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. 

Shlach Lecha: A Question of Faith

Shlach Lecha: A Question of Faith

Appeared in June 12, 2014 Washington Jewish Week

This week’s Torah portion is Shelach Lecha, Numbers 13:1-15:41.

What causes some people to have faith and others to doubt? This age old question is played out between this week’s parsha, Shelach Lecha, and its haftarah, Joshua, Chapter 2.

Shelach Lecha begins with the tale of the 12 spies that were sent to scout out the Canaanite territory. B’nei Israel had finally reached their destination; it was time to enter and conquer the land that God had promised them. This had been their destination since leaving slavery in Egypt. But something stopped them. Fear? Second thoughts? A lack of faith in God? Perhaps it was the same condition that had plagued them since they left Egypt - the inability to rid themselves of their slave mentality and transition to the mindset of a free people.

There are two versions of the spy story. In Numbers 13 God says “Shelach Lecha: “Send forth [men] if you please…” to spy out the land. Although God is not keen on the idea of sending in spies, permission is granted, albeit in language that indicates the decision is in fact in Moshe’s hands. Moshe recounts a different version of the story in Deuteronomy 1:22. Here Moshe removes the decision from himself and puts the onus on B’nei Israel. Both cases deal with a crisis of faith.

The God of the Israelites is omniscient and omnipotent and the guardian of the Israelite people. Why would the Almighty have invested such time and energy saving and shepherding His chosen people just to see them slaughtered? The rabbis comment that God had already “scouted out” the land and found it to be suitable.  Moshe and the people should have known this.

This week’s haftarah, Joshua, chapter 2, tells the other spy story. Joshua is now leader and sends two spies out into Jericho with the same mission as the original 12 – survey the area for conquest and make a military assessment. There they meet Rahab, a prostitute who shelters them in her home instead of turning them over to the king. When asked why she risked her life to save them she replied "I know that the Lord has given the country to you, because dread of you has fallen upon us, and all the inhabitants of the land are quaking before you. For we have heard how the Lord dried up the waters of the Sea of Reeds for you when you left Egypt, and what you did to Sichon and Og, the two Amorite kings across the Jordan, whom you doomed. When we heard about it, we lost heart, and no man had any more spirit left because of you; for the Lord your God is the only God in heaven above and on earth below.” (2:9-11)

How interesting. Rahab does the extraordinary and stands up to her king because of her faith in the God of Israel. She and “all the inhabitants of the land” have this faith not because they themselves witnessed God’s miraculous events but because they heard and believed.  The Israelite spies and B’nei Israel all witnessed  miraculous deeds yet were unable to maintain their faith.  As soon as they were challenged, their faith was challenged.

We know the endings of both stories. In Shelach Lecha, the spies return and except for Joshua and Caleb ben Jephunneh, the remaining 10 spin a hyperbolic tale claiming they will never be able to defeat those living in the land. In contrast, the two spies in Joshua return and report:  "The Lord has delivered the whole land into our power; in fact, all the inhabitants of the land are quaking before us." (Joshua 2:24). 

It boils down to a question of faith.

Questions to consider:

1. How do you define faith in your life?

2. Are you the kind of person who needs to “see it to believe it” or do you “take things on faith”? Are these positions mutually exclusive?

3. How do you think you would have behaved had you been one of the original spies? Do you think you might have been able to fight the prevailing mindset? Have you ever been in a situation that the fear or anxiety you felt overruled your common sense?

           

Parashat Tazria: Words Can Hurt You

Parashat Tazria: Words Can Hurt You

http://digital.washingtonjewishweek.com/i/283974

March 27, 2014

    Imagine a world where one’s words have direct physical consequence - not on the person at whom they are aimed, but on you, the speaker.  

    Parshat Tazria provides an alternate universe scenario where words can hurt you. The proof text is the story in Numbers 12 where Miriam and Aaron are standing around gossiping:  “And Miriam and Aaron spoke against Moses because of the Cushite woman whom he had married; for he had married a Cushite woman.” The sentence is interesting for several reasons - Miriam is mentioned first instead of Aaron and the verb used is vatedabber, a feminine single verb indicating that Miriam is the primary speaker. They go on to complain that G-d is favoring Moses over the two of them. Sibling jealousy is not unusual. What was unusual was the result of the jealousy: tzara’at. Miriam was stricken all over with white scales as a result of her speech.

    In this week’s reading, we learn of the various types of tzara’at. We are given details of color, shape, size, location, frequency, duration, severity, and timing. We also learn that the kohen is the only person who can pronounce someone unclean and then clean again. One cannot and does not pronounce one’s own uncleanliness. 

    This seems fitting for a punishment that the rabbis feel is based on the “crime” of lashon hara (bad speech) and also rechilut (gossip). We often do not recognize our bad speech as such as it leaves our lips and even if we do, how often do we not care? In some ways this can be called an unseen crime because there is no tangible imprint left from words. One cannot measure a hurt feeling or a bruised heart. True, the results of a ruined reputation can be assessed, but rarely immediately nor in a way that is traceable back to the original source.

    We learn that G-d created the world with words. This teaches us that words have great power, both to create and to destroy.

    That’s an awesome responsibility of which parshat Tazria is a reminder. How do we balance our daily need to share information without talking badly about people? What do we do in our real world outside of parshat Tazria where instances of lashon hara are not greeted with visible punishment and affliction? Just as it takes 2 to tango it takes 2 to engage in lashon hara – a speaker and a listener. Ask the person to stop. Another option is called tokheha  (offering reproof). 

    Rabbi David Teutsch in his book A Guide to Jewish Practice: Ethics of Speech writes, “When there is a threat to a community’s moral life, each person has an obligation to address that threat. ... Doing tokheha, offering reproof, not only has a potential positive effect on the conduct of the person reproved; it also reminds the person offering the reproof not to emulate bad conduct." 

    To me, that’s what parshat Tazria is all about. The tzara’at is a physical manifestation of a behavior that threatens the ability of our people to live safely as a community. 

    A physical affliction would not “work” for us moderns – we understand that bad talk will not bring about sores on our bodies. Yet the parsha does provide interesting food for thought. 

Questions to discuss:

1. If it takes two to engage in Lashon Hara, why do you think only Miriam was afflicted with tzara’at?
2. Can you think of a situation where you would have to balance Lashon Hara with the need to speak the truth about someone?
3. How do you feel about the role of the kohen in this parsha?

Rabbah Arlene Berger is Education Director of the Chavurah at Sixth and I Historic Synagogue, Washington, DC.  

Parashat Tetzaveh: Priestly Garments and Tachritim, Burial Shrouds

Priestly Garments and Tachritim, Burial Shrouds

Co-written Rabbah Arlene Berger and Barbara Goldstein Durand

Parashat Tetzaveh

published in Washington Jewish Week, February 7, 2014

Parshat Tetzaveh describes in great detail, starting in Chapter 28:4-5, the rules for the special garments that priests in the Temple had to wear: 

"These are the vestments they are to make: a breastpiece/choshen, an ephod, a robe/me’il, a fringed tunic/ k’tonet tashbetz, a headdress/mitznefet, and a sash/avnet (or gartel in Yiddish). They shall make those sacral vestments for your brother Aaron and his sons, for priestly service to Me…and the fine linen.” 

The parshah then describe the specifics of each of these articles, including their colors, stones, dimensions, and placement.  In verse 42, the Torah mentions one last item, breeches/michnasaiyim, garments of practicality as opposed to articles of “dignity and adornment.” 

This parshah gives us some great examples of the many rules that Judaism has. (I will pause here for everyone to shout out their disbelief that Judaism has lots of rules…..Now that that’s out of the way, I will continue.) Some of these rules make obvious sense, like most of the 10 commandments. Others tell us how to observe our religion, such as honor the Sabbath or observe certain holidays. Others make no discernible sense but Jews are expected to follow them because G-d gave them to us— like Shatnez (prohibition on mixing linen and wool) and keeping kosher. The rules about the priestly garments in this week’s parshah are probably in this latter category—or are they?

Judaism also has a lot of traditions. I am convinced that our traditions keep us alive. Our traditions are the tachliss, the practical (or impractical) everyday ways in which we obey our commandments, in which we “do” everyday Judaism. Our traditions have allowed Judaism to survive for thousands of years. Reading the Torah portion every week is one of those traditions. I am very grateful for this particular tradition. Especially this week. 

I’ve been studying Parshat Tezaveh this week as I sit by the bedside of my aunt and dear lifelong friend, Barbara Goldstein Durand.  She is dying. When you talk to her, you might not realize that at first. Her attitude is serene, full of love for life and all around her. But still, she is dying. And at this time when her life could end at any moment, she is still vitally alive. One way to demonstrate her vitality has been to study with me as I prepared this Dvar Torah and to discuss the Parshah as part of our preparations for her death. 

As Aunt and I read these passages, she stopped me and said, “these sound a lot like what we [i.e., Jews] wear when we die, the shrouds.” She’s right. The tachritim, the simple white shrouds that Jews wear when they are buried, are modeled after the clothing prescribed for the Cohen Gadol to wear. The exact items that are worn as shroud are those listed in the verses above -minus the stones and jewels. 

My Aunt is the daughter of a Cohen and a Levi –  it was a modern early twentieth century marriage with her mom being the bat Cohen and her dad being the Levi. As a direct descendent of both Aaron and Moses, Aunt wondered if she were entitled to certain benefits in choosing her shroud. Could she have a designer shroud? Could she have some of the stones mentioned in the Parshah on her shroud or perhaps a special embroidered design? In other words, she wanted bling!

But although we don’t know the reasons for all of the rules for the priestly garments, there is a good reason why all Jews wear only a simple shroud when they are buried——to show that all people, rich or poor, regardless of gender or status, are equal before G-d. We all come into this world having been created in the image of G-d and we will all return to G-d in the same way—regardless of what we have done (or not done) during our sojourn on this earth. 

While Aunt really liked the idea of a designer shroud, she accepted with good grace the notion that she couldn’t have one. Even though the ancient priests got to wear beautiful and very special clothes, Aunt understood that these commandments don’t apply to their descendants. 

Aunt agreed, instead, to “accessorize” her shroud with her father’s tallit. Another piece of Jewish sancta. Another way of way of showing that she is part of the people Israel. A way to pay homage to her past, to take with her something that belonged to the parents that she adored and missed for so long, and who she looks forward to seeing again. Aunt’s parents (my grandparents) are the ones who initiated Aunt into the “tribe.” They taught her what it means to be Jewish. 

So, even at the end of her life, Aunt is still doing what we Jews do best—she’s following the rules, including learning Torah and teaching Torah. And she’s doing something else that we Jews do—figuring out ways to bend the rules, legally, to get what she wants. May we all be blessed to follow such an example. 

1. Why do you think the priests were commanded to wear such elaborate outfits? Can you think of similar rules for certain groups of people today? 

2. If we still had priesthood today, which rules for priests in the parashah would you change? 

3. Can you think of more examples of rules in Judaism that make obvious sense, that tell us how to observe our religious, and that made no obvious sense?

Parashat Beshallach: The murmuring motif

Exodus 13:17-17:16.

The Dvar Torah was published in the Washington Jewish Week on January 8, 2014

Parshat Beshallach contains one of the most profound Jewish stories — our ancestors pursuit by Pharoah and his troops out of Egypt into the desert, the splitting and crossing of the Sea of Reeds, and the subsequent drowning of the Egyptians and their horses. Moshe sang his song and then Miriam and the women took their tambourines and danced. We were free of slavery and on our way to becoming a nation. This is the exciting part of the parsha. We re-enact it on Pesach and are proud of it. Our people have faith in their leaders and have faith in their God.

But there is more to this parsha than the elation felt in the first half. There is a pattern of murmuring or complaint that is found throughout the chapters and is at counterpoint to the joy we just experienced. I’ve often described this phenomenon as the pattern of “our ancestors kvetching their way through the desert.” In this pattern, b’nai Yisrael (the children of Israel) complain about a real or perceived need, and they speak against/murmur/complain to Moshe, who in turn intercedes on their behalf with God. In the end, God listens to the complaints and fulfills whatever the particular need is of the moment. It is instructive that God never just ignored the children of Israel as they complained, especially as right after their need is met, they tend to start the complaint cycle anew.

This pattern occurs no less than four times in our parsha. The first time is actually right before the splitting of the sea (Exodus 14:11-14) as the children of Israel were “trapped” between the Egyptian army and the Sea of Reeds. They begin what will become an all too familiar trope, crying to Moshe, “Because there were no graves in Egypt, have you taken us away to die in the wilderness?” They had witnessed miracles but as soon as they encountered hardship or danger, God’s miracles were forgotten and the complaints began. Moshe responded with reassurance of God’s salvation and God delivered by splitting the sea.

We find out next “kvetch” just three days later when the people came to a place called Marah, which means bitter in Hebrew. The water there was too bitter to drink and the people murmered against Moshe, asking him “What shall we drink?” (Exodus 15:24). Again, Moshe cried out to God to rectify the situation, and God sweetened the waters for b’nai Yisrael to drink.

Our third “kvetch” happens in the Wilderness of Sin about one month after the Exodus. This time we find the people murmuring against Moshe and Aaron, because they had run out of food. They reminisced about Egypt where they “sat by the meat pots, and when we did eat bread to the full; for you have brought us forth into this wilderness, to kill this whole assembly with hunger.” (Exodus 16:3) Again, Moshe speaks to God and the story of themannah and the quail results.

The final “kvetch” of the parsha takes place on the next leg of the journey as the people, according to the commandment of God, encamped in Rephidim (Exodus 17:1-7). Once again they are at a place where there is no water. It becomes clear that Moshe takes these particular complaints seriously as he cries out to God that he is afraid the people will stone him if it escalates anymore. God responds by telling him to strike a rock and drinking water will flow from it. Moshe strikes the rock with his staff and water flows. The place where this incident occurred is named Massah u’Meribah. The Meribah, from the root form riv, meaning to quarrel, and Massah from the root form nasah, meaning to test or try God by saying “Is God in our midst or not?”

We start our story with receiving freedom in joy. The story continues with discontent and an inability to deal with the real life challenges of this journey. The murmuring motif in thisparsha is seen as representing b’nai Yisrael’s wilderness journey and their lack of faith in God in contrast to Moshe’s steadfast faith. I prefer to see it as representative of a people’s journey from a slave mentality to that of a free people and their nascent relationship with a God they are just beginning to understand and with whom they are forming an “adult” relationship.

As Jews we are constantly being tested — our beliefs, our morals, our values. It is a sign of maturity to be able to deal with challenging situations with a modicum of grace. It is a sign of faith to be willing to take on challenges and face the unknown. It is human to complain — just not too often.

Questions for discussion:
Look at the murmuring/kvetching incidents in the parsha and determine for yourself what motivated the Children of Israel.
What were their feelings towards Moshe? Towards God?
Why do you think Moshe and God acted the way they did?
How would you have acted had you been there?

Shabbat Shalom! 

Rabbah Arlene

Shabbat Ki Teitze: A Parsha of Transitions

Below is the Dvar Torah for Ki Teitze that appeared in this week's Washington Jewish Week newspaper.
I'd attach a link but only subscribers can read it on line:) Enjoy!


Shabbat Ki Teitze: A Parsha of Transitions

The High Holidays are coming. We are in the month of Elul, a time of introspection, of searching our souls to see what actions we have done in the past year that have “missed the mark” and therefore need to be changed for the coming year. As we dig deep and think about forgiveness between ourselves and others, ourselves and God, and perhaps most difficult of all, ask it of ourselves; we prepare for these tasks by reading the Torah portions and the special Haftarot of Consolation that lead to the Days of Awe.

Though difficult to see at first, Parashat Ki Teitze, fits into this pattern of helping us with our “Elul” work. Review this list of topics from the Parasha and see what patterns/messages you are able to discern:  treatment of female captives of war; inheritance rights of firstborn males;  punishment of an insubordinate son; treatment of the body of an executed criminal; how to deal with lost property; humane treatment of animals; safe building practices; not wearing clothing of the opposite sex; prohibition of combining wool and linen; tassels on garments; true accusations; issues of marital and sexual misconduct including adultery, rape and forbidden relationships; asylum for escaped slaves; sanctity of a military camp; lending at interest; the role of prostitution among Israelites; rules regarding eating another’s unharvested crops; consequences of kidnapping; rules concerning leprosy; guidelines for creditors; requirement for timely payment of wages; gleanings for the poor; caring for strangers, orphans and widows; limits of flogging; not muzzling a threshing ox; Levirate marriage; improper intervention in a fight; honest weights and measures. (section heading thanks to Etz Hayim chumash)

An impressive list! There doesn’t appear to be an apparent rhythm to its flow, yet I have gained great Elul insight from this Parasha. We are reminded that as human beings we are not the only sentient beings on this planet. Those of us who qualify as the haves are reminded quite bluntly of the have nots, what our responsibility is to them, and that our positions could change at any moment. We are reminded that as Jews we live in relationship to one another and that we have communal responsibilities – legal, financial, judicial, military. We are reminded that as Jews are not the only people on this planet and that we have to live in community with others as well. We are reminded that for every “thing” that we can explain, there are many “things” that we cannot explain – whether they come in the form of natural events, commandments, or inspiration from within.

Then we read the final verses. We come off this roller coaster ride of perspectives and reminders. We’ve been put in our places. We are ready to work on forgiveness to one and all. And we read the following lines (Deut 25: 17-19):

17. Remember what Amalek did to you by the way, when you came forth out of Egypt;
18. How he met you by the way, and struck [קָרְךָ] at your rear, all who were feeble behind you, when you were faint and weary; and he did not fear God.
19. Therefore it shall be, when the Lord your God has given you rest from all your enemies around, in the land which the Lord your God gives you for an inheritance to possess, that you shall blot out the remembrance of Amalek from under heaven; you shall not forget it.

Confused? We are ready to forgive. To work on our shortcomings, to be better citizens, to accept consequences. We all remember Amalek and how they basically fought dirty. Is that enough to contradict the meta message of the Parasha that we’ve just received and be told to blot out the memory of Amalek? Apparently yes.

According to Midrash it all revolves on the use of the קָרְךָ korcha in verse 18 as the hebrew word in the phrase “struck at your rear.” The word korcha shares the same root at the hebrew word for cold, kar.  When the Israelites left Egyptian slavery were happy, confident, enthusiastic. Perhaps the Amalek’s real sin was acting as a bucket of cold water and bringing the Israelites into the real world of disillusionment and danger. Perhaps Amalek brought the Israelites out of their taste of Gan Eden a bit earlier than intended, maybe before they were ready.

Rabbah Arlene Berger is the Education Director of the Chavurah at the Sixth and I Historic Synagogue.


Questions:
1.    Review the list above. What patterns do you find for topics listed in this Parasha? What do they teach you about preparing for the high holidays?
2.    Why does the Torah seem to put rulings about fair treatment of people, animals, Jews, nonJews, men and women all in the Parasha? Which lessons have been well received and which have been ignored?
3.    What lesson have you learned from Amalek? Did they steal a bit of Gan Eden from our ancestors?









Any thoughts or comments?


Shabbat Shalom -
Rabbah Arlene

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.