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August 31, 2025

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Guardians at the Gates – Shoftim 5875

The opening verse of this morning’s Torah portion is:

שֹׁפְטִ֣ים וְשֹֽׁטְרִ֗ים תִּֽתֶּן־לְךָ֙ בְּכׇל־שְׁעָרֶ֔יךָ אֲשֶׁ֨ר ה֧׳ אֱלֹקֶ֛יךָ נֹתֵ֥ן לְךָ֖ לִשְׁבָטֶ֑יךָ וְשָׁפְט֥וּ אֶת־הָעָ֖ם מִשְׁפַּט־צֶֽדֶק׃ 

You shall appoint judges and officers in all of your gates, in all the settlements that the LORD your God is giving you, and they shall judge the people with due justice. (Deuteronomy 16:18)

Rashi, the author of our go-to study guide for the Torah, understands this verse in a straightforward sense. Moses is instructing the Israelites to appoint judges, and court officers who will enforce their judgments, in every city, in all of the tribal regions in the Promised Land that the Israelites are about to inherit. The text continues with specific instructions for those judges and officers to judge justly, to not accept bribes or play favorites.

For any society to operate with trust and social cohesion, having just officials who administer the law impartially is a necessity. While the opening of our parashah may seem obvious, its fulfillment is far from a given. 

But there is a grammatical detail that Rashi, and many of the commentators, ignore. Moses delivers his instructions in the second person, singular. “You” – just you – “shall appoint magistrates and officials…”

Who is Moses talking to? Which individual has the authority and ability to make all of these appointments? Is it a grammatical mistake? Is it a collective “you?”

Our Etz Ḥayim Ḥumash refers to a teaching by Isaiah ben Jacob Ha’Levi Horowitz, who understands Moses’ instruction as metaphorically applying to each one of us, individually.

Horowitz lived in the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Originally from Prague, he made aliyah to Eretz Yisrael in 1621, moving to Jerusalem, where he was appointed the leader of the Ashkenazi community living there. After he was taken hostage and ransomed, Horowitz moved North to Tsfat and T’veriah, in 1625.

Horowitz wrote his magnum opus, Shnei Luchot HaBrit, as a kind of ethical will. His son later published it in his father’s name. Horowitz is known as the Sh’lah, after the acronym of his famous work. Shnei Luchot HaBrit had a tremendous influence on Ashkenazi Judaism, particularly Hassidism, and popularized many kabbalistic ideals.

Drawing on the opening verse in this morning’s Torah portion, the Shlah cites an ancient kabbalistic teaching that identifies seven gateways to the human soul: two eyes, two ears, one mouth, and two nostrils. To these seven gateways, the Shlah adds two additional orifices that are a bit lower down. He says that the opening verse of our parashah alludes to a moral imperative on the individual.[i]

We must guard these seven (or nine) gateways with extreme care, he says. To what we see with our eyes, what we hear with out ears, what we speak or ingest with our mouths, and the anger which flares from our nostrils. He adds a bit more about our lower gateways, but I am going to skip over those details this morning.

In short, he concludes, these are the gateways of the body, over which one must appoint for oneself judges and officers who will constantly judge oneself. This is the reason the Torah added the words titein l’kha, “place for yourself,” in the singular. Moses is speaking to each one of us.

What the Shlah does not say explicitly is that Parashat Shoftim always occurs on the first Shabbat of the month of Elul. This is the month when we begin our spiritual preparation for the High Holidays, when we engage in Cheshbon NaHefesh, taking account of our souls, as a necessary step in the process of teshuvah, repentance.

The Shlah focuses mostly on what comes out of our soul’s gateways. By controlling how we interact with the physical world around us, he points out, we can keep ourselves from sin and achieve a state of peace, holiness, and purity.

Lately, I have found myself troubled much more by a kind of input into my soul that the Shlah could never have imagined, an input that I fear is having a terrible impact on me. Specifically, the digital content that pervades nearly every waking moment of my life.

I am not going to go through all of the evidence of how harmful our screens are to us. We know that they are harmful to our children’s learning and development. And while parents struggle to place some limits on our kids’ screen use, many of us know that we are just as addicted.

By this point, we know it is bad for our mental health and our social interactions, our relationships with family members and friends. Our attention spans and our patience. We know that book reading is down and loneliness is up. 

We know how social media drives us into echo chambers and exacerbates polarization. We know, intellectually, that the content that appears on our news feed, our Instagram reel, Tik Tok, Facebook, and whatever other social media platforms we use are driven by algorithms designed to feed us content that is tailor-made to keep our eyes glued as long as possible.

This system has us paying for the device and the internet connection. This entry fee grants us the right to have our attention sold as a product to the advertiser.

I see the ad. I recognize it for the click-bait that it is. I know that it likely contains something malicious. And I click on it anyways.

How many of us have had the experience of having a verbal conversation with someone and then, within a short time, we start receiving ads for the very thing we were talking about?

The rapid rise of ChatGPT and the other generative language AI platforms has introduced even more potentially isolating and dehumanizing dimensions to our lives. The amount of computer-generated content that enters through our gateways keeps rising, while our ability to distinguish what is human from what is AI-generated decreases.

To be clear, I am not anti-technology. The advances that we have seen are incredible, and offer the possibility to improve human life and flourishing, to combat disease and poverty, to help us solve the greatest social and global challenges.

The technology itself is not inherently good or evil. That depends on us. We get to decide how to use it – and how not to. The nature of fast-changing technology makes it very difficult to impose top-down guardrails and restrictions. 

My hope is that enough of us can get sufficiently fed up with the harmful uses of these devices that we begin to impose guardrails on our own use, and then the way that they are used begins to change for the better.

Although he never would have imagined his words being used in such a way, the Shlah’s interpretation of our parashah is entirely fitting to the present moment. It is up to each of us to appoint judges and officers over the gateways of our souls.

Over the next month, as we prepare for the High Holidays, this is what I will be working on. My Cheshbon HaNefesh will be taking stock of how I am utilizing technology, how the content that it feeds me is impacting my soul, and how I can better empower my own judges and officers. I invite you to join me. 

[i] Torah Shebikhtav, Shoftim, Derekh Chayim

שופטים ושוטרים תתן לך בכל שעריך (דברים טז, יח). בכאן יש רמז מוסר להא דתנן בספר יצירה, שבעה שערים הם בנפש, שתי עינים, שתי אזנים, והפה, ושני נקבי האף, עד כאן לשונו. והוא חושב השערים שהם בראש של אדם. אמנם יש שער לברית המעור, וגם כן פה התחתון, וצריך האדם להיות שומר השערים דהיינו הראיה והשמיעה והדיבור והכעס היוצא מאף. ג”כ צריך לשמור שער ברית הקודש שלא יצא זרע כי אם לקדושה. גם פה התחתון שלא ימלא כריסו כבהמת קיא צואה. ועל אלו השערים ישים האדם לעצמו שופטים ושוטרים, כלומר שישפוט את עצמו תמיד. זהו תיבת לך שאמר תתן לך, וישגיח תמיד שלא יהיה שם שום עבירה, כי כמעט אלו המקומות מקום שלום, ויהיו תמיד בקדושה ובטהרה: 

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August 21, 2025

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Saying Thank You Is Not Enough – Ekev 5785

Moses is speaking to the Israelites from the Eastern side of the Jordan River. He is preparing them to enter the Promised Land without him. Throughout the book of Deuteronomy, he worries about the new challenges that the people will face as they transition from wandering in the desert to settling in the Promised Land. So he tries to set them up for success.

Moses reiterates how, during the past forty years, God has provided for all of their needs. They ate manna from heaven. Their clothes never wore out, and their feet did not swell. God’s providence was immediate and direct. As a result, the people were constantly aware of their dependence on God for daily survival.

All of this will change when they cross the Jordan.  First, the good news. The land is “a good land, a land with streams and springs and fountains issuing from plain and hill; a land of wheat and barley, of vines, figs, and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and honey, a land where you may eat food without stint, where you will lack nothing; a land whose rocks are iron and from whose hills you can mine copper.”

In other words, the Israelites will no longer need to rely on God’s miraculous daily beneficence. Their prosperity will now come from the land itself. And so Moses instructs them: “When you have eaten your fill, give thanks to the Lord your God for the good land which He has given you.” V’achalta v’sava’ta u’verachta. This is the basis of the obligation to recite Birkat Hamazon – the grace after meals. It is a reminder, recited multiple times a day, that one of the most mundane activities of which we take part, eating, is a manifestation of Divine grace. 

But Moses knows that this will be insufficient. In the very next verse, he offers a warning against what will inevitably follow success and prosperity. Hishamer L’kha – “Take care.”  Literally, “Guard yourselves, lest you forget the Lord your God and fail to keep His commandments, His rules and His laws, which I command you today.”

Moses predicts that when the Israelites become wealthy and successful, they will forget all about God who brought them out of Egypt and sustained them through the wilderness.  Their hearts will become haughty, and they will say to themselves, “My own power and the might of my own hand have won this wealth for me.” This attitude will ultimately lead to their downfall. They will suffer the same fate as the Canaanite nations who dwelt there beforehand.

In these brief verses, Moses expresses two opposite views of human character. In the first, he sets a perfectly reasonable expectation on the Israelites to give thanks to God when we eat. To acknowledge and praise the ultimate source of blessing in our lives. It seems to me that this is a fairly easy commandment to follow. Observant Jews do not seem to have too much difficulty reciting brachot over food. We’ll be doing exactly that for kiddush in a few minutes. 

But then, immediately afterwards, Moses all but admits that it is not going to work. Either we are going to forget to express our gratitude altogether. Or, our expressions of gratitude will not matter, and we will succumb to hubris, crediting all of our success to our own efforts and hard work.

The commentator Nachmanides explains Moses’ warning. The Israelites will forget about what it was like when they were enslaved in Egypt, when they did not have power and wealth. Back then, it was much more obvious that basic survival depended on God. But when they become successful, they will forget about those former times when they had no power. They won’t realize that the strength that enabled them to prosper came from God as well.

Moses’ predictions are born out in the biblical history of ancient Israel. It seems to me that they are pretty accurate depictions of basic human tendencies as well. We tend to relate to our material success as something we earned. Either because I worked really hard for it, or because I am just a really great person who deserves what I have, or because I am too lazy to really think about how I got to where I am. Moses warns that saying “Thank you” to God is not enough.

When kids are really young, we try to teach them to say thank you. I hand a treat to a toddler, and their parent says “What do you say?”  Don’t get me wrong, it is a valuable lesson, and an important habit to inculcate.

And, if I do something nice for someone, and they do not acknowledge it, it can feel pretty bad.  Like I have been taken for granted. 

Something I have learned in my house is that saying “thank you” by itself doesn’t really matter. Thanks are expressed through actions.

My spouse makes a beautiful meal. After enjoying it, I look deep into her eyes, utter a most heartfelt “thank you for that wonderful dinner. I especially loved how you slow roasted the brussels sprouts.” And then I walk over to the couch and start watching TV while the dirty dishes are all over the kitchen.

This is all purely hypothetical, of course. 

Moses’ instructions to the Israelites are also quite simple.  Gratitude is expressed through actions. This is a theme that Moses returns to over and over again. The way for the Israelites to express their gratitude for the blessings they enjoy is by following God’s commandments. But not only that.

Later on in the parashah, in another one of Moses’s warnings, he tells us to “cut away the thickening about your hearts and stiffen your necks no more. For the Lord your God is God supreme and Lord supreme, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God, who shows no favor and takes no bribe, but upholds the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and befriends the stranger, providing food and clothing.—You too must befriend the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”

Here, the counter to stubbornness and haughtiness is caring for the stranger. This is what the all-powerful God of the universe wants from us.

Moses draws the contrast between an attitude of self-importance, stubborness, and entitlement on the one hand – and gratitude, observance of the commandments, and caring for the weak and powerless on the other.

Almost three and a half thousand years later, not much has changed. 

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February 5, 2025

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מִי וָמִי הָהוֹלְכִים – Who and who are going – Bo 5785

We are thankful for the freedom from captivity on Thursday of Gadi Mozes, Arbel Yehoud, and Agam Berger, along with Pongsak Thenna, Sathian Suwannakham, Watchara Sriaoun, Bannawat Seathao and Surasak Lamnau.

And for the release today of Keith Siegel, Ofer Calderon, and Yarden Bibas. May they find healing of body and spirit in the days and weeks ahead. And may those who remain hostage be returned to their families speedily and without delay.

We are reminded, during these tense and perilous times, of the Jewish values of making sure everyone is included. This is a value that finds expression in this morning’s Torah portion, Parashat Bo. The first seven plagues have struck Egypt.

At this point, Pharaoh is under pressure from the Egyptian court to let the Israelites go. So he summons Moses and Aaron back to the palace and orders: “Go serve the Lord your God!” He seems to have given in. But then he asks: Mi va’mi ha’holkhim – “Who and who are the ones who will go?” (10:8)

 That’s a silly question. Has Moses not told him exactly who must be allowed to leave? Time after time, he has said something to the effect of “Thus said the Lord: Let My people go that they may worship Me.”

Nevertheless, Moses answers Pharaoh’s seemingly redundant question. 

With our young ones, with our elders we will go, 
with our sons and with our daughters, 
with our sheep and with our oxen we will go— 
for it is the Lord’s pilgrimage-festival for us.

Here, Moses adds a new element to his request. Never before has he specified who, exactly, is included by the term “My people.” Now he says it outright: our children, and elders, our sons and daughters, even our sheep and oxen. That is who is included in “My people.”

To this, Pharaoh claws back the permission he has just granted. No way will I let your children go with you. Just the men can go to worship the Lord.

What is the point of these word games? Why does Pharaoh insist on this verbal jousting. And why does Moses need to articulate what “My people” means.

According to Rabbi Shmuel Goldin, there is a deeper conversation taking place. Remember, Moses has not yet requested that the Israelites be freed from slavery and allowed to leave Egypt outright, even though we know that is God’s ultimate plan.

So now Pharaoh has agreed, in principle, to allow the three day holiday to take place outside of the land. How does Pharaoh, and the rest of Egyptian society, for that matter, think this is going to happen?

In Egyptian religion, and indeed, in every ancient religion, worshipping the deity was the domain of an elite priestly class. You may recall, at the end of the Book of Genesis, with Joseph as the vizier to an earlier Pharaoh, the Egyptian monarchy consolidates all land in the empire under the crown, except for the land holdings of the Egyptian priesthood. They are a powerful force to be reckoned with.

Access to the gods, religious worship, was the domain of a limited elite. The common people could not, and were not expected to, participate in the central observance. It is the king, the priests, the sorcerors who manage the relationship between people and the gods.

So when Pharaoh asks Moses “who, exactly, is going to go?” this is what he has in mind. The idea that the entire nation, including children even the animals, need to participate in the festival to God, is completely foreign to him. So when Moses answers the question in such an expansive way, Pharaoh takes personal offense.

But this too is part of God’s plan to introduce something new to the world. In just two chapters, when the Israelites assemble at the base of Mount Sinai, God will declare them to be a “kingdom of priests, a holy nation.”

The Exodus from Egypt begins a process of democratization of religion. Every Israelite will be able to participate in the worship of God. We see elements of this in this morning’s Torah portion, Parashat Bo. The Torah interrupts the Exodus story before the enactment of the tenth plague to tell us about the laws of Passover.

We learn that this is a holiday that is observed by the entire family. Nobody is left out. It does not require a priest or a Temple. It is observed in the home. Moses instructs the Israelites, us, to observe it as an institution for all time.

Three separate times, he emphasizes the obligation upon parents to teach their children about the symbolism of the rituals and what they represent. Maybe this sounds familiar.

And when your children ask you, ‘What do you mean by this rite?’ you shall say, ‘It is the passover sacrifice to the Lord, who passed over the houses of the Israelites in Egypt when smiting the Egyptians, but saved our houses.’

This is one of the sources of the parable of the Four Children in the Pesach Seder.

What is the grand moral of the story of the Exodus? We are used to it being a story of freedom, conveying the lesson that humans ought not enslave one another, that the condition to which we must strive is for all people to be free. Or perhaps it is the lesson to Pharaoh, Egypt, and the nations of the world – that no human is a God.

Here we learn another message: that every human being can stand in the presence of the divine. God is accessible to every human being. God’s revelation to the Jewish people includes every one of us, regardless of class, gender, or station. All must be included for our celebrations to be complete.

This is what we strive for in our synagogue. It is embedded in Jewish history and practice. And it is part of the culture that has driven our commitment to bringing home our brothers and sisters taken hostage in Gaza. 

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July 30, 2024

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Camp Ramah: A Bubble of Peace – Pinchas 5784

Dana and I had the wonderful opportunity to be away last Shabbat, as I completed a week as the Rabbi in Residence at Camp Ramah Galim. Galim means “waves,” which is a fitting name, given that the camp lies on a beachfront campus outside of Watsonville.

I am honored to serve on the Board of Directors for the past year and a half. My week started with a Sunday Board meeting, and then I got to stay. I would like to share with you a bit of what I experienced while I was there. 

Ramah Galim is the only Jewish, Zionist, Shomer Shabbat, kosher camp in Northern California. The camp continues to grow — this current summer is the biggest yet; and we just signed a ten year lease with the Monterey Bay Academy, which hosts us.

Campers at Ramah Galim sign up for one of four specialty tracks, which they attend most mornings. Afternoons bring everyone together for activities with their edot (age groups), kevutzot (groups), and the entire camp.

One specialty track is Yam – “ocean”.  Campers focus on learning about marine ecology, in addition to boogie boarding, surfing and other water activities. Campers in Etgar — “challenge” — go mountain biking, hiking, rockclimbing, farming, and other outdoor activities. Those in Al HaBamah — “on the stage” — write, rehearse and perform an original musical over the course of a two week session. I don’t know how they do it.

In addition, for the second summer, Ramah Galim has hosted the Ramah Sports Academy, which offers intensive training for basketball and soccer athletes.

I could go on about all of the wonderful aspects of Ramah Galim, but I want to focus on a few key experiences.

I am proud to share that Congregation Sinai sends more kids to Ramah than any other synagogue. There are twenty Sinai chanichim, campers, attending session three alone. If we add up campers who were at the first two sessions, we are proably in the 30-35 range. I haven’t run the numbers, but I suspect that this is at least 1/3 of all of the kids in the shul. Plus, we have four Sinai young adults serving as madrichim, or counselors. 

We have a scholarship fund at Sinai. This year, we provided more scholarship money for more kids than we ever have before. And I would love to see this expand.

As Rabbi in Residence, I get recruited to a number of different activities. 

Harga’ah means relaxation. Before bedtime, I might meet with an edah or a kevutzah to tell a story or teach a song.

I attend Tefilah with different edot, sometimes as a participant, and sometimes to lead or teach.

On Shabbat afternoon, I led a program for all of Nitzanim and Kochavim – third through sixth graders.

And on Shabbat morning, I led a learning session with staff.

Beyond this, I have the opportunity to simply participate in camp, interacting with campers and counselors, learning about them and occasionally answering “rabbinic” questions. I was also glad to be able to support our Sinai kids, who get a thrill to see “their rabbi” at camp.

This summer, there were also about 30 Israeli chanichim. Many of them are from the northern border and have not been living in their homes for the last nine months. The Education Minister just announced that schools from the evacuation zone will not be reopening in the fall. So these campers will again be attending makeshift schools that have been cobbled together near the hotels to which they have been evacuated.

For the second summer, there is a contingent of Ukrainian campers at Ramah Galim, who are here through a partnership with Maccabi.

All of these kids and staff come together to have a Jewish camp experience. And it is so wonderful. What strikes me about Ramah is how supportive and positive it is for everyone. It is meant to be joyful, experiential Judaism. Chanichim and madrichim are challenged to try new things, take on leadership roles, and have fun. 

As I mentioned earlier, among its core values, Camp Ramah is a Zionist camp. This comes through in so many ways. There is a large mishlachat, or contingent of Israeli staff.

Israeli flags fly everywhere. Announcements are made in Hebrew, and modern Hebrew words and expressions are woven into the camp experience. One of the most popular activites at Ramah is Israeli dancing, which takes place before most dinners, and on the beach after Havdallah.

Yom Yisrael is a day devoted to learning about and celebrating Israeli history, culture, and life. This year, it took on more somber tones. 

More important and impactful than all of the formal programming is the opportunity for Jews from Israel, America, Ukraine, and other communities to live together, get to know each other, become friends, and establish personal relationships. This is the best way to convey the Jewish value of achdut – unity.

At the end of last week’s parashah, the Moabites send in women to lure the Israelite men into commiting idolatry during an event which became known as “The sin of Ba’al Peor.”

To stop the ensuing catastrohe, Pinchas, grandson of Aaron, takes a spear and stabs an Israelite leader and a Moabitess.

As this morning’s parashah opens, God explicitly approves of Pinchas’ initiative, which “turned back [Divine] wrath from the Israelites.” In response, God grants him God’s “covenant of peace,” a covenant of priesthood for him and his descendants after him for all time.

The language in the Torah is unambiguously praiseworthy of Pinchas’ zealous violence. All of the medieval commentators approve of Pinchas’ actions.

It is a moment of crisis. Many Israelites, including leaders, are committing apostasy with the Moabite women. Thousands are dying in a plague. God has just instructed Moses to have all of the ringleaders impaled to turn aside Divine wrath. Pinchas is the one who takes action, stopping the idolatry, ending the plague, and saving the Israelites. He is a hero.

Why does he need a covenant of peace? The Talmud records a legend that the elders wanted to excommunicate Pinchas for taking matters into his own hands rather than going through a judicial process. God’s message to Moses, thus, is a counter to that effort, stating that Pinchas’ zealousness exactly matched God’s zealousness.

The medieval commentators suggest that the covenant of shalom is a promise of Divine protection from the possibility of retribution by the families of the people whom Pinchas impaled, or even from his fellow Israelites.

Modern commentators offer more psychological explanations. Naphtali Tz’vi Yehudah Berlin, known as the Netziv, lived in nineteenth century Russia. He writes in HaEmek Davar, his commentary on the Torah, that

In reward for turning away the wrath of the Holy Blessed One, God blessed him with the attribute of peace, that he should not be quick-tempered or angry.  Since, it was only natural that such a deed as Phinehas’ should leave in his heart an intense emotional unrest afterward, the Divine blessing was designed to cope with this situation and promised peace and tranquility of soul

In other words, Pinchas did what needed to be done. It was unquestionably the right move. But, it took a toll. God’s granting him a covenant of peace is about settling his soul so that Pinchas does not carry the trauma, the PTSD, if you will, with him, nor pass it on to his children.

Camp Ramah, this summer in particular, is playing such a role, particularly for the young adult staff who are there.

In part of the Chadar Ochel, the dining hall, there are posters up of people who have been killed since Oct. 7, as well as of hostages. All of them are personal friends and family members of staff members. Poetry and artwork by campers decorates the walls.

Outside of the Nachshonim bunkhouse, where the oldest campers live, there is a large “Free Hersh Goldberg” banner.

While October 7 and its aftermath certainly hovers over camp this summer, it has not taken over. Quite the opposite, in fact. Nobody knew what to expect before the summer. As it turns out, for the staff in particular, camp has been a respite.

I spoke with Israelis who who have spent much of the past year serving in the military.  Some are 20, 21, 22 years old, and have just completed their mandatory service. Others have had to put their careers on hold to serve in milluim, reserve units. Some saw combat directly. Others had to wait at home while loved ones were called up, not knowing when or whether they would be coming home. Many lost friends and family members on October 7 and during the war that followed. 

One young soldier who spoke with the Board of Directors was sent with his unit on the afternoon of October 7 to battle Hamas terrorists who had taken over a base. He lost several of his fellow soldiers that day, including his commanding officer, who led the charge. He was in tears as he shared his story with us.

Dana and I met with a group of Sollelim kids, going into seventh and eighth grades.  We visited them at their campsite in Monterey during intersession to play music and sing songs.  I let some of them play my guitar. I asked one talented kid where he was from. “Germany,” was his answer.

But that is not where he is from. He is from Ukraine and has only lived in Germany for the past two years. There are a couple of dozen Ukrainian Jewish kids who are at Camp Ramah, getting a break from a disrupted childhood that I cannot even imagine. 

Some of the American college students came to Ramah having experienced a different kind of trauma on their campuses. They described Camp Ramah as a kind of bubble where they did not have to worry about being visibly identified as Jewish, or think twice about what route to take while walking to the dining hall.

Camp is always a kind of bubble from the outside world. Usually, it is a bubble of joyful Jewish experience. This summer, in particular, it is serving as a bubble of love and support in the midst of extremely chaotic and threatening times.

I feel very blessed to have been able to spend a week inside this bubble of peace. I only wish that the world could always be like camp.

Shabbat Shalom.

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April 7, 2024

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The Silver Platter and the Ḥaredi Draft – Shemini 5784

On November 29, 1947, the United Nations voted on the partition plan. Soon after, Chaim Weitzman, who would become the first President of Israel, stated: “The state will not be given to the Jewish people on a silver platter.”

A few days later, the Israeli poet Natan Alterman published his famous poem in response, Magash HaKesef — “The Silver Platter.”

The earth grows still.
The lurid sky slowly pales over smoking borders.
Heartsick but still living,
A people stand by
To greet the uniqueness
Of the miracle.
Readied, they wait beneath the moon,
Wrapped in awesome joy before the light.
Then soon,
A girl and boy step forward,
And slowly walk before the waiting nation;
In work clothes and heavy-shod
They climb In stillness
Wearing still the dress of battle, the grime
Of aching day and fired night
Unwashed, weary until death, not knowing rest,
But wearing youth like dewdrops in their hair.
— Silently the two approach
And stand.
Are they of the quick or of the dead?
Through wondering tears, the people stare.
“Who are you, the silent two?”
And they reply:
“We are the silver platter
Upon which the Jewish State was served to you.”
And speaking, fall in shadow at the nation’s feet.
Let the rest in Israel’s chronicles be told.

Magash HaKesef appeared on December 19, 1947 in the newspaper Davar. This was before the War of Independence broke out. Alterman, in the midst of the joy and excitement engendered by the UN vote, anticipated the heavy price that would have to be paid.

This poem continues to be read each year as part of observances for Yom Hazikaron and Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israel’s Memorial Day and Independence Day.

This poem tragically captures the contract that is made by Israelis. Parents send their children to serve in the IDF, knowing that the existence of the state itself depends on it, knowing as well that for some of them, the ultimate price will be paid.

The official Yizkor, memorial prayer of the IDF does not begin with the traditional opening. A traditional Yizkor begins Yizkor Elohim – “May God remember.”  But the prayer invoking the memory of those who fell defending the State of Israel begins Yizkor am Yisrael – “May the nation of Israel remember.” God’s name does not appear once.

It is ironic that of all the issues roiling Israeli politics right now, with so many different groups calling for the government to resign – for different reasons – one of the leading issues that could bring down the government has to do with service in the IDF. The Haredim, the most fervently observant Jews in Israel, have by and large avoided serving in the Israel Defense Forces.

When I observe the debate over the question of the Hardei draft, I do so as an outsider, as someone who does not have to face these existential questions. America does not demand a lot from us. 

This Haredi draft exemption goes back to the founding of the state in 1948. David Ben Gurion, seeking a compromise to ensure stability in the new government, made a bargain with the small Haredi community at the time to exempt the 400 brightest Torah scholars from military service, as long as they remained studying in yeshiva full time as their full-time activity.

This was after Haredi communities in Europe had been decimated in the Holocaust. The goal was to try to build something back out of the ashes. The program was called Torah Umanuto – “Torah is his profession,” an expression taken from the Talmud.

For the first several decades, the numbers remained fairly steady. But over the last forty years, as the Haredi communities have grown exponentially and become involved politically, the numbers of exemptions have ballooned.

In 1974, 2.4% of eligible people were receiving Torah Umanuto deferalls. By 2012, it was 15%. Today, there are 63,000 draft eligible students receiving exemptions.

Governments have been trying to deal with the issue for the past twenty five years, and it now appears to have reached a breaking point.

Most non-Haredim oppose the Haredi draft exemptions, claiming that they should share the burden of protecting the state. There have been many commissions and proposals over recent decades, none of which have produced results.

Should funds for community institutions be tied to military service. Should citizenship and the right to vote itself be connected to entering the draft? Should military service be required for government employees, including those serving under the auspices of the Chief Rabbinate? These questions or part of wider issues having to do with pluralism in Israeli society and the integration of Haredim into the nation.

Why are they so adamant about not serving? First is the claim that their Torah study guarantees God’s protection of the state. Learning in yeshivah is itself a form of national service. Another fear is that sending their young people to serve in the army will expose them to all sorts of secular, ‘non-kosher’ influences. It will take them away from the influence of their Rabbis. Apparently, on the shidduch market, (matchmaking), the rare bachelor who does choose to serve has a more difficult time finding a good match.

After October 7, with war in Gaza and in the North, the military says that it needs more soldiers. Such heavy reliance on reservists for six months and counting means pulling older citizens away from their families and their jobs. It is no longer tenable, many argue, to allow tens of thousands of young Haredim to continue to sit out from national service.

This past week, a court appointed deadline passed that legally ended the exemptions. The only legal way to extend the exemptions would be for the Knesset to pass a law, which is not politically feasible. The government must immediately stop funding as many as 1,500 yeshivot with students who are refusing to serve.

At the moment, the Haredi politial parties who are part of the government are indicating that they are not going to leave the coalition. In their calculations, new elections would not improve their situation.

Haredi communities have been staging protests against the draft, with counter-protests by Israelis who are tired of bearing the cost, in both blood and money, of their refusal. They are demanding that Haredim share the burden of protecting the state.

I am thinking of the poem, “The Silver Platter.” There is a cost to having a nation. For the Haredim who refuse to serve, the cost they are afraid to pay is not their lives. It is their way of life, which they fear would be lost if they were forced to participate in what they view as the secular project of the state.

I am also thinking of this week’s Torah portion, Shemini, which includes the tragic story of the deaths of the High Priest Aaron’s two eldest sons, Nadav and Avihu. At the moment of glory, when the Tabernacle has just been inaugurated and Aaron and his sons anointed as priests, something awful transpires.

Nadav and Avihu offer up incense before the Lord using a strange fire. Flame erupts from out of the Holy of Holies and consumes them in an instant. We are not going to talk about what it was that they did or did not do. Aaron’s response is what concerns us.  Vayidom Aharon – “And Aaron was silent.” (Num. 10:4)

Moses begins ordering Aaron, his remaining sons, and cousins around, making sure that they attend to Nadav and Avihu’s corpses properly, as well as complete the dedication of the Tabernacle. The mission must go on.

Thinking that they have made a mistake, Moses becomes angry and accosts Eleazar and Itamar, which pushes Aaron to his breaking point. He intervenes on their behalf. “See, this day they brought their sin offering and their burnt offering before the Lord, and such things have befallen me!” (10:19)

Aaron has paid the ultimate price – the deaths of his children. Why does he bear his grief with such stoicism? Perhaps he knows that he is part of something greater – a national project from which he cannot turn away – even in this moment when he should be mourning. His loss is part of the unspoken agreement.

600 soldiers, officers, and reservists, and 61 police officers have been killed since October 7. 256 of them have died in the course of the ground invasion into Gaza, sent to eliminate Hamas.

Most recently was Staff Sergeant Nadav Cohen, 20 years old, from Haifa, who was killed fighting in southern Gaza as part of the 7th Armored Brigade’s 77th Battalion.

Their lives are added to the silver platter. Yehi Zikhram Barukh. May their memories be a blessing.

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March 3, 2024

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Israel Needs Us – For the Future of Judaism Itself – Ki Tissa 5784

I returned on Sunday from the South Bay Solidarity Mission to Israel. Nineteen members of our community, including five from Sinai, spent a packed week filled with meaningful, important encounters to bear witness, console the mourners, and comfort the sick.

A week and a half ago, we visited Hostages Square in Tel Aviv. As we were about to board our bus to return to the hotel, a voice boomed from the loudspeakers.  Earlier that day, the far right Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich had given an interview in which he said, rather smugly, that getting the hostages back was not as important as destroying Hamas.

An impromptu protest formed of relatives of hostages, who were, understandably, incensed.

Liri Albag, eighteen years old, has been held hostage in Gaza for 147 days. Her father, Eli Albag, cried out in the most gut-wrenching, tormented, angry voice that I have ever heard.

“Let them kidnap your children!” Calling out Smotrich by name, he shouted “Let them kidnap your children and I will shout in the street, ‘It’s not the most important thing!’”

“I’m talking to all citizens of Israel — whoever thinks that the citizens, the hostages are unimportant, let them kidnap your children and then you can speak!” 

“We have suffered for 137 days, day after day, minute by minute, we don’t sleep at night,” 

Referring to the Israeli cabinet, he continued, “It will not protect you… They are abandoning us above. They are laughing at us, dragging their feet, they are not going to negotiate. I say to you citizens, take to the streets because today it is us and tomorrow it will be you.”

This may have been the most painful thing I have ever heard another person say.

As someone who follows current events fairly closely, the week long trip was an eye-opening experience nonetheless. 

We met Israelis from many different backgrounds, gaining a sense of the complicated, conflicting ways in which social, economic, religious, and political differences play out in society.

One thing that was obvious was that the language and rhetoric that surrounds us here in America is very different from that which permeates Israeli society right now.

The most dominant issue we encountered, by far, was the chatufim, the hostages. From the moment one walks down the ramp to exit Ben Gurion airport, photos of each of those still in captivity are everywhere. On the sides of buildings, on café counters, in bank windows, on t-shirts, their faces are impossible to miss.

Alongside the photos, at least in Tel Aviv, are signs, grafitti, and billboards casting blame for October 7 on the government, and Benjamin Netanyahu in particular. One huge poster visible from the Ayalon Highway, covering the entire side of a building, has a photo of Bibi and the words Attah haRosh! Attah Ashem!“You are in charge!  You are guilty!”

Along with this are calls, everywhere, for the government to resign so that new elections can be held.

Most of the Israeli voices we heard did not express much concern for the things that fill our airwaves. There were few mentions of the Palestinians, a two state solution, or even the thousands of civilian deaths in Gaza.

The closest to calls for a ceasefire occurred within the context of “Bring the hostages home at any cost.” Even when we met with Achinoam Nini, one of Israel’s most famous singers and a peace activist for the past thirty years, she did not go so far as to call for an immediate ceasefire, although she did speak passionately about the need for a Palestinian state alongside Israel and the moral obligation to empathize with all human suffering.

Antisemitism came up, but usually in the context of Israelis being concerned about all the antisemitism that we are facing in the West. 

It should not really surprise us that the issues we are dealing with here are largely absent from the Israeli discussions. This is not to justify, but to explain. Israelis are still in trauma from October 7. They freely admit it. The fate of the hostages is front and center, with photos everywhere. The 134 who are still missing have become household names. I could not imagine being able to think of anything else if my child was in captivity.

Hundreds of thousands of Israelis are currently serving as active duty soldiers or reservists. When your child or spouse or brother or sister is fighting a war, it is hard to muster much emotional energy for those on the other side of the border.

And don’t forget the tens of thousands of Israelis who are displaced from their homes around the Gaza envelope and the northern border.

This past Saturday night, the first major anti-government protest since October 7 took place in Tel Aviv. We were there for the beginning of it. Tens of thousands of Israelis filled the streets. It was clear that there were a wide range of coalitions comprising the rally, ranging from families of hostages, relatives of victims of October 7, life-long Likud members, and pro-peace activists.

The messages were simple and clear: The government is responsible for the failures of October 7. They should resign and new elections should be held. The word achshav kept coming up as a chant. Achshav! “Now!” Israeli flags were everywhere.

A few weeks ago, we read Parashat Yitro, in which God’s Presence descends upon Mt. Sinai in revelation to the children of Israel, who are encamped below.

This moment is imagined by our tradition as a wedding. So let’s run with that metaphor a bit. We would say about a newlywed couple that they are “in love.” They only have eyes for one another. They do not see each other’s faults, and their only desire is to be together. 

Now here we are in Ki Tissa, a few Torah portions later. Moses has been on top of Mt. Sinai for forty days. He has literally gone up to heaven to speak with God. Meanwhile, back down on earth, what have the Israelites done?  They have built a golden calf.

The honeymoon is over. The rest of their time through the wilderness will be frought with misunderstandings, miscommunications, and disappointments, punctuated by occasional moments of bliss. 

This is a useful metaphor for us to consider with regard to our relationship with Israel as American Jews.

My parents and grandparents’ generations were around when Israel came into being in 1948 and in its early years. The Holocaust was a recent memory and the need for a Jewish homeland was clear. The exciting, miraculous fact of its existence, the ingathering of the exiles, and the pioneering Jews taking charge of their own destiny after 2,000 years as an opressed minority in the Diaspora was a source of pride.

After 1967, with another miraculous victory over its enemies in the Six Day War, Israel could do no wrong. 1967, by the way, is when Jews in America began to feel comfortable wearing Kippot out in public.

The 1973 Yom Kippur war began to chip away at this image of invincibility. Israel was shown to be vulnerable. This is when things started to get more complicated in the relationship. I was born in this post-1973 generation.  

Beginning with the war in Lebanon, which lasted nearly 30 years, and the first Intifada, Israel was now in a position in which it was unquestioningly the stronger military power. It was occupying land and was responsible for the Palestinians, who were not citizens of the state.  It now had to deal with a challenge that Jews had not faced for more than two thousand years: How do we use our power Jewishly?

Let’s come back to the marriage metaphor. Up until 1973, American Jews were in the honeymoon phase. We were “in-love” with Israel. The agreement was that we would buy trees through JNF, purchase Israel bonds on the High Holidays, and take pride in this growing, thriving, Jewish nation. And we would feel more safe and secure about our place in the Diaspora.

My generation began to develop a different relationship with Israel. Let’s call it “marriage.” The honeymoon is over. We are committed to each other, but we are starting to see the faults.

In the early 1990’s there was tremendous hope that the Oslo Accords would finally bring peace. Most American Jews were ecstatic, and the majority of Israelis were cautiously supportive.

The assassination of Yitzchak Rabin in 1995 by a right wing Jewish terrorist, followed by a string of terrorist attacks by Hamas, shattered that hope. This led to the third phase, comprised of young American Jews who claim that the Israel they know is not in alignment with the Jewish values they have been taught in our synagogues, Jewish schools, and summer camps.

Those of us from earlier generations can complain until we are blue in the face, but let’s consider for a moment that for someone who was born in the last thirty years, the only Israel they have experienced is one which has waged a near constant series of assymetrical wars.

They have seen ultra religious factions in Israel flexing their muscles in ways designed to deliberately suppress the liberal movements that they grew up in. They have seen a constant expansion of Jewish settlements in the West Bank, making the prospect of a two state solution seem more and more unlikely.

When it comes to Israel, what we are hearing from many young American Jews is simply “I want a divorce.”

This is tragic and frustrating. But if we, from the Honeymoon and Marriage generations, are to perform our duty of teaching our children of the Divorce generation, we have got to recognize where many of them actually are, and what they have experienced.

Congregation Sinai’s mission is to connect Jews to Judaism, each other, Israel, and the world.

What does it mean to be connected to Israel?

At the very least, it means recognizing that, as the home for half of the world’s Jews, our fates are connected in extremely tangible ways. Like it or not, what happens in Israel socially, religiously, and politically, impacts Judaism everywhere.

The current Israeli government is comprised of quite a few figures who embody what many of the anti-Zionists of the world say about Israel. Figures, like Smotrich, whose stated goal is to transform Israel into something resembling a messianic theocracy with all non-Jews holding a form of second class citizenship.

These are the people whose statements were brought by South Africa to the International Court of Justice in the Hague in its case accusing Israel of genocide.

The reality is, these extremists are extremely unpopular for most Israelis also. They are not, in fact, representative, but because of the particular nature of the Israeli political system, they enjoy a lot of power and influence right now. 

If their vision is realized in the Jewish homeland, the results for us here in the Diaspora will be terrifying. As one of our speakers claimed, the future of Judaism itself is at stake.

And so, it matters to us.

Lately, (and I myself am guilty of this) we have been using the expression kol Yisrael arevim zeh lazeh.  “All of Israel are responsible for one another.” We use this expression to describe the sense of deep connection we feel with our Jewish brothers and sisters around the world, particularly when they are under attack.

But the original use of this expression in the Talmud (BT Shevuot 39a) is a little different. If a Jew is about to sin, and I fail to intervene to steer them correctly, then my fate will be tied to their fate. We will all suffer the consequences of their wrong behavior. This expression is really about communal responsibility. I have to act.

We are being encouraged, by Israelis, to get involved in a more substantive way than we have been. Many of the people with whom we met begged us to be involved. What we saw is that there is tremendous diversity in what it means to be pro-Israel, to be a Zionist.

At its most basic level, Zionism is the belief that Jews should be able to determine our own destiny, and this can only happen if Jews are living in the Jewish homeland. Think about the final words of Hatikva – Lihyot am chofshi be’artzeinu: Eretz Tzion virushalim – To be a free nation in our land: the land of Zion and Jerusalem.

The conviction that we should be able to self identify and self actualize as a nation is the essence of Zionism.  The rest is commentary.

We have to participate in that commentary, not only for our own sake, but also for our children’s sake, and for the sake of Judaism itself. 

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September 26, 2023

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Is Failure the Greatest Teacher? – Yom Kippur 5784

“The greatest teacher, failure is,” we learn from the great Rabbi… Yoda.

Popular wisdom would seem to affirm this.

In its early years, Facebook was famous for the motto “move fast and break things.”

The bestselling book, Grit, by Angela Duckworth, showed how the most successful people embody qualities of passion and perseverence that enable them to stay focused on their goals and overcome the obstacles that rise in their path.

In the realm of parenting, The Blessings of a Skinned Knee, followed up by The Blessings of a B Minus, by Wendy Mogel, turned to Jewish teachings and psychology to emphasize how letting our children make mistakes and figure out how to deal with the repercussions leads to them becoming resilient and confident adults.

And of course, we must not forget Thomas Edison, who famously said “I have not failed 10,000 times—I’ve successfully found 10,000 ways that will not work.” That’s lovely. Inspiring. The problem is, most of us are not Thomas Edison.

We do not particularly like to fail. In fact, despite it’s inevitability, we try to avoid it at all possible costs. Failure is unpleasant. As much as we might like to think that failure is the best teacher, the truth is quite different.

Professors Lauren Eskreis-Winkler and Ayelet Fishbach conducted a study[1] in which they gave participants a series of ten questions. The questions were multiple choice, and had only two possible answers. 

Subjects were instructed to learn as much as possible from the results of the tests. With only two possible choices, they learned the true answer, whether or not they got the question right.

And the questions were impossible to know ahead of time, having to do with obscure data about customer service call center statistics. For example: “How much money, anually, do US companies lose due to poor customer service?” Is it A. over $90 billion, or B. over $60 billion?

After completing the test, the subjects were given the results with instructions to learn the answers so that they could do better when they took the test a second time.

Half of the group were told which questions they had gotten correct. The other half were told which questions they had gotten incorrect. Because there were only two possible answers, both groups now had all the information they needed to learn the material.

Then they took the test a second time.

The participants who had been told which answers they got correct, the “success feedback” group, did better the second time. In other words, they learned from their “success.”

The “failure feedback” group, which had been told which questions they answered incorrectly, did not do as well, many recording no improvement and not even remembering the answers they got correct the first time. In other words, “failure” was not an effective teacher. Interestingly, when a third party observed the “failure feedback” group, they were able to learn the material just as effectively as those who observed the “success feedback” group.

Failure prompts us to shut down. When I get something wrong, I internalize that there is something wrong with me. It is much harder to learn and grow when I feel this way about myself.

If failure is our greatest teacher, it seems that we may be sleeping through class.

Don’t worry, we are not the only ones.

The Israelites had completed the construction of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle that they would carry with them through the wilderness. Moses is set to turn over control to the priests, under the leadership of his brother, Aaron. He instructs him

Come forward to the altar and sacrifice your sin offering and your burnt offering, making atonement for yourself and for the people; and sacrifice the people’s offering and make atonement for them, as the LORD has commanded.

Leviticus 9:7

This is to be Aaron’s first formal act of worship. The problem is, Aaron already knows that he is supposed to come forward to offer his sacrifice. Why does Moses need to tell him a second time?

According to a midrash, (Sifra, Tzav, Mechilta d’Miluim 1:1; Sifra, Shemini, Mechilta d’Miluim 2:8; Rashi on Leviticus 9:7, Ramban on Leviticus 9:7) it is because Aaron panics. He suddenly thinks about the sin he had committed with the Golden Calf. If you recall, not knowing what had happened to Moses after he went up to Mt. Sinai, the Israelites ask Aaron to make an image of God to lead them through the wilderness. Aaron collects their gold and forms the Golden Calf.

This is one of the most disastrous episodes in the Israelites’ forty years of wandering in the wilderness.

Now poised to become High Priest, Aaron, overcome with shame and embarrasment, freezes.

Understanding what is going through his brother’s mind, Moses turns to Aaron and exclaims, “Why are you ashamed? You have been chosen for this very purpopse.”

The function of the Mishkan is to enable the Israelites to seek atonement. Sin is going to happen. Impurity will interfere with the relationship between God and the Israelites. Aaron, the High Priest, plays the central role in mending that relationship.

As an outside observer, Moses sees what his brother cannot: that Aaron’s failure with the Golden Calf makes him perfectly suited for the job. In the ritual of Yom Kippur, the High Priest must first bring an offering of atonement for himself and his household, before he can facilitate the people’s atonement. The High Priest was never expected to be perfect.

One version of the midrash adds a twist by suggesting that it is Satan who shows Aaron the pointed horns of the altar. This sends Aaron’s mind straight to the horns on the Golden Calf, provoking his moment of shame.

Our tradition identifies the Satan, the Adversary, with the Yetzer Hara, literally the “evil inclination.” A more modern understanding of Yetzer hara is the ego.

The ego, the Yetzer Hara, is our sense of self, the part of us that seeks to expand in the world. It is the source of desire and self interest, and drives our instinct for self preservation. Our Yetzer Hara compels us to go on the defensive whenever we perceive a threat, real or imagined. Without the yetzer hara, we would not survive.

Viewing the midrash through this lens, it is Aaron’s ego that causes him to freeze.

Ashamed by the greatest mistake of his life, he is unable to learn. Instead, it immobilizes him. The prospect of having to go out in front of the people threatens him with reliving his failure again and again.

This is similar to what the researchers who developed the Facing Failure Game found. Our egos are implicated by our successes and failures. It is not that I made a mistake: I am a mistake.

So we avoid situations which remind us of our past errors, which is what Aaron tries to do. Alternatively, we pretend the failure did not happen. Consider the Sour Grapes Effect and the Ostrich Effect.

First, the Sour Grapes effect.

Remember the story of the fox from Aesop’s Fables.

One day, Fox is walking along and spies a beautiful bunch of ripe grapes hanging from a vine that has wound itself up a tree branch. The grapes are bursting with juice, and the fox is so thirsty. Fox jumps grab the grapes, but misses by a mile. Stepping back a few paces, Fox takes a running leap, but still misses. Over and over again, Fox tries to get the grapes, but falls short every time. Finally, Fox sits down, frowning. “What a fool I am. Here I have been wearing myself out, when these are nothing but sour grapes.” With that, Fox stands up and walks away scornfully… and thirsty.

The Sour Grapes effect is our tendency, when we fail, to change our beliefs about what we wanted in the first place. 

After altering the story, Fox no longer failed to get the grapes. Fox decided that they were not worth it. “I didn’t fail, I just decided to stop trying.” The ego is safe.

The Ostrich Effect refers to our tendency to avoid evidence of our past mistakes. We bury our heads in the sand. As an example, investors whose stocks are doing well tend to check their portfolios more often than investors whose stocks are doing poorly.

If I do not have to look at the evidence of my mistakes, maybe they will go away. Perhaps they do not even exist. 

Fox could have potentially learned a lesson about how to reach something that is out of reach if they had been willing to take a good look at what went wrong. I might learn to be a better investor if I paid more attention to my losing stock picks. 

In both cases, my self-defense instincts kicked in to make me feel better in the short run, but actually made me worse off in the long run. I failed to learn from the greatest teacher: failure.

We would be so much better off if we could train ourselves to separate our actions from our egos. The Book of Proverbs teaches: 

Seven times the tzadik (righteous person) falls and gets up, while the wicked are tripped by one misfortune.

Proverbs 24:7

One Rabbi, responding to an inquiry from a student, explains that

Foolish people think that this [verse] means, “Even though a righteous person falls seven times, he will rise.” The wise know well that the meaning is: “Because a tzaddik falls seven times, he will rise.”

Rabbi Yitzchak Hutner, Pachad Yitzchak: Igrot U’ketavim No. 128

In other words, a person only becomes a tzadik, develops qualities of righteousness, if they continually pick themselves back up after they fall. In other words, if they make a habit of learning from their failures. This is something that any of us can achieve, but most of us do not. 

Why seven times? Seven are the days of week. Falling down is a daily occurrence.  

A story is told in the Talmud (Gittin 43a) about Rabba bar Rav Huna. He issues a halakhic ruling, but another Rabbi comes up to him with an objection. It turns out, Rabba bar Rav Huna is wrong.

So now he has to deal with his error. First, he appoints a spokesperson to help him get the word out. Then he offers a short drash. Quoting Isaiah, “And let this stumbling-block be under your hand,” Rabba bar Rav Huna explains that a person cannot understand matters of Torah unless he stumbles in them. Then he issues a public retraction of his earlier ruling, setting himself up as the case in point. 

The Talmud records this entire incident, including the details of Rabba bar Rav Huna’s mistake. This humble man does not conflate his error with his ego.

He is not afraid of publicly owning his failure and taking responsibility. The result is that he comes across as someone of great character and wisdom. 

It can be so empowering to admit our failures, but this is often difficult for us. 

Maimoinides, the twelfth century Rabbi, physician, philosopher, and community leader, provides great insight into the human condition in his discussion of the laws of teshuvah, repentance. 

He teaches that the first step is the vidui – the confession. We cannot begin to repent without first acknowledging that we have made a mistake, that we have failed in some way. 

We ritualize this in our liturgy, with our alphabetical Ashamnu and Al Chet. We recite long lists of sins that we — first person, plural — have all committed, striking our chests as we proceed from alef through tav.

But let’s be real. These are not actual confessions. They are just examples. For a confession to count, it must be personal — first person singular. 

Maimonides emphasizes that our confession must be public, in front of other people. He acknowledges that pride often prevents a person from confessing their sins, but reminds us that full teshuvah cannot happen while a person keeps their sins to themself.

This makes sense. If I am still holding on to my shame, how can I learn, grow, and move on?

What are we to do? How can we begin to separate our actions from our ego?

The truth is, it is much easier to talk about our successes. It feels so much better to feed our egos with all the things that make us great. Consider the “About Me” section of a blog or web page.

What is listed? Typically, the degrees that a person has earned, the boards they serve on, the awards and certifications they have received. Maybe it lists their hobbies and interests.

The “About Me” page rarely lists a person’s failures. And yet, to truly get a full picture of a human being, we should know something about what did not go according to plan. After all, if this person is truly great, “righteous” to use the language of Proverbs, they must have fallen and gotten up again on a regular basis.

A recent trend in some academic and business circles has been to compose a “Failure Resume.”

It is the opposite of a typical resume, where a person lists all of their professional accomplishments.

A Failure Resume lists the schools to which a person applied and did not get in, the numerous journals that rejected papers, the classes failed, tests and essays bombed, jobs fired from, and so on. If we are honest, it should be a long list.

Such a resume could really help us learn from the failures which we tend to repress.

What would my Rabbinic Failure Resume look like? People often ask me how things are going at Sinai. I tend to mention the successes.

What do I not mention? The sermons that fell flat. I do not talk about the former congregants who left the synagogue because of something that I did, or failed to do. I leave out the sick and suffering people whom I did not call when they needed to hear from me. 

In the context of Yom Kippur, I suggest that we include some additional categories in our Failure Resumes:

We all have relationship failures, including marriages, children and parents. Friends we let down.

Obligations to community, the tzedakah I did not give. The people who needed support whom I did not assist.

Failures to God: mitzvot I did not fulfill that I could have, opportunities to study Torah that I did not embrace. 

When I have assembled my Failure Resume, what next?

First of all, it would be a great exercise to share it with someone I trust. And what an honor it would be for the recipient of such sharing.

Second, beating ourselves up over our failures is not very productive. It may even be harmful. I suggest a different approach. Pick something on the resume.  What advice would I offer to someone who is struggling with the same failure?

A person who has been trying to quit smoking for twenty years does not need to be reminded how unhealthy cigarettes are. They know. What they could be really good at, however, is coming up with advice for someone else who is trying to quite smoking.

In one study, middle school students were asked to offer suggestions for an incoming student about how to overcome a lack of academic motivation. The other group of students was given written advice from the teacher to do a better job completing their assignments. Over the next four weeks, the students who came up with the recommendations procrastinated less and completed more of their own homework assignments than the group who were told to do better by a teacher.

If we allow ourselves to really reflect on our mistakes, we can often figure out the solutions on our own.

One final point. We tend to be really bad about receiving criticism. Negative feedback is perceived as a direct assault on the ego which drives us straight into self defense mode.

As my late father-in-law, Gary, zikhro livracha, used to say, “unsolicited advice is never appreciated.”

Here is my unsolicited advice: refrain, as often as possible, from offering advice unless it is asked for.

Nevertheless, all of us are frequent recipients of criticism, most of it probably unsolicited. Might I suggest we adopt a model from synagogue. During the Torah reading, there are two gabbaim up here on the bimah, positioned on either side of the reading table. Their job is to supervise the Torah reading, offering corrections and cues whenever the Torah reader makes a mistake or gets stuck.

Sometimes, Torah readers get flustered by the gabbaim. They can be intimidated by the prospect that the gabbaim will be standing next to them, checking their work, so to speak, and pointing out all of their failings.

But the role of the gabbai is not to spring an embarrassing, public “gotcha” on the poor Torah reader. They should properly be seen as partners. We are all part of a team whose goal is to give honor to God and the Torah through a ritualized study of sacred text. The gabbaim are there to help the reader do their best possible work.

What if we treated every interaction like this – particularly the difficult ones? This person before me, full of complaints and criticism, is actually my gabbai, here to support me and make me better. My job is to figure out what it is that they are here to teach me.

This Yom Kippur, as we reflect on the year that is past and prepare ourselves for the year ahead, help us truly understand that our failures do not define us.

Instead of burying them in shame, grant us the courage to acknowledge our mistakes to ourselves, and share them with trusted companions. When we fall, may we rise despite the certainty that we will fall again, confident that this is the only path towards righteousness. May we recognize those who point out our mistakes as our gabbaim, our partners who are there to help us learn and be better. May we embody the teaching that the only way to understand Torah is to stumble through it. 

May the year ahead be filled with constructive failure, learning, and growth.

G’mar Chatimah Tovah.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Lauren Eskreis-Winkler and Ayelet Fishbach – Not Learning From Failure—the Greatest Failure of All

Tim Herrera – How Early-Career Setbacks Can Set You Up for Success

Hidden Brain Podcast – Learning From Your Mistakes

Jeremy Adam Smith – How to Learn from your Failures

 

[1] https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/0956797619881133

[2] Sifra, Tzav, Mechilta d’Miluim 1:1; Sifra, Shemini, Mechilta d’Miluim 2:8; Rashi on Leviticus 9:7, Ramban on Leviticus 9:7

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August 24, 2023

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How do we know whom to listen to? – Shoftim 5783

How do we know who to listen to? Whom to trust?

This is a real problem for all of us, with so much conflicting information and sources surrounding us. It is one of the major sources of division in our world.

It turns out, this is nothing new.

This morning’s Torah portion, Shoftim, is primarily about leadership. It focuses on rules for judges and kings, as  well as laws about the waging of war. One area that it covers is what to do when situations arise that the Torah does not anticipate. Who should be consulted for leadership and guidance? Who can be trusted?

To introduce this question, Moses first reminds the Israelites of what happened at Mount Sinai nearly forty years earlier. God’s Presence descended on the mountain in a tremendous cacophony of sound, light, smoke, and shaking.

The people freak out, telling Moses, “We can’t take it anymore. This is going to kill us. You go talk to God and report back to us. We’ll do whatever you say.”

Moses reports that God was pleased with the Israelites’ response. It seems that, in fact, this reaction was what God was aiming for all along. The purpose of the overwhelming display of power was to get the people to put their trust in God’s Prophet—Moses. Here in Deuteronomy, Moses expands on God’s words to him at that time, with an eye towards the future. 

“…I will raise up a prophet for them from among their own people, like yourself: I will put My words in his mouth and he will speak to them all that I command him; and if anybody fails to heed the words he speaks in My name, I Myself will call him to account.

Deuteronomy 18:18-19

God’s plan, apparently, is to have prophets who will convey the Divine will to human beings. They carry the authority to speak in God’s name, and the people will be expected to follow their instructions.

But there is a problem, which God anticipates: what to do about fakes.

But any prophet who presumes to speak in My name an oracle that I did not command him to utter, or who speaks in the name of other gods—that prophet shall die.”

Deuteronomy 18:20

That seems straightforward enough. Of course, how are we supposed to know if someone is a fake? Again, Moses provides the answer:

And should you ask yourselves, “How can we know that the oracle was not spoken by the LORD?”— if the prophet speaks in the name of the LORD and the oracle does not come true, that oracle was not spoken by the LORD; the prophet has uttered it presumptuously: do not stand in dread of him. (Deut. 18:21-22)

If a prophet’s prediction does not happen, then they are not to be believed. Honestly, that does not seem like a very good test. What if the prediction is for something that is supposed to happen fifty years from now? Or ten years? Or even next month? How am I supposed to know, right now, whether to listen to this purported prophet?

The passage in Shoftim about prophecy seems so optimistic. God is pleased that the Israelites agree to listen to Moses and follows his instructions. And yet, if we actually follow the careers of the prophets through the Bible, we find that them to be a tragic lot. 

To illustrate the problem, we turn to the book of Jeremiah. It is during the final decades of the First Temple, towards the end of the reign of the dynasty of King David.

Jeremiah was a tortured soul. He preached doom and gloom for several decades, speaking God’s word to several kings, along with the residents of Jerusalem. The great tragedy is that nobody listens to Jeremiah. In fact, there are a lot of other prophets running around preaching messages of hope and victory – the kinds of predictions that kings and the Jerusalem upper crust like to hear. 

As a result of his prophecies, Jeremiah himself is sent to prison.

In one moment of exasperation, Jeremiah turns his rage to God.

Accursed be the day that I was born! Let not the day be blessed when my mother bore me! Accursed be the man who brought my father the news and said, “A boy Is born to you,” and gave him such joy! Let that man become like the cities which the LORD overthrew without relenting! Let him hear shrieks in the morning and battle shouts at noontide—because he did not kill me before birth so that my mother might be my grave, and her womb big [with me] for all time. Why did I ever issue from the womb, to see misery and woe, to spend all my days in shame!

Jeremiah 20:14-18

This is the great irony. The true prophet is not believed, and the false prophets are embraced. The rules in Parashat Shoftim do not appear to have been particularly effective.

The following story takes place early in the reign of King Zedekiah, the final king to rule over Judah before the destruction of the Temple by the Babylonians in 586 BCE.

Jeremiah sends leather straps and wooden yokes to all of the surrounding kings, as well to King Zedekiah. The accompanying message is that they should submit to King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon, to whom God will be delivering all of their lands. There is no point in resisting.

To demonstrate the seriousness of his point, Jeremiah puts King Zedekiah’s yoke on his own neck and straps it closed. He had a flair for dramatic gestures.

One of the many other prophets, Hananiah son of Azzur, comes to the Temple to offer a counterprophecy. This is what he says:

Thus said the LORD of Hosts, the God of Israel: I hereby break the yoke of the king of Babylon. In two years, I will restore to this place all the vessels of the House of the LORD which King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon took from this place and brought to Babylon. And I will bring back to this place King Jeconiah son of Jehoiakim of Judah, and all the Judean exiles who went to Babylon—declares the LORD. Yes, I will break the yoke of the king of Babylon.

Jeremiah 28:2-4

Basically, “Don’t worry about Nechudnezzar. We got this.”

Jeremiah, who is present for this speech, turns to the assembled priests and Israelites, reminds them to watch out for false prophets, and offers a test for identifying one. This test, as we will see, is a clarification of Moses’ test in Parashat Shoftim.

The prophets who lived before you and me from ancient times prophesied war, disaster, and pestilence against many lands and great kingdoms. So if a prophet prophesies good fortune, then only when the word of the prophet comes true can it be known that the LORD really sent him.”

Jeremiah 28:8-9

If a prophet predicts death and destruction, you’d better listen. But if a prophet says that everything is going to be great, it would be best to wait and see if it comes true before following said prophet.

Not to be dissuaded, Hananiah breaks the wooden yoke from Jeremiah’s neck, and declares:

Thus said the LORD: So will I break the yoke of King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon from off the necks of all the nations, in two years.

Jeremiah 28:11

Jeremiah confronts Hananiah once again, 

“Listen, Hananiah! The LORD did not send you, and you have given this people lying assurances. Assuredly, thus said the LORD: I am going to banish you from off the earth. This year you shall die, for you have urged disloyalty to the LORD.”

And the prophet Hananiah died that year, in the seventh month.

Jeremiah 28:15-17

Even Hanahiah’s death does not convince the people to heed Jeremiah’s warnings.

Overall, the Israelite prophets were not especially successful in their own day. They underwent immense personal hardship and suffering. They were despised by their neighbors. Kings did not especially appreciate their warnings. And when they tried to convince the people and/or the rulers to follow God’s will, nobody really listened.

The prophets failed in all of their major endeavors. They were unable to save the united kingdom from splitting. They did not prevent the Northern Kingdom from falling to the Assyrians. They did not prevent the Temple from being destroyed by the Babylonians. 

Perhaps this is what leads the Rabbis to officially declare the era of the prophets over. 

Rabbi Avdimi from Haifa says: From the day that the Temple was destroyed prophecy was taken from the prophets and given to the Sages.

BT Bava Batra 12a

The subsequent discussion concludes that Sages are and were always superior to prophets in the first place. The pursuit of wisdom, the preoccupation of the Sages, offers a path towards propehcy. A prophet may or may not have wisdom, but a wise person can access the Divine will. (It is a nice idea, especially if one is a Sage.)

Rabbi Yoḥanan offers a different insight.

Rabbi Yoḥanan said: From the day that the Temple was destroyed, prophecy was taken from the prophets and given to imbeciles and children.

Ibid.

What is this suggesting? Perhaps that prophecy, the revelation of the true Divine will, is only given to those who are destined to not be taken seriously.

In this, perhaps, not much has changed. As exemplified by Jeremiah, the tragedy of the true Prophet is that the truth that the prophet pronounces is not accepted by those who most need to hear it. People are much more likely to listen to what they already know, or what they want to hear.

I fear not much has changed. The ancient prophets were the social and political critics of their day. Most of them would have met the criteria—either Moses’ or Jeremiah’—of the false prophet.

What concerned the true prophets? They worried about the nation’s allegiance to God. They warned against the adoption by the leaders of immoral practices. They worried about the mistreatment and the neglect of the poor, both by the leaders and the population at large. They spoke out against immoral behavior by the population. They tried to convince the people to return to the moral path.

Today, how do we determine who to listen to? I fear that the determination is made, more and more, by an algorithm designed to feed us that to which we are most likely to respond positively, a phenomenon strikingly similar to the false prophets who fed the king and the people the message that they thought would be most well-received (and would be most likely to keep them from being jailed or executed).

It is the fools and children, those who, in their naivete, are less concerned with how their words will be received; or the wise, those whose allegiance to the pursuit of truth outweighs the desire for fame and fortune, whose words we perhaps ought to listen for.

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August 18, 2023

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Deuteronomy and the American Dream – Parashat Re’eh 5783

What is the American Dream?

The term was first used by the historian James Truslow Adams in his 1931 book, The Epic of America. This is how he describes it: The American Dream is

that dream of a land in which life should be better and richer and fuller for everyone, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement.

…It is not a dream of motor cars and high wages merely, but a dream of social order in which each man and each woman shall be able to attain to the fullest stature of which they are innately capable, and be recognized by others for what they are, regardless of the fortuitous circumstances of birth or position.

He complained that although society tends to measure a person’s achievement of the American Dream by economic success, it was originally about quality and spiritual values. He warned that “in our struggle to ‘make a living'” we were neglecting “to live”.

It seems to me that we often conflate the idea of the American Dream with the idea of meritocracy. Under American meritocracy, the goal is to be “the best.” The most educated, most committed, most accomplished, most disciplined. These people are rewarded with success, which we measure by income and wealth.

The corollary is that someone who does not have income and wealth must not be someone of merit. They must be deficient in some way. It must be their fault.

Maybe some of you are familiar with the HR practice of “Up or Out.” I understand it is quite common in Silicon Valley. A worker is given a certain amount of time to prove themself, and is then either promoted or laid off. Fortunately, this is not practiced in the rabbinic world.

Such extreme focus on merit produces some pretty rigid social hierarchies. In a recent article, David Brooks writes about one of the major self-perpetuating measures—education—which has become one of the real dividing lines in society. He writes:

We built an entire social order that sorts and excludes people on the basis of the quality that we possess most: academic achievement. Highly educated parents go to elite schools, marry each other, work at high-paying professional jobs and pour enormous resources into our children, who get into the same elite schools, marry each other and pass their exclusive class privileges down from generation to generation.

While the American Dream, as an ideal, offers anyone with a strong work ethic the prospect of rising to a higher social class, the reality is often quite different. If the American Dream were a reality than we would see high levels of social mobility. Social mobility refers to the likelihood that a child born into a poor family will be able to rise into a higher economic level.

A 2020 report by the World Economic Forum measured social mobility by country. It used an index that measured education, access to technology, healthcare, social protection and employment opportunities. It found that the countries with the greatest levels of social mobility were in Europe, primarily the Nordic countries. The United States was 27th, second to last among the G7 nations.

This is an issue that appears prominently in this morning’s Torah portion, Re’eh. In the first half of chapter fifteen, Moses offers some instructions and pronouncements to the Israelites regarding the obligation to care for the poor. In so doing, he offers some pretty contradictory messages about the presence of poverty within the community. First, he says:

Efes ki lo yihyeh l’kha evyon— There need not be any poor among you—since the Lord your God will bless you in the land that the Lord your God is giving you as a hereditary portion—

Deuteronomy 15:4

In other words, God has not only the capacity, but also the willingness, to bless us sufficiently so that we can eradicate poverty.  A few verses later, Moses acknowledges that this might be too lofty an ideal.

ki yihyeh v’kha evyon—If, however, there is a needy person among you, one of your brothers in any of your settlements in the land that the Lord your God is giving you, do not harden your heart and shut your hand against your needy kin. Rather, you must open your hand and lend whatever is sufficient to meet the need.

Deuteronomy 15:7-8

A few verses after that Moses just gives up.

ki lo yeḥdal l’kha evyon—For there will never cease to be needy ones in your land, which is why I command you: open your hand to your poor and needy brother in your land. (15:11)

Deuteronomy 15:11

In just a few verses, we descend from the possibility of eradicating poverty, to being commanded to respond to poverty if it appears, to resignation to the fact that poverty will never be eliminated.

Within these pronouncements, Re’eh offers three policy statements. Three mitzvot incumbent on the Israelite.

The first is to cancel all debts every seven years. Universal debt forgiveness.

The second is to offer loans to the needy among you—”whatever is sufficient to meet the need”—with a warning not to hold back out of knowledge that the loan will be cancelled if still unpaid in the seventh year.

The third commandment refers to someone who has become enslaved due to their inability to pay back their debt. That person must also be freed in the seventh year. Furthermore, the owner is prohibited from sending the freed slave away empty-handed. They have to be paid.

These three commandments are essentially a form of economic redistribution of resources from the rich to the poor. It would take the form of the rich helping out the poor financially when the poor fall upon hard times, and then offering loan forgiveness so that people do not suffocate under a mountain of debt that they can never dig themselves out of. (Some of that may sound familiar.)

While there are similarities here to mitzvot appearing in other parts of the Torah, Deuteronomy adds some unique points. In Exodus, the warning is against oppressing the widow, the orphan, the poor, and the stranger. If we do, God will hear their cry and punish us.

Deuteronomy takes it a step further. Now, failure to actively help will result in God’s curse or, conversely, God’s blessing. Not offering the loan, failing to free the debt-slave, or refusal to cancel the debt, is the moral equivalent of oppressing them – from God’s vantage point.

In Exodus, the debt slave merely goes free in the seventh year. In Deuteronomy, the owner has to pay him. He cannot be sent away empty-handed. 

The passage ends with a familiar refrain:

Bear in mind that you were slaves in the land of Egypt and the Lord your God redeemed you; therefore I enjoin this commandment upon you today.

Deuteronomy 15:15

God made sure that the Israelites went free from slavery in Egypt with vast wealth, taken from their former masters. This reminder, as the punctuation to the warning against not letting the freed debt slave leave empty handed, is not merely a command for compassion and empathy. It contains a veiled threat. The slave owner is in the same relative position as the Egyptians. When the Israelites left Egypt, they took all sorts of treasures from their former masters, at God’s direction. The warning here is that if the owner fails to provide for the freed slave, God will again take the situation in hand. 

This system operates under the assumption that neutrality regarding the poor is insufficient. Simply leaving them alone is a recipe for a return to the former state of poverty and inequality. To break the cycle requires an additional step on the part of those at the upper end of the socioeconomic system. 

It is easy to take the position that as long as I am leaving my neighbor alone, not actively doing anything to hold them back, then my responsibilities have been met. Another person’s success or failure in life is up to them, and really has no bearing on my own situation. 

But Deuteronomy introduces the idea that failure to take pro-active steps to help the poor is the equivalent of oppressing them. It offers a model for breaking the cycle of poverty.

But this is a bitter pill to swallow. We do not like to be forced to part with our hard-earned possessions to pay for what we often see as somebody else’s mistakes.

So Deuteronomy goes beyond the financial obligations. It also legislates an attitude. Over and over, it uses the word achikha – your brother – to refer to your fellow Israelite who has not been so fortunate. To be clear, in this text, there is a definite distinction between the obligations one has to fellow Israelites and obligations to non-Israelite residents. Regarding the unfortunate Israelite, the Torah says, you have to see this person as your brother.

This focus on achikha, the theme of brotherhood, reappears throughout Deuteronomy.  In chapter one, Moses instructs the judges to “hear between your brothers and rule justly between a man and his brother or between his foreigner.” (1:16) In next week’s portion, as Moses addresses the Israelites about the future monarchy, he tells them that they are to select someone from among their brothers to be the King. (17:15) And the King is warned against acting haughtily towards his brothers. (17:20)

Deuteronomy calls out positions in society which could lend themselves to unequal social divisions: the wealthy, the judges, and the king (i.e. the politicians), and knocks them off their pedestals. They must relate to the those people upon whom they would be most inclined to look down as brothers.

This goes way beyond a mere economic obligation. It is mandating social relations. There must be mixing between classes. There must be true social mobility. Looking at it through a contemporary lens, the American Dream must not be just a myth. 

And it is clear in these texts that God takes the side of the poor over the rich. We are blessed—or cursed—to the extent that we do not ignore the poor and suffering. So when Moses says— 

There need not be any poor among you—since the Lord your God will bless you in the land that the Lord your God is giving you as a hereditary portion—

Moses is giving us a challenge. But which comes first. Does God bless us in the land so that there will be no poverty? Or, will the land be blessed only if, or when, we eradicate poverty?

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Rabbi Shai Held, The Heart of Torah, Volume 2, pp. 230-234.

https://www.weforum.org/reports/global-social-mobility-index-2020-why-economies-benefit-from-fixing-inequality/#what-does-it-do-that-other-indices-don-t

David Brooks, “What if We’re the Bad Guys Here?”, New York Times, August 2, 2023

https://www.vox.com/policy-and-politics/2019/10/24/20919030/meritocracy-book-daniel-markovits-inequality-rich

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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.