D’var Torah: Sarah Burd (Miketz)

In Miketz, Pharaoh dreams of 7 large cows standing along the Nile. Soon 7 smaller cows come along and eat the 7 large cows. Pharaoh then wakes up but he fell right back asleep and had a second dream.  In that dream, he saw 7 big ears of corn and 7 small ears of corn.The 7 small ears of corn ate the 7 big ears. Then Pharaoh woke again. He called his interpreters but none of them could tell him what his dreams meant. Then the butler remembered a man in jail (Joseph) who can interpret dreams. 

Joseph, who was still in jail, was prepped and dressed to meet Pharaoh.  Pharaoh tells Joseph about his dreams and then Joseph interprets Pharaoh’s dreams and says: “there will be a long famine in 7 years and he should start collecting crops now for the 7  long years of famine.” After hearing this interpretation, Pharaoh makes Joseph his head chief and they starts collecting and saving crops for all of Egypt and for people from other lands. 

One important theme I have learned from this Torah portion is always to be mindful to save. My grandparents have often said it is important to save for a rainy day. To me this means you should save for when you need it the most and that is what Joseph and Pharaoh were doing. 

It’s not just money that you can save, but you can save time too. Like after getting a homework assignment, it makes sense not to wait until the last minute to complete it so you have more time to review and fix mistakes you might have made. During the time of Pharaoh’s dream there was plenty of food and things were going well in Egypt. He shared the wealth of his community with the people outside. And that is another important theme: to give to people in need. 

Just as Pharaoh did, we must give back to the community. But what happens when you have no more food and clothing to give? You can still be compassionate in other ways. For example, this year my family and I adopted a dog from an animal shelter who was desperate for a good home. Like Joseph, who gave of himself by providing and interpreting the dreams of others while in jail, doing something for someone is another example of tzedakah. Whatever it is we save – money, time or energy – it is important to share it with those in need.

Often times when I am caught up in stress, homework, and very busy with activities I forget that there are those who are not lucky enough to attend a good school and to have the opportunities that I have. This relates to Miketz because the people who did not live in Egypt had to come from far away to get help from Pharaoh in order to survive.  I cannot imagine what they had to go through to get that food from Pharaoh. In Miketz the people who came to Egypt had to pay Pharaoh for the food. But there is no mention that the Egyptians had to pay for the food. Perhaps this is an example of separating in an undignified way those who have from those who need. The shelters that I have donated  to provide food and other materials to people anonymously. 

When Pharaoh required that people from outside Egypt pay for the food they needed, this could be interpreted as people going to a grocery store and paying for their food, but the difference is that Egypt was the only available grocery store. Pharaoh wanted to donate and provide for the people but he also wanted to make a profit.  This made me think what, would I do in Pharaoh’s shoes? Although tzedakah is important it, is also important to take care of your own family, friends, and community. 

When Pharaoh allowed food to be sold  to others, this was not truly tzedaka.  It appears that Pharaoh’s true intention was to only make money for himself and his future heirs.  In fact, in Miketz, the focus is greater on Joseph’s actions than Pharoah’s. Joseph was able to help others through tzedaka and his ability  to forgive his brothers for selling into slavery. Joseph’s actions may be considered as “True Tzedaka.”

Sarah Burd ’20

D’var Torah: Rabbi Marcia R. Plumb (Vayishlach)

 

This week’s parasha, Vayishlach, presents us with a challenge.  The parasha is all about forgiveness.  Even though Jacob tricked his brother, Esau, twice (by cheating him of his birthright and his father’s blessing) and they didn’t speak for many years, in Vayishlach, Jacob seeks forgiveness, and Esau forgives.  It is the first big introduction to the powerful Jewish idea of teshuvah.   When I find forgiveness hard to do, I think of the moment when Jacob and Esau kiss and hug each other in this week’s parasha.  If they can do it, then maybe so can I.

The challenge for me is this:  How did they do it?  How do we forgive someone who has hurt us badly?  What does forgiveness mean anyway?

When I think of forgiveness, I am often reminded of the secular adage, ‘Forgive and Forget.’  But that is very hard to do.  Some hurts don’t go away, and we can’t forget them.  The idea of forgive and forget also seems to imply that we let the person who hurt us ‘off the hook.’   In Judaism, when someone hurts us badly, we may choose to ignore it, and ‘forget.’  But teshuvah means something different.  It is not about forgetting—it is about remembering, and changing.

The word teshuvah can help us understand the Jewish idea of forgiveness.  Teshuvah literally means to turn, or return to our best selves.  It means to let go of that which keeps us from being our best selves.  For example, we are our best selves when we let go of anger and resentment.  There is a wonderful Mussar text which says that ‘Anger is like acid; it destroys the container it is in before it can be poured out.’  In other words, our anger at someone can damage us because it can cause us to be less compassionate, curious and caring.  Anger can make us knotted up inside, stressed, and sad.

Teshuvah is about letting go of the anger that knots us up.  Teshuvah requires us to tell the person who hurt us what they did, and teshuvah asks us to give that person a chance to change and become better.  And it challenges us to let go of anger that may be causing us more harm than good.

This week, take a look at the anger we may hold within us toward someone else.  Can we follow the path of Jacob and Esau, and let it go?  What would it feel like to do that? Can releasing the anger, even briefly, give us some precious moments of peace and freedom?

May we find the blessing of teshuvah this week.

Rabbi Marcia R. Plumb, Congregation Mishkan Tefila, Brookline

D’var Torah: Shira Fischer ’92 (Vayeitzei)

In the first part of this parasha, Ya’akov is running away from his parents and brother. As he heads toward Charan, he stops in a place where he sees angels and God appears to him. He takes a stone to mark the place and gives the place a name—Beit El, or house of God—and then makes a vow to God.

When Ya’akov sees the angels, they are noted to be “olim v’yordim” on the famous ladder. Ascending and descending: up and then down. You might ask, as Rashi does (RAbbi SHlomo Itzhaki, 11th century France), why are the words in this order? If they’re angels, from heaven, shouldn’t they be going DOWN first and only then UP?

According to the midrash in Genesis Rabbah (68:12) on which Rashi bases his answer, angels from the land of Israel aren’t allowed to leave—so the ones from Israel had to go back up, and different ones came down to accompany him out of the land.

That same section of midrash has many other explanations of what this up and down is. It suggests a connection to the sacrifices in the Temple and the priests going up and down the ramp to the altar. It connects to Mount Sinai with Moshe himself going up and down, using the same verbs. It even brings a proof from gematria: SuLaM (60+30+40) has the same value as SINaI (60+10+50+10), meaning the ladder represents Mount Sinai. Interestingly, the Rashbam, Rashi’s grandson who is known for his literal read of the text, wants nothing to do with the midrashic interpretation. He writes, “According to the plain meaning of the text, there is no need to read any special message into the word ‘climbing’ appearing before the word ‘descending,’” directly disagreeing with his grandfather.

However you want to interpret this short phrase, the discussion among the commentators illustrates the importance and power of close reading. We ask, why is the text written the way it is? What can we learn from it? And also, how do we disagree, respectfully, with others who might read the text differently?

In the last part of this week’s Torah reading, Ya’akov, now with 4 wives and 11 children, is again running away from his family, this time his father-in-law and uncle Lavan. He takes a stone to mark the place, names the place (Gal’ed and Mitzpah), and makes a vow to Lavan. God’s angels then encounter him and he names that place Machanaim. A close read reveals many parallels to the beginning of the parasha. What do you think these parallels mean?

— Shira Fischer ’92, Schechter Parent

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D’var Torah: Rabbi Dov Bard (Toldot)

Peace and Tranquility – Really?

Although we regularly recite that the Torah “…is a tree of life to those who grasp it, and those who uphold it are happy.  Its ways are ways of pleasantness, and all its paths are peace,” but is the Torah really about pleasantness and peace?   Happiness?  It would seem that a life focused on Torah would result in a deep sense of spirituality, tranquility and peace.  However did you ever stop to read Genesis?

As we progress in our study of Genesis we are amazed by some constant themes which focus on physical struggle, deception, confrontation and conflict.  Siblings are in conflict, barren wives are jealous, couples encounter profound tensions . . . and then this week Rebekah is “barren” and Isaac pleads with God for a child.  She gets pregnant however it is an agonizing pregnancy – וַיִּתְרֹֽצֲצ֤וּ הַבָּנִים֙ בְּקִרְבָּ֔הּ וַתֹּ֣אמֶר אִם־כֵּ֔ן לָ֥מָּה זֶּ֖ה אָנֹ֑כִי וַתֵּ֖לֶךְ לִדְרֹ֥שׁ אֶת־יְהוָֽה׃   “But the children struggled in her womb, and she said, “If so, why do I exist?”

Rabbi Steinsaltz focuses on this agonizing pregnancy and warns us that in general we shouldn’t fool ourselves.  He teaches that life is a permanent struggle without and within and we should understand the existence of conflict.  Hoping for peace and tranquility is not realistic

“With this knowledge, one is not disappointed about failing to attain peace, nor does one feel that one’s life has been wasted if one does not achieve a decisive victory in the battle of life. A person must realize that everything he does involves a struggle, that life is war in which “nation over nation shall strengthen itself.”  The pendulum swings from side to side, and the task of man is to make every effort to emerge from the struggle in a better state that he entered it. In the course of the struggles, in between battles, he should make sure to move forward. Ultimately, this is all a human being can achieve.”  (Opening the Tanya p. 229)

This is sobering but isn’t it good to be sober?

Rabbi Dov Bard, Former Head of School, Schechter Alumni Parent

 

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D’var Torah: Rabbi Ilana C. Garber ’91

Imagine if we could live forever. Ignore the problems with this idea, like serious overcrowding, scarcity of resources, and the technological developments that we can’t even fathom right now. Imagine what it would be like to know that we could live forever. 

When our matriarch Sarah dies this week in Chayei Sarah, the portion bearing her name tells us about her life. And, to be more literal, about her lives. Sarah lives to be 127 years old. And while she dies in the first sentence, the rest of the portion is about the influence of her life on those who loved her and who came after her. You could say that Sarah lives on forever in her descendants, even us.

Perhaps that is how we live forever. Our children carry on the values we share with them as our legacy. Their children inherit that legacy along with our names and our history. Chayei Sarah, the lives of Sarah, means that her life influences ours even to this day.

Peter Stark, zichrono livracha, is one such “ancestor” that continues to influence my life and the lives of our children. He was our beloved Tanakh teacher at Schechter in the 80s and 90s. I had the sad honor to officiate at his funeral several years ago.

I am so proud to be part of a community that has come together to remember Peter and to ensure that his values and legacy live on in our Schechter students and in generations to come. Peter’s students and alumni parents, along with his family, are establishing an endowment in his name. This fund will provide professional development for Schechter’s teachers to bring innovative pedagogy to the classroom. It will also give each 8th grader a copy of the text of Kohelet/Ecclesiastes, the megilah that we just read on Sukkot that invites questions of life, death, value, and merit to be explored, that they will study and take with them on their Jewish journeys.

I recently had the privilege to share Kohelet and Peter’s legacy with this year’s 8th grade class. I stood in the library on Wells Ave, a space that should have been his classroom and would have been his creative learning lab, and I felt that my teacher was standing behind me. He would have loved that I taught the 8th graders to recite Kohelet 1:2 out loud in Hebrew (look it up and recite it dramatically, with an extra long haaaaaavel as the last word). Peter would have been so grateful to the Schechter community that his impact has a ripple effect on generations to come.

While we cannot live forever, we know that our teacher was taken from this earth too soon. As I challenged the 8th graders that morning, I’ll challenge you as well: think of someone who has influenced your life in a way that continues to live on in you and in others. Now, strive to be that person who impacts others’ lives. That way, your legacy will endure forever.

 

Rabbi Ilana C. Garber ’91, Rabbinic Director of Lifelong Learning & Community Engagement, Beth El Temple, West Hartford

D’var Torah: Rabbi Michael Swarttz (Vayerah)

Vayerah:  There All Along, Here All Along

We are quite familiar with the last two chapters of Vayerah, as they are read on Rosh Hashanah.  Hagar and Ishmael are expelled from Abraham and Sarah’s household in order to assure Isaac’s inheritance. Out in the wilderness and homeless, they are soon out of water, and Hagar assumes that they will die. She separates herself from Ishmael because she cannot bear to see her beloved son die, and she cries.  God hears her and sends an angel who assures her that they will not only survive, but that Ishmael will go on to become the father of a great nation.

And then “God opened her eyes and she saw a well with water. She went and filled the skin with water and let the boy drink.” A miracle!  But most commentators see the miracle not that God suddenly created the well for them, but that Hagar’s outlook and perspective changed so that she could see the well that was there all along.

I often think of this image in connection with the hundreds of thousands of young American Jews who abandon Jewish life and their connection to Jewish community after their Bar or Bat Mitzvah.  The well, or wellspring, of Torah is there, but they can’t see it, because they have gone through a minimal “supplementary” educational system that cannot possibly convey the beauty and depth of Jewish tradition in the limited time it has with its students. So they drift away, not having gained a love of Torah and Jewish life, maybe to come back later, maybe not.

Meet Sarah Hurwitz. Sarah is one of those young people who left and came back. In this limited space I can’t do justice to her story, so read her book, entitled Here All Along: Finding Meaning, Spirituality, and a Deeper Connection to Life—in Judaism (After Finally Choosing to Look There).

Sarah grew up in Wayland, became a Bat Mitzvah and “left the fold,” as it were. Professionally she became a lawyer, then a speechwriter for prominent Democratic candidates, including Barack Obama, and eventually the chief speechwriter for Michelle Obama. By chance Sarah signed up for an Introduction to Judaism class in D.C., which opened her eyes to Jewish teachings and wisdom.  This led to Jewish meditation retreats, immersion in Jewish study and ultimately to her writing the book she wished had been available to her as she engaged in her search and return.  In it she describes what she considers to be the important elements of Jewish thought and practice. While it is not a memoir, Sarah does describe her “Jewish journey” (an overused but apt expression here).

Hagar opened her eyes to see the well that was there all along.  Sarah Hurwitz opened her eyes to the beauty and depth of Torah and Judaism that she realized had been “Here All Along” but had alluded her.  The book is inspiring and informative, regardless of how strong a Jewish background you have. I have made it the focus of my adult education class in my shul this year, and I anticipate that many other rabbis and educators will as well. I encourage you to read it, and to give it anyone you know—young or not so young—who need to open their eyes to Jewish life and tradition.

Rabbi Michael Swarttz is the parent of Schechter alumnus Nadav Swarttz

D’var Torah: Lech Lecha (Shoshi Jalfin)

It was for the love of the Hebrew language and Jewish texts that already at age 15, I decided to be a teacher. It was a special call, an inner voice telling me, “Lechi Lach – Go to yourself.” From that moment on, I followed the path leading to fulfill my dream, and after so many years, “Hineni, – Here I am,” still teaching with passion.

In parashat Lech Lecha, both Abram and Sarai hear a special call. Together they leave their country, their homeland and their family behind in Haran to go to a land they do not know because they feel, at that precise moment, that following that voice is what they have to do. Quoted in Pirkei Avot, Hilel says, “Im ein ani li, mi li… Ve Im lo achsav ei matai – If I am not for myself, then who will be for me?… And if not now when?” This is what I interpret that Abram and Sarai do upon leaving their comfort zone and when going toward the unknown. Sometimes too, we just hear that voice, the specific urgent call we must follow, knowing that although uncertain, it is a good one; a journey that is going to impact both our own life and the life of others. This, I believe, is what leadership is all about.

Recently, after many years of teaching, a new voice has called me forth. For a second year now, I have been involved in a Teacher Leadership Fellowship program at Brandeis University.  When I first heard about this program, I felt that this was my second Lechi Lach call. My initiative is to support the school vision of teaching Judaic Studies in depth, with purpose and joy. I can fulfill this mission by helping other teachers and myself perfect our instruction, by having discussions around what good teaching is, by deepening our knowledge and expertise, and by making the topics of what we teach more relevant to our students. While experiencing joy, students can understand the purpose of what we, the Jewish people, do and why we do it. 

Abram and Sarai who’s names in this parasha are changed to Abraham and Sarah, begin their own leadership journey and are promised to have as many children as the stars in the sky and the dust on earth so to carry on the legacy of their values and their belief in God to their offspring, Isaac and Rebecca; Jacob, Leah and Rachel. Like Rabbi Tarfon says, “Lo Alecha Hamelacha Ligmor…”. “It is not just up to you to finish the work, but neither are you free to desist from it.” We must be role models to others to continue what we have started. So following Abraham and Sarah’s foot steps, may we too hear that call, our inner voice, and pass it on “Mi dor  le dor”, “From generation to generation”. In our Schechter community, whether we are parents or teachers, we are partners in teaching our children keep our Jewish values and traditions alive and by living them to the fullest.

D’var Torah: Stephanie Maroun (Noach)

In Genesis 6:1-11:32, we read of God’s dismay and response to the growing wickedness and moral devolution among the descendents of Adam. God levies a catastrophic flood upon the earth in order to eradicate every living thing, but not before identifying Noah as a singularly righteous individual among humankind. Through explicit instructions, God commands the ever obedient Noah to build an ark to save and shelter his family and to bring along a male and female pair of all earth’s creatures, seven pairs of clean animals and all the foods necessary for the ark’s inhabitants during the 40 days of devastating rain and torrent.

Following the flood and its lengthy aftermath, Noah, his family and the creatures aboard the ark eventually emerge to a new world with the weighty, providential opportunity to begin again and to lead subsequent generations towards a brighter future. Pleased with Noah’s efforts, God establishes a covenant with him in which He vows never to destroy humankind again and marks this promise by setting a rainbow among the clouds.

To this day, the rainbow, one of nature’s loveliest and most ephemeral phenomena is an enduring and indelible sign of hope. It has emerged, especially powerfully, in recent years to signify tolerance and inclusion. Fortunately, biblical floods and thunderbolts have been replaced by education, awareness and progress. The world of today is not as binary or quantifiable as in Noah’s time. The divine seven-color rainbow bestowed by God has evolved into a symbol that represents the complex, modern spectrum of life. Indeed, God’s reminder to Himself now adorns clothing, flags, storefronts and bumper stickers as a charge and message of better, kinder days to come, but only with our attention and efforts.

Like the rainbow, though, progress can sometimes be hard to discern or see clearly. In an era of growing hate crimes, parochialism and antisemitism, the citizens of the earth must be put on notice to develop sensitivity and respect when it is lacking, to be upstanders against turpitude and not to slip silently into egocentrism and passiveness through complacency or habit. Let us not forget again our dangerous ability to destroy ourselves by forsaking the personal and shared morality we must show towards each other and the world.

D’var Torah: Rabbi Gilbert S. Rosenthal

I always loved Parshat B’reshit. It is the first chapter of the Torah and it says it all: The creation of the universe, the birth of living creatures, the fashioning of the first humans—Adam and Eve—love, marriage, jealousy, birth of children, sibling rivalry and fratricide, the formation of various tribes and nations, the insidious appearance of evil, etc. Perhaps the greatest verse is chapter 5:1: “And God created humans in His image.” Rabbi Akiva stressed the importance of this passage when he stated (Mishnah Avot 3:8), “Precious is humanity for having been created in the image of the Divine.” We are not merely animals; were are sentient, intelligent humans with the unique ability of choosing good versus evil and of developing our intellect and creating a better world.

What can one say as we scan the world and witness such brutality and cruelty among the nations? Is this the way God planned things? And what shall our reaction be when our own nation—the land that welcomed the poor and persecuted and homeless masses to its shores of freedom and opportunity would wall-off millions and designate them as “criminals, rapists, murderers, drug dealers,” etc.? Had this attitude prevailed, my ancestors never would have made it to America in the 1880s, fleeing Czarist pogroms.

We need to study B’reshit carefully, once again. We need the religious leaders of all faiths to reemphasize its great teachings and value-system. We need politicians who are not just fixed on getting reelected but who stand for the principles that made America great and a beacon to all the other nations on earth, inspiring them to copy our example. Rabbi Tanhuma said it best in this wonderful passage (Genesis Rabbah 24:7): “

Whoever curses, deprecates or degrades another human being it is as if he cursed, deprecated or degraded God, because the human being is created in His image.”

Perhaps we might send a copy of this quote to all of our religious leaders, politicians, and school principals. Maybe, then, the hopes and dreams of the Creation tale might be realized?

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D’var Torah: Rabbi Elan Babchuck ’96 (Chol Hamoed Sukkot)

The Medizbozer Rebbe used to say: During the High Holidays, we find ourselves serving God with the entirety of our being. On Rosh Hashanah, we serve with our head, as memory enwreathes our mind. On Yom Kippur, we serve with the heart, as fasting strains the heart to its fullest capacity, and we open our hearts to our loved ones in seeking and granting forgiveness. And on Sukkot, we serve with our hands, as we grasp the lulav and etrog and build our sukkot from the ground up.

Indeed, the head-work and heart-work of the High Holidays can be engrossing, engaging, and exhausting to the mind and the spirit, respectively. When we truly give ourselves over to the task of searching our heads and scanning our hearts for all that ails us, inspires us, and moves us, we often find ourselves collapsed in a heap after the rush of bagels and orange juice at break-fast. And yet – tired as we may be – our work is just beginning.

As soon as the break-fast is cleaned up and we’re once again properly caffeinated, our task moves from the head and heart to the hands; it’s time to build the sukkah, grasp the lulav and etrog, and get to work.

On its own, the metaphor of our High Holiday time as a full-bodied experience is profound. But it’s the progression – head to heart to hands – that I find most compelling. What is the work of our hands if not a reflection on the passion of the spirit, the conviction of the mind? How could we possibly put our hands to work before we intellectually and instinctually understand what it is we’re trying to build?

Whether your handiwork involves building a sukkah, extending outreach to someone in need, or simply embracing a loved one, my blessing for us all is that the work of our hands flows authentically from the newly-minted memories of our minds and the deeply-rooted hopes of our hearts. Chag Sameach!

Rabbi Elan Babchuck ’96 is the Director of Innovation of Clal-The National Jewish Center for Learning and Leadership.