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Devar Torah (Word of Torah)
Parashat Mishpatim
27 Shevat 5769 / 20-21 February 2009
Rabbi Joe Blair
Temple House of Israel, Staunton VA
Shabbat Service Commemorating Evolution ‘Weekend’ 2009
Shalom.
The Torah (five books of Moses) portion we have just read for this week is a combined reading, taken from the reading known as Mishpatim (Ex. 21:1-24:18), along with the reading of an excerpt taken from Ki Tisa (Ex. 30:11-16). The first section is the continuation of the reading of the Torah in the standard cycle beginning at Simchat Torah (Rejoicing in the Law), while the second section is a special additional reading to acknowledge that this is Shabbat Shekalim (the Sabbath on which we recall the per capita tax for maintenance of the Temple).
The weekly portion, Mishpatim, is a continuation of the narrative that began last week in weekly portion Yitro (Ex. 18:1-20:23), in which the people have all witnessed the revelation of G-d, and they have received and accepted the Aseret Hadibrot (the ten sayings, sometimes called the ten commandments). They have been overawed by encountering G-d, and have asked Moses to speak to G-d on their behalf.
We begin our reading this week with the people still gathered at the foot of Mount Sinai ten weeks after they have fled from Egypt. Moses is still conversing with G-d for the people, and is being given a summation of the laws that G-d commands the Hebrews to follow. Moses hears and writes it down for the people, then, as G-d instructs, Moses goes up on the mountain into the cloud of fire to be given the Tablets and to learn the full contents of the commandments.
Reading these two sections together as a whole, we find that G-d is giving Moses the information on how the people are to live in a shorter form, having Moses deliver that information, then having Moses ascend to learn the full scope of the instruction (Torah) and how to interpret and apply the laws contained in it. This section is sometimes referred to as the Sefer Habrit – the book of the covenant – setting out the rules and regulations for how to live (in an abbreviated form). This is enough for some purposes; but the full version is coming along shortly. If I just want to know what to do this minute in the normal course of events, the short form is adequate. If, however, I want to know what about in the case of a person in a space ship passing a plutoid who encounters a previously unknown type of animal…. Then, I would need to look to the full version and use the techniques given for how to apply these rules in new and unusual situations. In short, I would need to use the correct method or tool to find the answer. We always need to find and use the right tools to approach questions of import.
Not very long ago, after I had concluded telling the class the outline of the exciting story of the parting of the reed sea (not ‘Red,’ as it is so often mis-stated) to one of the younger classes in the religious school, one of the young boys in the class came up to me afterwards, and in a very earnest way, asked me, “Did that really happen?”
That young boy voiced a question that so many ask. They aren’t as direct, or as clear, and they add in all sorts of presuppositions and assumptions, but at the bottom of it all, they are asking the same thing, and for much the same reasons.
That is the question that led to the creation of the science of archeology. That is also the question that led to the development of many religious beliefs in the world. The question is common, but the tools selected to try to answer make a difference.
It seems to me, in fact, that this is the question that is at the heart of the divide in approach between those who seek a literal reading of the Scriptural text , and those who interpret it. These positions in many instances have come to be framed in the light of science versus religion.
I think that this framing is a mistaken idea. It is not one or the other; rather these are two different approaches, two sets of tools to try to examine the world around us. Human nature being what it is, when someone has a hammer, everything they see is a nail! That way lie a lot of smashed fingers, and not many answers!
The issues, when approached from each of these perspectives, present different aspects. For the religiously focused, there is a nut and bolt, and the tool needed to make it work is a wrench. In that way of thinking, the bolt is how things are, the nut is how they came to be that way, and the wrench is G-d. The goal is find and accept an explanation for what it is, and why it is as it is.
For the scientifically minded, there is a wood screw, and the tool needed is an appropriate Phillips head screwdriver. The screw is the observed world, and the screwdriver is the series of theories and experiments used to try to take the screw out of the wood. The goal is to take it all apart and see what makes it tick by eliminating all the possible explanations one by one until there is nothing else that can explain what is.
Insisting on using the tools that the other approach needs leads only to frustration and failure, and criticizing the other for using different tools is nothing but foolish.
To argue with science as a valid methodology for not being a religious approach is no more sensible than arguing with the screwdriver for not being a wrench, and vice versa. To my mind, the two approaches are compatible and congruent. As a Jew, I see no difficulty in believing in G-d, the Creator, and also in applying the scientific method to tease out more information about the world around us, the very world that G-d created! There is no need to select one or the other. Such a formulation is pointlessly divisive. If you prefer one approach or the other, that is fine; but that does not negate the other as a valid approach, when it is used for the appropriate inquiries.
More: to dogmatically and stubbornly cling to one or the other – either one – is to minimize the wonder of G-d. For example, when science seeks to dismiss the marvelous, miraculous events of this world as ‘just’ normal, it does damage to all of us as human beings who are privileged to see G-d’s handiwork in the everyday miracles of the growth of a seed into a plant that then buds and flowers, or the birth of a child with a unique, individual personality. At the same time, for the religious to scoff and jeer at the scientific approach as godless and faithless is equally an affront and belittling of G-d, because it was G-d that created mankind with the intellect and the tool making ability, coupled with the urge to explore and understand that led to the scientific method and approach.
Admittedly, I am primarily one who approaches things from a religious perspective, so the examples I am using presuppose that approach. That said, I have absolutely no problem with science, or approaching an examination of things in that fashion. As a Jew and a religious person, I am comfortable with the understanding that all knowledge is ultimately from G-d. Science is one of the ways to approach knowledge, and in that way learn more about G-d and the world that G-d has created.
Coming back to that young boy, the right answer for him was not to answer, but rather to turn the question around, and to ask him, “What do you think?” He paused, thought, and then told me, “I think people think so, but maybe it was all pretend.” He then ran off towards some of his friends. He used the tool that fit for him, and the answer he found worked for him. By giving him the freedom to answer for himself now, he has the power to revisit that question through his life, and to come to different conclusions.
As he, and we, grow and mature and change in our lives, we move back and forth between different approaches, and reach different answers at different moments. For me, this too, is part of the everyday miracle of life. We are not trapped in one view or one approach. We have the ability to find the tool that works for us and continually to find fresh insights into the nature of the world, ourselves, and G-d. To limit ourselves to one view is to put blinders on and to miss part of the marvel that is the world that G-d has made.
Shabbat shalom.
Archive for the ‘culture’ Category
Evolution ‘Weekend’ – Devar Torah on Religion & Science
Monday, March 2nd, 2009Affirming the Dignity of All: An Interfaith Litany based on the Declaration of Human Rights
Wednesday, December 10th, 2008Friends,
Today (December 10th, 2008) is the 60th anniversary of the signing of the U.N.’s Declaration on Human Rights.
A colleague and classmate from rabbinical school has produced the following litany which can be read in commemoration of that event. I thought it worth sharing with you. My appreciation to Rabbi Joshua Lesser for permitting me to share this.
Rabbi Joe
Affirming the Dignity of All: An Interfaith Litany based on the Declaration of Human Rights
inspired by the DHR in its many forms by Rabbi Joshua Lesser
When we are born, we are free. Each of us is worthy to be treated in the same manner. We must have conscience and act towards one another with mutual concern.
As People of Faith, we affirm the dignity, the equality and the rights of all members of the human family. Our Oneness is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world.
Though we are from different countries, we share the same rights without distinction of any kind, such as race, skin color, sex, language, religion, political or other opinion, social origin, property, birth or other status.
As People of Faith, we affirm the dignity, the equality and the rights of all members of the human family. Our Oneness is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world.
All people have the right to live, to enjoy freedom, to rely upon safety. Slavery in all forms is an affront to these rights as is the practice of torture.
As People of Faith, we affirm the dignity, the equality and the rights of all members of the human family. Our Oneness is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world.
Everyone has the right to recognition everywhere as a person before the law, to be legally protected in the same way everywhere, and like everyone else. No one has the right to be imprisoned, accused falsely or to be sent from their country unjustly. Everyone is entitled to a fair trial while being considered innocent until proven guilty.
As People of Faith, we affirm the dignity, the equality and the rights of all members of the human family. Our Oneness is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world.
All people are deserving of protection in the face of harm. No one should be subjected to arbitrary interference to privacy, family, or correspondence, nor to attacks upon honor and reputation. If these things occur, all people have the right to protection from the law.
As People of Faith, we affirm the dignity, the equality and the rights of all members of the human family. Our Oneness is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world.
Everyone has the right to come and go as we wish. The right to asylum,
a nationality, and the freedom to change nationality is everyone’s right.
As People of Faith, we affirm the dignity, the equality and the rights of all members of the human family. Our Oneness is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world.
People of legal age, without any limitation due to race, nationality or religion, have the right to marry and to establish a family. Motherhood and childhood are entitled to special care and assistance. All children, regardless of how they were born, deserve the same social protection.
As People of Faith, we affirm the dignity, the equality and the rights of all members of the human family. Our Oneness is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world.
The right to own property to freedom of thought, conscience and religion, opinion and expression is everyone’s right. All people have the right to freedom of peaceful assembly and association and are entitled to participate in government and in free elections.
As People of Faith, we affirm the dignity, the equality and the rights of all members of the human family. Our Oneness is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world.
Each of us has the right to work, to be free to choose our work, and to get a salary which allows us to support our family. If a man and a woman do the same work, they should get the same pay. All people who work have the right to join together to defend their interests.
As People of Faith, we affirm the dignity, the equality and the rights of all members of the human family. Our Oneness is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world.
Everyone has the right to go to school and receive an education and parents have the prior right to choose the kind of education that shall be given to their children.
As People of Faith, we recognize the dignity, the equality and the rights of all members of the human family. Our Oneness is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world.
Everyone has the right to participate in the cultural life of their society, to enjoy the arts and to appreciate the scientific advancement and its benefits. Everyone has the right to the protection of the moral and material interests resulting from scientific, literary or artistic creation of which he or she is the originator.
As People of Faith, we affirm the dignity, the equality and the rights of all members of the human family. Our Oneness is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world.
We have obligations towards the community within which each of us can only fully develop. The law should guarantee human rights. It should allow everyone to respect others and to be respected.
As People of Faith, we affirm the dignity, the equality and the rights of all members of the human family. Our Oneness is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world
Rabbi Sue Levi Elwell Yizkor 5769 Drash
Tuesday, October 21st, 2008Yizkor
Yom Kippur
10 Tishrei 5769/9 October 2008
Temple Beth El
Harrisonburg, VA
Rabbi Sue Levi Elwell
I spoke this morning about Yom Kippur as a day of descent. For some, the destination of our descent is yizkor, this service of memory, of remembering. Just about every single one of us gathered in this sanctuary is here to intentionally remember—to bring to mind with a clarity that is facilitated by and on this day—to reassemble, in our mind’s eye, the stage on which we played with friends and beloveds, now gone. This day provides that state—it is up to us to recall the props, the staging, the lines and the cues. We address ourselves to this challenge as if—if we did it right, remembering the way the light glistened in her hair, the full laugh that so delighted—or embarrassed us—that ridiculous outfit, that keen sense of duty, that passionate involvement, that loving presence—if we could only remember it fully, we might bring our beloved back to us—for one last word, one final embrace, a request for forgiveness, a tear of regret, a burst of gratitude.
But we do not have that power. We have memory, yes, but not the power to bring back the days when our loved ones sat beside us, nudging, loving, cajoling, spoiling us, celebrating life with us.
So today we look for ways to honor the memory of those who enriched our lives with their presence. Now that they are gone, it is up to us to carry out their precious legacies. While we Jews often name our children after those who have passed away, how often are we equally intentional about picking up their dreams—and taking concrete, deliberate steps towards fulfilling hopes those we loved were not able to realize. Sometimes we fulfill the dreams of our beloveds simply by living full, purposeful lives. We know for whom we were the life project. Other times, it is easy—and joyful—to help realize their commitments, for we share the values that shaped them, and that shaped us. Sometimes, although we love them and miss them, the legacies of our beloveds are complicated and even challenging to our beliefs. Perhaps today will open a window to enable us to reconsider this legacy—and work towards transforming it—in memory of a beloved who loved to eat—or cook—we could work to end hunger, locally or beyond geographical boundaries. To honor the memory of one who was unable to show love, perhaps our involvement in or support of an organization that provides loving homes—for discarded people or abandoned animals—perhaps such work would work to heal our own deep sense of loss.
It is up to us to create living memorials to those we loved—to extend the influence of their goodness, their kindness, their passions—beyond the grave. And, if we can, to work towards repairing their broken dreams, by creating opportunities for others—in their name.
So on this day of memory, may we enters the doors of yizkor honoring that memory is a complex and challenging exercise. And that finally, each of us is enriched beyond measure because for some time we were privileged to share this world with each of those who is now gone.
Ashreinu. How blessed are we, for their lives, for their gifts, their passions, their joys.
May we be worthy guarantors of their memory.
Yom Kippur 5769 Sermon by Rabbi Sue Levi Elwell
Friday, October 17th, 2008
Shir HaMa’a lot: A Song of Ascents
Temple House of Israel, Staunton, VA
Temple Beth El, Harrisonburg, VA
10 Tishrei 5769/8&9 October 2008
Rabbi Sue Levi Elwell
During one of my first visits to the Shenandoah Valley, Nurit and I visited one of the caverns. I later discovered that I was following a family tradition—my grandparents included a visit to a Shenandoah Valley cavern on their honeymoon in 1916! I will never forget my first descent into the unexpectedly beautiful world below the surface of the earth. I kept wondering about the first individuals to “discover” these formations. Once they kindled light to illuminate the beauty around them, did they think that they had descended into a kind of heaven, and that the myths of a hot and smoldering ugly netherworld had simply been wrong? Were they dazzled, as were we, by what they saw? What did they think of the even temperature and the cool water that glides down the walls and creates sparkling, shimmering pools on the floor?
My first visit was followed by another. Even if I visited every year that I am blessed to be with you here, I will never take for granted the magnificent power of the stalactites and stalagmites that form curtains and columns and vistas of natural beauty that delight and amaze so many visitors every year. We who visit this magical world below are afforded a glimpse into the formation of the earth hundreds of millions of years ago, vistas that take our breath away.
The cavern provides a powerful metaphor for us as we enter into this solemn and challenging day of Yom Kippur.
This is a day of mystery and wonder. On this day, we are encouraged to enter a place that is both familiar and unfamiliar. When you, fortunate residents of this area, approach any of the caverns, the terrain is familiar and welcoming. And then you descend below the surface of the earth, and, perhaps like me, are amazed anew. So it is with this day. We enter this familiar sanctuary, and greet friends, family, and acquaintances. We welcome newcomers who are grateful to have found a community with whom to observe this Day of Awe. And then we open the machzor, the High Holiday prayerbook, and we are ushered into the liturgy of this uniquely solemn day. And as Yom Kippur progresses, we descend deeper and deeper into the cavern of our souls.
The metaphor of descent mirrors the journey of the ancient High Priest into the Holy of Holies on this day. This is how Rabbi Jill Hammer describes the Yom Kippur ritual:
Nothing could be more mysterious than the image of the high priest entering the holiest chamber of the Temple on Yom Kippur. As the high priest utters the secret name of the Divine within a cloud of incense, it is as if he planted the sacred word like a seed, creating the cosmos anew. Emerging from the shrine, the high priest renews the land and inspires the people to awe and repentance.
She continues,
On Yom Kippur, many Jews fast and pray the whole day. The words of the Yom Kippur prayers are like the winding journey of the high priest toward the Holy of Holies. Each prayer takes us a little closer to the innermost depths of ourselves. On this day, we are all high priests meeting the Divine in privacy and intimacy. Surrounded by clouds of song and petition, we are able to look into our hearts more deeply than on any other day of the year.[1]
We enter into this day, this day that is the Holy of Holies, as if we were entering one of the nearby caverns. Some of us are unsure about whether or not to enter this day of descent. We’re here because of someone else’s idea of what Judaism asks—or demands—of us. We entered this synagogue tonight as a tourist enters a renowned cathedral, with curiosity and respect, but without commitment. But Yom Kippur is not like any other day in our calendar. This is the Day of Awe, the day when individuals become community by collectively opening our hearts. So you who are hesitating—take the hand of the one beside you. You who hold back, catch the reassuring glance and the outstretched arm of your neighbor. For centuries, Jews have taken the risk of journeying into the dark on this day. Together, we muster the courage to step into the unknown of this Sabbath of Sabbaths, this Day of Judgment.
How well prepared are we for this journey? Do we carry sources of illumination with us? Like early cave explorers, we may carry only candles, which are easily extinguished. Once they’re out, we may find that our matches have become soggy and unusable. How will we make our way in the dark? We move closer together to reassure ourselves that we are not alone.
The air thins, and we find ourselves gasping for breath. But as the seconds become minutes, our breath returns and oxygen courses through our veins and arteries without our willing it. We’re surprised by a wave of calm that follows the panic. We realize that our eyes are slowing becoming accustomed to the lack of light. We’re not going to perish here.
A descent into darkness need not be a one way journey. Rather, this awesome day welcomes us to name the difficult, challenging, painful, narrow passages in our lives, to acknowledge the fears that stop our hearts. By providing particular words, and music, and silence, this day guides us through our descent into awe. After some time, our eyes become accustomed to the darkness, and we begin to step slowly, and deliberately, through the deep.
And as our sight seems to return to us, now sharper than it was, so do we find ourselves better able to hear in this distinct place. We hear the soft breathing of the others who entered this place with us. On this day, we are not alone in our fear, in our awe.
When fear begins to subside, awe begins. Once our eyes become accustomed to the dancing glints of light, we realize that we have descended into a place of profound and overwhelming beauty. No matter how many times we go into the caverns, we are delighted anew by the whimsical and fantastic natural formations. So can each descent into this day bring new insight. Whether we’re here reluctantly or intentionally, Yom Kippur helps us move from fear to awe.
But when we turn from fear to awe we do not banish fear. Rather, we name it. By descending into the dark we acknowledge our limitations, our fallibility, our humanness. In the quiet of this altered space, we feel our smallness, our insignificance, our frailty. And in this place of awe, we face the supernal beauty of creation. In the luminous presence of the Creator, we may see only our flaws.
We call out: Avinu Malkenu: our Father, our King. Our petition is communal. Avinu malkenu, honenu v’anenu. As a collective, in a single voice, we call out, and we ask God to answer us. We are frightened because we have fallen, we have missed the mark. Hurtful words have spilled out of our mouths. We have inflicted harm on others and on ourselves. We have failed to speak the truth, to work for peace, to care for those in need. Yet as we turn to the Holy One in this deep place, we turn together. We do not say, “ashamti, bagadati, gazalti, I have been “arrogant, brutal, careless,” but ashamnu, bagadnu, gazalnu,” we have stumbled and fallen, “our sins are an alphabet of woe.”[2]
For even as we arrive at these days, at this place, with our hands full of the deeds– and the misdeeds of the past year, we also arrive having sought—and granted—forgiveness to one another. Our liturgy reminds us, “For transgressions against God, the Day of Atonement atones; but for transgressions of one human being against another, the Day of Atonement does not atone until they have made peace with one another.”[3] As we all know, building and maintaining families, communities, or congregations, is difficult and demanding work. Because we are human, we hurt one another—usually unintentionally, but not always. Healing community is holy work. That is the work that precedes this day. Sometimes, it happens on this day. As we hear ourselves intone these words, “Ashamnu, bagadnu, gazalnu,” we realize that we are all fallible. We all fall down. We all disappoint ourselves and others. The very process of repeating these words as a collective can be healing. We can begin to forgive ourselves—and one another.
As we stand in the darkness of this day, and as one, cry out to our Creator, “Avinu Malkenu, be gracious and answer us,” we find the Source of Compassion waiting for us. On this day, we are not exiled, or banished. We are forgiven. We are embraced. And we now see that God’s light illuminates not only our failings but also our fortitude, not only our stumbling but also our shining spirits.
Again and again throughout our lives, we descend into the depths. This day tells us that no matter how terrifying the darkness, on this day or on any day, we are never alone there. The Holy One is waiting for us there. On this day, we call to God El Rachum v’Hanun, God of mercy and lovingkindness, erech apaim vrav hesed v’emet—endlessly patient, loving and true. We who take the risk of truly entering into this day are rewarded by discovering the Source of Compassion who acknowledges our fears and welcomes our tears. When we descend we are embraced by a Source of Kindness who invites us to see our own strength. God waits for us not only on this day, but whenever we enter the cavern of darkness that is always just below the surface of our lives. Today we learn that darkness need not be a place of despair.
The ancient psalmist asks:
“Lord, whither can I go from your spirit?… If I ascend to the heavens, You are there! If I make my home in the lowest depths, behold, You are there!”[4]
God is waiting for us, not only today, but every day of our lives.
And the community is waiting for us as well. Jews survive when we lift up the fallen. At some time or other, all of us fall. Just as God meets each of us in the depths, so does God inspire and empower the community to extend hands and hearts when we are in need.
Psalm 126 is familiar to many of us. It is one of fifteen psalms that begins, “Shir HaMa’alot: a song of ascents,” and is sung on each Shabbat and festival at the beginning of Birkat haMazon, the blessing after meals. The final verse of this five-verse psalm begins with four powerful words: “Ha’zorim b’dimah b’rinah ikzaru: Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy.” The plural form reflects the universality of human experience. For those who live on the land, planting, sowing seeds, is an essential step towards providing sustenance for both family and community. Sowing, then, serves as a symbolic action for all work in the world. Like all of creation, plants and animals, fish and fowl, we human beings live and then die. We mourn in a particularly human way, with wailing, with silence, with tears and with words. And while we often take time away from our daily pursuits after a loved one dies, we must soon return to the work that sustains us and our loved ones. Our tears mix with our sweat and with the dew that enables young plants to mature into grain, into vegetables, into fruit. And as days and months pass, we move, slowly, haltingly, away from immediacy of grief. When seasons change and the time of harvest comes, we discover that darkness has become light, and that mourning has turned to dancing. Those who sow in tears reap in joy.
The ascent from the depths of this day of repentance may be arduous for some. The ascent from the depth of loss may seem nearly impossible for many. We may want to stay in the darkness, not sure how we will manage in the light. But this day, which is finally, a day of joy, calls to us. Make the journey. You will find that darkness is rich and fruitful, a place of awe and beauty. Come down, and then come up. And in the ascent, you may discover that your heart is unburdened and that your mind is clear. And that you can face the new year with a new-found sense of joy and perhaps even hope.
Remember the High Priest and his ancient journey into the Holy of Holies? Rabbi Jill Hammer teaches,
“The high priest does not overly prolong his prayer so as not to worry those who wait for him. We too do not prolong our prayers more than necessary. We finish the service at the moment of [sunset], and emerge from the fast into our daily lives.”[5]
When the sun sinks below the horizon, we conclude our Yom Kippur prayers and kindle the havdalah candle. We return from the depths, and from our individual encounters with our Source. And we discover that those who accompany our descent have become essential companions as we reclaim the light. We ascend from silence and open our mouths with song. After a day of petition and prayer, we have exchanged fear for awe, and despair for joy.
So let us go forth, each one of us, into this Yom Kippur day and into this new year, with a new appreciation for the power of the deep. May we enter this day and this new year with strength to face the darkness that awaits us all, and with the confidence that our faith—and our community—can illuminate unexpected paths to beauty and to joy.
Rosh Hashanah 5769 Sermon by Rabbi Joe
Friday, October 3rd, 2008Our Community & Miracles 5769 Rabbi Joe Blair
This past year was a year of much activity in our community, much going on. Most of you can think back and recall it.
This past year, we have had more than our share of illness; we suffered deaths, close calls, health scares, a number of personal tragedies, and many troubles. We saw job losses, estrangements, and accidents. The number and variety of traumas among our community has been greater than anyone could have guessed. We have seen many lives of those among us changed in significant ways; much sadness, sorrow, and loss. And we have ALL been touched by it.
At the same time, some (even much) of what has occurred has been good, sometimes even wonderful. Our community has been strong, and supported each other and those in the larger community. We have given; financially and personally. We have striven to make a difference, to help others, to live out the Jewish values we hold dear.
A few examples: We held healing services for our community to help address the pain we felt. The caring committee came into formal being and has been active ever since. We established the Chevrah Kadishah, the holy burial society, and the members stand ready to perform, offering the most selfless act possible – for those whom they help in this way can never give anything in return.
We added regular Shabbat morning services to our calendar, providing another opportunity and way to join together and to share the peace of Shabbat. We had the first Holocaust Education Week, and worked with the larger community to make known the fact that it is everyone’s responsibility to support the idea of ‘never again.’ The Staunton Jewish Film Festival was successfully initiated, reaching out to Jews and non-Jews alike. We added many opportunities for education and Jewish learning at all levels.
We were blessed with several new Jewish souls, and in the course of this year we celebrated at least one naming, one bris, one marriage, and one B’nai Mitzvah.
We know that our community is a blessing. In times of trouble our community supports and sustains us. In moments of celebration the same members of the community share our joys and uplift us.
What we don’t know until it is our turn to be supported is just how much of a blessing our community really is. We can not even imagine how important, how meaningful, how supportive it is to have the community members there when they are most needed to keep one from feeling utterly alone and abandoned. At those times, when we question G-d most, at times of pain and trouble, to have others stand beside you as you face those feelings is more than anyone can describe. It is a deep, loving, and life-sustaining link that is felt and understood, but is inexplicable and unexpressible.
Our community is more than those we happen to live amongst. The community we live in is our place of prayer, and often, as we have seen, it is also the answer to our prayers. It is the locus for our life cycles, and the stage where we live out our life. Our joys and sorrows play out against the backdrop of that community. Community is always there, around us. Without community, we would be lost.
Just as others are there for you, you have also been there for those others. Make no mistake: you are as much needed by them, as they are by you.
Recently I have heard someone say, ‘but I was just doing what is right, or what I should’, or ‘I really didn’t do anything, I just said a few words’ or ‘I just brought by some food because I knew they wouldn’t have a chance to stop and get something’, or ‘I just called or dropped by to let them know I was thinking of them – they didn’t really need me to talk to them, and I couldn’t do anything for them.’
Not so, my friends. Not so at all. You can have no idea how much your simple presence, or your smile, a friendly word, or a small gesture can mean to someone as they face the dark moments of the soul. What you do is NOT a small thing. Never say, ‘just’.
A story to help me illustrate this point:
[Here I reold the story of “Just a Miracle” by Rabbi Mitch Chefitz about Elijah and recognizing
miracles, where the word 'just' blinds everyone to their presence.]
My friends, never imagine that there is not a miracle in the very existence of each one of us. Every moment is full of miracles – what I call ‘everday miracles’. The smile of a child, the beauties of the setting of the sun, the rainbow after a storm, the mountains and foothills rising up, the mist lifting above the trees in the morning, and the waves on the shore.
It is up to us to make the effort to find them, to see them, to recognize them for what they are. Each one is a tiny, perfect moment, a glimpse of what is and what can be, and we can find them when we look. That is why there are specific blessings for such experiences in our tradition.
And sometimes, just sometimes, we are fortunate enough to discover and to see that these tiny everyday miracles join together to form larger miracles. When we think of the wave, we see this in microcosm.
At the moment, we look and see that there is one perfect wave, one tiny miracle that hits the shore. If we continue to watch and see , we see another, and another, and another - an unending stream of waves that each roll up and crash upon the beach. This endless ebb and flow of wave following wave following wave is what makes for the larger miracle, an ongoing miracle.
Each single event is a tiny miracle. Together they create something much more than the sum of their parts. So it is with us and our community.
When you look around you in this sanctuary, when you see the others here, and feel the sense of kehillah kedoshah (holy community) that together we create, you sense how all of the other people are here and supporting you in creating this community. Their presence is important to you now, today. Equally so, you are supporting them, and your presence is important to each of them.
That sense of mutual suport is one of the ways that you know that our community would not be as strong, and vibrant, as healthy, or as full of love as it is without you, as it is with you as part of it. Your very presence is one of the tiny miracles, as is the presence of each other person here. All of us together are what makes up this community. And we all, together, add our tiny evertday miracles one on top of another, building up, and creating the larger miracle that goes on and reaches far beyond any one of us can imagine.
So always remember: you are not ‘just’ anything – you are a tiny miracle to others, and an integral part of the larger ongoing miracle of our community. Our community is there for you, as you are there for it. Chazak, chazak venitchazek. May our community go from strength to strength in strength.
Leshanah tovah umetukah tikateivu
Rabbi Joe
Jews & that ‘other’ holiday
Monday, December 24th, 2007It is December 24th. Just about everywhere is going to close very shortly, and there will be nothing open for the next 24 hours.
Most of my neighbors and the members of my secular community are going to be celebrating a holiday. Some will do so in a secular fashion. A few will do so in a religious fashion. Most will create some mix of the two.
For me, my family, and my religious community, this is an odd day. It is an enforced day off of work for most (not that I hear many complaints on that score!). It is not a holiday. This year, in fact, it is not even close to any Jewish holiday. It is not a meaningful day in any way for us. There is no religious significance, and no cultural significance.
Once you look at the lights on your neighbors houses, there is not much left to do. I, for one, cannot stand the same old fare that appears from year to year on television (I am not much of a TV watcher, anyway), and the radio blasts a mind-numbing wintry mix of badly performed carols, sappy stories, and other pointless things that are just plain annoying.
So, what’s a Jew (or any non-Christian) to do?
It turns out that the only places that are reliably open on Christmas day are: (1) Chinese restaurants, and (2) movie theatres. Voila! The Answer!
I wish my Christian neighbors and friends a happy, meaningful, and beautiful Christmas. I hope that they will be moved and filled with the spirit of their holiday, andf that there will be peace on earth, as they sing. As for me, and my family and friends, we will be enjoying movies and chinese food! 
Seasons greetings to all.
Rabbi Joe
What does your rabbi do? Part 9
Monday, December 24th, 2007New Initiatives:
What does your rabbi do? Part 8
Monday, December 24th, 2007Outreach/Inreach:
What does your rabbi do? Part 7
Monday, December 24th, 2007The
What does your rabbi do? Part 6
Monday, December 24th, 2007Youth Activities:
What does your rabbi do? Part 5
Monday, December 24th, 2007College Students:
What does your rabbi do? Part 4
Monday, December 24th, 2007Pastoral Care:
What does your rabbi do? Part 3
Monday, December 24th, 2007Services:
A Thought on Light at Chanukah Time
Wednesday, November 21st, 2007A Thought on Light at Chanukah Time
Rabbi Joe Blair
Chanukah is often thought of as the holiday of light, or lights. After the difficult times of oppression and persecution, a moment arrived when we (through the Hasmoneans) were victorius, with G-d’s help carving out a respite in the ongoing war, lightening and enlightening the world for a time. We recall the re-kindling of faith and hope as the
That light, the light of the presence of G-d among us, shines on still. That light cannot be extinguished, but it can be made dim and difficult, even impossible to see. In our day, there are reasons that the light is not apparent to us.
Today, we must acknowledge that the holy light of the presence of G-d among us is not visible to us. It is clouded by the darkness of war in many places. It is obscured by the existence of hate, bigotry, and prejudice among us, and within us. It is masked by the use of violence and bloodshed as tools to quash others. It is concealed by the cries of those who feel the sting of poverty and degradation. It is hidden by the intolerance and lack of acceptance of others not exactly like us. It is covered by the actions and choices of our elected and appointed officials, in our name, in perpetrating actions we do not and cannot condone or accept. It is veiled by the actions and words of our leaders, religious and secular, who use their position to further their own ends and not G-d’s. It is buried by the vicious, genocidal actions of so many in too many places.
If we are to truly kindle the light of Chanukah, we must re-dedicate ourselves to the pursuit of justice and righteousness. We must partner with G-d in making the world more perfect, more fit for the presence of G-d among us, so that the light of G-d’s presence will shine forth brightly, illuminating all in every corner of this world.
There are so very many needs, and so many worthy ways to work towards this end. I pray that we each choose at least one among them, and dedicate and re-dedicate ourself to the holy tasks of Tikkun Olam (repair of the world) and Rodef Tzedek (pursuit of righteousness) to help bring light to the world at this season of the year when light is on our mind. .
Rabbi Joe
Sermon: Yom Kippur – Chance Encounters
Thursday, October 18th, 2007Yom Kippur 5768 Chance EncountersRabbi Joe Blair
Monday evening, after a fairly long and very busy day, I left the office at the synagogue, and made my way towards home. My day had started with a flat tire when I went out to the car, and after changing the tire and cleaning up, I made a detour on the way to the office to drop the car off to have the tires replaced, the car aligned, and the brakes checked – a routine service which had been delayed a little too long. In the late afternoon, they called and I went and picked up the car, then returned to the office to continue what I was working on for a few more hours. It was after eight when I left, and it was already dark. As is so often the case, for me, at least, my mind was full of the events of my day: fragments of conversations, nagging problems, unresolved feelings; the list of things I would need to do, things I had forgotten to do, things I should not have done; and a whole host of other bits of the flotsam and jetsam of my day. Nonetheless, I was still alert, awake, and attentive as I steered my car towards home. There was a good amount of traffic on the main highways, but once I got off on the smaller secondary roads it dissipated, and there were few cars on the road as I came close to home. I have driven the same route almost daily for the last four plus years. I am quite familiar with it, and there are few locations along it that I can’t pick out or picture in my mind’s eye. Consequently, I am fairly comfortable driving along it, and have a sense of when to slow down for upcoming curves and hills, as well as knowing where the straightaways make for easy driving. Never, however, have I imagined anything out of the ordinary happening along that route, so I was utterly taken by surprise when suddenly, out of nowhere, seemingly from thin air, a deer dropped from above me onto the roadway no more than one foot in front of my car. I tried to swerve, and I did my best to stop, but it was completely futile. I was traveling at between 45 and 50 miles per hour (the speed limit there is 55), and a car just won’t turn or stop in one foot of distance. I hit the deer. In less than the blink of an eye, that deer flew off my hood and into the brush and trees on the side of the road at that place. A cloud of steam billowed out from under my hood, and the front of the car bounced violently up and down, bottoming out. The tires squealed as I stomped on the brake pedal. It all took just an instant. By the time I could stop the car, and pull over and get out to try to see if there was anything to be done, I heard a crashing of brush receding into the distance. I had to accept that as indicating that the deer had survived and was able to resume its progress. My car was not nearly so resilient. It is in the body shop having most of the front end replaced. So much for the alignment done that afternoon! I know that deer are overpopulated in this area, that they are not suited to survive in a suburban environment, and that Virginia has the largest number of deer-car accidents in the US, but I still felt and feel badly. I can’t help but wonder if I had done something a little differently, or come along ten seconds earlier, or five seconds later, if the whole incident would have been avoided. The very chance nature of our encounter, intersecting only for a split second, only at that precise time and place, is amazing. Any small change on the part of the deer or by me would have changed that incident significantly. In a sense, the very fact that we did intersect is a small miracle. It seems that we are constantly ‘happening’ to have things occur to us, that chance plays a huge role. Perhaps, on a personal scale, this is what chaos theory is supposed to help explain. (If I am mistaken in my use of the term, I know that the physicists in the congregation will correct my misapprehension shortly enough.) I couldn’t help but think about this idea of chance and happenstance as it plays out in our daily lives. Think about these examples: If I had stopped for coffee instead of going straight home, I would have missed that deer. If I had not had the tires changed and the alignment and brakes done, I might have been less able to steer, slow, and stop and much worse could have happened. Similarly, if I had not forgotten to pick up the book to return, I would not have had to make an extra trip to the library. If I had not gone back into the house to retrieve something I forgot, I would not have missed the phone call at the office. If I had not missed the phone call, I would have been able to meet my friend for dinner. If I had not turned off my cell phone, I would have known that my appointment was cancelled and been able to do something else. It all seems so random, so subject to chance. Is this really the organizing principle for our lives? Of course, chance is one way to describe it, but perhaps a better term would be ‘opportunity.’ At the risk of exposing my age, I recall reading a series of books by Carlos Castaneda about a Yaqui sorcerer named Don Juan who lived largely in rural areas of the west coast of
Rabbi Sue’s Rosh Hashanah Sermon 5768
Tuesday, September 18th, 2007Standing on One FootRosh HaShana SermonRabbi Sue Levi Elwell
Staunton/Harrisonberg,
Sermon: Seeking Joy Amidst Imperfection
Thursday, September 13th, 2007Rabbi Joe Blair — Rosh Hashanah 5768 (September 12-13, 2007)
Today, we are taught, is the birthday of the world, the anniversary of creation. G-d is viewed as the sovereign, sitting on the throne of justice and judgment, writing our fate in the books of life and death. Our deeds are weighed, our souls are judged, our worth is measured, our future determined.
Which of us is confident we will not be found lacking? Which of us has been completely righteous, without sin or transgression, blameless, and without error? Certainly, I would not dare to think of myself in that category. I am an imperfect human being. I err frequently.
But all is not lost.
Even now, at the holy days, if we strive, we can accomplish Teshuvah, turning and returning. We can repent and make amends. We can seek and grant forgiveness. We can repair the damages, heal the injuries, seek forgiveness for our trespasses, and forgive those who have trespassed against us. In short, we can open our hearts, perform Teshuvah, and be better than we were.
This requires a sincere effort in all of these tasks and aspects. Not one, not two, not some, but all. It is not enough to make amends and repent. Nor can we simply seek forgiveness for what we have done that injured others. A key component of this process is sincerely to grant forgiveness.
Easier said than done. I find that often, the most difficult thing of all of these to do is to forgive. As hard as it is to say ‘I am sorry’, it is harder still truly to forgive.
I am human – we all are -and we all have a tendency to nurse our hurts, to hold on to our grudges. This is not healthy. In fact, this is not only fruitless, it is downright self-destructive.
Rabbi Harold Kushner tells of a woman who approached him after a high holiday sermon on forgiveness. The woman was absolutely furious. She reminded Kushner that her husband had abandoned her, leaving her to raise two small children by herself in very tough circumstances ten years earlier. Her life had been very hard since then. She demanded, angrily, “After he did all that to me, you want me to forgive him for what he did?”
After a moment, Kushner replied, “Yes, I want you to forgive him. Not to excuse him, not to say that what he did was acceptable, but to forgive him as a way of saying that someone who would do that has no right to live inside your head, any more than he has a right to live inside your house. Why are you giving a person like that the power to turn you into a bitter, vengeful woman? He doesn’t deserve that power over you.”
Kushner’s point is valid, showing us that forgiveness is not a favor we do for the person who offended or injured us. It is a favor we do for ourself, a way of cleansing our soul of thoughts and memories that lead us to see ourself as a victim, and make our life less enjoyable than it is or could be.
When we understand that we have little choice as to what other people do, but we can ALWAYS choose how we will respond to what they do, we are empowered and able to let go of the embittering memories. We can then enter the new year cleansed and refreshed, free of the burden of carrying their actions in our heart and soul.
One more step: as difficult as forgiveness is, an even more difficult task, in my experience, is forgiving oneself. Like many of us, I am my own harshest critic. I seem to never forget or let go of my failures, I can’t overlook my mistakes, I hold on to and remember all that I do that does not work or does not meet my own expectations. Being very much human, I have lots to criticize in myself. I cannot count my errors and faults in the course of a week just on my fingers and toes. At times I feel that it would take a 10 digit adding machine with paper tape to do so! I am all too aware of my many flaws and mistakes.
But if I continue to carry the load of all of these faults and flaws and mistakes with me, I will burden myself to the point that I will be unable to move or function under the oppressive and crushing weight of them all.
What to do?
We cannot merely forget these flaws and mistakes, and we cannot simply say that the slate is wiped clean and we will go forward into the new year, doing the same things again! No. We know in our hearts that is not the way, it will not work.
Instead, once we have sincerely repented for what we have done, made amends as best we can, and truly asked forgiveness of others, then we are ready to do the hard work. Only then may we seek to do for ourself that which we do for others: we must forgive ourselves for our own errors and transgressions. In this way we can free ourself from a crushing encumberance that drags our soul down, and free ourself of the burden. At that point, we are prepared to seek G-d, and to ask for forgiveness from the divine ruler.
When we free ourself of the burden we have created, we enter the world of the spirit. The most amazing thing to say about this world is that it is free of the constraints of our ordinary life. Gravity doesn’t apply to our spirit or our soul. We can fly and soar, there are no boundaries, and the whole universe is open to us, and our playground.
When we are free in this way, it is possible for us to seek G-d, to approach the throne of the most high. In that state, we are able to soar upwards, seeking G-d, and in that fashion, acting and striving to bring more godliness into the world, and to be more godly in our own life.
There is a huge benefit to us for this effort. This feeling of freedom, of interacting with the divine, is the source of Joy. Not happiness, for that is fleeting. Not pleasure, which is tied to the physical world and the actions of others. Joy, the sense of being at one with creation, in communion with the divine, at peace with ourself.
The tools are available to us, and we can take advantage of them to reach Joy. We are flawed, but in a manner of thinking, the imperfections we contain are the necessary precursors to seek and find Joy. It only remains for us to choose to seek Joy amidst imperfection.
One more story, before I conclude. A bit of wisdom that shows us how G-d is merciful, and offers us a path that can lead to Joy.
In the traditional Jewish world, there are men (and some women) who serve as schnorrers. This term means ‘beggar’, but the fact is that they are really not beggars. Instead they serve as collectors for money for a worthy cause. The stereotypical picture is of a righteous chasidic man, very pious, very religious. They often come to Jews around the High Holy days (and other holidays), and they make a pitch for the person they are visiting to give Tzedakah for a cause they espouse. Their attitude is often that they are there to do the Jew they are visiting a favor, giving him or her the opportunity to fulfill a Mitzvah. Often, the best of them make their pitch in the form of a story, something that will touch and affect the listener. Here is one such story that contains a great deal of wisdom, as told by Avi Magid (a name that can be translated as ‘my father is a storyteller’), slightly adapted here.
“I was called and asked to join in a meeting, so I hurried to the rabbi’s study. As I entered his study, Rabbi Joseph was talking in an animated way with, of all people, a schnorrer, a very small, very elderly chasid. Odd, I thought, why invite me over to meet another schnorrer? A schnorrer is a schnorrer. A quick glance verified that there was nothing unusual about this schnorrer. He was dressed in the usual black coat, black hat, wore a long gray beard, had the full payes. In short, he had all the criteria of the mental image of a schnorrer. But, as it turned out, this was no ordinary schnorrer collecting money for a yeshivah or orphanage. No, this guy had gone big business — he had merged and consolidated! He represented a multitude of institutions, and had gold foil stamped and embossed certificates of authenticity, documented in a well worn leather portfolio, which he grandly displayed and brandished to emphasize both his status and the importance and value of his mission. Every year, he made the rounds of synagogues and individuals. Every year, he brought back large amounts of money for his employers. And every year, he did this by telling a story — usually something that contained musar – a tale with an ethical twist to it. And, like the wandering minstrels of medieval Provence, you paid him in direct relationship to how you much you liked it or how much it affected your heart. As you can imagine, he was very good at it. That year, his story was in the form of a question. The rabbi led us over to the seating area. We got settled, and comfortable on the couch, the schnorrer sitting opposite us on an armchair. He leaned forward in his chair and looked deep in our eyes. He asked, “What is the difference between a mitzvah – a good deed – and an averah – a sin?” The question, of course, was rhetorical – not meant to be answered by us. And, even if you did know an answer, you were obliged not to respond. So, we looked at him and waited politely for him to explain the answer. He sat back heavily. Closing his eyes and speaking softly in the sing-song voice which is often used to study Talmud, so as to draw us in, he said: “A mitzvah is something that often seems hard to do, but afterwards you know you did the right thing. An averah is something that often seems easy to do, but afterwards you know you did the wrong thing. And how do you know? Because your kishkes – your guts -tell you so.” Here was a statement about life which basically rendered any formalized system as meaningless. All the structured discourse of the philosophers, all the patterned logic of the theologians were for naught. All the classes on morality, the reflections on situational ethics, the values based decision making, even the pilpul of the Talmud; and it all came down to just this. The final arbiter of principle was kishkes. How simple. That was the schnorrer’s story that year. He got an exceptionally large check.” For us, the message is clear. As the schnorrer said: you know in your guts what is right. The hard thing is doing it, but you can choose to do so. When you do what is right, you feel yourself free and moving closer to G-d, finding Joy. And when you err, all is not lost! There is still the means to recover, by using the tool of Teshuvah. You can still free yourself, and achieve Joy.
The bottom line, the take away message is that G-d has provided for us two ways to seek Joy: by choosing so as not to err, and by seeking Teshuvah when we do err. Joy is available to us even when we err. How liberating! What a great gift! Praise be to G-d for creating us in such a way that we may find Joy, even when we fail in the first instance.
May all of you have a shanah tovah u’metukah, and a gut, gebencht, gezunt yor, and may you find and experience much Joy.
In the Wake of Violence
Wednesday, April 25th, 2007The following is an attempt to reproduce the Devar Torah I gave on Friday, April 20th, 2007.
I am posting it here to share some of the thoughts.
In offering it to be read, rather than spoken, I fear that it loses all of the emotional content, and will seem cold and unaffected. Please know that it was very much from the heart as I gave it.
In the Wake of Violence
Rabbi Joe Blair
April 20, 2007
The Torah parashiot we read from a few moments ago are found in Vaykra (Leviticus) in the double portion of Tazria-Metzora. Some translations call Tzara at leprosya, but this is not quite right. It is not truly Hansenitis, but would seem to me to be more something that afflicts you because of your own behavior, as happened to Miriam when she spoke ill of her sister-in-law. In some way, the term carries the sense of an affliction as retribution, which struck a chord for me this week.
I am offering this devar Torah on April 20th, 2007 sadly, the 8th anniversary of the Columbine school killings, and less than a week after the horrific massacre at Virginia Tech. The airwaves, print media, and cyberspace are all filled with discussions of this most recent tragedy: could it have been prevented, what do we do now, what mental health services are needed at universities, should we try to institute gun control in light of this tragedy, what is needed for school and campus security, who is to blame, will this affect the upcoming elections: a myriad of questions about the world around us, practically all without answers. Issues, in the words of Tevye the dairy man, that would cross a rabbi’s eyes and they do, between my tears.
But right now what is weighing on my mind and spirit has more to do with the unasked religious questions, and less to do with the secular culture with which we are surrounded in
In some ways, the horror in
In the midst of all the suffering and pain, I was intrigued to read these moving words, spoken in response to the Virginia Tech killings:
It is impossible to make sense of such violence and suffering. Those whose lives were taken did nothing to deserve their fate. They were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now they’re gone – and they leave behind grieving families, and grieving classmates, and a grieving nation. In times like this, we can find comfort in the grace and guidance of a loving G-d. As the Scriptures tell us, Dont be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.
Those words were spoken by President Bush. I am not usually noted for quoting politicians, but in this instance I resonated deeply with the Scriptural message he offered in his speech a quote from the book of Romans in the Greek Scriptures (often called the New Testament), itself quoting the Tanakh (the Hebrew Scriptures, our Bible), from the book of Proverbs. A very Jewish sentiment, and one that seemed appropriate and timely.
No doubt you, as I, have been inundated with reports of what happened in
Perhaps you, too, heard of engineering Professor Liviu Librescu. A Romanian Jew by birth, he suffered terribly under the Nazi sympathizers in his nation during the Holocaust. He survived. After that horror ended, he returned to live a normal life, only to suffer again under the repressive rule of Ceaucescu and the Communists when he would not join the party, and even more so when he declared that he wished to make Aliyah to Israel. He survived that, as well, and made his way to Eretz Yisrael, and the Technion. From there he was recruited to Virginia Tech, and he had been teaching at VT for the past twenty years.
When the gunman came near his room, Professor Librescu recognized the sound of gunfire. He told his students to flee out the windows, and without hesitation, he ran the opposite way, towards the door, to block it against the gunman. The gunman was prevented from entering, and in frustration, shot through the door, striking Professor Librescu fatally, but leaving without entering and without injuring any student in that classroom. Professor Librescu saved all of the students in his class, at the cost of his life.
We see that Professor Librescu puts the lie to the words of President Bush. He was not simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. By his actions and choices, Professor Librescu proved that *even if* we are in the wrong place at the wrong time, we are not simply pawns in the hands of fate: we have a choice in how we react. We can take to heart the instruction, the Mitzvah drawn from the Tanakh, with which President Bush concluded “don’t be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” Professor Librescu did just that.
It does not change the fact of his death. It does not alleviate the loss and suffering of his family and friends. It does, however, change the character of his death, demonstrating nobility, humanity, and compassion, and elevating him beyond the status of a victim to one who overcame evil with good. The outpouring of love and affection for Professor Librescu is no accident. By his actions he teaches us a deep and abiding lesson in love, faith, ethics, and morality. He shows us a way to elevate our lives.
Despite all the evils that befell him throughout his life, Professor Librescu was not bitter or hate-filled. By his actions he teaches us the inherent goodness that we can choose to live out, and he gives us renewed hope for humanity and for the future. As sad and as tragic as his death is, he is elevated, and his choice and his actions give meaning to his life, and to our world. This is his lesson and his legacy to us.
Yehi zichrono tzadik livrachah may his righteous memory be for a blessing. May we remember him, along with all the other victims of this terrible event, and all other innocent victims, for good and with love.
Let us all say, Amen.
——-
With appreciation and acknowledgment of my colleague and friend, Rabbi Toba Spitzer, for some of the language and ideas contained herein.
Torah Cycling….
Sunday, October 29th, 2006A question was posed to me recently about where we are in the reading of the Torah (five books of Moses), and how we know what to read each week. Here is a short answer.
On Simchat Torah once again we began the cycle of reading the Torah, as I mentioned in an earlier posting. We read the final few verses from Devarim (Deuteronomy) and the first few from Bereshit (Genesis) as we do each year on that holiday, thus both concluding the cycle for last year, and beginning it anew for this year. By doing both at the same time on that holiday we indicate by our actions that we are always (forever) engaging with Torah, and that we are never done, there is always more to be learned and gained by interaction with the text.
But how do we know what to read after that?
The way this works is that the Torah is traditionally divided into 54 parashiot (portions or sections for reading), which are read one after another week by week in a leap year (a year in which a leap month is inserted, and consequently, when there are 54 non-holiday weeks in which to read Torah). In non-leap years, we have fewer weeks to assign a parashah (one of the parashiot), so two or more parashiot are combined and read in a single week in order to make it through the entire cycle by next Simchat Torah. In this way, it is possible to make the full cycle of the Torah in the course of one year, and read it all. That is how a Jewish calendar can identify which week in the year it is by the name of the Parashah to be read that week, and everyone can understand it and agree which one it is. [There is a minor variation on this with holidays that are observed for a day longer outside of Israel, so that there can be a slight difference occasionally in a few weeks on what is being read in Israel as opposed to outside Israel, but this is known and taken into account, and the two sync up shortly after.]
Of course, this means that the readings each week are fairly lengthy – usually about six chapters. This can be more than a given community wishes to do each week, so a variation on this to spread the reading out and to read on a triennial cycle, which means that the entirety of the Torah is read over three years (instead of one), and only one third is read in each year. Instead of reading less and falling behind week to week, and therefore being on a different cycle than other communities that read the whole parashah, however, those communities that choose this approach read one third of each Parashah in a given week, the next week skipping ahead to the next Parashah, thereby keeping up with other communities as to which Parashah is being read. The way this is done is that in the first year, the community will read the first one-third of each Parashah, in the second year they will read the middle third, and in the third year they will read the final third. This means that the community has to keep track of which year of the triennial cycle they are in. Our community is one of those that follows the triennial cycle. This year (5767, 2006-2007) we are in the third year of the triennial cycle.
We select the break for the thirds of the Parashah to be read in each year based on the internal division of the Parashah into Aliyot (the calling up to the Torah of congregantsto be honored by reciting the blessings over the reading of the Torah). Â Since there are traditionally seven Aliyot on a Shabbat (Sabbath) morning service, we generally (as a guideline) take the first two or three Aliyot as the reading for triennial cycle year 1, the third and fourth or fourth and fifth for year 2, and the fith and sixth or sixth and seventh for year 3. This also helps to keep us lined up with other communities – which is a nice thing, especially if congregants are travelling and attending services elsewhere. This helps assure that they will be on the same reading cycle and will be able to follow along wherever they may happen to be.
Rabbi Joe Blair
A respite….
Tuesday, October 24th, 2006The spate of fall holidays has ended. We have come to the time of calm after the storm. We have a period of about eight weeks this year with the only holiday being Shabbat, the weekly sabbath, and Rosh Chodesh, the new month.
It strikes me that this period of regularity and ‘normalcy’ is a welcome time, a chance to regain balance and perspective after the exciting but disruptive period of so many holidays and so much emotional energy. There is an almost frantic pace that the holiday period raises. We need the break, a respite from all the emotional energy that the holidays generate and absorb.
Perhaps there is method to the madness: the alternation of the time of excitement and observances and the more placid time following may be a healthy approach, allowing us to scale the heights and traverse the lows, on the one hand, and to stroll placidly on the straight, smooth paths on the other.
May we all enjoy and benefit from this quieter time, and use it to refresh ourselves, and to reflect and to pray for peace.
Shalom,
Rabbi Joe Blair
The day of tarrying
Monday, October 16th, 2006If you have ever had a big family rite of passage – a Bar Mitzvah, or a wedding, for example – with lots of out of town guests, you know that often not only do you have the ceremony and reception, but you also host a morning after breakfast. This is because all those who are from the local area can go home, but those who make a major effort and travel a distance to be there will not be able to go home that day, and you want to acknowledge their presence and the effort they have made to share in your joyous occasion. In effect, you have some of the family and closest friends hanging around afterwards and visiting.
In a way, that is what Shemini Atzeret is. We have just had the holiday of Sukkot, where all nations/peoples are able to come and worship G-d, and offer their sacrifices in the Temple. A big party, rejoicing in the harvest and in creation, for a large guest list – like a wedding! Most of the guests go home, but the close family hangs around to visit. The most dear relative, of course, is G-d, and we want to have a small private time to spend with G-d, so we have an extra day, a day of tarrying with G-d.Â
I really love this image of a quiet moment spent with those closest to us, so I have a soft spot for Shemini Atzeret.
Shalom,
Rabbi Joe Blair Â
The nature of nature
Wednesday, October 11th, 2006Sukkot, the time of our rejoicing, the harvest festival, the feast of booths…. All names for the same holiday. A seven day period celebrating the harvest, and the relationship to G-d in the wilderness, and creation – nature. This seems to cover a wide range and a lot of territory….
Maybe it helps to remember that this is THE Universal holiday. The holiday for ALL peoples. When we read in the Torah about the Temple times, what we learn is that a sacrifice was offered to G-d on behalf of every single people/state/nation/group. That is why there are a total of seventy sacrifices described – one for each people that the Torah believed existed. No exclusions mentioned….
Anyone who wanted could come and offer their sacrifice in the Temple – it just had to meet the requirements to be a suitable type. No one had to say they were a Hebrew, or claim to be anything at all. They simply brought their offering to G-d. No checking at the door to make sure you were ‘one of us’, or that you believed ‘correctly’. That was your business, and G-d’s. I like this – it makes me positively recall that all humanity are of one kind. What we see as our differences are just how we do things, not what we are or where we come from….
The sense of being close to nature here is very physical. We sit in a hut, or booth, the Sukkah. The roof is made from growing plants. It is incomplete and not water tight. We are exposed to the weather, to the wind, to the air. We do not control our environment, we are not in charge! The walls and roof of the Sukkah are only partial barriers to the wind, rain, and sun. A physical metaphor for life…..
Happy Sukkot!
Rabbi Joe Blair
May you be sealed….
Tuesday, October 3rd, 2006The greeting from Rosh Hashanah on is Leshanah tovah tichateimu, may you be sealed for a good year. This is in reference to the image of the ‘book of life’. According to this analogy or image, G-d sits in judgement on us at Rosh Hashanah, and writes our name and fate in the book of life. Then, we have some time, the period of the yamim nora’im (days of awe) to affect the ’sentence’ by our behavior – through sincere repentance, acts to repair injuries we have caused and to seek forgiveness of those we have hurt, and finally to reslove not to repeat our misdeeds. On Yom Kippur, at the end of the Neilah (concluding) services, as full darkness approaches, we imagine that the gates of Heaven are ‘closing’ to our pleas, and when they close, the book of life will be sealed with the judgement as it is written at that moment. It is an awesome, perhaps even terrifying image.
Because we believe that G-d is merciful, it is not the death of sinners that G-d seeks, but their repentance and return to the proper way. In that sense, we know that it is within the power of every person to ‘change’ the judgement – to at the least mitigate the severity of that imagined fate written in that metaphorical book of life. And because we believ that all people seek to live and to have a good life, we think that everyone will do all that is within their power to make the judgement as positive as possible. For that reason, we speak and think as if the judgement will be for a good fate, and we wish each other that this good judgement will be ’sealed’ in the book of life, left intact and positive, and followed in the year ahead of us.
So may you be sealed for a good year in 5767.
Rabbi Joe Blair
Happy New Year! Afflict yourself!
Tuesday, September 26th, 2006Today is Monday, September 25th.
A random thoguht for today.
We have just celebrated Rosh Hashanah (from Friday night to Sunday night in the Diaspora). Rosh Hashanah celebrates the anniversary of Creation, the birthday of the world, so to speak. It also celebrates and acknowledges G-d as the sovereign power, the creator, and the source of all being.
Today is Ta’anit Gedaliah, the fast day commemorating the assasination of Gedaliah, the last autonomous Jewish governor before the imposition of outside gevernance, prior to the destruction of the second Temple. This fast is not widely observed at this point, and many Jews are not even aware of it.  However, it appears on the Jewish calendar each year on the day following Rosh Hashanah.
Thinking about this juxtapostion, the question that comes to my mind is, “what does it mean to begin the new year with a day of fasting and sadness?”
Rosh Hashanah is itself a holiday with mixed emotions attached. On the one hand, we are celebrating and rejoicing in creation. On the other we are steeping back and dealing with the idea that this is the time each year that G-d is sitting in judgement, determining what fate we deserve in the year to come. That latter view is why we call the period from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur the Yamim Nora’im (days of awe or fear). To think seriously that what will happen to me in the coming year depends on how I did last year gives new meaning to the term ‘test anxiety’.
And here the caledar adds to the stress level by causing us to think back and remember and mourn a political assasination that happened over 2000 years ago!
WHY?
I have no answer that was given me from the wisdom of the ages. All I can think is that it is not just a quirk of timing, an accidental placement of the two events on the calendar. So I have to find my own idea of a reason. Each year it changes: here is what I have come up with as my thought for this year.
Like a Jewish wedding, at which we smash a glass – some say as a reminder of those who cannot share our joy in the moment – perhaps beginning the year with a moment of sober rememberance may temper our joy for the instant, but help us to appreciate it all the more. When things are good, when we are rejoicing, we tend not to remember those who are not included in our circle, not to recall the sadness and tragedies of life that others may be encountering at that very same moment. Closer to home, we do not think about what might go wrong, or what we have already dealt with when we arrive at a moment of joy. We focus on the good feelings engendered and feel happy. Perhaps, we would be even more joyous if we could balance that joyous moment with how far it is from the moments of fear, depression, sadness, loneliness, anger, and other negative emotions that we have all experienced, and will all experience. Joy is all that much sweeter when it is possible to see it in stark contrast to the negative.
Perhaps.
I wish you joy and happiness, peace, health, prosperity, love, and all good things in the year to come.
Shanah tovah umetukah,
Rabbi Joe Blair
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Kaporet
Tuesday, September 26th, 2006There is a traditional ritual that is little practiced in this day and age. It is somewhat difficult to imagine, more so to identify with for modern sensibilities, especially those of us who get our foods at the grocery in nice, neat, pre-packaged, portion-controlled, shrink-wrapped plastic containers.
Imagine: you want to atone for your sins, and you want to enact some ritual that will embody that atonement, and help to purge you of the guilt of having sinned. That was the motive behind the ritual of kaporet (or kapores, in the Ashkenazic pronunciation). Kaporet is from the root that gives us the word ‘kippur’ as in Yom Kippur, the day of atonement.
This is an old ritual, and seems to me to partake of aspects of sympathetic magic, transference, ritual slaughter and offering sacrifices, blood as atonement, and even Tzedakah (righteous action).
In brief, one would take a chicken or a rooster, preferably white to symbolize purity, and conduct the ritual. In that ritual, a formulaic recitation would identify the chicken or rooster as taking the place of the sinner, who deserved to die for their sins, and the sinner would take on the ritual purity of the animal (sympathetic magic and transference). The animal would be swung by the legs over the head of the sinner, as a sign that the sinner was ‘covered’ by the animal (further transference), after which the animal was ritually slaughtered (offering) and the blood poured out on the ground to atone (sacrifice). The meat was then given as an offering for the poor (completion of the offering, demonstration of the purity of motive).Â
Pleasant? No.Â
Primitive? Yes.
Affecting? I think so.
Powerful? You bet.
I have to admit that I did witness and even take part (indirectly) in this ritual many years ago. I was a small boy.
I was taken to what must have been a local market area by my Grandfather, and there were people there performing this ritual, many of them dressed in the clothing of the very pious. Crates were all over, chickens were clucking, there were feathers flying – it was a scene of chaos to my mind – exciting and different, and a little scary. It seemed that dozens of men were swinging chickens over their heads, while dozens or hundreds more were gathered around. Of course, being a small child, it is likely that my memory is exagerrated, but it felt that way to me then, and that is how I recall it.
After a time, my grandfather bought a chicken from a man selling them from a crate. He held my hand and moved into the circle of men holding and swinging the chickens, and then he did the same. I was too small to do this, but I can tell you that it was deeply impressed on my memory.
To see my grandfather take this white chicken or rooster, hold it by the legs and slowly swing it in circles over his head while reciting the formulaic phrases, ‘this one’s purity for my sins, this one for me, this one’s life for mine’ then to hand the stunned and quiet bird over to the Shochet (ritual slaughterer) who was there, to be killed in an instant in the traditional fashion, is an image that has stayed with me. Once the bird was killed, the blood was drained out onto the ground as is required in Jewish practice. Then my grandfather took that dead chicken in his one hand and my hand in his other, and moved into a crowd of men standing there in a circle around the area where the ritual was being performed.
I don’t know how they knew to be there, but these were the poor of the community. These were the people who could not afford to buy a chicken, or to perform the ritual themselves: I suspect some of them were not even Jewish. My grandfather walked among them, looking carefully, and by some process I could not fathom, chose one, and approached him. He respectfully asked this man if he would do my grandfather the favor of accepting this chicken, and the man looked him in the eyes for a moment, then nodded and told Grandpa, “Yes, I will do this for you.” My grandfather smiled, gave the man the chicken, and warmly shook his hand. He then took out what looked to me to be an enourmous wad of bills from his pocket and gave it to the man. The man gravely accepted it, then turned and left. My grandfather smiled at me, took my hand, and led me away.
Every year when we come close to Yom Kippur, I remember this. Somehow, atonement and sacrifice, guilt and blood, sin and expiation, Tzedakah and forgiveness, action and prayer, love and death, are all tied together at this moment in the year for me. Yes, I would say that ritual is powerful and affecting. Â
Leshanah tovah umetukah,Â
Rabbi Joe Blair
New Years Celebration?
Monday, January 2nd, 2006So we have the turn of the secular calendar, this year going from 2005 to 2006 in the Common Era (CE). The common usage has this taking place on January 1st, with the day starting precisely at midnight, local time.
The Jewish or Hebrew calendar changes years at the time of the holiday of Rosh Hashanah (Head of the Year), the 1st of the month of Tishrei, the seventh month on the calendar. Last October we went from 5765 to 5766. As all Hebrew days do, the new day starts at sundown and runs until sundown. This is due to the biblical description of creation in Bereshit (Genesis): ‘It was evening, it was morning. The first day.’ This seems to confuse many, including those folks who print calendars commercially, because they can never decide when a holiday falls, since it spans two boxes and numbers on the secular calendar.
The Jewish new year at Rosh Hashanah celebrates Creation, the birthday/anniversary of the world and the universe, and recognizes the sovereignty of God the Creator over all God’s works. We imagine God enthroned on high, as a king, dispensing justice and mercy with wisdom and compassion to all subjects.
I understand the basis for Rosh Hashanah, the religious motivation behind it, and the imagery and visualization we use in the liturgy. I can feel the connection of this holiday with the message and meaning it is intended to convey. It makes sense to me.
Not so with the secular new year. We note the aging, replacement, and death of one year, and the birth and installation of a new year – the images are one the one hand, an old wizened man with a long beard, in a gown or toga, dependent on a staff to move, and on the other, a baby, almost incapable of movement, certainly without much to recommend it as a controller of the fates, wearing a diaper and looking innocent.
I am not too sure what I am to take from this image, what message it is intended to convey. On a slightly cynical note, I could see it as a statement that life is inherently out of control, that each year is wasted before it is done, and that there is no hope for the future to be better than the past because the two are disconnected.
Even worse, the celebration is a rowdy bacchanalian rite, not something that will elevate us as human beings in the image of the divine, or call upon us to be more godly in our actions. It is more connected with carnival than with ritual. Don’t misunderstand me – I think there is a place for celebration, fun, good times, and silliness. I am just asking if this is the right place.
I don’t know anyone who still fears that the sun will not return after the shortest day of the year, nor do I know anyone who professes to worry about it. As an excuse for ancient civilizations to offer a ritual to encourage the outcome they desired it made some sense, if that was the form of offering they understood. For us to continue it as a part of our ‘heritage’ or as a rememberance of the past makes far less sense.
It would seem to me to make more sense for our nation (the United States) to celebrate the new year on the anniversary of our nation, July 4th, or to celebrate on the anniversary of the declaration of independence being adopted, or some similar and meaningful moment in the history of our nation. To tie our calendar to an ancient fear which was long ago overcome does not seem to make much logical or emotional sense.
In another entry, perhaps I will look at what happens in Israel on this date.
Shalom,
Rabbi Joe Blair
Why blog? Why not! It is VERY Jewish!
Tuesday, November 8th, 2005I have been writing these blog entries over the past few weeks to a month. I decided to try to add at least one new entry a week, and I think I have done a bit better than that so far. I hope that you will read them and post your comments, telling me what you think. I would appreciate and hope to learn from the thoughtful and considered responses I expect you to submit.
The benefit of a blog, it seems to me, is that it shares some aspects of a page of Talmud. We have the Mishnah – the central statement, the essential assertion. The Gemara is the additional expalantory material offered as the body of the blog entry. The cataloging and storage and the categories with which the entry is tagged are the apparatus, similar to the cross-references and the translation of Onqelos in the Talmud. Your comments are the commentary of Rashi, Ralbag, Rambam, Ramban, Ibn Ezra, and all the rest. The ‘conversation’ between the original post and the comments and later comments feels like the back and forth between the text and the commentators in the Talmud, adding richness and depth, expanding the meaning, and furthering our understanding.
So here is another entry. I look forward to hearing from you about it.
Rabbi Joe Blair
Learning vs Education
Tuesday, November 8th, 2005It seems to me that Education has become a term for what is done to someone. We ‘educate’ children in the Religious School. We offer classes in ‘adult education’ to train people how to live or how to act. We use the word as a verb – I am going to educate you! The thrust is that education is something done to a passive recipient or to an unwilling subject. Isn’t that what we all hated about middel school or High School? If so, why are we perpetuating this state of affairs?
A Learner, and Learning, on the other hand, seem to be terms for describing a positive process and an active participant, or even one who takes charge of their own process of exploration, gaining knowledge, developing, and growing. This feels much more like a positive approach to me, something which we might seek out and in which we want to be involved.
So which is the model we have in our Religious Schools? Sadly, it feels to me at this point that it is much more likely the former.
I understand that our Religious Schools need to assure that the students acquire at least a minimum base of knowledge, so that they will be competent and functional (if not literate and educated) Jews, able to participate (at least minimally) in services, and with sufficient background to be equipped for life. The most efficient way to assure this for a group is to have a system with milestones and performance markers – hence the system of measurable test points and graded classes.
What troubles me is that this is precisely the method we see in the general school system, and although it may instill basic knowledge and skills, it also inculcates a deep sense of frustration, distaste, and a desire to flee at the earliest possible moment from both the system and the subjects taught.
Since, in America, at least, taking an active part in Judaism is a matter of choice, this strikes me as a troubling result at best, and disastrous for use in the long run.
I don’t have any answers. When I have looked around to see what is happening, some really smart people are working to find them, but have not yet gotten there. It can’t come too soon!
I am sure I will come back to this theme at some point…. It is just too important not to keep thinking about it.
Keep on learning!
Rabbi Joe Blair
Too Many Holidays?
Sunday, October 30th, 2005We have just concluded the celebration of almost a month of Jewish holidays.
Watching the children in the religious school this week, I noticed that they are overwhlemed with holidays.
To them it seems that we have a holiday every time we meet – talk about saturation and overdoing it!
I tested this feeling today, by asking the younger students to tell me what holiday we are celebrating now or what is coming next. There was a pregnant pause, then one of them ventured the guess, “Halloween?”. I said no, that is a holiday everyone can celebrate, but it is not a Jewish holiday.
Another long pause, then one of them said “Your birthday?” I smiled, and said no, that was a good guess, but it is not my birthday at this time of year.
After a short time, I told them they should understand that I had asked a trick question, and that the answer is ‘nothing’. They all looked stunned.
I continued, “we have had a lot of holidays, but they are over now for this year. But we do have a holiday that comes every week”. They are smart youngsters, and caught on – they all called out that it was Shabbat (the sabbath).
I then said there is a holiday for the beginning of each Hebrew calendar month, and asked if they knew the name of it. No one did, so I explained that it is called Rosh Chodesh (head of the month) and it is the day when the new month starts, the day when we can see the tiniest sliver of the new moon in the sky. They all knew about the moon getting bigger, until it was full, then getting smaller, so they could understand this idea, and i seemed to make sense to them.
Then I told them that other than Shabbat each week, and Rosh Chodesh at the start of the month, we have no Jewish holidays for a while. I asked if they could think of what the next holiday might be. They didn’t seem to know, until I offered the hint that on this holiday we have chocolate coins…. I never got to mention Dreidles (tops) or latkes (potato pancakes), because they knew right away what I was talking about. One of them exclaimed, “Chanukah! I know that! I LIKE that holiday!”.
I tell this not only because they were so cute, but to point out that we have a calender problem in Judaism. The reactions of the children exemplify it.
With the intensity of introspection in the month of Elul immediately followed by the concentration of holidays in the month of Tishrei, we are ALL subject to Holiday Fatigue Syndrome: a sense of exhaustion, irritation with celebration, and a wish to get it over with, already! Who can stand two months of this?
Not me, and not most of us, I suspect. At least, not if we see it as one long holiday and drive ourselves to the brink of sanity over it.
Instead, I suggest, we need to separate the components out, look at each one on its own, and give each its due.
Elul with its introspection in anticipation of the High Holy Days is not an active time, but it is somewhat draining emotionally, if we take it seriously. Perhaps we need to look at it not as a month of self-examiniation, but as thirty days on which we can take advantage of the season, for short periods, when we are able. I cannot sustain the same level of introspection over days and days, but I can take a day here, an hour there, and during the period of Elul, with breaks and downtime, make use of the time to conduct my cheshbon nefesh (accounting of the soul). I even suspect that I am more ready to undertake such an accounting, if I know that I can stop when it becomes too hard and return to it later.
Similarly, rather than seeing it as ten days at a peak for the yamim Nora’im (days of awe), I can set aside times during the period from Rosh Hashanah (new years day) to Yom Kippur (day of atonement) for my Teshuvah (repentance and penitential prayers). Again, concentrated moments spread out over the period are more likely than a continuous push for the whole time.
And when we begin Sukkot, the Feast of Booths, I can celebrate when I am in the Sukkah, so that it is a more time and space limited holiday, and in that way I can ameliorate the impact of a seven day celebration.
Finally, for Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah, I suggest that we have taken these with a bit of the wrong sense. I think we should view these days as more like the time after a family Simchah (joy): that time when the majority of the guests have left, we are almost done with the clean up, we have taken off our fancy dress, and the closest family and friends have stayed around to spend time together, and to relax in each other’s company. I think perhaps we should be looking at Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah in this light – our chance to wear more comfortable clothes and relax in company with G-d and each other – our closest friends and family.
Perhaps if we saw it in this light, and acted accordingly, the concentration of holidays wouldn’t feel so burdensome, but would be a joy and a means to relax and truly celebrate what matters.
So, do we have too many holidays? I would answer, No: we have just been trying to make each one a formal affair. If we can stop trying so hard, we might find we are having a good time and truly celebrating! And that would truly make it the season of our joy.
Rabbi Joe Blair
Who Am I?
Thursday, October 20th, 2005A question on multiple levels….
At one level, the answer is a simple, factual recitation. I am Rabbi Joe Blair. I serve Temple House of Israel in Staunton VA (and also Beth El Congregation in Harrisonburg, VA) as rabbi, educator, spiritual leader, religious expert, instructor, legal decisor, shaliach tzibbur (prayer leader for the community), shaliach (emissary and representative), pastor, counselor, and etc. [whatever needs doing, including cleaning, I often find]. 
At another level, I am the sum of my experiences, and therefore a product of my past. That makes me a graduate of U. Va., William & Mary, and the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College; a computer consultant, an attorney, a rabbi, an engineer, an educator, a writer and an editor; a son, sibling, uncle, cousin, husband, and father; and many other things.
At yet another level, I am a part and a product of my upbringing, faith, and community. Raised in a Jewish home by Jewish parents and a Jewish family, with Jewish experiences and education, steeped in Jewish tradition, heritage, history, religion, and ways of thinking.
And on a different level, I am a human being, like all human beings, created by the divine Creator, having the spark or breath of the divine within me, and formed to be able to strive towards the divine and serve as a partner with G-d in perfecting and completing the world.
A question fraught with many meanings, and therefore many possible answers, this by no means exhausts what could be said.
For now, however, it will have to do!
Shalom uvrakhah!
Rabbi Joe Blair