

Thereupon the Holy One, blessed be He, rebuked the source of the water, and caused the river to dry up. Once again, they stood on dry land.

To God, Abraham speaks honestly. It comes across almost like a plot between the two of them. Why does it actually matter whether or not Isaac drowns in the river? He is going to be dead either way, as far as Abraham is aware. God’s unity is certainly not going to be proclaimed through any action on Isaac’s part.

We are left to conclude that it is the sacrifice of Isaac itself which will make God’s unity be known in the world. I admit, I do not understand how that works.

Back to the midrash.

What did Satan do then? He said to Abraham (quoting Job): A word came to me in stealth; My ear caught a whisper of it. (Job 4:12); that is, I heard from behind the heavenly curtain that a lamb will be sacrificed as a burnt offering instead of Isaac.”

Satan spoils the plan! He tells Abraham that God is not going to let him go through with it. At this point in the midrash, how would you expect Abraham to respond?

Whatever your answer is, it’s wrong.

“This is the punishment of the liar.” Abraham responded. “Even when he tells the truth, no one will believe him.”

Such irony! Listen again to Abraham’s response, “This is the punishment of the liar. Even when he tells the truth, no one will believe him.” Who is the liar? Who is telling the truth?

Throughout the story, Satan has said nothing but the truth. Abraham is the liar. He concocts stories. He doubles down when confronted. He does not answer anyone’s questions directly. Notice as well that God (at best) “hides” the truth from Abraham.

There is a moving scene in the midrash when Abraham and Isaac build the altar together. Isaac, by now, knows that he is to be the burnt offering. He asks his father to tie him especially tightly so that he does not twitch in fear and cause Abraham to invalidate the sacrifice by making a blemish. Then he asks that Abraham not tell Sarah about his death while she is standing on the roof or next to a pit. He is worried she might fall and die. He is concerned for his mother.

After all of this, Abraham is ready to slaughter Isaac.

He took the knife to slaughter him until a fourth of a measure of blood should come from his body. [Suddenly,] Satan came, pushed Abraham’s hand aside and knocked the knife down. As he reached out his hand to pick it up, a voice came from heaven and said to him, Do not raise your hand against the boy. And if it had not happened, he would have been slaughtered.

Satan literally saved Isaac’s life! The midrash continues and describes Satan’s final appearance in the story.

At that moment, Satan went to Sarah disguised as Isaac. When she saw him she asked: “What did your father do to you, my son?”

He replied: “My father led me over mountains and through valleys until we finally reached the top of a certain mountain. There he built an altar, arranged the firewood, bound me upon the altar, and took a knife to slaughter me. If the Holy Blessed One had not called out, Do not raise your hand against the boy, I would have been slaughtered.”

He had hardly finished relating what had transpired when she passed away…

It is a remarkable midrash. I will let it speak for itself. The one question to consider is, “Who is Satan in this story?” To Abraham, he appears as an old man and to Isaac, a young man. A plausible reading would be to suggest that they are facing themselves. They are confronted by their own alter-egos.

Abraham knows in his heart that his mission is problematic. Sarah would never let him do it. It would invalidate God’s promise to him. And finally, it is illegal. These are all doubts that any rational man would hold. Nevertheless, he is laser-focused on his mission.

For Isaac, who is identified as a 37 year old man, it is impossible that he does not know what is actually going on. His interlocutor presents him with the truth. Isaac’s concern, however, is only to help his father succeed and to save his mother from too much suffering. He is completely selfless in this story.

To Sarah, the mother, Satan appears as her son, whom she loves more than anyone. He also reveals the truth. And it is this truth which kills her. Ironically, this is exactly what Abraham was worried about in the first place.

I appreciate this midrash for not making any apologies for Abraham. It humanizes all of the characters, revealing them to be conflicted individuals who, even when focused on what they know to be a Divine mission, are filled with self-doubt.

It does not answer any of our questions about the story of the Akeidah, but it paints a moving picture.

Posted by

Rabbi Josh Berkenwald

Posted on

September 28, 2022

Posted under

Divrei Torah (Weekly Sermons), High Holidays

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The Friendship of the King – Rosh Hashanah 5783

What is the first thing that pops into your mind when I say the word “King?”

Given recent events, I imagine that the passing of Queen Elizabeth II and the coronation of King Charles III probably come to mind.

In the United States, the concept of royalty is not particularly relevant to our lives. Our nation was founded when we gained independence from a king. It is a matter of national pride that we have no royalty.

Monarchy is not a particularly common form of government these days. The British Crown, as a Constitutional Monarchy, is largely symbolic. There are just a handful of absolute monarchies left in the world, and I am not sure that any of them are in places that you or I would want to live.

And yet, “King” is one of the dominant symbols and the primary metaphor that we use to describe God on Rosh Hashanah.

Our High Holiday liturgy is filled with pageantry. All of the ark openings. The standing. The sitting. Much of the music we sing is meant to sound like a royal procession.

We shift the beginning of the morning service so that the first word is hamelekh, the King. What is the most iconic prayer of Rosh Hashanah? Avinu Malkeinu, Our Father our King. We even braid the Challah into a round loaf resembling a crown. Rosh Hashanah is a coronation, a crowning of the King of Kings on the New Year.

This is expressed nowhere better than in a glorious piyyut which we will sing in a little while. Here is a preview. It can be found on page 150 in the mahzor. In this particular melody, the last line of the poem serves as the congregational response. The words are v’yitnu l’kha keter m’lukhah – “And they will give You a crown of kingship.”

The prayer imagines a future in which all of humanity joins in glorious unity, rejecting all forms of idolatry and recognizing God as King. Let’s practice singing it right now. I’ll sing the leader’s part without using any words. All you have to do is repeat the exact melody that I sing, using the final line v’yitnu l’kha keter m’lukhah. After three lines, we’ll join together in the niggun, a wordless melody.

[SING]

When we talk about a human King, what qualities come to mind?

Kings are not like us. They sit far away, upon an elevated throne. They have absolute power. The King is the law. The King is male.

What does it mean when we describe God as a King? This metaphor might work for some of us. Or, maybe we try not to think too hard about what “God is King” might imply. Or, maybe the idea of God as a King turns us off.

I personally have a difficult time with it. When teaching Avinu Malkeinu to our religious school students recently, I struggled with how to translate it and explain its meaning. I ended up using “Ruler,” which is not really the same thing. For the handout, I hedged by just writing Avinu Malkeinu in English,

What do we say in Avinu Malkeinu? “Our Father, Our King. Have mercy on us, answer us, for our deeds are insufficient; deal with us charitably and lovingly, and redeem us.”

We ask for compassion from a King who is far away. ‘We don’t deserve your mercy,’ we admit. There is no claim whatsoever that we can make. We are entirely in Your hands; we exist at Your whim. Maybe that is the appropriate way to understand our relationship with our Creator, but it does not feel very good.

Maimonides says that there are no words that can accurately define God. We can only say what God is not. All descriptions are metaphors which, if we took them literally, would make us guilty of idolatry. For the most part, our descriptions of God are really descriptions of the best qualities that we hope to see in ourselves: kindness, compassion, mercy, forgiveness, reliability, constancy, fairness, justice. We project on God those qualities to which we aspire…

…which brings us to another problem with Kings. They are, by and large, terrible. In the Book of Deuteronomy, Moses tells the Israelites that there may be a time in the future when they say “I will set a king over me, as do all the nations about me.” When the request comes a few centuries later, in the days of the Prophet Samuel, he agrees to help the Israelites, but tells them, “You can do it, but you’re not gonna like it.”

Here are some of the rules that Moses outlines for Kings: he can’t have too many horses, he can’t send people back to Egypt to get more horses. He can’t have too many wives. And further, the King can’t do whatever he wants. He must keep a copy of the Torah with him at all times, read it daily, and follow the commandments closely. And, he cannot set himself above his subjects. Basically, he does not get to do any of the fun stuff that Kings like to do. With all due respect to Mel Brooks, “It is not good to be the King.”

When the Israelites do establish a monarchy, it is essentially a disaster, with a few exceptional bright spots here and there. And let’s not even get started with the non-Israelite kings.

If human royalty is so terrible, why on earth is it the metaphor we use for God?

The Rabbis are aware that the nature of God’s Kingship is fundamentally different than an earthly King. The Talmud (BT Avodah Zarah 11a) tells the story Onkelos bar Kelonimos. According to one legend, he was the nephew of the Roman Emperor Titus. He converted to Judaism in the first century, CE, and wrote what came to be known as Targum Onkelos, the earliest Aramaic translation of the Bible.

News of Onkelos’ conversion spreads, and the Roman emperor sends a troop of soldiers to arrest him. As the soldiers approach, Onkelos starts reciting verses of Torah, as one does. He is very persuasive, and they convert.

The emperor sends in another troop of soldiers to arrest Onkelos. This time he instructs them: “Do not talk to him.”

They arrest Onkelos, and as they are walking along, he says to them: “I just have one thing I’d like to say. It is the job of the junior officer to hold the torch for the senior officer. The senior officer holds the torch for the Duke. The Duke holds the torch for the Governor. And the Governor holds the torch for the King. So,” he asks the soldiers. “Does the King hold the torch for the people?”

The soldiers, mesmerized by Onkelos, forget their orders and answer: “No. Of course not.”

Onkelos turns to them and says: “And yet, the Holy One holds a torch for the Jewish people.” Then he quotes Exodus: “The Lord went before them in a pillar of cloud by day, to guide them along the way, and in a pillar of fire by night, to give them light.” (Exodus 13:21).

Hearing this brilliant exposition, the entire second troop of soldiers converts.

Word reaches the Emperor, who he is beside himself. As he sends out the third troop, he commands them: “Do not speak with him at all. Not a word!”

The soldiers follow their orders. They arrest Onkelos and start marching. As they are walking along, Onkelos sees a mezuzah on a doorpost. He puts his hand on it and looks over at the soldiers: “What is this?”

They look at one another, thinking of the Emperor’s order. But they are curious. So one of them shrugs his shoulders and quietly whispers for Onkelos to answer his question.

So Onkelos says: “The standard practice around the world is that the king sits inside his palace, while his servants stand guard at the gates, protecting him from any threats. But when it comes to the Holy One, it is the opposite.” He points to the mezuzah. “God’s servants, the Jewish people, sit inside their homes with their mezuzahs on their doors, while God stands guard over them.”

When the soldiers hear this, what can they do but convert on the spot?

The Emperor does not bother sending any more soldiers.

This story is all about contrasting the human King with the Divine King. Notice how the Roman Emperor remains inside his palace while his servants, the guards, are sent outside to supposedly protect his interests. Onkelos, who has chosen to be a servant of God, is protected by verses of Torah. Even when he is out on the road, the Divine King is with him to light his way and guard him from harm.

Although calling God “King” might seem like such a given, it might be surprising to learn that God is not a King in the Torah. None of the Patriarchs or Matriarchs relate to God in that way. Moses never instructs Pharaoh to submit before the King of Kings. When the Israelites build a place of worship, they construct a Tabernacle, not a palace.

The word melekh, King, referring to God, or its related verb, occurs just three, or possibly even only two times in the entire Torah, which creates a problem for our machzor.

The Musaf service contains three special sections called Malkhuyot – Kingship, Zikhronot – Remembrances, and Shofarot – Shofar blasts. Each of these sections are comprised of ten verses from the Hebrew Bible: three from Torah, three from Writings, three from Prophets, and a final verse from Torah. The verses conclude with a closing blessing, followed by shofar blasts.

The Talmud has no problem at all in associating Zikhronot – Remembrances – and Shofarot – Shofar blasts – to Rosh Hashanah, or in finding appropriate verses. But it really struggles to find four verses from the Torah for Malkhuyot. Most appear in poems. The first is from the Song of the Sea: Adonai yimlokh l’olam va’ed – “The Lord will reign for ever and ever.” The second is recited by Balaam, the non-Israelite Prophet, when he utters words of blessing upon the Israelites. We’ll come back to it. The third verse, from Deuteronomy, might actually be referring to Moses instead of God. The fourth verse is Shema Yisrael, which does not even have the word melekh. None of these four verses have anything to do with Rosh Hashanah.

Now back to our verse from Balaam. Summoned by the human King Balak of Moab to curse the Israelites, Balaam instead offers words of blessing, including our verse:

No harm is in sight for Jacob, No woe in view for Israel.

The Lord their God is with them, And the teruah of the King among them.
Numbers 23:21

Ut’ruat melekh bo. Do you hear anything familiar? The teruah of the King among them. What is teruah? It means “blasting,” probably referring to a trumpet fanfare announcing the King’s entrance. It is one of the three notes sounded by the shofar. It is a word used to refer to our holiday – zikhron teruah – a remembrance of blasting.

So maybe we can make an indirect connection. If melekh has a connection to teruah, and teruah is associated with Rosh Hashanah, then by analogy melekh is connected to Rosh Hashanah. If A = B, and B = C, then A = C. Maybe.

Before we get too excited, let’s look again at teruah. Does it actually mean “blasting?”

Remember Onkelos? His Aramaic translation uses a curious word. It says ush’khinat malk’hon beineihon – “The Shechinah of the king is among them.” No blasting. Instead, it is the Shechinah, the indwelling of God’s Presence. Rather than triumphant horns, the image shifts to one of intimacy and comfort.

Perhaps this is what leads the commentator Rashbam to explain the verse in this way. The word Teruah is related to the word re’ut, which means “friendship.” On the inside of our wedding rings, Dana and I have the words Zeh dodi v’zeh re’i inscribed. “This is my beloved, this is my friend.”

Teruah therefore means friendship. ut’ruat melekh bo – “and the friendship of the king is among them.”

Turning to the opening words of the verse, Lo hibit aven b’ya’akov – Rashbam explains that God does not want to punish the children of Israel even when they sin. Literally, “God cannot see sin in Jacob.”

What kind of King is this? One who is in intimate relationship with the beloved, who deliberately overlooks sin, ignoring imperfections, who is blinded by love.

That is a very different image of a King. Instead of the majestic, male, distant Ruler seated upon a lofty throne, with trumpets blaring, this King is at our level, feminine perhaps, a loving companion who accepts us with all of our imperfections. In other words, nothing at all like a human king.

What kind of relationship do I want with my Creator? No question that there is a rather large power imbalance. But don’t I want to be seen and accepted by the universe, told that I matter?

While our High Holiday liturgy is filled with royal language and imagery, I struggle to relate to those metaphors. Maybe this other type of King, the loving companion, offers an alternative.

If it is true that God knows us better than we even know ourselves, then maybe what we want from God is to be a close friend, an intimate companion.

What do we need from our closest relationships? We need to be accepted for who we are and loved — no matter what.

We talk about the unconditional love of parents for their children. Unconditional means love without judgment, accepting our child for exactly who they are.

That is pretty difficult to achieve, because we actually judge our kids regularly. We hold them to the standards we set for ourselves – standards which we often fail to meet. We judge them by our own deficiencies.

And they feel judged by us, even when we are trying to accept them for who they are. Judgment interferes with acceptance and love.

As parents, isn’t it our jobs to try to set aside our judgment, to make sure our kids know that they are seen, accepted, and loved?

The same is true of any quality relationship with another person, whether a lover, a family member, or a friend.

A true friend is someone with whom I am safe to be vulnerable. Someone who, when I share my deepest secrets, my shame, will not judge me. A real friend will accept me in all my imperfections. With all of my self doubt.

We are asked each year to take account of our souls, to perform Cheshbon HaNefesh. This requires brutal honesty. And it is hard to be so open if I know that I am going to face judgment. But if I know that I am opening up to a loving companion…

This intimacy and companionship is what so many of are missing after the past two and a half years. It is starting to feel like we are getting back to normal. But we are still so divided, so quick to judge. We cannot expect God to be a loving companion in our midst unless we are also prepared to be that for each other.

The dominant depiction of God is as the King of the universe, sitting on His high and lofty throne, but perhaps what we really want is for God to be a companion in our midst, accepting and loving us for exactly who we are.

And perhaps that loving companion is also what we want, what we need from — and to be for — each other.

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August 6, 2022

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May We Deserve to be Klal Yisrael – Devarim 5782

Exactly one year ago, a particularly awful scene descended on Jerusalem. It was the evening of Tisha B’Av, the day of mourning for all of the tragedies that have befallen the Jewish people throughout history, especially the destruction of the First and Second Temples

Men and women gathered together at the Egalitarian Section of the Kotel, the Western wall, to observe the holiday by chanting Eichah, the Book of Lamentations. This is the site designated as Ezrat Yisrael, the courtyard of Israel, by the Israeli government, where men and women can gather together in worship. It is located underneath Robinson’s Arch, just South of the main plaza in front of the Kotel. The service was organized and hosted by the Conservative movement.

Suddenly, hundreds of young yeshiva students, breached the area. They forcibly took over, cursing and screaming at the worshippers. They put up a mechitza, a barrier to separate men and women, and began singing songs of devotion to Jerusalem.

Just a month and a half ago, as several families celebrated Bar and Bat Mitzvahs at the Egalitarian Kotel, a similar scene recurred. Again, services were interrupted by a group of hardline Orthodox extremists. The students overran the worshippers, took over the site, tore up siddurim, and shouted insults at the worshippers, calling them “Nazis” and “Christians.” One hooligan was even caught on camera blowing his nose into a page from the siddur with God’s name written on it.

During both episodes, the police charged with security at the Kotel area stood by and watched.

The latter incident drew particularly fierce criticism from many circles, including Prime Minister Lapid, who personally called one of the young people who was celebrating his Bar Mitzvah.

As this year’s observance of Tisha B’Av nears, these two Chilul Hashem’s, desecrations of God’s name, haunt us. As we celebrate Shabbat this morning here in San Jose, in Israel, the fast has already begun.

The Rabbis explain that the second Temple was destroyed on account of sin’at chinam, the senseless hatred of Jew against Jew. Indeed, the historical record indicates that there were numerous factions of Jews living within the walls of the besieged city of Jerusalem. Josephus reports that they fought against each other even more fiercely than against the Romans.

It is certainly true that we can be our own worst enemies.

The Jewish Torah reading cycle is constructed so that this morning’s parashah, Devarim, always occurs right before Tisha B’Av. The Torah portion begins with the words:

אֵ֣לֶּה הַדְּבָרִ֗ים אֲשֶׁ֨ר דִּבֶּ֤ר מֹשֶׁה֙ אֶל־כׇּל־יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל בְּעֵ֖בֶר הַיַּרְדֵּ֑ן

These are the words which Moses spoke to all of Israel on the other side of the Jordan
Deuteronomy 1:1

The introduction seems innocuous enough, but most of the commentaries explains that Moses is issuing words of tokhekha, rebuke. He has gathered the Israelites together just before they are to enter the Promised Land. Knowing he will not be going with them, he delivers a series of warnings, essentially pleading with them to stay the course and not screw up when he is gone.

Maybe it’s the era in which we are living, but I tend to favor the carrot over the stick as a way to influence behavior. On the surface, though, Moses, and God, offer far more criticism of the Israelites than praise.

Throughout Deuteronomy, Moses tries to influence the Israelites’ behavior by pointing out all of their past mistakes, telling them how they are going to continuing screwing up, and threatening them with punishment if they do not do better.

Doesn’t he know that members of the most effective teams, not to mention successful marriages, give each other at least five positive comments for every negative one?

According to a number of commentators, however, Moses hides more positive messages within his words of admonishment.

The Vilna Gaon, the great eighteenth century Rabbi, claims that the expression el-kol-Yisrael contains Moses’ essential message. All we have to do is add an extra letter lamed. Kol – kaf, lamed – meaning “all,” should actually be read as k’lal – kaf, lamed, lamed – meaning “entirety,” as in k’lal Yisrael. Moses is appealing to the Jewish people in its absolute entirety, assembled before him in body and in spirit. He tells us that unity should reside amongst us, that we should be umah achat, k’lal Yisrael — one nation, the Jewish people in its entirety.

Of course, whenever someone appeals for unity, they usually have in mind that it is their opponents who are to blame for causing division; that their opponents are the ones who ought to change, to conform to our own vision of what things should look like. If we look at those who were overrunning the Kotel, that is exactly the kind of language that they are using under the mantle of K’lal Yisrael. But when I look at that scene, I see one group of people minding their own business and another group of people trying to forcibly change the other. So we seem to have a disagreement on what it means to be a unified Jewish people everywhere around the world.

Again focusing on the expression el-kol-Yisrael, the Hassidic Rebbe, Simchah Bunim, declares that “the words which Moses spoke” were fitting “to all of Israel,” that is to say, to each individual person according to their own qualities and level, understanding and comprehension, everyone according to their own measure.

Simchah Bunim, like the Vilna Gaon, also sees this as an inclusive statement. But rather than focus on the totality of the nation, in which the individual is subsumed within the collective, he highlights the uniqueness of each person. Moses, as the greatest of our teachers, reaches every single person in a way that is uniquely suited to their own personality and capability. The message of Torah is too important to risk leaving anyone behind.

This is a view which recognizes and accepts difference. Unity does not mean that everyone must conform to the same ideal. Unity means that everyone has access to the Torah, according to their own capabilities.

A later Chassidic teacher, Reb Yehudah Leib Eiger, brings the universal and the individual together. Yehudah Leib, also sees Moses’ rebuke being directed to K’lal Yisrael, the collective totality of the Jewish people.

But then he explains that the k’lal is holy and exalted. Creation itself depends on the unity of the Jewish people. If k’lal Yisrael were to become detached from holiness for even one moment, the world would return to tohu vavohu – primordial chaos.

So there is much at stake in Jewish unity.

Then he offers an incredibly uplifting message. He suggests that being part of the k’lal should be a great consolation to every sinner amongst the Jewish people. For even though I may be filled with sins, full of imperfections, I am never disconnected from the source, as long as I am part of k’lal Yisrael.

Of course, he describes all of us. To be human is to be full of sins. But we really on each other, k’lal Yisrael, to hold each other up, give each other hope, and sustain the world.

Today is actually the ninth of Av. Since we do not fast on Shabbat (except for Yom Kippur), we delay our observance.

Even though we are pushing off the fast until tonight and tomorrow, perhaps we should be toning things down a bit from our regular Shabbos joy. The Talmud considers this question and offers a definitive answer. If the ninth of Av occurs on Shabbat, a person may eat and drink as much as one needs, even putting on a meal as lavish as that of King Solomon in his day. (Taanit 29b)

Reb Yehudah Leib Eiger explains that the Talmud’s reference to King Solomon’s table contains a hidden message. In building the First Temple, King Solomon introduced an element of redemption to the world. The Temple was the conduit, the pipe, through which salvation flowed into the world. Modeled on King Solomon’s table, our feasting on Tisha B’av, when it falls on Shabbat, also can serve as an awakening of redemption for the world.

Our traditions considers a Shabbat on which Tisha B’av falls to be the absolute holiest Shabbat of the year, for it offers a flame in the darkness. It reveals the good that is usually hidden within the sorrow.

But we should not think about this as some magical quality that is the result of the vagaries of the calendar. It is a message for us to be that light, to find that spark amidst the darkness in our world.

In the end, we each have to choose to be part of k’lal Yisrael.

On a day when there is so much disunity not just in the world, but even among the Jewish people; on a day when we know that there is so much antisemitism in the world, and when Israel at this moment is fighting Islamic Jihad in Gaza; our prayer is that we should be able to heed Moses’ message: first of all to be a k’lal Yisrael, a united people; but also to recognize that a k’lal is comprised of lots and lots of individuals. Our primary focus should not be on judging our neighbors, but should be on working on ourselves, and taking strength from our neighbors.

If we do that, maybe we can serve as that conduit to bring redemption to the world. I pray that we merit, that we become deserving of being k’lal Yisrael, of being a united people of Israel.

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Rabbi Josh Berkenwald

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July 9, 2022

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The Sound of the Snake – Chukat 5782

The Israelites are reaching the end of their journey through the wilderness. Despite their destination being within reach, they still find cause to complain. As they are making their way up the Eastern side of the Jordan River, they become impatient, speaking out against God and Moses:

Why did you make us leave Egypt to die in the wilderness? There is no bread and no water, and we have come to loathe this miserable food.
Numbers 21:5

It is kind of hard to blame them. They have been eating manna for forty years now. But God does not appreciate complainers. God sends snakes which bite the people. Many die.

The story follows the typical pattern. The Israelites come to Moses, admit that they sinned when they spoke out against God and Moses. “Please intercede for us,” they plead.

Moses immediately steps in to the breach, and God offers an unusual remedy: Aseh lekha saraf – “Make a seraph figure and mount it on a standard. And anyone who was bitten who then looks at it shall recover.” (Numbers 21:8) A seraph is a fiery serpent angel-type figure.

Moses complies, and he makes what is essentially a ‘snake on a stick.’ When someone is bitten by a serpent, they look at it and recover.

The Mishnah asks the obvious question. Can this inanimate object kill or give life? Doesn’t this fly in the face of the Torah’s many prohibitions against making graven images? The answer is that there is nothing magical about it. It’s power is symbolic. When Israel would look up at this snake on a stick, their hearts would turn towards their Father in heaven. Their faith restored, God would heal them.

It is not the most convincing argument. After all, the same could be said of any graven image.

A midrash (Genesis Rabbah 31:8, Yalkut Shimoni on Nach 15:4) points out that there are four occasions in the Tanakh, the Hebrew Bible in which the expression Aseh lekha, literally, “Make for yourself” appears. On three of those occasions, God gives clear instructions about how to make the item in question. The first is when God tells Noah to build an ark out of acacia wood. The second is when Moses is told to make two trumpets out of silver. The third is when Joshua has to make knives out of flint so that the Israelites can circumcise themselves. The fourth “make for yourself” appears in this morning’s Torah portion, when God tells Moses Aseh lekha saraf – “Make for yourself a seraph.”

No instructions are given regarding what raw materials to use. Moses is left to his own devices to figure it out. First, he thinks about using gold, zahav. Then he considers using silver, kesef. Rejecting those two precious metals, he settles instead on the much less valuable copper, nechoshet. Why?

According to the midrash, Moses does not like the sound of the words zahav and kesef. But nechoshet sounds like nachash, the Hebrew word for snake and nashach, the Hebrew word for bite. And so the Torah says

Then Moses made a copper serpent (nechash nechoshet) and mounted it on a standard, and when bitten by a serpent (im-nashach hanachash), anyone who looked at the the copper serpent (nechash hanechoshet) would recover.
Numbers 21:9

In other words, Moses chose copper because he liked how the word sounded. (Notice that the Torah changes God’s word, seraf, to nachash. Both words refer to serpents, but only one of them sounds good.) The midrash concludes that this proves that the Torah was given in Hebrew, the holy tongue. The alliteration would not work in any other language.

There is a deeper meaning at work here.

When we think about snakes, we are reminded of the infamous snake, the nachash of the Garden of Eden, the one who approached the woman with words of deception to trick her into eating from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. She observes the tree, sees that it is good for eating, a delight to the eyes, and desirable to contemplate. So she eats the fruit and shares it with the man who is with her.

Rabbinic texts personify the nachash as the Yetzer Hara – the evil inclination. It is by observing the tree, really looking at it, that the yetzer hara speaks to her heart and leads her to violate God’s instructions.

Similarly, if we see the plague of snakes in today’s parashah as symbolizing the Israelites’ lack of faith in God’s providence, their succumbing to the physical discomforts of the moment, the power of the nachash nechoshet becomes more clear. It is the inverse of the Garden of Eden story, the image of the serpent has the power not just to dispel faith, but also to reinvigorate it.

In this moment, Moses does not yell at the Israelites, call them ungrateful, or try to convince them that they are wrong to complain. He takes a different approach. He uses art. Art inspires the imagination, which leads us to see the world differently. As the greatest of our Prophets, the one who reaches the highest level of spirituality and achieves the greatest mastery over the yetzer hara, Moses understands how to use art to get through to the Israelites. He makes a metal sculpture, upon which the Israelites can gaze; and, he composes a linguistic work of art, employing language in a way that penetrates the walls around the heart.

Both forms of creative expression spark an emotional reaction that grabs the Israelites’ attention, surprise them, if only for a moment. Shaken from their complacency, they take a step back and realize all that God has done for them. The Yetzer hara loosens its hold. Self-centerdness departs. They step up one spiritual level. At last, the Israelites realize: ‘We are almost at our destination. Surely God can lead us across the finish line. We can tolerate this manna for a little while longer.’

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Rabbi Josh Berkenwald

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June 25, 2022

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Abortion – It’s Personal

Almost fifteen years ago, shortly after we arrived in San Jose with our two children, Dana became pregnant. We were overjoyed, and excited to expand our family in our new home.

At the 12 week ultrasound, we learned that we were going to have a boy. But there were indications that something might be wrong. We were told to return for a follow-up ultrasound two weeks later. Perhaps the issue would resolve itself.

Sadly, the abnormalities were even more pronounced. Without going into details, our baby, if it survived the pregnancy, would have numerous physical defects requiring multiple surgeries to survive. It would likely never leave the hospital.

Furthermore, the placenta was growing through the wall of Dana’s uterus and into her bladder in a way that put her at increasing risk for permanent physical disability or even death.

As a husband and father, I was there to love and support my wife. Whatever she wanted to do in this situation, I would be by her side. Dana could not imagine risking our two beautiful, healthy children growing up without their mother. With dread, we started exploring options for termination of the pregnancy.

Who did Dana turn to for support in making her decision? To me, of course. To her parents and sisters. To her doctors.

The procedure that she needed was highly specialized, one that most OB-GYN’s did not have the experience or knowledge to perform.

Fortunately, Dana was able to be seen by an experienced team at UCSF Medical Center who were kind, compassionate, and understanding.

At sixteen weeks, the initial goal was for Dana to undergo an abortion and keep her uterus. The abortion took place on a Wednesday. For the next two days, she remained in critical care with internal bleeding that would not stop. She received multiple blood transfusions.

By Friday, it was clear that Dana needed surgery to save her life, and so she underwent a complicated, high risk hysterectomy. Thank God it was successful. She remained in the hospital for another week until she was finally strong enough to come home.

Dana is still in touch with the doctor who saved her life. That doctor and her team were only able to gain those specialized skills because abortion was legal. Due to the passage of Roe v. Wade in 1973, they were able to receive training, publish and share journal articles, learn from one another, and develop expertise in performing routine medical and surgical abortions, as well as complicated cases like Dana’s. None of this could happen when abortion was illegal.

Abortion bans that only provide exceptions to save the life of the mother do not produce doctors with the skills required for Dana’s surgery. If abortion had been illegal, there would have been no medical team with the necessary skill, and my children might have grown up without their mother.

I know this from my late father in law, Dr. Gary Romalis, z”l, who did his medical internship at Cook County Hospital in Chicago in 1962. In those days, there was no training in providing abortions. Instead, he learned the hard way. In his own words:

The first month of my internship was spent on Ward 41, the septic obstetrics ward. Yes, it’s hard to believe now, but in those days, they had one ward dedicated exclusively to septic complications of pregnancy.
About 90% of the patients were there with complications of septic abortion. The ward had about 40 beds, in addition to extra beds which lined the halls. Each day we admitted between 10-30 septic abortion patients. We had about one death a month, usually from septic shock associated with hemorrhage.
I will never forget the 17-year-old girl lying on a stretcher with 6 feet of small bowel protruding from her vagina. She survived.

When he opened his Vancouver practice in 1972, in addition to caring for pregnant women and delivering babies, Gary and his partners also dedicated themselves to make sure that “a woman should be able to decide for herself if and when to have a baby.” He was a pioneer in developing safe abortion techniques and training future generations of physicians. There is a direct line connecting Gary’s life’s work and his daughter’s life-saving surgery.

We received a lot of support from the community, both in terms of the space we requested, as well as the physical and emotional support that we needed. One of the surprises were the many women who would come up to Dana, often in tears, to share their own stories of a devastating pregnancy loss, or of a life-saving abortion.

I suspect that many people in this room, probably most, have their own stories. Abortion is a deeply personal issue.

Roe argued that a right to privacy, while not explicitly contained within the Constitution, can be derived from the first, fourth, ninth, and fourteenth Amendments. In his decision, Justice Blackmun ruled that the Constitution protected “zones of privacy” which encompassed areas like contraception, marriage, child rearing, and abortion.

That rationale is what has now been struck down by the decision written by Justice Alito. The conclusion of the new decision states:

Abortion presents a profound moral question. The Constitution does not prohibit the citizens of each State from regulating or prohibiting abortion. Roe and Casey arrogated that authority. We now overrule those decisions and return that authority to the people and their elected representatives,

In other words, states are free to restrict abortion without any interference from the federal government.

With the Supreme Court’s overturning of Roe v. Wade and Planned Parenthood v. Casey, millions of women living in dozens of states will lose the ability to make this personal choice, including 13 states with “trigger laws” that have already gone into effect.

I am not a constitutional scholar, so I am not really qualified to speak to the legal arguments. But I do know, from experience, that this decision will restrict the choices of millions of people in the most personal way imaginable, and will result in women dying.

The question of whether to terminate a pregnancy involves issues of belief, culture, religion, family circumstances, finances, and so much more. During the time in which Dana and I were dealing with our situation, we talked about how much risk to her life we were prepared to accept to go ahead with the pregnancy. We considered our ability to care for our children if Dana became disabled. We talked about whether it was right to bring a child into the world who would suffer for its entire short life, whether we would be able to care for him, and how it would impact our other children. We talked about Jewish law and values.

I am so grateful that we had the freedom to make our decision.

Coming out of the Jewish tradition, the idea of the government, at any level, getting so intimately involved in individuals’ personal lives is deeply troubling.

Abortion is a topic which Jewish law has dealt with for thousands of years. Unfortunately, we do not have the women’s voices. But we do have the legal and religious writings of men on the topic. Like so much in Judaism, abortion is a nuanced issue.

First of all, we must state unequivocally that Judaism is a pro-natalist religion. P’ru ur’vu – “be fruitful and multiply,” is a mitzvah. Judaism is unabashedly pro-child. In the Talmud, the Sage Reish Lakish declares, “The world exists only because of the breath of children.”

As an exemplification of this, the State of Israel is the “world capital” of in vitro fertilization. The state fully funds IVF treatments for up to two “take home babies” for every woman up to the age of 45. Four percent of Israeli children today are born by IVF, compared to one percent in the US. This right extends to all citizens: Jew and Arab, straight and gay, secular and religious, married and single.

Without a doubt, Judaism has a strong bias towards having children. But it also recognizes that having children can be difficult and dangerous. The Mishnah, nearly two thousand years ago, codified the law on abortion:

If a woman is having difficulty giving birth, the child must be cut in her womb and brought out limb by limb, for her life takes precedence over its life. If the greater part of the child has already come forth, he must not be touched, because one life must not be taken to save another.
Mishnah Ohalot 7:6

The Mishnah is dealing with a situation in which there are complications during a delivery, which occurred frequently until modern times. It states that an abortion is not just optional, but mandatory in order to save the mother’s life. This is true up until the majority of the child has exited the womb.

The medieval commentator Rashi explains why the mother’s life takes precedence over the fetus. This is what he says:

Until the child has emerged into the world, it is not considered a person (lav nefesh hu), and it is permitted to destroy it to save the mother’s life. However, once the head has emerged, it is considered as born, and one may not harm it, for one life may not be taken to save another.

The question “When does life begin?” is not the correct question. The correct question is “When does personhood begin?” Rashi’s answer is unambiguous. It begins when the head has emerged from the mother. Up until that point, lav nefesh hu – “it is not a person.”

Over the years, Rabbis faced cases in which a woman inquired as to the permissibility of abortion in her particular situation. As we would expect, there have been a range of approaches on the topic. Some Rabbis restricted abortion to only the clearest cases of explicit physical danger. Others had a broader interpretation of what constitutes a threat to a mother’s life.

The former Chief Sephardi Rabbi of Israel Rabbi Ben-Zion Meir Hai ben Uziel, had a particularly expansive understanding of what would be permitted.

It is clear that abortion is not permitted without reason. That would be destructive and frustrative of the possibility of life. But for a reason, even if it is a slim reason, such as to prevent her embarrassment, then we have precedent and authority to permit it.
Mishpetei Uziel vol. Ill, H.M. no. 47; See Feldman, pp. 289-291

Rabbi Uziel does not differentiate between life-threatening situations and those that are detrimental to health. He allows for mental anguish, a sense of shame, fear of disgrace, or even a reason such as fear of disfigurement to be valid reasons for an abortion under Jewish law, if that is how the woman feels.

To summarize the Jewish position: Judaism is pro child. It discourages abortion except in cases in which there is a threat to the mother. There are a range of approaches taken by religious authorities over the centuries, some more expansive and others more narrow. A fetus does not become a person until its head emerges from the womb.

The Committee on Jewish Laws and Standards, which determines halakhah for the Conservative movement, in 1983 affirmed the right to an abortion in cases in which the ‘continuation of a pregnancy might cause severe physical or psychological harm, or where the fetus is judged by competent medical opinion as severely defective.’

In light of this, the Rabbinical Assembly of the Conservative Movement has strongly supported the halakhic necessity of access to abortion, based on biblical and rabbinical sources, as well as legal decisions. It has opposed efforts to limit access to abortion or stifle reproductive freedom.

In a statement yesterday, the Rabbinical Assembly declared:

Denying individuals access to the complete spectrum of reproductive healthcare, including contraception, abortion-inducing devices and medications, and abortions, among others, on religious grounds, deprives those who need medical care of their Constitutional right to religious freedom.

Of course, other religious traditions see it differently. The Catholic Church, and some Protestant Churches, hold that personhood begins at conception, and therefore oppose abortion. Other Christian denominations support abortion rights. Islam, as far as I understand it, takes an approach similar to Judaism. It considers ensoulment to take place at 120 days, and has different rules for abortion at different stages of fetal development.

The point is that there is not and has never been a consensus on the question of when personhood begins and whether and in what circumstances, an abortion should be permitted. This is not a question that science can answer. It is and will always be a matter of belief, which is why it should be considered an issue of religious freedom.

The overturning of Roe v. Wade allows states to establish the law based upon a particular religion’s interpretation of when personhood begins. How does this not run afoul of the anti-establishment clause of the First Amendment?

A state can now prevent a pregnant woman from following the dictates of her own religion and seeking counsel from her chosen spiritual advisor in a matter that pertains to her own body. How does this not violate the free exercise clause of the First Amendment? What is religion for if not to guide a person through the most fundamental questions of life?

The R.A. concluded its statement yesterday with the following call to action;

There will continue to be legislative battles in the United States on both the federal and state levels that pose existential threats to reproductive freedom, especially so-called ‘heartbeat’ bills, which violate the foundational principle of separation of church and state. The Rabbinical Assembly emphatically opposes all such laws and Legislative or Executive moves and instead calls on members of Congress to decisively codify Roe v. Wade into law to enshrine the right to health, freedom, and dignity for all Americans.

Which brings me back to the point with which I started. This is personal. While facing a devastating decision to terminate a wanted pregnancy, Dana and I at least knew that there would not be legal barriers and that Dana could access the best care available.

I am terrified that someone else’s wife, mother, or daughter, will die because they do not have access to the same safe, legal abortion services that were available to us.

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Rabbi Josh Berkenwald

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May 14, 2022

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Divrei Torah (Weekly Sermons), Leviticus (ויקרא)

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Rise, O Daughters of Priests and Levites – Emor 5782

As you know, Congregation Sinai is a traditional, egalitarian, Conservative synagogue. There are a range of religious practices within the Conservative movement. Sinai, from a liturgical perspective, tends to be on the more traditional side. Our service is entirely in Hebrew. We chant the full Torah reading, rather than using the triennial system. We do not abbreviate our service in many of the ways that one might find in other Conservative synagogues.

Like almost every Conservative synagogue, we are egalitarian. Any Jew above the age of B’nei Mitzvah counts towards making a minyan. There is no distinction by gender in leadership roles during services. We have the same expectations, and teach the same skills and knowledge, to all our children. Every child in the religious school wears a head covering, and all B’nei Mitzvah wear a tallit. For many years, our practice has been to accept, without judgment, any Jew according to their preferred gender identity.

I am aware of only one way in which our practice has not been fully egalitarian, and that is our treatment of kohanim and leviim — of priests and Levites.

According to tradition, Kohanim are descendants of the first High Priest, Aaron, and Leviim come from the ancient tribe of Levi. They officiated in the Tabernacle when the Israelites were in the wilderness, and in the first and second Temples. This morning’s Torah portion, Emor, addresses specifically the laws governing the kohanim, including restrictions they had to follow, as well as privileges that they enjoyed.

While Jewish identity is passed on matrilineally, one’s status as a kohen or levi is determined by patrilineal descent.

In keeping with Jewish tradition, Sinai’s practice until now has been to call up the son of a kohen for the first aliyah and the son of a levi for the second aliyah. I have been clear and open over the years to anyone who has asked that we would not consider changing this practice until someone to whom it affects comes forward with this request; in other words, someone with “standing.”

It has taken many years, but that person has finally come forward. In the interest of full transparency, that person is my daughter, Noa.

I speak today wearing several hats. I am the Rabbi of Congregation Sinai. I am a kohen. And, I am the father of a daughter.

As the Rabbi of the congregation, I serve as mara d’atra, literally “master of the place.” I have the responsibility to decide on questions of Jewish law and ritual practice. The Committee on Jewish Laws and Standards, the CJLS, is a Conservative institution that addresses questions of halakhah, Jewish law. A local mara d’atra can rely upon a decision of the CJLS for their own community.

The CJLS, in a 1989 teshuvah written by Rabbi Joel Roth, approved extending the first and second aliyot to daughters of kohanim and leviim. I will explain the reasoning behind that decision in a few minutes.

I should add as well that there are CJLS teshuvot that allow for a congregation to dispense entirely with the kohen, levi, yisrael system. Many Conservative synagogues follow that practice.

As a kohen, I have had many significant religious experiences over the years in synagogues and communities around the world. It is an important part of my family identity, passed down by my father. Needless to say, I am called up to the Torah a lot, probably receiving more than 50% of all first aliyot at Sinai.

As for the answer to whether Sinai will call up a bat kohen for the first aliyah, I will have to be able to look my daughter in the eye and explain my decision.

You already know my answer. We are expanding our practice to call for the first and second aliyah anyone, regardless of gender, whose father is a kohen or a levi.

Before I start to explain why, I want to be clear about a few points. We are talking only about being called up for the first two aliyot. Questions around women’s involvement in Jewish ritual are not a single halakhic issue. Counting in a minyan, leading services, chanting Torah and Haftarah – each of these has been dealt with independently. Further, the priestly and levitical lines are passed only through the father. This decision does not apply to birkat kohanim, the Priestly Blessing. That is a separate issue which could potentially be dealt with at another time.

I would like to make one additional comment. Ritual is extremely personal. The prayers we recite, the melodies we sing, how we conduct services— these evoke strong feelings.

A change in any long-held practice can be difficult. Let’s keep in mind that every ritual that feels to us like it is mi-sinai – going all the way back to Mt. Sinai, actually started in a particular place by a specific person.

There was once a first Shabbat when someone thought it would be a good idea to read the Torah in public. There was a first time when someone said a blessing before that reading. There was one Shabbat when a person decided to divide the reading up into seven parts. Someone once thought it would be a good idea to honor people in the community with each of those readings.

There was a first time when a woman was called up to the Torah, which, by the way, occurred many centuries ago. There was a first Shabbat here at Congregation Sinai when a woman was called to the Torah.

Every time such an innovation occurred, it replaced a practice that preceded it. And you can be sure that there was always someone who was uncomfortable with that change.

The other thing I would like to mention is that some practices which might seem to be quite ancient are actually relatively recent innovations in Judaism.

So, why do the first and second aliyot go to Kohanim and Leviim?

The Mishnah, dating from the second century in the land of Israel, states the following:

These are the matters [that the Sages] instituted on account of the ways of peace: a priest reads first, and after him a Levite, and after him an Israelite, on account of the ways of peace…
Mishnah Gittin 5:8

This is the earliest description of the practice of kohen, levi, yisrael. A few questions arise. First of all, why? This tradition almost certainly reflects an innovation that developed after the destruction of the Second Temple, when kohanim and leviim were unable to perform their sacred responsibilities.

Second, what does the expression “on account of the ways of peace” — mipnei darkhei shalom — mean?

The Gemara addresses the first question by offering several alternative biblical verses as the imputed origin of the practice. The fourth verse suggested is by Rabbi Chiya bar Abba, who posits a verse from this morning’s Torah portion, parashat Emor

and you must treat him as holy, since he offers the food of your God; he shall be holy to you, for I, the Lord, who sanctify you am holy.

According to Rabbi Chiya, this means that in any matter of sanctity, a kohen should go first.

A Sage from the school of Rabbi Yishmael derives from this instruction to treat the kohen as holy that he should be accorded with the honor of speaking first in the study hall, leading the birkat hamazon, the grace after meals, and serving himself first at a meal.

What is the nature of this holiness which merits such special treament? There are essentially two possibilities. Either, they derive from the special sacrificial responsibilities of a kohen. Or, kohanim have a general sanctity independent of their duties in the Temple.

If it is based on their ritual duties, than we would expect that a kohen who was unable to perform those duties would not be eligible to receive these special honors. Specifically, this morning’s parashah states that kohen who has a physical defect, such as someone who is blind, or lame, or has a limb that is too short or too long, or a broken arm or leg, or a hunchback, a growth in his eye, and so on. A kohen with any of these physical disabilities is unqualified to participate in the Temple rituals. To even enter the sacred precincts would profane them.

If the privileges specified in the Talmud, such as receiving the first aliyah, derive from the kohen’s eligibility to perform the Temple service, than we would expect a physical disability to disqualify him from receiving the first aliyah as well.

But the Torah specifies that he is able to eat from kodashim, from sanctified food which is a perquisite of the kohanim. So he would seem to have some degree of inherent kedushah that is independent of his fitness to serve.

Rabbi Ephraim Oshry, a mid-twentieth century Orthodox Rabbi, ruled in the case of a kohen who received a disfiguring injury in the Holocaust was eligible to receive the first aliyah. He concludes that

the elements of priestly prerogative are not contingent upon his serving at the altar at all, and even where a priest is not entitled to serve at the altar, as a [disfigured priest], he nonetheless retains the sanctity of the priesthood, and the verse “he shall be holy” applies to him.

Rabbi Oshry concludes that kohanim receive the first aliyah due to their inherent sanctity.

Now back to the Mishnah. It indicates that the kohen should read from the Torah first “on account of the ways of peace.” What are these “ways of peace?”

Originally a kohen could forego his right to the first aliyah in favor of it going to a great sage or other dignified person. What you could imagine happening happened. People started to quarrel over who merited receiving the kohen‘s giving up the first aliyah. “Why did he allow this guy and not me?”

So the Sages enacted a ruling to prohibit a kohen from ever giving it up. The first aliyah must go to a kohen to prevent fights from breaking out in shul. (Incidentally, there were many times over the centuries when Rabbis agreed to find a way around this requirement – often for fundraising purposes.)

Finally, we come to b’not kohen – daughters of priests.

Do daughters of kohanim have any sanctity, and if so, what is the nature of that sanctity? While there was no ritual role played by the daughters of kohanim in the Temple, perhaps they have some degree of inherent sanctity. And if so, does that sanctity accrue to them only when they are in their father’s household, or does it remain with them after they are married?

In his teshuvah, Rabbi Roth points to three areas in Jewish law in which daughters of kohanim retain their rights even when they are no longer living in their fathers’ households. In other words, does a kohen’s daughter become a regular Israelite after she gets married?

One of the perquisites of the priesthood was the right to eat Terumah, a kind of Temple tax that Israelites gave. Remember, kohanim could not own land, so they relied upon farmers for their sustenance. Terumah is in a status called hekdesh, sanctified, and can only be eaten by kohanim and their households. If someone else consumes hekdesh, they have to pay for what they ate, plus a penalty.

When a bat kohen marries an Israelite, she loses her right to eat Terumah. If she does so inadvertently, however, the Mishnah clarifies that she does not pay the penalty that an Israelite would have to pay. Why not? This morning’s Torah portion states “no stranger may eat the sacred food.” Since she is not a ‘stranger’ to Terumah, she does not have to pay the penalty. (Sifra Emor 6:2)

Another perquisite of kohanim were the matanot kehunah, the gifts for the priests. According to the Talmud, a bat kohen retains her rights to eat these gifts even after she gets married and leaves her father’s household. (Rashi on BT CHullin 131b)

The final case speaks of both daughters of kohanim and leviim. According to the Torah, a first-born male child belongs to God. It must, therefore, be bought back, or redeemed, by God’s representative, a kohen. This occurs during a ceremony called pidyon haben. Parents give five silver shekels to a priest on the thirtieth day if their first-born child is a boy. There are exceptions. The son of a kohen, a levi, a bat kohen, and a bat levi do not have to be redeemed.

A Talmudic Sage explicitly ties this exemption to the actual womb of the mother. Exodus states, “whatever opens the womb among the children Israel.” In other words, there is something inherently holy about the womb of a bat levi and a bat kohen.

On a related note, a Talmudic anecdote refers to the Israelite husband of a bat kohen who regularly accepted the five silver coins for pidyon haben on account of his wife’s status. (Tosafot on BT Pesachim 49a)

These are three examples of ways in which a bat kohen has inherent sanctity that is not limited to when she is under her father’s household.

So if the approximately two thousand year old tradition of the first aliyah going to a kohen is based on the inherent sanctity of a kohen, independent of his service in the Temple, and if a bat kohen also has a measure of inherent sanctity, there are grounds for an egalitarian service to include any child of a kohen for the first aliyah.

But should we?

Historically, questions such as these have been difficult for Congregation Sinai. I arrived here shortly after the community decided to become egalitarian. Part of that decision, as many of you know, involved a compromise whereby our liturgy retained many of the elements of a traditional service while including women in the minyan and in leadership. The resulting traditional egalitarian service was one of the things that drew me to Congregation Sinai.

These are important values for me. Sometimes, a conflict arises between values.

There have been incredible advances in gender equity. While not all the way there, we do not tolerate, by law or by accepted social norms, discrimination on the basis of gender in the workplace, in politics, or in society. Denying a person a job or advancement because of their gender is not only illegal, we now understand it to be wrong and immoral.

Today, a religion that does not give women the same opportunities as men must deal with a dilemma: Why do we accept something in our house of worship that would be intolerable out in the world? Any community that holds on to non-egalitarian practices must have an answer to that question.

That answer will be acceptable for some folks, and will most certainly be disappointing to others.

In the context of our practices at Congregation Sinai, the question of calling up the daughter of a kohen or levi for the first two aliyot is a really minor issue. It affects an incredibly small portion of our membership, and does not involve any change in our liturgy. It is now many years that we have called up men and women equally to the Torah.

That is why I have decided, as the Rabbi of Congregation Sinai, that we will begin to call up daughters of kohanim and leviim for the first two aliyot during services. This brings us in line with the practices in a majority of Conservative synagogues.

This ruling applies to any person born Jewish whose father is a kohen. Like b’nei kohanim, A bat kohen cannot received aliyot two through seven, and like b’nei leviim, a bat Levi cannot receive the first aliyah, nor aliyot three through seven.

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Rabbi Josh Berkenwald

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May 7, 2022

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Lo Ta’ashok – Do Not Oppress Your Fellow – Kedoshim 5782

Parashat Kedoshim opens with the command, “You shall be holy, for I, the Lord your God, and holy. Followed are mitzvot, positive and negative commandments, that define for us what that path of holiness looks like. Included are many ethical imperatives relating to the way we treat one another in daily life.

Kedoshim recognizes that we live in a broken world. There is social and economic inequality, people who behave dishonestly, and loads of selfishness and spite. Nevertheless, or perhaps even because of this brokenness, we have the capacity to be holy. Indeed, it might be the central religious imperative of the Torah.

Many of the commandments in Kedoshim are as urgent today as they have ever been.

לֹֽא־תַעֲשֹׁ֥ק אֶת־רֵֽעֲךָ֖
וְלֹ֣א תִגְזֹ֑ל…
You shall not oppress your fellow
You shall not commit robbery…
Leviticus 19:13

These two commandments are juxtaposed in other places in the Torah as well. They are clearly a pair, but have their own distinct meanings. What is the difference between oppression and robbery?

In his Mishnah Torah, Maimonides differentiates them in opposite order. Gezel, robbery, is when a person takes another person’s property by force, whether I take it out of your hand, or enter your property, whether objects or animals. Even if I enter a field and eat the produce. This is all considered to be gezel – robbery.

Oshek, oppression, occurs when a person has something belonging to another person already in their possession, with the owner’s knowledge and consent, but then refuses to return it when called upon to do so. Maimonides gives examples such as a loan or wages. The rightful owner is unable to claim the property back because the possessor is dangerous or stubborn. Oppression, therefore, is when I already have in my possession something that belongs to someone else, but I refuse to return it.

A Talmudic Sage, Rav Chisda, illustrates oshek in the following way: I borrow money from you, and you knock on my door to collect it. I say, “Go away and come back tomorrow.” So you come back tomorrow, and again I say, “Go away and come back later.” (BT Bava Metzia 111a)

Not only have I refused to give you what is rightfully yours. I have also wasted your time and added to your frustration.

A story is told in Midrash Mekhilta (Mishpatim 18) about two Rabbis who are captured by the Romans during the Hadriatic persecutions.

As they are being taken to their execution, Rabbi Shimon turns to Rabbi Yishmael and says: “Rebbi, my heart is faint, for I do not know why I am going to be killed.”

He is looking for theological meaning for his death. He must have done something, he assumes. There must be some sin on his soul to explain his suffering and approaching death.

So Rabbi Yishmael asks him: “Did anyone ever come to you for judgment or a ruling and you kept them waiting while you finished your drink or put on your shoes, or got dressed? The Torah says “If afflict you afflict” (Ex. 22:22). It does not matter whether it is greater or lesser.

Realizing that, indeed, there have been times when he made those who came for counsel wait for him to fulfill his own needs, Rabbi Shimon is satisfied. “You have consoled me, Rebbi,” he replies to his teacher, as he continues on to his death.

This might not be a satisfactory explanation for you or I, but Rabbi Shimon is on a different level. This midrash understands oppression in terms of time. Valuing one’s own time more than another’s, withholding a service that another person is counting on, is considered a form of oppression.

Nechama Leibovitz shares an anecdote of when, in the 1930’s, the renowned labor leader Berl Katzenelson admonished officials from the Histadrut (the Labor Union), the Kupat Holim (the Health Service), and civil servants generally, for the malpractice of withholding service during official office hours. Apparently, there was a widespread practice of putting up “will be back soon” signs while the employees sat around drinking tea. This was disrespectful of the public’s time, a form of oppression, withholding services from people who needed them.

A passage in Kohelet, Ecclesiastes, laments that the victims of oppression are usually alone and powerless.

I further observed all the oppression that goes on under the sun: the tears of the oppressed, with none to comfort them; and the power of their oppressors—with none to comfort them.
Ecclesiastes 4:1

In his typical fatalistic way, the author does not condemn the oppressors, nor does he encourage his readers to act to lift up the oppressed. He is simply describing the way of the world. Thus it has always been, and thus it will continue to be.

The late eighteenth century Rabbi and early Enlightenment scholar, Naftali Hertz Weisel, connects the oppression described by Ecclesiastes to the commandment not to oppress one’s fellow. “Oppression,” he says,

is exercised by the strong against the weak, as in [and here he quotes the passage from Ecclesiastes,] “I further observed all the oppression that goes on under the sun: the tears of the oppressed, with none to comfort them; and the power of their oppressors—with none to comfort them.” This is the meaning of oppression throughout Scripture…

Let’s try to bring these ideas into the present. A mitzvah contained in the holiness code prohibits us from holding on to money or possessions that belong to another person. The Torah describes this as oshek, oppression. The Rabbis take this very seriously, and extend the mitzvah to include not only things, but time as well. I am not allowed to make someone wait who is counting on me. Recognized since ancient times, the victims of this kind of oppression are almost always the poor and the powerless.

In the complex society and global economy in which we live today, navigating ‘the system’ is so much harder for some people than for others. Access to the resources which, in the modern era, are considered to be fundamental human rights, is not the same for everyone. This is true whether we are talking about a person’s ability to receive quality health care, reproductive services, or education; to obtain healthy food, breath clean air, and drink safe water.

לֹֽא־תַעֲשֹׁ֥ק אֶת־רֵֽעֲךָ֖ – “Do not oppress your fellow,” calls upon me to ask myself, what is in my possession, literally and figuratively, that ought to be available to my neighbor as well, regardless of wealth or status?

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Rabbi Josh Berkenwald

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March 5, 2022

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Unknown Departures and Journeys – Pekudei 5782

Don Isaac Abarbanel was one of the most prominent Jews who ever lived. Born in 1437, he was an accomplished Torah scholar from a young age. He knew Latin, Greek, philosophy, astronomy, and mathematics. He was extremely adept at finance, and in 1471 he became the royal treasurer of Portugal in the court of Alphonso V. He would later hold the same position in the Spanish court of Ferdinand and Isabella, where he tried, unsuccessfully, to prevent the expulsion of Jews from Spain. In exile, he was later drafted to serve in the court of the King of Naples.

Abarbanel was also a regular teacher in synagogue, and a book of his commentaries to the Bible is based on his public lectures. One of his personal causes was securing the release of Jews who had been taken captive and held for ransom. I would like to read a letter that he wrote in 1472 to a friend of his, Yehiel of Pisa, a wealthy Italian Jew known for his philanthropy.

In his letter, Abarbanel was referring to Jews in Morocco who had been taken captive by Portuguese slave traders. Sadly, this was not a rare occurence for Jews.

Dear Yechiel of Pisa,
I would like to tell you about events that have taken place among the Jews of our region.
The King, long may he live, gathered some ships and sailors to travel to Africa, where he conquered territories and fought in the city of Arzila. Thank God, no Jews died, but two hundred and fifty were captured – men, women and children – and they are hungry, thirsty, naked and much in need.
When we saw the children of Zion sold as slaves and servants, we, the leaders of the Jewish community of Portugal, decided to call for their freedom and pay the ransom for their release.
Like the twelve tribes of Israel, we sent twelve emissaries, myself included, from city to city and country to country to take the children of Israel out of “ Egypt” and collect money to pay for their ransom.
Thus far, we have ransomed two hundred and twenty of the captives for a large sum of money – ten thousand gold coins. As all their property has been stolen and they lack clothing and food, we must provide for all their needs.
We have thirty prisoners yet to ransom, who have fallen into the hands of very harsh masters.
This is a brief account of the events that we have been struggling with day and night.
On hearing this, all Jews will be outraged and profoundly moved.
Yitzhak Ben Yehuda Abarbanel

Coming to the rescue of Jews in need, wherever in the world they happen to be living, has always been considered a central religious obligation. Maimonides wrote that “there is no commandment greater than the ransom of prisoners.”

I do not know for certain whether Yehiel of Pisa responded to Abarbanel’s appeal for assistance, but I suspect he came through. Yehiel died in 1492, and his fortune was spent aiding Jews who had been expelled from Spain that same year.

As a people, we know about being forced to leave our homes and journey to often unknown lands. Most of the people in this room have stories in your family history, if you yourself did not personally experience such upheaval. Such stories go back our foundations as a people.

The Book of Exodus concludes with this morning’s Torah portion, Pekudei, as the Israelites complete the building of the Tabernacle. Everything is set up properly, the structure itself along with the Holy of Holies. All of the furniture is brought in and put in place.

Finally, when all is completed, “the cloud covered the Tent of Meeting, and the Presence of the Lord filled the Tabernacle.” We learn that whenever the cloud lifts, the Israelites know “to set out, on their various journeys.” But when it remains in place, it is an indication that they are to remain in place.

The final verse of the parashah, and the entire Book, summarizes this GPS – God Positioning System.

כִּי֩ עֲנַ֨ן יְהֹוָ֤ה עַֽל־הַמִּשְׁכָּן֙ יוֹמָ֔ם וְאֵ֕שׁ תִּהְיֶ֥ה לַ֖יְלָה בּ֑וֹ לְעֵינֵ֥י כׇל־בֵּֽית־יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל בְּכׇל־מַסְעֵיהֶֽם׃
For over the Tabernacle a cloud of the Lord rested by day, and fire would appear in it by night, in the view of all the house of Israel throughout their journeys.
Exodus 40:37

Towards the end of the Book of Numbers, when the Israelites have nearly reached their final destination, Moses records all of the Israelites’ journeys over the previous forty years – specifying every stop along the way.

וַיִּכְתֹ֨ב מֹשֶׁ֜ה אֶת־מוֹצָאֵיהֶ֛ם לְמַסְעֵיהֶ֖ם עַל־פִּ֣י יְהוָֹ֑ה וְאֵ֥לֶּה מַסְעֵיהֶ֖ם לְמוֹצָאֵיהֶם:
Moses recorded their departures for their journeys as directed by the Lord. And these are their journeys, according to their departures.
Numbers 33:2

Notice that the word order of “departures” – motza’eihem – and “journeys” – mas’eihem – switches.

The sixteenth century Italian Rabbi, Seforno, comments on these journeys. He explains that “sometimes the starting points were good places and the points for which they set out were bad ones, sometimes the opposite; in either case, the Israelites had no advance knowledge of when and where they were to travel—yet they never refused to go.” Seforno then explains that setting forth on a new journey and arriving at a new place are each difficult actions in and of themselves, something that he may have had personal knowledge about, as he spent part of his own life poor and on the road.

How true that is. It is hard to begin a new journey, to leave the place that you have known. It is all the more difficult when the destination is unknown. And arrival at someplace new does not mean the end of difficulties. Anyone who has had to immigrate to a new land knows this from personal experience.

Seforno’s insight is that the Israelites, despite such difficulties, were always willing to follow where God’s Presence directed them. And we know how difficult it was for them. Perhaps he is glossing over some of those challenging moments in the Torah when the Israelites longed to return to slavery in Egypt rather than face a dangerous and uncertain fate in the wilderness.

They had difficulty adjusting to new lands, new cultures and people with different practices and beliefs.

We are right now witnessing a human tragedy unfold in Ukraine. As we pray here this morning, more than one million civilians, mostly women and children, have already become refugees in less than two weeks. The UN is expecting that number to continue to rise many times over. So far, other European countries are accepting them, but there are long lines at the borders as people fleeing for their lives wait for their requests for asylum to be processed.

Meanwhile, countries and organizations have mobilized to ship humanitarian aid, food, clothing, temporary shelters, and medical supplies for the millions of people who are unable to leave or who have chosen to stay.

Of course, as we know, there are many Jews living in Ukraine, who are among those faced with the choice of staying or leaving. Just yesterday, 120 Jewish orphans in Odessa were able to be evacuated to after a harrowing bus journey through Moldova, Hungary, Slovakia, and the Czech Republic on their way to Berlin.

Israel has already received over 1,500 refugees, around ten percent of whom are eligible for Israeli citizenship under the law of return. Ayelet Shaked, the Interior Minister, said that Israel is preparing to accept 100,000 refugees. And it has sent supplies and mobile hospital units.

If there is one mitzvah that the State of Israel embraces wholedheartedly, which brings together Jews of all political stripes and religious perspectives, it is the redemption of captive Jews. Indeed, this was one of the primary motivations that has and continues to drive Zionism.

We are far away, and it would be easy to not let this refugee crisis affect us. But I urge us not to ignore it. Kol Yisrael Arevim Zeh LaZeh – All of Israel are interdependent on one another.

The easiest way to help is exactly the same as what Abarbanel asked of Yechiel of Pisa. It is our religious duty to help fund the relief and rescue efforts. There are many ways to do so. The APJCC is collecting new items. There is a list, so please check it first. You can donate money to many organizations that are supporting or are actively working on the ground. Some include United Hatzalah, Israaid, The Schechter Institute, and others.

We continue now with a prayer for peace.

Posted by

Rabbi Josh Berkenwald

Posted on

March 1, 2022

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Divrei Torah (Weekly Sermons)

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1200 Years of Jews in Ukraine

I have been thinking a lot about my grandmother this week. Baba Fania, zikhra livracha, was born in a city called Kamenets-Podolsk, in Ukraine. She moved with her family to Kremenchug when she was a girl.

Her father died when she was young, so she and her sisters were left to be raised by her mother, my great grandmother, Chana. It was the 1930’s and so she received a good Soviet education, in Yiddish. She came home one day and told her mother that there was no God. Her mother smacked her, and declared emphatically, “I don’t care what they are telling you out there. In this house, there is a God.”

As I was eating challah last night, I was thinking of a story that she told. At times, they could not get any eggs. In order to get the golden color, they would take used tea bags and brush them over the dough.

My Baba escaped from Ukraine in 1941, just before the Nazis came into town. Her sisters and mother did not make it out, and were murdered along with the rest of her family. Dana and I named our son after my grandmother’s cousin, who died in the Holocaust.

Over the last several days, as we have observed the tragedy unfolding in Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, I have been thinking a lot about my Baba Fania. I have never been to Ukraine, but it is has felt very personal to me. I know that I must have distant relatives there, who are surely fearing for their lives. I do not know how far back my own family’s history extends, but for sure it is many centuries.

The history of Jews in Ukraine is a long one, and has gone through dramatic ups and downs, often at the same time.

Jews first arrived in Ukraine in the eighth century as refugees fleeing from the Byzantine Empire, Persia, and Mesopotamia. The earliest written reference to Jews in Galicia, Western Ukraine, is from 1030 CE.

Some time in the centuries that followed, the territory that is today modern Ukraine was taken over by the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. As part of their administration, they would settle wealthy Polish Catholic nobles in Ukraine, and then encourage Jews to immigrate and serve as merchants. Jewish life prospered financially and culturally, and the population grew.

As might be expected, the local Ukrainian population, which was Eastern Orthodox, was kept in serfdom.

Resentment grew until, in 1648, as the Kingdom faced growing internal and external threats, Bogdan Chmelnytsky launched a Cossack rebellion. This led in 1651 to the incorporation of Ukraine by the Russian Tsar as a protectorate.

The Chmelnytsky revolt was devastating. Blaming the Poles for selling them “as slaves into the hands of the accursed Jews,” the Ukrainian Cossacks and Crimean Tatars murdered between fifteen and thirty thousand Jews and destroyed three hundred Jewish communities. The population declined dramatically, as many more Jews fled as refugees or died of disease and starvation.

But within a few decades, the tide would turn. The early 18th century saw the birth of Yisrael ben Eliezer, otherwise known as the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Chasidism. Heavily influenced by Kabbalah, Jewish mysticism, Chasidism was incredibly popular and spread through much of Eastern Europe, making a huge and lasting impact on Ashkenazi Jewry.

By the end of the 18th century, the Russian Empire had completely annexed Ukraine, which created a problem, as Jews were not permitted to live in Russia. This led Catherine the Great to create the Pale of Settlement, which encompassed, among other areas, all of present day Ukraine.

Jewish life thrived through the eighteen hundreds, with the population growing and Jewish religious and cultural life expanding. At the same time, antisemitism was brutal. In 1881, Jews were falsely blamed for the assassination of Tsar Alexander II. With the encouragement of the authorities, pogroms were launched against Jewish communities throughout the Pale of Settlement, including in Ukraine.

Tsar Alexander III introduced the May Laws in 1882 that imposed systematic discrimination against Jews, establishing quotas for educational and professional positions. This led to even more widespread poverty and mass emigration. The 1886 edict of Expulsion forced the removal of Jews living in Kyiv.

Another intense wave of pogroms in 1905 led to another wave of emigration. Multiple blood libels cases occurred between 1911 and 1913.

For context, this is the time period of Fiddler on the Roof. A lot of new ideas were spreading through Europe at this time, and Jews were attracted to some of the new ideologies that suggested an answer to the problems they were facing, that seemed to never go away. Jewish thinkers and revolutionaries were attracted to ideals of the enlightenment and internationalism. Jewish revolutionaries embraced socialism and became Communists. Others embraced Zionism, with many making aliyah to Palestine.

After World War One, during a short time period of 1917 to 1921, while the Russian Revloution was taking place, the Ukrainian People’s Republic presented a hopeful, albeit short-lived, moment for Jews. It was an independent socialist state that emerged in the wake of the Bolshevik Revolution. Yiddish was an official language, even appearing on currency. All government posts and institutions had Jewish members and all rights of Jewish culture were guaranteed. It was the first government to establish a Ministry for Jewish Affairs.

But the backlash was severe. Anti-communist Ukrainian nationalists went to war against the Soviets, and in the process killed approximately one hundred thousand Jews in pogroms between 1918 and 1921.

By 1921, Ukraine had been conquered by the Soviets, becoming one of its republics. The 1920’s saw brutal efforts to eliminate Jewish religion and leave it with only a secular cultural identity, explaining why my grandmother learned in Yiddish that there was no God.

The Holocaust was devastating. More than one million Jews were murdered by the Nazis and many Ukrainian collaborators.

In 1941, there were 2.7 million Jews living in Ukraine. In 1959, that number was 840,000. By 1989, there were less than 500,000 Jews living in Ukraine.

Ukraine gained its independence in 1991, and this led to continued changes in the situation for Jews living there. Hundreds of thousands of Jews emigrated, most making aliyah to Israel.

At the same time, throughout the 1990’s, Jewish life began to reemerge. There was a lot of interest from Jewish communities in Israel and the West to support Ukrainian Jews and help them come back. The government has returned dozens of old synagogues and other buildings to the Jewish community which had been confiscated by the Nazis and the Soviets.

While antisemitism seems to have declined in the past thirty years, there have certainly been many instances of antisemitic attacks. A far right Ukrainian nationalist party gained more than ten percent of the popular vote in 2012. On the other hand, last year, in 2021, the Ukrainian Parliament adopted a new law defining antisemitism and providing compensation for victims.

Attempts to determine the number of Jews currently living in Ukraine are wildly varying. Questions of Jewish identity, after 70 years of Soviet suppression, make it difficult. A 2020 census estimated 43,000 self-identifying Jews, but 200,000 would qualify for aliyah under the Law of Return. The European Jewish Congress claims that there could be as many as four hundred thousand people with Jewish ancestry in Ukraine.

Most Jews live in the cities Kyiv, Dnipro, Kharkiv, and Odessa. Those who live in villages tend to be elderly, and extremely poor. There are multiple synagogues, Hebrew schools, day schools, mikvaot, kosher restaurants, and six Jewish community centers. There are Jewish summer camps, which were able to resume this past summer after closing for Covid restrictions.

Ten Jewish newspapers are published in Kyiv alone, four of which have circulations of more than ten thousand. A weekly television program, Yahad, is shown on state television.

Most of these Jewish institutions are run by Chabad-Lubavitch. The Reform movement is active in 20 cities.

The Conservative movement has also been active in Ukraine since independence. Through Masorti Olami, the global branch of the Conservative Movement, Ramah, and the Shechter Institute in Jerusalem, it runs programs supporting communities in multiple cities. It sponsors youth groups, and has been operated a Camp Ramah since the early 1990’s. There are several Masorti Rabbis serving Ukrainian communities.

Right now, some members of the Ukrainian Jewish community are fleeing to the West. Others are staying where they are, praying for peace and trying to survive. Not surprisingly, the Jewish Agency is receiving many inquiries lately about making aliyah.

And of course, we must mention Volodymyr Zelensky, who was elected President of Ukraine in 2019 with 73% of the vote. Zelensky is Jewish and the descendant of Holocaust survivors. At the time of his election, the Prime Minister of Ukraine happened to be Volodymyr Groysman, who is also Jewish. For a few months, Ukraine was the only country in the world other than Israel with a Jewish President and Prime Minister.

I encourage you to watch President Zelensky’s passionate appeal for peace to the people of Russia right before the invasion. I also encourage you to watch the forty second selfie video that he took with other members of his government on the streets of Kyiv Friday night as the city was preparing for being attacked. He insisted that they are not going anywhere. If you have not seen them, I encourage you to do so. And keep in mind the long history of Jews in Ukraine. To see the Jewish President of Ukraine speaking so courageously on behalf of all Ukrainians is astounding. It gave me chills to watch it. After over a thousand years, with all of its ups and downs, to see this, someone courageously standing up in the face of brutality and such danger is incredible.

If you have the capacity to do so, there are organizations that are trying to support people in Ukraine who are fleeing, and there will certainly be a tremendous need to support refugees in the months ahead.

I made a donation yesterday to Masorti Olami. The immediate cause they were trying to support was a group of one hundred fifty children who had fled to Lviv, in Western Ukraine.

I would like to close with a prayer for peace that was delivered at a service hosted by the Masorti movement on Thursday night.

Rebyehoshua

Sermons and Other Writings by Rabbi Josh Berkenwald

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The Sound of the Snake – Chukat 5782

Abortion – It’s Personal

Rise, O Daughters of Priests and Levites – Emor 5782

Lo Ta’ashok – Do Not Oppress Your Fellow – Kedoshim 5782

Unknown Departures and Journeys – Pekudei 5782

1200 Years of Jews in Ukraine