Noach: The words we hear, the words we use

 Parashat Noach (Genesis 6:9-11:32)

They say that every rabbi really only has three sermons. Mine are: we are created B’Tzelem Elohim/in God’s image; as humans we are fallible; and words have power. This week’s parsha, Noach, illustrates all of these. We see how the fallibility of humanity causes the flood and the building of the Tower of Babel. The idea that we are created in God’s image was on the minds of the people who decided to build the tower in the first place, although they were not trying to emulate God so much as trying to BE God – never a good idea. 

Every time I read a parsha a different lesson is revealed to me. This year the Tower of Babel story with its focus on the power of words and language seems more relevant than ever. Who hasn’t been in a situation where everyone is speaking the same language but somehow no one seems to understand what anyone else is saying. 

A classic example is the Abbott and Costello skit “Who’s on first?” Abbott begins by naming the players on the bases. Costello hears something entirely different and responds accordingly. Abbott in turn does not understand Costello’s responses and proceeds to answer in a way that just compounds the misunderstanding – and so it continues. Even two people, friends, speaking the same language, do not understand what the other is saying --  and the result is a conversation at cross purposes. In this case it is very funny but we all know that is not always the case.  

In Parshat Noach (Genesis 11:1-7) we are told that people from chol ha’aretz/all the earth speak the same language and together decide to make a name for themselves by building a tower up to the sky. Commentators say that this chol ha’aretz means that it was literally all of humankind who were involved in this endeavor. If that was the case, who were they trying to impress by making a name for themselves? The commentaries’ answer is that they wanted to challenge God. As we all know from countless episodes in Torah, God doesn’t particularly like to be challenged and when God is challenged it must be done in just the right way (think Abraham and Sodom). The people building this tower were afraid that if they did not build it, they would be “scattered all over the world.” (11:4) The consequence of this challenge turned out to be exactly what they had named as a reason for their actions, but much worse. They were not only scattered but also lost the gift of ease of communications.

I once attended a workshop that demonstrated how easy it is to misunderstand the meaning of a spoken word. One activity involved the presenter saying a sentence, highlighting a particular word and then asking each person to write down what they heard when this word was spoken. The word was “Israel.” The responses contained the entire spectrum (positive and negative) of the biblical, political, religious and spiritual meanings. It was fascinating. It reminded us that we cannot take for granted that what we say will be received and perceived in the ways we intend. 

The verse in which God states the intention to confound humanity’s speech concludes “…asher lo yishma’u/so that they shall not understand one another’s speech.” (11:7) The root of the word used for understand is shin-mem-ayin, shema. Rashi writes that this root word is used here as “hearing” with one’s heart, as distinct from hearing with one’s ears. Isn’t that what the communication is all about? What we say and what we hear is determined not only by our ears and our intellect. It is also determined by our hearts, by our experiences, by our world view. 

As we move through not only this health crisis but also this challenging political season, my blessing for all of us is to hear with open ears, mind and heart. May we recognize that there is meaning under the surface of words and strive to shema/understand what is being heard and what we say in return. 

Note: a version of this Dvar Torah can be found in the 10/22/20 issue of the Washington Jewish Week. 

When the direct line to God is blocked

In this week’s parsha, Toldot (Genesis 25:19–28:9), just after stating that Rebecca’s children struggled in her womb we read, “Vatelech lidrosh et Hashem/ She went to inquire of God.” (Genesis 25:22) 

What does it mean “vatelech/she went” to inquire of God? Rashi (11^th century, France) posited that if we interpret the verse to say that Rebecca prayed to God, then the word vatelech/she went is inappropriate because God is everywhere and therefore one needn’t go anywhere to pray.

So what does vatelech mean? It must mean that Rebecca indeed went somewhere to inquire of God. Where would she go to seek out God? Rashi decided that she must have gone to speak to a person of God, a wise person.

Nachmanides (13^th century, Spain) took the more conventional approach and understood the word vatelech to mean that Rebecca appealed directly to God in prayer as she was feeling such anguish about her pregnancy.

I normally have a constant and fluid dialogue with God. I speak directly to God as Nachmanides wrote that Rebecca did. However, in May, my husband, daughter and I were in a very serious accident while we were on our way to say our final good-byes to my mother in New England.

The period of time when I would normally have been comforted by the mourning rituals of our tradition was preempted by hospital stays and the road to recovery.  

Since that fateful night, I find that my open access to God has been obstructed. I am operating more along the lines of Rashi’s interpretation of vatelech -  I seek out a person of God to speak to instead of direct prayer as I used to.  

Who might that person of God be? It could be my mentor or another wise clergy person of most any religion. It might be my husband, children, siblings. I find that my family contains great wisdom and guidance in this situation even if we all have different conceptions of God and prayer. I often find myself turning to the seniors who I serve as a chaplain. It is a privilege that I am able to learn from their lives and their wisdom.

Recently I conducted prayer-‘writing workshops with of the Charles E Smith Senior Living Communities. They were some of the most exciting prayer writing sessions I’ve ever experienced. The format was that of Six Word Prayers that I learned from the poet and liturgist Alden Solovy, though many of our prayers were not exactly six words.

Here are a few examples:

Prayers from residents of the Assisted Living included:  I’m happy that I can feel [again]; Make the most of what is; Let me accept the differences in life; and Allow me to see all clearly. 

Prayers from residents of the Memory Care House included:  Thank you Adonai I am Grateful. I am grateful for getting up every morning, for good health, for friendship and joy. I am grateful for my children who teach us what love feels like. I am grateful that we can argue [with our family], make up and still love each other.

I can only imagine that Rebecca’s prayer practice vacillated quite a bit over the course of her rather unusual pregnancy as it might with any major life event. Yes, God may be all around us but sometimes we have to seek God out in order to find God. Then we can find God inside us or in those around us. As it says in Psalm 145, “God is near to all who call God, to all who call God with sincerity/earnestness.”

Some food for thought: 

Which approach to God and pray speaks to you – Rashi’s or Nachmanides?

Do you find your approach to God and prayer changing with time and experience?

This Dvar Torah is dedicated to the memory of my mother, Harriett Venetsky Goldstein, may her memory be for a blessing.

*This dvar appears in the Washington Jewish Week, November 28, 2019

The Virtues and Zeal of Rehabilitation

Parashat Beha'alotcha 

Numbers 8:1-12:16

This week’s parsha begins in a rather mundane way, with God telling Moses to instruct Aaron how to kindle the lamps of the Menorah. The next verse is the one that really interests me. “Aaron did so; he kindled the lamps at the front of the Menorah, as the Lord had commanded Moses.” (Numbers 8:3) Why did the Torah include this verse? What is so special about Aaron carrying out this fairly ordinary command that it warrants its own rather repetitive sentence? 

Rashi interprets the phrase “Aaron did so” to say that this shows Aaron’s virtue in that he did not deviate from God’s command in the performance of a mitzvah, even one which Moses instructed him to do in the name of God.  Rashi is known for interpreting Torah verses in the pshat, the simplest or face value sense of the words. It makes sense that Aaron would follow God’s command and, as Moses relayed God’s commands to Aaron the majority of the time, it also makes sense that he would follow commandments relayed by Moses. At this point I am not sure where the sense of Aaron’s virtue comes into play, especially since it was not too long ago that we experienced the incident of the Golden Calf.  Perhaps Rashi is aiding in the process of the rehabilitation of Aaron’s character.  

I found two other explanations that resonated. The first is from Or HaChaim, a 17^th century Moroccan rabbi and Torah commentator. He wrote that for Aaron to light the Menorah he would have to clean the lamps of Menorah each day. In order to clean and properly prepare the lamps, he would have to remove them, clean them, and reassemble them. In essence, Aaron would be performing the mitzvah of building a new Menorah each and every day.  By stating, “Aaron did so” in the verse, we receive confirmation that Aaron took on the obligation of fulfilling this important mitzvah each day and also obligated his children, the future Cohanim, to fulfilling it as well.  

This explanation satisfies my sense of academic inquiry (and fits with my theory of character rehabilitation), but I needed a different explanation to fulfill my sense of personal curiosity. I found it in a commentary by the Vilna Gaon, a famed rabbinic scholar in the 18^th century, expounding on Rashi’s comment that Aaron’s following the instructions was a virtue. He said that Rashi’s point was that not only did Aaron never deviate from the precise instructions but, and here is the part that caught my interest, he never varied in his enthusiasm for this same commandment in all the years that he kindled the Menorah in the Tabernacle. The passion, zeal, and commitment that he felt the first time he completed the act stayed with him each and every time he completed this mitzvah.

The simple words “Aaron did so” now take on a whole new meaning. They teach us that we too can make a mistake and be rehabilitated. They teach us that we can strive to perform a task, even something that seems fairly bland like kindling lights, with passion and commitment, each and every time we conduct the act. The lesson that we learn from these seemingly innocuous words is potent - our commitment to an act need not diminish over time if we have the proper kavannah (intention) as we perform it.

We’ve recently celebrated Shavuot and received the Torah. Who knows what we can accomplish if we truly put our hearts, minds and souls into becoming partners with the Creator in balancing the world?

Food for thought:

Is there anything that you do on a regular basis that you resent that could be elevated if you changed your attitude toward it?

Multitasking in the Torah: to study and to observe - Bechukotai

Parashat Bechukotai  Leviticus 26:3 - 27:34

     The first verse of Bechukotai (Lev 26:3) reads: “Im Bechukotai teilchu v’et mitzvotai tishmoru v’asitem otam” which is translated as “If you follow My laws and faithfully observe my commandments...” There is so much here in this one brief and unfinished sentence!

     It contains two different sets of words, bechukotai (statutes) and mitzvotai (commandments) and then teilchu (follow), tishmoru (observe), and v’asitem (do).

     First we have two types of laws. A chok is a statute for which we do not know the reason. A mitzvah is a commandment or code of law, and is the general category under which all laws fall. 

     Then we have a set of action words: teilchu, tishmoru and v’asitem.  Rashi (11^th century) comments that “Follow my laws” would seem to mean “Observe my commandments.” Seems redundant, doesn’t it? We are taught, however, that the Torah doesn’t waste words. So what is the reason in this verse? Rashi explains that “follow my laws” means that one should labor in the study of Torah and “keep my commandments” means that one should actually perform the commandments. His proof text for this distinction is from Deut 5:1 “Hear, O Israel, the laws and rules that I proclaim to you this day! Study them and observe them faithfully.”  

     So what is this verse telling us? The most obvious explanation is that it is a set up for the rest of the parsha – the over 40 verses that lay out the rewards for following God’s commandments and the negative consequences if we do not.  We are given another explanation in verse 13, a frequent Torah explanation found in the Torah: ... because “I am the Lord your God.” Therefore we must follow, observe and do all that we are told to do. One practical explanation and one theological explanation; neither however satisfy the reason for the specific words found in this verse. 

     My understanding of the verse is as follows: We are not automatons. God created us with free will, intellect and curiosity. It is quite difficult for us to simply “do” anything. Rashi’s explanation begins to make even more sense.  The verse is telling us that the proper way to keep the commandments and to observe God’s laws is to study them and to understand them as best as we can.  Simultaneously, we must also do them. This isn’t an and/or situation. We follow, study, observe, and do the commandments all at the same time. 

     We observe God’s laws even if they don’t make sense to us while at the same time learning as much as we possibly can about them to satiate that intense craving for knowledge that God instilled in us as humans. What a wonderful life lesson this is. Sometimes we just have to do what we are told, even or especially if we don’t understand the why of the request. But knowledge, and particularly the ability to acquire knowledge, is a powerful thing.  So we learn as much as possible to teach us the following lesson: sometimes we can understand what is being asked of us and sometimes we can’t, despite our best efforts. But if we believe and know that we’ve done the best learning and exploring that we can, then we will be able to accept this obligation as well as the attendant consequences. It’s what it means to live a life as a Jew. 

Food for Thought:

~Are there times in your life when you’ve been told to do something that you thought made no sense? 

~Did you do it anyway? How did you feel about it? 

~Did you try to ultimately learn the reason for the request? 

~I discovered a wonderful website called The Famous Abba.  Tin a post titled “Chukim, mishpatim and ice cream” it lays out the differences between these Torah laws in a way that is funny and for children. Check it out - http://thefamousabba.com/chukim-mishaptim-and-ice-cream/

First printed in washingtonjewishweek.com

Remembering and knowing

This week’s Torah portion is Sh’mot, Exodus 1:1 – 6:1.

How do we grant eternal life to people in Judaism?

We do it by keeping our loved ones alive through memory, stories, actions and saying Kaddish.

In my family, we tell stories of those who have passed away so often it’s as if they are still alive.

My children have never met their great-great-grandparents on my side, but Bubbe and Zeyde are alive to them because of all the stories I tell. It’s important because these stories are their spiritual and ethical inheritance. We remember them.

So what happened with Joseph? We read in Exodus 1:8: “A new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph.” Why didn’t this new ruler remember him? Didn’t Joseph do enough for Egypt during his 80 years in government to deserve to be remembered? He saved the Egyptians from the famine and acted as a negotiator between Pharaoh and farmer/tenants.

The scholar Rashi, interprets this verse to mean that that Pharaoh acted as if he did not know about Joseph. Pharaoh conveniently pretended that he didn’t know or remember Joseph and therefore would not have to be beholden to his descendants, to his people.

The commentator Obadiah ben Jacob Sforno presents a different interpretation. He felt that Pharaoh really did remember a Joseph from the history books. However, he said that “… it did not occur to anyone to associate the Hebrews of his time with the family of Joseph who had been so highly esteemed.” So Joseph was remembered but his family affiliations were not. And even if they had been remembered, Sforno continues that “… the idea that the present day Hebrews deserved special consideration on account of their illustrious forbearers did not occur to anyone observing the way these Hebrews behaved at that time.” This last statement posits that even if Joseph had been remembered, no one would connect him with current day Hebrews because his people were not living up to his legacy.

What follows, then, is that Joseph may indeed have been remembered but he was not known.

What is the difference? To remember someone means to “to have or keep an image or idea in your mind of (something or someone from the past).” (Miriam-Webster). The Hebrew word for this type of remembering is zachor. The Hebrew word used in this verse is yada, to know. In certain situations, we can interpret yada to mean remember, as some will do in this verse.

But yada means so much more. It means to know someone intimately, as in a lover, or to know all the intimate relevant details about someone. Pharaoh and his court may have known of Joseph, may even have remembered him — but either as Rashi claimed, pretended that they didn’t know him, or as in the Sforno interpretation, didn’t know the intimate details of Joseph’s life. They didn’t know that he had been a Hebrew.

Joseph may not have been properly known to Pharaoh all those years later, but he was known to his people. He is still known to us today.

Perhaps one message from this verse is that not only must we continue to remember those who have gone before, but also we must do them the honor of continuing to live up to the standards that were set by them and by living a life worth being remembered and known for eternity.

Questions for discussion:

Can you think of anyone else in the Tanach who we learn just enough about to remember him or her, but whom we do not feel that we have enough information to truly know who he or she was?

What do you want people to remember and know you for after you are gone?

This appeared in Washington Jewish Week. 

Lech Lecha - A journey for the self

This is my first published dvar Torah since becoming a Rabbah - thought I'd share. Lech Lecha is special to me. Not just because of the story - journeys, huge life changing events, and decisions needing to be made. It was also my son Alex's bar mitzvah portion! This dvar appears this week in the Washington Jewish Week newspaper. At the end are some questions for your consideration.  Enjoy! Shabbat Shalom  Rabbah Arlene 10/24/2012 10:33:00 AM A journey for the self

by Rabbah Arlene Berger This week's Torah portion is Lech Lecha, Genesis 12:1-17:27. We are taught that no word in the Torah is superfluous. The beginning of this parsha is a perfect example. Lech lecha. Lech - from the Hebrew root hey lamed chaf - meaning to go, to walk, or poetically, to journey. Lech is the command form meaning "Get on with you! Get going!" It is complete unto itself. God did not need to add the pronoun "lecha" "yourself." So why is this word there? Rashi explains that the expression Lech Lecha can be translated as "You go for yourself" implying that Avram should leave homeland and family for his own benefit. What benefit? The text continues "...I will make of you a great nation; I will bless you, and make your name great. ..." (Genesis 12:2). However, according to Rashi, to make this happen, you must go "sham" (there). This greatness, these blessings, won't happen if you stay where you are, outside the holy land. You must go sham to "the land that I will show you." So Rashi reconciles this extra word of lecha, this word that highlights Avram as being singled out for this task, by adding in the word sham in his commentary. Avram, God says, you have a task to do and great things lie ahead of you, but first you have a major journey to undertake. Now we understand that the word lecha isn't superfluous, but we must read quite carefully to understand its message: tough journeys often precede fulfilled promises and potential.  The verse continues. "You shall leave me'artzecha [from your land]; u'me'moladetecha [from the place that you were born]; u'me'beit avicha [and from your father's house]." Here we have three specific places, with their own physical and emotional attributes. Avram, a successful 75-year-old man married to a 65-year-old woman, is being asked (or told) to leave his home and start over. This specific layering of places reminds him of this, of all that he will have to leave (success, power and family) and all that he will face (the need to re-establish himself). A voice, this God, promises him that he will be great, blessed, and that he will finally have children, a legacy. Somehow, Avram is ready to take such a leap of faith and begin a fantastic journey. In so doing, Avram and Sarai become examples for us all.  My journey did not have the same earth-shattering ramifications for human kind that Avram's did, but it certainly changed my life. It began at the tender age of 5, when, according to family legend, I announced to my rabbis at yeshiva that I intended to grow up to be a rabbi. They responded that this was not possible because I was a girl. My response: I announced that I would grow up to be a boy. I have no recollection of their reply (probably stunned or amused silence, this all took place in the mid-1960s). When that didn't happen I buried my desire to be a rabbi deep within me and chose other paths to fulfillment.  I got married, was blessed with two children and had a successful career or two. I was busy with the stuff of life and quite happy. Everything changed one fateful summer day when I was 36 and learned that I was in congestive heart failure. That Shabbat I lit candles not knowing if I'd be around to light the Havdalah candles the next night. It was the longest Shabbat of my life - for me, for my husband and children (ages 8 and 5 at the time), for my entire family. Prayer took on new meaning; I truly understood the meaning of making the mundane holy.  I survived. I was blessed to turn 50 recently. But nothing has ever been the same. I took a long, hard look at my life and decided it was time for me to do what my neshama (soul) really wanted me to do. I listened to that still, small voice inside of me (did it say "lechi lach"?) and with my family's permission I began a journey of nearly a decade that ended with my ordination. All of our lives changed. Now that I'm a rabbah, I like to think that I am, in some small way, changing the lives of all those with whom I am privileged to come into contact.  Lech lecha. Lechi lach. There are no superfluous words, in Torah or in life. The message of this week's parsha is that we all have journeys to take regardless of our age or stage of life. We may need to leave the comfort, safety and familiarity of our family home, of the community where we are established and known to go out into the unknown and to start over. Remember to keep an ear open for that inner voice, wherever it comes from. Lech lecha - journey for yourself - you never know what potential or blessing will be revealed.  Rabbah Arlene Berger is education director at Beit Lev, the Hebrew School of Kol HaLev, in Baltimore, and also of the Chavurah of Sixth and I Historic Synagogue in the District.

Questions:

1. Do you agree with Rashi's take on the meaning of the word "lecha" in verse 1? Would you add in the word "sham" (meaning a specific location) to the interpretation as he did? 2. Can you think of anytime in your life when you heard such a call and ignored it? If you had heeded the call, would your life have turned out differently? 3. Look up I Kings 19:12 where we come upon the phrase "a still small voice." What does it mean in that context? What does it mean in the liturgy of the High Holidays? And lastly, how does it fit in with your reading of the saga of Avram and Sarai?  Our weekly d'vrei Torah are written under the guidance of the Partnership for Jewish Life and Learning. They are intended to inspire discussion at your Shabbat table. To learn more about the Partnership go to pjll.org.