Parshat Beresheit: The Spirit of Words and Letters

Parshat Beresheit ~ Genesis 1:1-6:8

 

Baruch She'emar V'ha'ya ha'olam — Blessed is the One who spoke, and the world came into being.

 

We chant these words each morning, but do we fully understand their meaning in our sleepy, pre-coffee selves?

 

What power there is in the ability to create with words! Every day we acknowledge that our Creator has this power, but do we realize we possess a similar gift? Created b'Tzelem Elokim (in the image of God), we strive to emulate divine attributes—mercy, justice, forgiveness, and kindness. Just as God rested after creation, we too observe Shabbat. And just as God created the world with words, we also create through speech, though on a smaller scale. Our words can nurture and build or wound and destroy.

 

There are many stories about the creation of the world. One of my favorites comes from the Zohar, a foundational Kabbalistic text. It explores not only the power of words but also the very building blocks of those words—letters.

 

In Sefer Yetzirah (The Book of Creation), it says, “With 22 letters, God embossed, chiseled, weighed, changed, refined, and shaped all beings that exist or will come to exist.” This passage highlights the active, creative potential of each letter. Not only do words have power, but individual letters also carry immense creative energy. They are like master artisans, shaping the essence of our reality. When we speak, we too are artisans, crafting thoughts and utterances that shape the world around us.

 

A midrash in Bereshit Rabbah teaches that the Torah existed 2,000 years before the world, and during that time, God played with the letters. Let’s imagine the moment when God was ready to create the world. According to the Zohar, each letter appeared before God and made a case for why the world should be created with it. God considered each letter carefully, offering reasons for rejecting them, until reaching the one destined to be chosen.

 

The Hebrew alphabet contains 20 letters. The letters pled their case in reverse order, with Taf going first. When almost all the letters had been rejected, Bet appeared and said, “Create the world with me because I am the first letter of beracha (blessing).” God agreed, saying, “Indeed, by you, I will create the world.”

 

Interestingly, Aleph remained silent. After Bet was chosen, God asked Aleph why it had not appeared. Aleph responded that there was no point—it was clear from Bet’s expression that it had been chosen. God then reassured Aleph, promising it would be first of all letters, symbolizing unity (achdut). “With you,” God said, “all counting begins, and every deed in the world starts.” Thus, Bet and Aleph together begin the first 4 words of creation, Bereshit Bara Elohim Et.

 

Bereshit represents God’s blessing in creation, while Bara represents our role in continuing that creation. Elohim reflects God’s attributes of justice and might, while Et—the simple preposition—represents us, humans, and the endless possibilities that follow.

 

This week’s parasha reminds us of the power of words, both divine and human. From the beginning, God created with words. Later, destruction also came through words. We see how blessings can be bestowed or harm caused through speech, vows, and promises. Just as the world was created through powerful, active letters, so too are our lives shaped by the words we choose.

 

As we begin this new year of 5785, may we learn to choose our words carefully, crafting them with the same intention and care that went into the creation of the world. May our words build a world of peace and understanding.

 

 

 

Parashat Noach : What is a Tzadik? In memory of Rabbi Jim Michaels

Parshat Noach ~ Genesis 6:9-11:32

 

What is a Tzadik?

 

This week’s parsha begins with the words, “…Noach was a righteous man; he was blameless in his age….” (Gen 6:9). These two phrases are curious. How does “blameless in his age” impact the first description of Noach as “a righteous man”? Would he be considered righteous in other eras, like those of Avraham or Moses?

 

Initially, I was skeptical of Noach’s status as a Tzadik, a righteous man. Then I studied the writings of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, an 18th-century Hasidic master. In his book Kedushat Levi, he teaches that Tzaddikim are individuals who open paths for the world. This insight shifted my perspective and helped me see Noach as a Tzadik in his own right, without needing to compare him to others. Noach, despite the corruption of his time, managed to rise above it all and was given the task of saving the world.

 

One thing that has always puzzled me, though, is why Noach never warned anyone about the upcoming flood or gave them a chance to repent, as Jonah did in Nineveh. However, if we closely read the text in chapter 6, it doesn’t seem like God gave Noach much flexibility. God’s words were clear and direct: Noach had a specific job to do, and he did it.

 

What does it mean to be a Tzadik today? It’s difficult to recognize someone’s role in opening a path for the world. However, I believe righteousness in our time involves emulating righteous qualities. While I’m not in a position to judge who is truly righteous, we can all recognize when someone brings godliness into the world.

 

During the year I mourned my father, I encountered such a person: Rabbi Jim Michaels. He was the rabbi at the Hebrew Home of Greater Washington (now Charles E. Smith Life Communities) and became a solid presence in my life. Rabbi Jim developed a chaplaincy training program, in which I participated. He taught by example, demonstrating how to be present for those in need, how to listen to both spoken and unspoken words, and how to be attentive even to those who had lost the ability to speak.

 

Rabbi Jim was a modest man, yet he touched everyone he met with respect, care, and genuine attentiveness. His simple question, “How are you?” came with a sincerity that showed he truly cared about the answer—a rare quality. Through his actions, he showed that he had a path to walk, one that would leave the world better than he found it.

 

In our parsha, Noach may have known about the impending catastrophe yet did nothing to try help others. We, however, are called to act. We cannot be like those who built the Tower of Babel, speaking the same language but failing to truly understand one another. Their punishment—scattered languages—highlighted their inability to communicate on a deeper level.

 

If we are fortunate, we will meet individuals like Rabbi Jim Michaels who truly understand. They accompany others, listen, and provide guidance while modeling righteousness. I honor the memory of Rabbi Jim Michaels, my teacher, mentor, and friend. He would be the first to admit he wasn’t perfect, but his life impacted many because he understood that we are all created in God’s image. May his memory always be for a blessing.

  

 

In Memory of Rabbi Jim Michaels, 2024

 

Parshat Devarim: A Leader Who Taught Until the Very End

Parshat Devarim

Deuteronomy 1:1-3:22

 

This Shabbat we begin the final book of the Torah, Devarim/Deuteronomy, in which Moses begins his five-weeks long farewell speech to the children of Israel. Picture it - there they are, preparing to cross the River Jordan and begin their conquest of the Promised Land – and Moses decides to keep them standing and listening for five weeks. Why?

One explanation can be found in the Greek name of this book, Deuteronomy, which means "Second Law".  While in fact this translation is incorrect, in essence there is truth to it. We do not receive the “law”, the Torah, or the 10 Commandments, a second time. What we do receive is a retelling of the experiences that our people have been through since leaving Egypt and receiving the Torah.

 

Once before Moses had stood at the edge of the River Jordan hoping to enter the Land, yet that time the People were not ready. We had the incident with the spies and the subsequent punishment of wandering in the desert for 40 years until that generation died off. Fast forward 40 years and we are standing once again by the River Jordan. Moses might be remembering the last time he stood there, with the current people’s parents and grandparents. He now stands with a group of people who had never been slaves in Egypt and who did not experience receiving the Torah at Sinai.

 

Moses takes this time to bei’air et ha’torah ha’zot (1:5), to expound on or illuminate this Teaching/law. In other words, Moses decided to take his last moments on earth to leave an ethical will of sorts to his adopted children, the Children of Israel. Instead of sitting around and being bitter that he had led his people to the edge of a land that he was not allowed to enter, he chose to end his life with dignity by using his last moments as a gift, as teachable moments.

 

He begins by teaching that the new life that they are about to begin in the land of Israel— which includes obedience to God’s commandments—begins first in accepting responsibility for the Jewish past. That is why his first story is that of the spies – the parents of his listeners, the ones from whom they inherit the responsibility of being the Jewish people. He goes on to review the contents of the 10 Commandments and all the battles that were fought – both militarily and spiritually.

 

Parashat Devarim is always read upon the Shabbat preceding Tisha b’Av – which this year begins Monday night. On Tisha B’Av, the 9th day of the month of Av, we mourn a series of sorrowful events that happened to our people throughout history – beginning with the destruction of the holy temple, going on the tragic ending of the Bar Kochba rebellion and in more “modern times” Tisha B’Av is said to be the date of the expulsion of the Jews from Spain and the beginning of World War I. Tisha B’av is also the date upon which the spies told their lies about the goodness of the land of Israel.

 

I am always a bit sad when I begin the book of Deuteronomy and must begin anew the process of saying good-bye to Moses. But I take heart in the example he sets of how to leave this world with dignity. Moses leaves us with Devarim – the words of Torah that, according to Ibn Ezra, ensure the future of the Jewish people and according to Hosea, can return us to God.

 

 

1.  Are you familiar with the idea of an ethical will? Here is a good article to learn about it: http://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/writing-and-reading-ethical-wills/

 

This dvar Torah has been printed in the Washington Jewish Week

 

Parshat Pinchas: Hope and Strength

“The plea of Zelophehad’s daughters is just: you should give them a hereditary holding among their father’s kinsmen; transfer their father’s share to them.” (Numbers 27:7)

 

In this week’s Torah portion, Parshat Pinchas, the daughters of Zelophehad provide an example of women who found the courage and conviction to stand before God, Moses, and the People of Israel, and petition for the right to inherit their father’s portion in the Holy Land so that their father’s name would be remembered.

 

I would like to highlight what this particular decree of God’s meant to Moses. We pick up the story a few verses later.

 

“God said to Moses, “Ascend these heights of Abarim and view the land that I have given to the Israelite people. When you have seen it, you too shall be gathered to your kin, just as your brother Aaron was.  For, in the wilderness of Zin, when the community was contentious, you disobeyed My command to uphold My sanctity in their sight by means of the water…” (27:12-14)

 

Rashi asks why these particular verses about the end of Moses’ life follow the conclusion to the daughters of Zelophehad saga. He wrote that when Moses heard God state in v7 “…you should give them a hereditary holding among their father’s kinsmen; transfer their father’s share to them,” Moses said to himself, “It is me that the Omnipresent has commanded to apportion the inheritance. Perhaps then the decree that I must die in the wilderness is annulled and I shall enter the Promised Land!”

 

We feel Moses having a very human reaction to the potential of these words. He recognized that he had disobeyed God in a very public manner and had been told what the consequence was – he would not be allowed to enter the Promised Land. Yet, the way that Moses hears God’s words gives him hope. Maybe, just maybe, God has rescinded the decree, and he would in fact be allowed to enter the land. His hopes are raised… and then immediately dashed, “Whereupon God said to him, “My decree remains exactly as it was.” (Midrash Tanchuma)

 

How many times have each of us had our hopes raised only to have them dashed again? How many times have we recognized that we erred and yet still tried to convince ourselves that things would turn out differently than we knew that they would? It is human nature to have hope, even when we know that the hope may not be grounded in reality. In fact, there are times when the only way one can carry on is to have hope, real or imagined.

 

How then do we react to this disappointment/loss of hope? Do we descend into melancholy, or do we pick ourselves up and continue on?

 

What do we learn from this? Instead of wallowing in emotion, Moses immediately thinks of the people he has led for so many years. He asks God to appoint a successor so that the people will have someone to lead them into the land and ensure that things will go as smoothly as possible once he dies. God heeds his request and names Joshua ben Nun as Moses’ successor. Moses lays hands on Joshua and commissions him to his new role.

 

Moses may have erred at Meriba when he struck the rock, but here, toward the end of his life, he shows exactly what type of man and leader that he is. May we all have lives filled with the strength of Moses.

 

Some food for thought:

What roles do hope and disappointment play in your life? Can this story of Moses act as an example for you? If not, is there another story in the Torah that provides you with inspiration?

 

 

Piercing the Darkness

A few weeks ago I traveled to Rochester NY to see the solar eclipse. Rochester was in the swath of the totality which meant that we were to experience up to over 3 minutes of total darkness in the middle of the afternoon. Unfortunately for us, the sky was filled with thick clouds which precluded us from seeing the eclipse itself. Despite this, what followed for me was an experience of pure holiness. The natural world became silent, the light slowly began to dim, and then suddenly we were plunged into complete darkness in the middle of the afternoon. I was filled with awe … and then immediately thought of the plague of darkness.

The Talmud, Avodah Zarah 8a, describes the first night that Adam and Eve experienced darkness. As their world darkened, Adam understood the existence of darkness to be because he had sinned and thus the world would descend to darkness and chaos. He fasted and wept while Eve wept alongside him.  Once dawn broke and light began to return to the sky, he said, “Evidently, the sun sets and night arrives, and this is the order of the world.” He then offered up a sacrifice and they went on with their lives.

 

Today we find a variety of reactions to darkness ranging from fear to acceptance to appreciation. Some find great inspiration in the dark while others only find monsters under their beds.

 

Just as there are different ways that people experience darkness, so too are there different ways that people experience the recitation of the 10 plagues during the Seder. These run the gamut from childish plays and silliness to serious discussion. They all end with us removing 10 drops of wine from our cups to remind ourselves not to rejoice at the downfall of our enemies and that experiences of freedom contain moments of pain.

 

I remember being fascinated when I first learned of a common rabbinic interpretation of the plague of darkness. The darkness was explained as something palpable, with texture, density, and weight. Those who were seated when the plague descended were unable to stand and those who were standing were unable to sit. Simply put, they could not move without literally bumping into the darkness. Nor could they see. The darkness we experience, whether at night or during the totality of an eclipse, can be pierced by the light of a candle or a flashlight. The darkness of the plague was impenetrable. Imagine the terror that accompanied this darkness. The fear that the darkness would never leave and that for many their lives were going to end. 

 

Today I share the fear of the darkness that has descended upon us all. I worry about the long-lasting effects of the state of the world that are manifesting in physical, emotional, psychological, and theological ways. I share an experience akin to paralysis that the war and the rise in antisemitism and general hatred worldwide have wrought.

 

I take comfort in the knowledge that the Jewish day begins in the evening with darkness and then continues on to be filled with light. I yearn for the day that that light shines brightly again.

 

 

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I am a rabbi at Congregations Hevrat Shalom and Shirat HaNefesh in Montgomery County, MD and also am a community chaplain and lifecycle officiant.

This Dvar originally appeared in the Washington Jewish Week, Passover 5784