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Rabbinic Reflections - Parshat Vaera                              January 25, 2020 - 28 Tevet 5780

01/24/2020 10:48:18 AM


This week I’d like to share with you the words of my colleague, Rabbi Joyce Newmark of Teaneck, NJ:

Everyone knows that thirteen is the age of Bar Mitzvah. What is less well-known is that in Pirkei Avot (Ethics of the Sages), Yehudah ben Tema offers a complete chronology of Jewish life:  At five years of age - the study of Bible, at ten - the study of Mishnah, at thirteen - responsibility for the mitzvot, at fifteen - the study of Talmud, at eighteen - marriage, at twenty - pursuit of a livelihood, at thirty - the peak of one's powers, at forty - the age of understanding, at fifty - the age of counsel, at sixty - old age, at seventy - the hoary head, at eighty - the age of strength, at ninety - the bent back, at one hundred - as one dead and out of this world.

At eighty - the age of strength?  That's certainly not how most of our society perceives eighty.  Someone who is eighty is “over the hill,” useless, frail and sickly, just waiting to die, and often seen as a burden to his or her family and community.  It's no wonder that nobody wants to be old - or to be perceived as old.  We spend billions of dollars to cover up gray hair and bald heads. We rush to buy the newest product that promises to conceal wrinkles and age spots.  We squeeze aging bodies into clothing designed for teenagers.  And if none of this works - well, there's always cosmetic surgery.  Old age seems to be a modern form of leprosy. We hide old people in nursing homes, retirement communities, and senior citizen centers because we don't want young people to be frightened by glimpses of their future.

It is interesting, then, that our Torah holds a different view about age. In this week's Torah portion, Vaera, we come to the heart of the Exodus story.  Moses and Aaron go to Pharaoh and demand that he let the Israelites go.  Pharaoh, of course, refuses, and so the plagues begin, but before the first plague we read, “Moses was eighty years old and Aaron eighty-three, when they made their demand on Pharaoh.”  They were old men!  Moses and Aaron should have been living in the Egyptian equivalent of the Jewish Home for the Aged, not contending with Pharaoh for the future of the Jewish people.  Yet the Torah actually stops in the middle of the narrative to tell us that Moses was 80 and Aaron 83 at the beginning of their mission.

The 12th century Spanish commentator Abraham Ibn Ezra writes, “We do not find prophets anywhere else in Tanakh about whom the text points out that they prophesied when elderly, except these.” Why? Ibn Ezra continues, “Because [Torah] attributes greatness to them beyond all other prophets, for only to them did God appear . . . for only to them was the Torah given, and thus through their hands do the righteous inherit the world to come.” Ibn Ezra's comment makes it seem as if, somehow, the greatness of Moses and Aaron was attributable to their age, as if 80 years were required to learn the lessons that would be needed to carry out their mission.

And what are the lessons of age?  The compassion that comes from seeing that everyone is capable of foolishness and that no one is immune to pain.  The humility that comes from seeing plans and aspirations - one's own and others' - fall short and discovering that success can strike without warning. The strength that comes from learning, finally, that our most important judge is our self, that the favor of kings and princes is worthless if we have no self-respect.

The strength of eighty is not physical.  Few people who reach eighty do so without aches and pains, without slowing down, and some only reach this age with severely diminished powers.  The strength of eighty is the strength of character that comes from a lifetime of learning.

When we see only the physical, the external, and when we fear aging and therefore the aged, we sacrifice a precious resource. The Torah commands us, “you shall rise before the aged and show deference to the old” (Vayikra 19:32).  Because the word for old, zakein, is often used in Rabbinic literature to mean scholar, the gemara asks, does this apply only to an old person who is wise and scholarly, one who is to be respected for his learning?  The answer is no, even an am ha-aretz, an uneducated person, who has reached old age has something worthwhile to teach.

The elderly are not to be hidden away and shunned as if carrying some dread disease. “Rabbi Yehuda said, be careful with an old person who has forgotten his learning because of his circumstances (Rashi explains, because of illness or poverty). The Tablets [of the Ten Commandments] and the broken pieces of the [first] Tablets were both placed in the Ark” (Berakhot 8b). And never forget, by the way we treat our elders we are teaching our children how to one day treat us. 

Shabbat Shalom!

Cantorial Comments - Parshat Shemot                          January 18, 2020 - 21 Tevet 5780

01/16/2020 03:14:49 PM


“Little things console us because little things afflict us.”
--Blaise Pascal (1623-1662), French mathematician,                                                  physicist, inventor and theologian

Torah is the fundamental blueprint for Jewish life and culture. It teaches us about thoughtful living through law, it teaches us about spirituality and God, and teaches us about who we are by helping us understand where we came from. Often when studying Torah, the majesty of the significance of the text as the underpinnings of the entirety of Western culture, it’s easy to overlook the smaller, more personal stories that are woven into the text. With the help of midrashic literature, our Sages of Blessed Memory left no stone unturned to tease out even more beauty from the tiniest suggestion in the Torah text. This week, it is my pleasure to reprint the teaching of Dr. Joshua Kulp the head of the Conservative Yeshiva in Jerusalem (where I did my first year of Cantorial school) who explores a beautiful little love story in one of these textual “ruptures” in this week’s parsha.
Shabbat Shalom,

The stories of the beginning of Moshe’s life are notoriously laconic. Most of what Jews think they know about Moshe’s early life actually comes from movies, especially the Ten Commandments and the Prince of Egypt. Midrash works to fill in the gaps in the story that are unexplained in the Bible itself. But midrash almost always needs a “hook” on which to hang its story, some sort of textual “rupture” that allows an ancient exegete to suggest that something happened that is not described in the text. The following is an excellent example, one that I’m guessing you might not have noticed before.

At the end of chapter one of Exodus, Pharaoh decrees “every boy that is born you shall throw into the Nile, but let every girl live.” Chapter two picks up immediately with “a certain man of the house of Levi went and married a Levite woman. The woman conceived and bore a son.” From these verses, it sounds like this child is the Levite woman’s first. But a few verses later we learn that this child has an older sister. Where did this sister come from? If the man from the house of Levi just took this wife, how does the child already have a sister (a very clever one, as we shall soon learn)? Here is our “rupture” in the text, some point that makes little sense but allows for the rabbis to insert a story that both solves the difficulty and at the same time sharpens the message we read out of the text.

The story is found in the Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Sotah 12b. The Talmud notes that Amram (the man of the house of Levi) “went and married.” Why the extra verb “went”? The answer: he went at the advice of this remarkable daughter. The backstory is as follows:

Amram was the great man of his generation. Once he saw that the wicked Pharaoh said: “Every son that is born you shall cast into the river, and every daughter you shall save alive” (Exodus 1:22), he said: We are laboring for nothing. He arose and divorced his wife. All others who saw this arose and divorced their wives.

His daughter said to him: Father, your decree is harsher than that of Pharaoh, as Pharaoh decreed only with regard to the males, but you decreed both on the males and on the females.

Amram arose and brought back (i.e. remarried) his wife, and all the others who saw this arose and brought back their wives.

We can see here how the “darshan,” the exegete, has used the opportunity of this rupture to insert a message of courage into the text relevant to his own generation, who in all likelihood faced persecution. (When have Jews not faced persecution?)

But this solution still leaves us with a problem—if this is a remarriage, the text should have said he took back, not married. The Talmud solves this textual rupture with a beautiful story:

Rav Yehuda bar Zevina says: He performed an act of marriage. He sat her on a palanquin and Aharon and Miriam danced before her, and the ministering angels said: “A joyful mother of children” (Psalms 113:9).

Amram did not just go back to sleeping with his wife. He had a second wedding, this time allowing his children to celebrate the couple’s love for each other. Indeed, the Talmud goes on to note that according to its reckoning, Yocheved is 130 years old at the time! But no matter, for with the rekindling of their love Yocheved became again like a young girl, in love with her childhood paramour.

Through this tiny “rupture” in the text, the Midrash provides us with a rich story of the brilliance of Miriam, the courage of Yocheved and the other wives, and a story of the rekindled love of two elderly people who are about to give the Jewish people the greatest leader they will ever have, Moshe.

Dr. Joshua Kulp, Conservative Yeshiva Faculty & Rosh Yeshiva

Rabbinic Reflections - Parshat Vayechi                          January 11, 2020 - 14 Tevet 5780

01/09/2020 01:21:31 PM


Mary Karr, an American poet, essayist and memoirist, known for her bestselling memoir, The Liars' Club once quipped: “I think a dysfunctional family is any family with more than one person in it.”  And George Burns remarked: “Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family—in another city.” Truth be told, most families are like fudge: mostly sweet with a few nuts! No family is immune; I often hear people say: “We put the ‘fun’ in dysfunctional.” Well, this week’s Torah portion not only concludes the Book of Genesis, but will finish the saga of a family that, in modern terms, was seriously dysfunctional.

Rabbi Shaina Bacharach, in her comments on the Torah reading, reports that, looking at the facts while ignoring the spiritual implications of those facts, for the moment, the Patriarchs and Matriarchs of Judaism were familially dysfunctional.

First, Abraham expelled his concubine Hagar and son Ishmael from the family home. He did so at his wife Sarah's insistence. While Ishmael had to cope with his father's outright rejection, Isaac was surely left with his own feelings of insecurity and a nagging question if he did something to displease his mother or father, would his parents kick him out of the house like they did his brother? Second, Abraham nearly killed Isaac, his remaining son. Despite the religious implications of this event, Isaac probably suffered serious post-traumatic stress syndrome. Whether his near death experience was a murder attempt or a Divinely ordained sacrifice, this incident could not possibly soothe Isaac's feelings of insecurity that resulted from his brother's expulsion.

Third, Isaac married his cousin Rebecca, and they had twin sons, Esau and Jacob. The parents openly played favorites, thus setting up an intense sibling rivalry resulting in deception by Jacob and death threats by Esau. And fourth, Jacob left home because of Esau's threats. After leaving Canaan, Jacob married two of his cousins, the sisters Leah and Rachel. He loved only Rachel, but got stuck with Leah as well. Then Jacob wound up with two concubines, Zilpah and Bilhah, both handmaids of his wives. Rachel died giving birth to Benjamin, her second child. Between both wives and the concubines, Jacob had 13 children. However, the sisters did not get along, and Jacob openly favored Joseph over his other children resulting in deception attempted murder, and the brothers selling Joseph as a slave.

It seems clear that bad parenting by Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob created harmful behavior patterns among their children. Moreover, each generation transmitted these destructive tendencies to the next generation – and the family situation just got worse and worse. The same patterns repeat themselves for four generations, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Jacob's sons. Again and again, we see favoritism, deception, death threats, and murder attempts. If this is really the case with our beloved Patriarchs and Matriarchs, why do we hold them in such esteem?

Three times a day, we recite our most central prayer, the Amidah. How do we begin? In effect, we say to God: we don't dare approach You on our own merits. We ask you to remember the great merit of our ancestors, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. We ask you to bless us on their account. We can understand this saga but we must change our perspective. The issue isn't what we see, but how. For instance: do we listen to someone's life story, and hear only the problems, only see what they're doing wrong? When we look out on our own lives, do we focus on what's wrong and ignore the good things? Do we see through eyes of compassion? If we see tragic behavior patterns in others do we simply get angry and look down on them? Or, do we try to understand the pain that drove them to their actions. That doesn't mean we justify harmful behaviors! We shouldn't condone destructive behavior; we must also take care that we don't harden our hearts and stay open to the virtue of rachmanut, compassion. Do we understand that people work with the life tools they grow up with? If no one shows them a different and better way to do things, they're going to have a difficult time correcting their mistakes!

Let's take another look at our patriarchs. The first thing we must accept: all families are “dysfunctional” to some degree. How could it be otherwise? We're all human! If we look back at our own lives, we're going to see behavior patterns that are sometimes positive, and sometimes not. We're flawed. It's important to recognize our own flaws because then we can be more understanding of others. So it is with our patriarchal ancestors. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob grew up in a period of rampant: idolatry, corruption, and sexual immorality. Our patriarchs sprang from the ancient Mesopotamian culture where law codes made it clear, human life in itself wasn't sacred. Everything depended on one's social and economic status. Survival in that culture didn't depend on honesty, but shrewdness, which often meant lying and manipulating. In other words, if we look at the world that gave birth to Abraham, Isaac,and Jacob and Jacob's children we don't find a world shining with God's light, let alone the magnificence of Torah. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob all found God's light; they found His light shining in a very dark world. Our next step is to recognize the many positive attributes of our ancestors: generosity, hospitality, forgiveness, and devotion to God.

All is lost if we only see their negative points. All is lost if we only see each other's negative points! Do we look at the patriarchs and see only what they did that we think was wrong? Or do we look at Abraham Isaac and Jacob, and see astounding growth and accomplishments that they overcame incredible obstacles and brought us to worship the Kadosh Barukh Hu (the Holy Blessed One). And how does this play out in our own lives? Do we notice what our friend - or child - or spouse is doing wrong - and not see their goodness? Do we look at the synagogue, its events, people, organizations, and see only what's wrong or do we step back and look at a bigger picture and find that there's so much going on that's right?! Of course, we can't ignore problems. That way, we certainly can't improve anything! But if we see nothing but the problems we stay equally stuck.

The Genesis stories teach us that we must look beyond the negatives of a given situation. We cannot look at just the facts; we must also see life with a “wide angle lens,” look at the whole of a situation, see the good, and have a heart of compassion. And most importantly, see how we can use this viewpoint to teach us how to find God and live by the precepts of Torah.

Shabbat Shalom!

Cantorial Comment - Parshat Vayigash                                  January 4, 2020 - 7 Tevet 5780

01/03/2020 07:58:39 AM


“No one that encounters prosperity does not also encounter danger.”
                                                         —Heraclitus (535-475 BCE), Greek Philosopher

Greetings from The Holy Land—no, not Boca Raton, the other one.  I feel so very privileged to be able to make it back to Jerusalem for a visit.  I lived here during my first year of cantorial school, 2005/6, and since then, every return visit always feels a little bit like I’m coming home.  That said, the city also changes so dramatically each time, with all kinds of new urban developments.  Unlike my previous visits, there is now a wonderfully convenient 20-minute train ride from Ben Gurion Airport, directly to Jerusalem’s city centre.  When I came out of the station at Yafo Street, a place which used to be perpetually grimy and congested with city traffic, I was surprised to find that the street has been replaced by a beautiful pedestrian promenade and light-rail transit, blended into a background of beautiful cityscapes, artisanal shops, and not a single car in sight. 

On my flight here, a passenger beside me watched as I used the adjustable computer screen built into my seat as a second table for the iPad I had brought with me, while my tray table was still full from the dinner service.  The man gave me a wink, “A Yiddishe kopf”, he said, congratulating me on my ingenuity.  A Yiddishe kopf—a Jewish head.  It’s a delicious phrase that could only exist in the Yiddish language.  It describes a person as “clever” or “ingenious”, with the meta-acknowledgement that ‘of course’ the Jewish people are the most clever, ingenious, industrious, astute people in the world.  And where else would you hear a stranger spontaneously say that to you except on an El Al flight to Tel Aviv?  It’s no wonder that Jerusalem is so different each time that I visit, as if a Jewish city could be anything but be among the most industrious, quickly developing, ever-growing, eco-conscious, technologically advanced cities on earth.  Why? Everybody here is walking around with a Yiddishe kopf!

Throughout history, city-states, kingdoms and empires all benefited from having a Yiddishe kopf on hand.  Often considered second-class citizens whether under Christian or Muslim rule and prohibited from owning land, Jews often rose to prominent social positions as money lenders (Christianity prohibits Christians from lending money to other Christians with interest), or as foreign trade facilitators, leveraging their well-established network of Jewish friends and relatives in distant lands on behalf of their benefactors.  While this mayhave given rise to the anti-Semitic stereotype of Jews being greedy and money-grubbing, it is true that Jews were forced to evolve a keen sense for economics that has been a driving force behind world development since antiquity.  According to the biblical timeline, it would have been one of the eight Egyptian Pharaohs of the 12th dynasty who were first to recognize that every great ruler needs a Jewish economist on staff.

This week’s parsha, Vayigash, wraps up the first book of the Torah.  Joseph, the first Jewish royal economics advisor has achieved his position of prominence in Egyptian society.  He is completely unrecognizable to his brothers who have journeyed to Egypt to buy food during the famine that had plagued ancient Mesopotamia.  At long last, his identity is revealed to his brothers, and by doing so, Joseph also reclaims his heritage.  He reunites with his father, Jacob, and the whole family relocates to Egypt where Joseph can make sure that his family is provided for so that they may grow and prosper.

As I write this sentence, I am actually standing in front of Kever Rachel, the tomb of our foremother, Rachel, wife of Jacob and mother of Joseph.  I can reach out and touch it.  Jerusalem is a few minutes drive to the Northwest of here where the progeny of Rachel continues to thrive, and carry on her legacy of creative thought, being able to see worlds of possibility when others can only see the reality of what is physically before them.  And yet, just outside the walls of the synagogue that house Rachel’s Tomb, is the concrete of the mighty barrier wall that protects Israel from Palestinian terror.  It is a sobering reminder that history has also taught us that wherever Jews prosper, there also exist those who resent us for our success, envy our achievements, despise our resolve, fear our strength and seek our destruction.  As proud as we may be of our Yiddishe kopf, it has failed many times in our long history to perceive the seriousness of the threats against us, bringing us to the brink of annihilation.

The artisanal shops by Kikar Tzion are particularly incredible this year.  In every store, I see industry-leading new concepts in mixed media such as combining ceramic and paper, metal and glass, and dimensional paintings that are reshaping how we understand colour, shape and functional sculpture.  The very same Yiddishe kopf that birthed these designs, I believe, also sees the possibilities of a future where Israel is at peace with Palestinians, and indeed, all of her Arab neighbours.  But just because we can envision it, doesn’t mean that it is ready to exist yet.  While there is nothing more powerful than a great new idea whose time has come, there is sometimes nothing more dangerous than a great new idea that the world is not quite ready for yet.  The Torah acknowledges our Yiddishe kopf by another term, one that both recognizes our ingenuity and also holds us responsible for using it not only to better ourselves, but to better the world.  Better than a Yiddishe kopf, we are A Light Unto The Nations, and we must continue to share our beautiful vision not only with each other, but with everyone.  It may take some time, but God willing, the rest of the world will find their Yiddishe kopf, and see the vision too.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbinic Reflections - Parshat Miketz                      December 29, 2019 - 30 Kislev 5780

12/27/2019 01:35:25 PM


Back in the 1970s the band “Supertramp” sang about dreamers:

“Dreamer, you know you are a dreamer /
Well can you put your hands in your head, oh no! /
I said dreamer, you're nothing but a dreamer /
Well can you put your hands in your head, oh no! /
I said "far out, what a day, a year, a life it is!" /
You know, well you know, you had it comin' to you /
Now, there's not a lot I can do /
Dreamer, you stupid little dreamer /
So now you put your head in your hands, oh no /
I said, "far out, what a day, a year, a life it is!" /
You know, well you know, you had it comin' to you /
Now, there's not a lot I can do /
I said "far out, what a day, a year, a life it is!"

While these lyrics may seem nonsensical, in reality they reveal the lyricist’s cynicism about placing much credence in dreams. Those who do “had it comin' to you” when the dreams failed to materialize. Those who rely on dreams, he says are nothing but “stupid little dreamer[s].”

Judaism, too, has much to say about dreams. Indeed, in our portion this week, much is made of Joseph “The Dreamer”. On one hand, his skills in interpreting dreams almost cost him his life at the hands of his own brothers. On the other hand, the interpretations of Pharaoh’s dreams save him from prison. From this account one might surmise that dreams play a significant role in Judaism in general and Biblical literature in particular. Not so!

Nahum Sarna, author of Understanding Genesis, notes, “Despite the fact that Israel shared with its pagan neighbors a belief in the reality of dreams as a medium of divine communication, it never developed, as in Egypt and Mesopotamia, a class of professional interpreters or a dream literature. In the entire Bible, only two Israelites engage in the interpretation of dreams-Joseph and Daniel-and significantly enough, each serves a pagan monarch in precisely the lands in which [divination by means of dreams] flourished.” 

In the case of Joseph, his dreams of superiority separated him from his family and assimilated him into the pagan world of Egypt.  Had there not been a famine in Canaan, requiring his brothers to come down to Egypt for food, Joseph might never have reconciled with them.  His dreams would have permanently driven him from his family, his people, and eventually his God. So much for dreams!

The ancient Rabbis went one step further when they suggested:Do not rely on a miracle!” We don’t sit and wait for a “miraculous” event; we make it happen. It is not our dreams that determine the future; it is our actions. Rabbi Howard Siegel (20th century, USA) elaborates on this notion: God has made humankind a partner in the completion of creation. The realization of God’s “Kingdom on Earth”, or better stated, making this earth worthy of God, is dependent on us to “make” miracles and “fashion” dreams.

Rabbi Siegel concludes: The miracle of Hanukkah, which we celebrate this week, is not really that a single vial of oil was sufficient to keep the ancient Temple’s menorah lit for eight days, but that amidst pressures to assimilate and acculturate a small band of Jews (the Maccabees) still cared enough to fight for their identity. Professor Ismar Schoresh notes, “Dreams and miracles lie in the dustpan of Jewish history.” Even Joseph realized this fact before it was too late.

Shabbat Shalom

Cantorial Comments - Parshat Vayeshev                  December 21, 2019 - 23 Kislev 5780

12/20/2019 10:16:37 AM


“The reasonial why many are still troubled, still seeking, still making little forward progress is because they haven't yet come to the end of themselves. We're still trying to give orders, and interfering with God's work within us. ”
- A. W. Tozer (1897-1963), American Christian pastor and author

Last week, in an effort to aid university administrations in supporting and protecting Jewish university students from hate, discrimination and harassment, a new American policy by executive order has effectively defined anti-Zionism as antisemitism.  Even amongst American Jews, the debate over whether or not this move on behalf of the administration was a good idea is highly controversial, and I must admit that I am also conflicted.  On the one hand, it is long overdue that the kind of perverse vitriol spouted by hate groups on campus that advocate for the destruction of Israel is formally called out for what it is – antisemitism.  It is about time that university administrations were empowered to reign in student organizations who discriminate against Israelis and otherwise make student life for Jews unbearable on campus.  But on the other hand, in order to equate anti-Zionism with antisemitism, the executive order defined Judaism as both a religion and a nationality, thus leaning into the pre-existing anti-Semitic trope that Jews have a divided allegiance between Israel and the country in which they reside.  Furthermore, the order is not going to stop any university campuses from holding their annual Israel Apartheid Week activities, nor will it realistically help any Jewish students who feel unsafe on campus, but only curb potentially discriminatory or anti-Semitic practices from becoming policy, which, in fairness, most universities have under reasonable control.  So, without making much of a meaningful difference, I fear that this policy may potentially only lift the pendulum higher before it swings wildly the other direction when the US eventually votes in a very new and different kind of administration.

As Canadian Jews, we peer cautiously over to our neighbours to the south, wondering what fallout, if any, there may be from this new policy.  We know all too well that the escalating situation on our own college campuses is becoming a serious cause for concern, but is this the solution?  If we’re aren’t sure yet, what is the cost of waiting before advocating for our government to enact a similar resolution?

If the Torah could answer this question for us, I imagine that the text would be marked with a shalshalet.  Used to convey a pivotal emotional conflict, the shalshalet is one of the many trope symbols that appear over or underneath each word in the Torah that indicates how the word should be chanted in order to convey both grammar and oftentimes emotional peaks and valleys in the Torah narrative.  The shalshelet is one of the rarest varieties of trope; so rare, in fact, that it only appears seven times in the entire Torah.  We’ve read two of them, so far in the book of Genesis, and this week we will read the third in our parsha, Vayeshev.

The first use of the shalshelet in the Torah occurs in the story of the destruction of the city of Sodom.  The townspeople are gathered outside the home of Abraham’s nephew, Lot, prepared to rape and kill Lot’s family for their amusement.  Oddly, the Torah says that Lot hesitates before leaving his home.  The shalshelet draws our focus to the Hebrew for ‘hesitate’, to put a spotlight on Lot’s fear and turmoil, and showing at the same time that there is still a part of him that is sorry to leave his home.  The second time the shalshelet is used is in the story of Eliezer, Abraham’s servant, who is sent to find a wife for Isaac.  Isaac seems to be ambivalent about marriage, and so the duty falls on Eliezer to choose the woman who would become the future matriarch of the Israelite nation.  Eliezer speaks to God, asking for help on his mission, saying “O Lord, God of my master, Abraham, grant me good fortune this day”.  A shalshelet punctuates the Hebrew word for “saying”, as the exact words of Eliezer’s request to God are revealed.

This Shabbat, we find the third and final shalshelet in the book of Genesis, and of all places, it is found in the story of Joseph encounter with Potiphar’s wife, whose sexual advances Joseph rebuffs, an act that ultimately lands Joseph in Pharoah’s prison.  The word that the shalshelet highlights is the Hebrew word for “refused” as Joseph refuses Potiphar’s wife’s advances.  But what emotional turmoil is there here?  Shouldn’t we think that this would be an obvious and easy choice for Joseph?  Traditional commentaries teach that the shalshelet in this place teaches that Joseph was indeed tempted by Potiphar’s wife, but that it took great moral fortitude to refuse.  While I do appreciate interpretations that paint Joseph’s character as less than perfectly righteous (dare I say boastful and obnoxious), I feel that there is more here that this particular shalshelet can teach us.

The reality of life is that the right choices are not always so clear to us.  Sometimes when we seek to do good, our actions ultimately end up causing more harm.  Despite how much rigor and due process may go in to our well-intended actions, the consequences may not always be entirely foreseeable or within our power to control.  So what do we do?  Judaism teaches that while we must not rely on God to fight our battles for us, we must always aspire to be God’s partner, and to relinquish some semblance of control over our lives.  In this way, God and the Jewish people are described as partners in marriage, and the Torah is the marriage contract.  We look in the Torah for the best guidance that we can muster in order to help our decision making, but ultimately, the Torah is not our partner, God is.  Joseph sees in his situation that no matter what he does, he will end up in jail.  If he capitulates to Potiphar’s wife’s request, it will only be a matter of time before he is discovered, and if he doesn’t, she will accuse him anyway.  Perhaps some people in this no-win situation would have given into their baser instincts, but Joseph sticks to what he knows is right.  He makes a decision based on what he feels is the righteous thing to do, and trusts in God that the part he must play in Jewish history has already been laid before him.  He has no control over the big picture, but he takes charge of his own actions.  Joseph is in turmoil and has no options that will affect his life, but the shalshelet points to Joseph’s agency over his own soul because sometimes when we are in turmoil, all we can do is make decisions according to our conscience and have faith that God has the rest well in hand.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbininc Reflections - Parshat Vayishlach                            December 14, 2019 - 16 Kislev 5780

12/13/2019 02:24:33 PM


Judith Martin, better known by the pen name Miss Manners, is an American journalist, author, and etiquette authority who once quipped: “The invention of the teenager was a mistake. Once you identify a period of life in which people get to stay out late but don’t have to pay taxes — naturally, no one wants to live any other way.” Truth is that one day we wake up and realize we’re not children anymore. Perhaps it’s after we graduate elementary school, or maybe its high school, or maybe it’s when we have our first kiss or start to worry about money or death. For me, it was when I turned 60! Whenever it is, we do grow up. We’re forced to. There comes a time that we’re no longer allowed to be dependent on our parents. It is a time when our innocence disappears; a time when our carelessness is no longer seen as youthful and charming, but as pathetic and unduly childish. 

Growing up is by no means a bad thing. It allows us to make a difference in the world, to find out who we are, and to live the life we imagined as children. We dreamed of growing up when we rested our young heads on our downy pillows and looked up with wonder at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to our ceiling, wondering what the world looked beyond our own home, beyond the world that had been so meticulously created for us. 

Yet upon growing up, we find that reality often contends with those very dreams. We find that the reality of growing up is perhaps less lovely than we’d envisioned. We find that the only thing we really want back is our youth and our innocence, and the cruel irony is that these are the very things that will never return. 

As the Torah portion of Vayishlach begins, Jacob has returned home to Canaan after 20 years in his uncle’s household in Padan-aram. A lot happened to Jacob during those 20 years. He became a husband and a father, he was successful in business and acquired considerable wealth, and he learned, through his dealings with his uncle Laban, that it’s not nearly as much fun being tricked as it is being the one doing the tricking. Most of all, Jacob had grown up. He was no longer that young man who had fled from his brother’s not unjustified wrath.

On the night before he is to encounter his brother Esau again, the Torah tells us (Genesis 32:24), “Jacob was left alone. And a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn.” Jacob refuses to let the “man” go until he has blessed him and he is told (Genesis 32:28), “Your name shall no longer be Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with beings divine and human, and have prevailed.” Sometime later, God appears to Jacob and says (Genesis 35:10), “You whose name is Jacob, you shall be called Jacob no more, but Israel shall be your name.” Jacob’s new name is proof from God that he had, in fact, changed.

Jacob’s name (Yaakov) was formed from the word akeiv, heel, because he was born grasping his brother’s heel. Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo ben Isaac, 11th century Provence) says that the name Yaakov indicates one who comes under cover and with guile, a trickster; the new name of Israel denotes a prince and a ruler. Jacob had earned a name to be proud of.

Rabbi Joyce Newmark (20th century USA) observes: So what is surprising is that the Torah continues to use the name Jacob. In fact, it appears much more frequently than the name Israel. From the moment that God changes the names of Avram and Sarai to Avraham and Sarah, only their new names are used. Yet Jacob never loses his original name. Why? Perhaps to teach us that while we can and hopefully do change and grow, we never completely eradicate our former selves. Certainly, anyone over 30 has at least one thing in his or her past – something stupid, reckless, cruel, or thoughtless – that we wouldn’t want to make public. But no matter how hard you try, these are the things that you can’t erase from your memory. 

When we grow up, when we becomes responsible adults, we learn from those mistakes and try hard not to repeat them. And perhaps the painful memory of our past mistakes helps us to think twice before we make new ones. For Jacob-Israel, one sign that he had learned and changed was his new name. But still, the Torah reminds us, Jacob remains a part of Israel. Like our father Jacob, each of us is the sum of all of our past experiences, the positive and the negative. Decent, mature, menschlich people work hard to avoid repeating their negative experiences and enhance and expand the positive ones. And just maybe, when Israel looked back at Jacob, when we look back at the stupid things we did in years past and see how far we have come, it can inspire us to go still farther.

Shabbat Shalom!


Cantorial Comments - Parshat Vayishlach                  December 7, 2019 - 9 Kislev 5780

12/05/2019 10:51:24 AM


“The intuition of the moral sentiment is an insight of the perfection of the laws of the soul. These laws execute themselves. They are out of time, out of space, and not subject to circumstance.”
                  -- Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), American poet and philosopher

Today, I am proud to reprint a new commentary on the story of Jacob's Ladder, found in this week's parsha, Vayetze, written by Eitan Cooper, Executive Vice President and Chief Operating Officer of the Schechter Institutes in Israel.  The Schechter Institutes, you might say, is the Israeli sister organization of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, the flagship institute for education in the Conservative movement, training rabbis, cantors, teachers and lay leaders of the future.

Shabbat Shalom,

The Better Angles of Our Nature
By Eitan Cooper, Executive VP of the Schechter Institutes

Interpretations of Jacob’s ladder abound but they mainly seem to come down to three types:

A literal narrative interpretation and personal allegory – The angels ascending and descending the ladder will guard Jacob on his journey to Haran and back, through the many challenges he will face. They will comfort and inspire him, as do the angels, human and divine, who meet us during our lifetimes.

An Allegory for human history and events – The angels are an allegory for the empires of history. Babylonia, Persia, the Greeks the Romans – A Midrash tells us that Jacob is shown that all will ascend to great heights, then decline. God says, get on the ladder, you won’t fall, and through you the world will be blessed, but Jacob, fearing that he too will fall, misses the opportunity.

Metaphorical and Mystical – The 19th century Hassidic commentary “Sefat Emet” suggests that the ladder is a metaphor for the body. The head is in heaven, the feet are planted here on earth, and the body is a microcosm of the world, in which we are guided by internal angels as we ascend and descend the steps of the ladder, from earth to heaven, and back again. As each of us are created both from the dust of the earth and in the image of God, the key to well-being is finding our place on the right step, balanced between the earthly/bodily and the heavenly/spiritual aspects of us.

The late Hanan Porat, a prominent educator and leader of the Israeli settler movement in the 1970s and 1980s, building on this metaphor in Sefat Emet, commented that the angels urge us on from inside, guiding us up the ladder, ever closer to the heavenly-divine light, in order that we can descend again, bringing that light back down to earth. This light is the stuff of prophecy. To descend the ladder and to bring the light of heaven into the world to create a more ethical and compassionate society is the challenge to every Jew, first inspired by Jacob’s wonderful dream.

We can understand the implications of Porat’s interpretation in the context of his mystical nationalist views. While his politics was not my cup of tea, he offers nonetheless a beautiful and passionate vision of repairing a torn world – yet this image also contains potential, if not guided by responsible leaders, for atavism and destruction.

The metaphor that inner angels offer us a guide to redemption, if only we would listen to them, found similar expression 160 years ago in a completely different context, when President Abraham Lincoln made his inaugural address to a bitterly divided America. With Southern States on the brink of secession, he put his faith in “better angels”:

“The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave, to every heart and hearth stone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.”

This was Lincoln’s last major speech before the outbreak of the American Civil War, and in that respect, the image is at once prophetic and haunting when we consider the deep political divisions of our time.

Rabbinic Reflections - Parshat Toldot                            November 30, 2019 - 2 Kislev 5780

11/27/2019 10:54:48 AM


The subject of parental favoritism has been trending lately, with a number of think pieces popping up on the internet and in magazines over the last several months on the topic. While many parents are often quick to declare they don’t have a favorite, a number of kids — and adult siblings — may beg to differ. In fact, the effect parental favoritism can have on kids, whether real or perceived, is a topic that’s been of growing concern.  

Research has found that the effect isn’t great, showing that children who perceive themselves as being the least favorite are more likely to do drugs and use alcohol and cigarettes in their teenage years. This is especially true when the family unit isn’t otherwise very close. And tension between siblings seems to increase when a favored child is in the mix.

Parents may also be surprised to learn that perception appears to hold a greater weight than reality in this case. In other words, it doesn’t matter so much if Mom or Dad actually have a favorite. All that really counts is if a child thinks they do. However, whether conscious or not, studies also show that a large proportion of parents consistently favor one child over another. This favoritism can manifest in different ways: more time spent with one child, more affection given, more privileges, less discipline, or less abuse.

Research by sociologist Jill Suitor examines some of the causes and consequences of parental favoritism, which occurs in one- to two-thirds of American families. Despite its taboo in our society, we consider some cases of parental favoritism to be fair — and even necessary. For example, parents give more attention to newborns than they do to their older children. The same goes for children who are sick or disabled. In these situations, parents often discuss the unequal treatment with the disfavored children in order to assure them that it's nothing personal. Other reasons for parental favoritism most of us would judge as unfair, yet they don't surprise us much. Parents might spend more time with and feel closer to same-gender children than to opposite-gender children. In mixed families, parents favor their biological children over step-children. In patriarchal cultures, parents simply favor boys over girls.

There are several additional factors that predict favoritism, one of which is birth order: Parents favor first- and last-born children over middle children. This occurs in part because middle children will never be the only child living at home — at some point first-borns and last-borns will have their parents all to themselves. Overall, first-borns get the most privileges and last-borns receive the most parental affection. It is not surprising, then, that Isaac and Rebecca choose favorites among their twins, even though we may frown upon it.

The Torah reading begins with the birth of twins-Jacob & Esau. The story continues with Jacob cheating his brother out of his birthright. Later, with the assistance of his mother, Rebecca, he takes advantage of the Isaac’s poor eyesight and steals his father’s the blessing meant for Esau, the first-born. The Torah reading clearly focuses on the actions of Jacob and Rebecca.

While Jacob, Esau and Rebecca seem to be key players, Isaac seems relegated to the sidelines. What is the role of the patriarch, Isaac, in all of this? Everett Fox notes, “Isaac functions in Genesis as a classic 2nd generation-that is, as a transmitter and stabilizing force, rather than as an active participant in the process of building a people. There hardly exists a story about him in which he is anything but a son and heir, a husband, or a father.” In fact, the most pro-active character in the Torah portion is Rebecca. She struggles with birth (Gen. 25:22): “And the children struggled together within her; and she said, ‘If this be so, why do I live!?’” And she is the one that realizes that Jacob—and not Esau—deserves to carry on the covenant with God. Indeed, Rebecca’s greater love for Jacob than Esau compels her to devise a way for him to steal the blessing of the first-born; rightfully intended for Esau (refer to Genesis 27:5-17). She even plots Jacob’s escape from the wrath of his brother (Gen. 27: 42-43):“And [Rebecca] said to [Jacob]: “Here, Esau your brother is consoling himself about you, with (the thought of) killing you. So now, my son, listen to my voice: Arise and flee to Lavan my brother in Haran.”

According to psychologists Ilan Shrira and Josh Foster, favoritism is also more likely when parents are under a great deal of stress (e.g., marital problems, financial worries). In these cases, parents may be unable to inhibit their true feelings or monitor how fair they're behaving. Evolutionary theorists argue that when emotional or material resources are limited, parents will favor children who have the most potential to thrive and reproduce. Perhaps Rebecca favored Jacob because she felt him to be more stabilizing, more intellectual, more family-oriented and more worthy to pass on the genes and the covenant of Abraham.

Was Rebecca wrong in conspiring to elevate her “favorite” son Jacob? Everett Fox doesn’t think so. He writes, “The true dynamic figure of the 2nd generation here is Rebecca. It is she to whom God reveals his plan, and she who puts into motion the mechanism for seeing that it is properly carried out. She is ultimately the one responsible for bridging the gap between the dream, as typified by Abraham, and the hard-won reality, as realized by Jacob.”

Unfortunately, the consequences of parental favoritism are what we might expect — they're mostly bad. Shrira and Foster observe that disfavored children experience worse outcomes across the board: more depression, greater aggressiveness, lower self-esteem, and poorer academic performance. Sounds a lot like Esau; his parent’s favoritism adversely affects him, perhaps a self-fulfilling prophesy on Rebecca’s part. As well, these repercussions are far more extreme than any benefits the favored children get out of it (negative things just have a stronger impact on people than positive things). And it's not all rosy for the favored children either — their siblings often come to resent them, poisoning those relationships. Again sounds like Esau and his relationship with Jacob. As a result, many of these consequences persist long after children have grown up and moved out of the house. People don't soon forget that they were disfavored by their parents, and many people report that being disfavored as a child continues to affect their self-esteem and their relationships in adulthood. Again, a lot like Jacob and Esau.

Shrira and Foster conclude: Nearly all parents worry about whether they play favorites. But even when parents vow to treat their children equally, they soon find that this is just not possible. Every child is different and parents must respond to their unique characteristics appropriately. You shouldn't react to a 3-year-old's tantrums in the same way as you would to a 13-year-old's. You can't deal with aggressive children in the same way as passive children. Even identical twins can't be treated identically. When it comes down to it, every child wants to feel like they're different, not clones of their siblings. The best parents can do is stay aware of any differential treatment they give and try to be as fair as possible.

So, was Rebecca right in what she did? Are there times when, for the sake of maintaining the vision, one is required to violate the basic tenets of morality; to favor one child over the other and live with the consequences?

Shabbat Shalom!

Cantorial Comment - Parshat Chaye Sarah                          November 23, 2019 - 25 Cheshvan 5780

11/21/2019 04:54:49 PM


 “Every great and deep difficulty bears in itself its own solution.  It forces us to change our thinking in order to find it.”

 ​​​​--Niels Bohr (1885-1962), Danish quantum physicist

 This week, we may have just seen the end of the Two-State Solution, and for the first time in my lifetime, this makes me truly afraid for both Israel and world Jewry.

On Monday, the US announced that it will no longer regard the Israeli settlements as “illegal”, which, at first glance seems like a welcome point scored for Team Israel.  It comes off initially as a moral victory that is more about technical definitions and labels than anything practical, a symbolic win for the Jewish people akin to the US formally recognizing Jerusalem as the Israeli capital.  However, a more careful consideration of this most recent development reveals that it very well may have a real and significant impact on the delicate status quo.  I believe that this change is about to set us on an ominous and frightening path that, as time goes on, will become harder to turn back from.

Growing up, I was taught that as a modern and militarily strong state, Israel’s pathway to peace depended on walking a precarious line between defending itself to insure its own security and peace negotiations with the Palestinian people in an effort to find a long-term solution to the ongoing refugee crisis.  I learned that unlike other countries, the Israeli military is a moral military, bound as much by the Jewish values of the sanctity of life, human dignity, and righteousness as by the mandate to protect Israel by the necessary use of force.  I trusted in a peace process that whether or not it would be achieved in my lifetime, it was a process that required removing hatred from the curriculum of children, land negotiations in good faith, and a commitment to non-violence.  But what would this idealized middle-eastern society of the future look like?  Would it be one unified state or two, an Israeli state and a Palestinian state living side by side?  These questions were typically left unanswered because neither way seemed livable for either side.  With a two-state solution, Israel would be forced to endure an ever-increasing security threat from Palestinian extremist groups, able to operate safely outside of Israel’s reach.  With a one-state solution, Palestinians would effectively become ethnically discriminated non-voting Israelis, a situation which would force us to concede the moral high-ground to those who today are unconscionably claiming that Israel is an apartheid state.

So which is it to be?  Do we advocate today for a two-state solution where Israel remains under constant threat, or a one-state solution in which Israel sacrifices its integrity?  Neither answer is very comforting and so, the status quo has remained which, even though it too is uncomfortable, at least we all agree that it is temporary.  Now, though, the latest change in US policy may have forced us down the road of the one-state solution, and we will be forced to endure the consequences of it.  By declaring that the settlements are no longer illegal, the US has opened up a new avenue for cash flow to Israel towards sponsoring settlement development.  In Toronto, we know all too well about the rising prices of urban development, and many young people are forced to live in Aurora, Sudbury, and other more remote areas of Ontario in order to find affordable housing, and this is also the case in Israel.  The Israeli government builds subsidized housing in the settlement communities for those Israelis who are unable to afford homes but until now, due to the “illegality” of the settlements, funding could not come directly from sponsors in the US for these projects.   As the gates are now open with the full blessing of the US government, we could see rapid settlement expansion into more territory that Palestinians perceive should be part of a future Palestinian state.  More expansion means that a Palestinian state is less and less likely, thus further removing the Two-State Solution from the realm of possibility.

Our parsha this week is Chayey Sarah, meaning “the life of Sarah”.  Ironically, by the second verse of our reading, Sarah has died.  Why must we begin our parsha this way, especially considering the title?  It has been a long week, but we must recall how last week’s parsha ended, with the binding of Isaac.  If we had concluded last week’s reading two verses later, the reason that Sarah died becomes apparent.  Sarah died of grief over Abraham’s near murder of their only son.  The story of the Akeda (Binding of Isaac) is perhaps the most difficult story in the entire Tanach.  It is difficult because we find ourselves placed in a morally ambiguous scenario; do we admire Abraham for his commitment to God, or do we feel sick over how Abraham could even think to sacrifice his son?  The answer is a very uncomfortably murky middle in which we hesitate to fully throw our weight behind either answer.  We hesitate because we’re waiting, hoping that a better answer will be forthcoming.  In the meantime, we debate the issues, searching, hoping to find a better solution, remembering all the while, that whichever way we choose, there are serious moral consequences that must be brought to bear.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbinic Reflections - Parshat Vayera                      November 16, 2019 - 18 Cheshvan 5780

11/14/2019 03:56:57 PM


Kristallnacht, or the Night of Broken Glass, was a pogrom against Jews carried out by SA paramilitary forces and civilians throughout Nazi Germany on 9–10 November 1938. The German authorities looked on without intervening.  The name Kristallnacht ("Crystal Night") comes from the shards of broken glass that littered the streets after the windows of Jewish-owned stores, buildings and synagogues were smashed.


Jewish homes, hospitals and schools were ransacked as the attackers demolished buildings with sledgehammers.  The rioters destroyed 267 synagogues throughout Germany, Austria and the Sudetenland. Over 7,000 Jewish businesses were damaged or destroyed, and 30,000 Jewish men were arrested and incarcerated in concentration camps.  British historian Martin Gilbert wrote that no event in the history of German Jews between 1933 and 1945 was so widely reported as it was happening, and the accounts from foreign journalists working in Germany sent shockwaves around the world.  The Times of London observed on 11 November 1938: "No foreign propagandist bent upon blackening Germany before the world could outdo the tale of burnings and beatings, of blackguardly assaults on defenseless and innocent people, which disgraced that country yesterday."


The pretext for the attacks was the assassination of the Nazi German diplomat Ernst von Rath by Herschel Grynszpan, a 17-year-old German-born Polish Jew living in Paris. Estimates of fatalities caused by the attacks have varied. Early reports estimated that 91 Jews had been murdered. Modern analysis of German scholarly sources puts the figure much higher; when deaths from post-arrest maltreatment and subsequent suicides are included, the death toll climbs into the hundreds, with Richard J.  Evans estimating 638 suicide deaths.  Historians view Kristallnacht as a prelude to the Final Solution and the murder of six million Jews during the Holocaust.

With anti-Semitism on the rise throughout the world and even here in Toronto and the rest of Canada, as well as the increasing xenophobia and dehumanizing of the “other” we see and read about in the news, we must be ever-vigilant, speak out and work against such hatred to prevent another Holocaust or genocide from happening again.  The message of the Holocaust is not for Jews alone, but for all people who care about the dignity and humanity of all people.  We cannot ostracize others simply because they have different cultures, ethnicities or religions.  We are all created in the image of God and all worthy of unconditional positive regard and respect.  This is a message sorely needed in our increasingly violent world.  Eli Wiesel, the human rights advocate, Nobel Peace Prize Laurate and Holocaust survivor, said: “In the face of evil, there are no innocent bystanders.”  We cannot sit on the sidelines when hate rears its ugly head.  We must take a stand and be part of the solution to create a better, more peaceful and loving world.


Shabbat Shalom!

Cantorial Comment - Parshat Lech Lecha                November 9, 2019 - 11 Cheshvan 5780

11/04/2019 12:53:28 PM


“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves.”

-       William Shakespeare


For the last few months, we have been reading the final speeches of Moses.  Up until Simchat Torah, the Torah has taken us through a hodgepodge of laws, some new and some revisited, a review of the Israelite narrative, a reaffirming of the special relationship between God and the Israelite nation, and a transition of power.  But since we’ve started over from the beginning again, there isn’t much to speak of in terms of laws, just stories of people, mythological creatures, kings and epic battles, not much unlike an episode of Game of Thrones.  At the end of the Torah, we pick apart a myriad of specific laws and explore in great detail how they impact Jewish existence and bring us closer to each other.   At the beginning of the Torah, it seems that our academic interest switches into a quest to reconcile what we know from archeological and geological history with the biblical narrative of Adam and Eve, Noah and Abraham.  In doing so, we are often left with unanswered questions and an ultimatum that forces us to choose between Torah as literal truth and rationalism.  Those who know me know that whenever I am faced with this choice, that’s when I excitedly go out in search of door number three.


In our parsha this week, Lech-L’cha, we meet our hero, Abram.  By the end of the parsha, having demonstrated his faith and devotion, God renames him Abraham, adding the Hebrew letter “hey” from the Divine Name.  The focus of the narrative follows the story of Abraham as he travels from Ur of the Chaldees to Haran, then to Canaan, then to Egypt and back again.  Meanwhile, epic battles are fought between the various kings of ancient Mesopotamia and Abraham is drawn into the fight when his nephew, Lot, is captured.  After Abraham’s fighting force frees Lot, the Torah gives us a passage that raises an eyebrow or two: “And Malchizedek the king of Salem brought out bread and wine, and he was a priest to the Most High God.  And he blessed him [Abram], and he said, ‘Blessed be Abram to the Most High God, Who possesses heaven and earth.  And blessed be the Most High God, Who has delivered your adversaries into your hand,’ and he gave him a tithe from all.” (Gen. 14:18-20).  According to this passage, it would seem that Abraham is NOT the father of monotheism… Malchizedek has beaten him to it!  While we’re at it, what is Malchizedek’s story, and how did he come to believe in monotheism?  The Torah, unfortunately, doesn’t offer any information on this at all.


The story of Malchizedek bothered the Talmudic commentators, and forced them to come up with what at first seems like an awkward answer.  In masechet Nedarim 32b, the rabbis conclude the Malchizedek must actually be Shem, one of the three sons of Noah.  And while this may seem extremely far-fetched, we should remember that according to the Torah, there were only ten generations between Noah and Abraham, and Shem lived to be 600 years old.  But what would lead the rabbis to believe that Malchizedek’s secret identity was Shem, son of Noah?  It was because somebody had to be the transmitter the knowledge of God from the time of Noah, and Shem was the inheritor of that tradition, and Shem was Abraham’s great(x7)-grandfather.


Here lies the third door.  Let us set aside both the Torah as literal truth and rationalism for the moment.  The Torah insists that ever since the creation of Adam, the first Man, God has had a relationship with humanity.  And it would seem that according to the Torah timeline, Abraham might have been the first man to ‘discover’ God, he was not the only person alive at the time to ‘know’ God.  Even if Malchizedek was not Shem, Shem, who was on the ark with Noah, would have overlapped with Abraham’s lifetime by 150 years… and in all that time, you’d think that Shem would have taken an interest in a new, young, wealthy, influential man who was starting an entire civilization based on the belief in one supreme God.  If Shem and Abraham really did meet, perhaps even to transfer the mantel, what this means is that we can draw a chain of people who had knowledge of God from the first man to walk the earth to ourselves.  It would mean that our understanding of God does not come only from human experience of God, but from God, Himself, right from the very beginning.  If the story of Judaism is supposed to begin with Abraham, why does the Torah begin with creation?  Why should the stories before Abraham matter if they aren’t uniquely part of the story of Judaism?  It would seem that they are.  They teach us that the Jews did not discover God, rather, we were always destined to have a relationship with God, right from the very beginning.


Shabbat Shalom,


Rabbinic Reflections - Parshat Noach                                        November 2, 2019 - 4 Cheshvan 5780

10/31/2019 12:22:59 PM


Shakespeare wrote, in Romeo and Juliet, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose / By Any Other Name would smell as sweet.” To which Albert Einstein once quipped, “But that’s Rose’s name! What are we supposed to call her if not Rose?” However, like Shakespeare, “God by any other name is still God!” In fact, Torah refers to God by several different names. Among them, the most common are Elohim and Adonai.

Dr. Ismar Schorsch, previous Chancellor of the Jewish Theological Seminary, the fountainhead institution of the Conservative Movement in Judaism, points out, “As the story of Noah opens, the Torah returns to the word ‘Elohim’ for ‘God’ (Genesis 6:12-13): “When Elohim saw how corrupt the earth was… And Elohim said to Noah…. ” It is the same noun used by the Torah in Chapter 1 to depict the creation of the cosmos. Unlike the four-letter personal name of God Adonai, ‘Elohim’ is a plural form and a generic term for deity that can also serve to refer to pagan gods.” Schorsch continues by saying, “The [ancient] Rabbis did not fail to turn the distinction between these two names of God into a far-reaching theological insight. Indeed, the ineffable nature of God is precisely what gives rise to a profusion of divine names in Judaism, with each one conveying but a single aspect of God.”

Rabbi Howard Siegel, in his comments on our portion, notes that for the Rabbis, the name “Elohim” was used to portray God as the “Righteous and unbiased Judge,” while “Adonai” displayed God’s personal and intimate relationship with each individual human being. Another way of considering this is to understand “Elohim” as the Godly attribute of justice and “Adonai” as representing mercy. Both are attributes of the One God.

The “Elohim” attribute of God comes to judge the corruption in the new world and determine it must be destroyed. The “Adonai” attribute provides personal comfort and support to oah (Genesis 7:1): “And Adonai said to Noah: ‘Come, you and your entire household into the ark.’” In Genesis 7:16, both attributes of God appear, the “Elohim” who ordered the building of the ark and the destruction of the world, and the “Adonai” who personally made certain Noah and his family were safely within the ark before the flood began: “And they went in [the ark], male and female of all flesh, as Elohim commanded him; and Adonai closed the door upon him.”

Rabbi Siegel concludes: Names have meaning and significance. “Noah”, meaning “pleasant and comforting”, aptly describes the character of this man. So, too, the first humans: “Adam,” meaning “earth” or “earthly,” came from the “dust of the earth,” and “Eve,” meaning “mother of life,” is the first woman to experience the divine gift of procreation. God also has names from which we learn that this world will be ruled justly, but God’s justice will never turn a blind eye to mercy and personal caring

Shabbat Shalom!

Cantorial Comments - Parshat Bereshit                              October 26, 2019 - 27 Tishrei 5780

10/25/2019 10:39:07 AM


 “It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.”
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1859-1930),
author of the Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes


On Kol Nidre evening this year, I was honoured to deliver a d’var tefilah on the subject of rationalism within spirituality. Many of us find it challenging to reconcile a rationalist worldview with the existence of spirituality and holiness, but I believe that these are not at all mutually exclusive.  To illustrate, I offered the story of a “fabled” holocaust artifact, that while it was a simple inanimate object, it could serve as a witness to the Nazi atrocities, a symbol to represent the murdered family who owned it, and as an enduring legacy to both the beauty and resilience of the Jewish spirit.  I argued that it is through these stories that an object can be imbued with significant religious meaning, i.e. holiness.  Congregants expressed their shock when I dramatically revealed the original artifact from my story, and since then, I was very humbled to learn that so many had found the story moving, and expressed interest in learning more about this beautiful artifact that I have since been loving calling the “Iron Hakodesh”.  And so this week, I am pleased to share the whole, original, and undramatized story.


One of my guilty pleasures is to watch Do-It-Yourself videos on YouTube.  These include videos on wood furniture making, wood turning, blacksmithing and antique restorations.  I find that videos like these are just as entertaining for me to watch without any sound, which makes them ideal for some relaxation before going to bed.  It was just over a week before Rosh Hashanah when one night, as I watched a completely random antique restoration video of a badly rusted charcoal clothing iron, I was very surprised to notice that the piece had Jewish symbols sculpted into it.  I didn’t immediately consider the idea that the iron was a holocaust artifact, but the fact that it was a clearly very old and beautiful looking Jewish object inspired me to learn more about it. 


After watching the video several times, I browsed through the comments section on the webpage.  Although the video had only been online for two weeks, it had already inspired a fair bit of discussion.  The craftsman, himself, was wondering about the symbols, describing them as a pair of lions flanking a candelabra, and a six-pointed star on the other end of the iron.  Some of the messages in the post helped identify them as Jewish symbols, the Judean lions, the menorah, and the Magen David, but there wasn’t any discussion on where the iron was found, or anybody asking about its history.  I contacted the craftsman through Facebook and I asked him where he had found it.  He replied that he found the iron at a garage sale in the Polish town of Wroclaw, and took it back to his shop in the Czech Republic to restore it.  A little bit of research on antique irons revealed that charcoal irons were used very commonly throughout Europe up to the 1940s, but irons with decorative sculpting were often custom, hand-forged pieces owned by wealthy families and not often discarded as junk.  An item with Jewish iconography hand-forged into solid cast-iron metal from pre-1940 found in Poland almost certainly indicated that this iron was a holocaust artifact.  I looked up Wroclaw on a map, and I couldn’t help but noticed that it was only about a 20 minute drive away from Auschwitz.  There was much more that I wanted to learn about the iron, but at this point, I decided that it belonged in a Jewish home, and I contacted the craftsman again to arrange the purchase.  The iron arrived at my home only two days before Yom Kippur.


It has been an honour to display the iron in my home as a mantel piece, and I have enjoyed bringing it to shul and telling its story.  With the help of a few members of our community, I have since learned that the town of Wroclaw was originally the German town of Breslau, and that the iron’s original owners would have mostly likely been wealthy German Jews and not Poles.  I imagine a large beautiful German Jewish home that has been empty for months after its original owners were taken by the Nazis to the camps.  I imagine a gentile family usurping the home and casting away any objects with Jewish symbols, candlesticks, a mezuzah, and it would seem, even a clothing iron.  I managed to find an expert in antique irons who has also been able offer more information.  He concluded that it was most likely made between 1910 and 1930 by a company called Moravia Ironworks, a Jewish family-owned iron goods company based out of Olomouc, in the modern day Czech Republic which specialized in iron fences, benches and housewares.  Its company logo was simply the Magen David.


Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbinic Reflections - Chol Hamoed Sukkot - Day 4    October 19, 2019 - 20 Tishrei 5780

10/17/2019 04:31:03 PM


The prayer, Hashkivenu, which we say on Friday night, contains the phrase sukkat shelomecha (“Your canopy of peace”) three times.  It concludes with the blessing, Ufros alenu Sukat shlomecha – “spread over us the Sukkah of Your peace.”  As we celebrate this Shabbat Shabbat Chol HaMoed Sukkot, this Intermediate Sabbath of Sukkot, Rabbi Marc Rudolph asks: “what does a Sukkah have to do with peace?  Why does our prayer compare peace to a Sukkah?”

One suggestion is that like a Sukkah, peace is fragile and temporary.  Indeed!  Currently, in 2019 there are 10 active armed conflicts in the world.  Forget about peace being fragile and temporary. It seems like world peace is completely unattainable, far from our reach.  I hate to be a pessimist, but the most we can hope for, it would seem, is some respite from war and conflict in this troubled world of ours.  One worldwide organization puts together what it calls the Global Peace Index, a ranking of the amount of peace enjoyed by each country in the world. Iceland is rated the most peaceful country in the world, followed by New Zealand and Portugal. Seventeen of the top twenty countries are Western or Central European states.  The Scandinavian countries all rank in the top 20.  The United States was ranked 128th most peaceful country while Canada came in at number 6. 

The Sukkah, easily blown down by the wind, open to the elements, here for a short duration and then gone, reminds us of how difficult it is to bring lasting peace into the world.  Here is another thought about the association of a Sukkah with peace.  A Sukkah is a place of hospitality.  Hospitality is synonymous with care and protection and peace.  In former times, it was customary for a family that was eating in the Sukkah to invite at least one poor person to the dinner table.  Then there is the kabbalistic custom of Ushpizin.  On each night of the holiday, traditional Jews invite one of the seven exalted men and women of Israel to take up residence in the Sukkah – Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Aaron and David; Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, Leah, Deborah, Ruth and Esther.  Each of these exalted people also reminds us of our obligation to protect the vulnerable and the uprooted.

Hospitality is still a sacred obligation in parts of our world.  Marcus Luttrell, a US Navy SEAL, was the sole survivor of a battle in Afghanistan.  He and three other SEAL commandos were on a mission to hunt down an al-Qaeda terrorist leader hiding in a Taliban stronghold.  Injured and bleeding, he eluded six al-Qaeda assassins who were trying to finish him off.  He made his way to a Pashtun village.  The tribe took him in and risked everything to protect him.  He came under the law of hospitality, he wrote, considered “strictly non-negotiable.”  “They were committed to defend me against the Taliban until there was not one left alive.”  This same law of hospitality prompted Abraham to offer food and shelter to three strangers who happened by his home.  It is the same law of hospitality that prompted Lot to protect the angels who visited him in Sodom from the angry crowd who wanted to harm them.  We shudder at the price he was willing to pay – to hand over his daughters as a substitute – but the point is the same.  The Law of Hospitality says that we protect those who come under our roofs even at the expense of our loved ones.

Rabbi Marc Rudolph offers a final thought about the association of a Sukkah with peace.  Sukkot is the only holiday on our calendar that we publically celebrate outdoors.  In fact, although we may be tempted to build a Sukkah in our family room, and thereby avoid the cold or inclement weather of our area, it is not valid to build a Sukkah indoors.  It has to be outdoors, for all to see.  It makes perfect sense, then, that the Sukkah is such a humble dwelling.  Since they are such humble dwellings, and others will see it, they are unlikely to stir up envy — and envy is a threat to peace.

Rabbi Rudolph reminds us that when Jacob sent his sons to Egypt to seek provisions for the famine, he cautioned them not to make themselves conspicuous. Rashi, Rabbi Shlomo ben Isaac (Provence, 11th century) explains that Jacob was warning them not to show that they still had provisions to eat and they were not yet going hungry.  Jacob was concerned this would stir up envy among the pagan tribes living in the area.  In a commentary to this, the Stone Chumash notes that this has been the theme of many leaders who exhorted their fellow Jews not to flaunt their wealth to their neighbors, as that can stir up envy.  “Whatever food Jacob’s family had was honestly acquired,” writes the Stone Chumash, “but even honest resources should be displayed judiciously.”

“Spread over us the Sukkah of Your peace” asks our prayer.  We are reminded in using this language that peace is fragile like a Sukkah, and impermanent.  The words “Spread over us the Sukkah of Your peace” ask God to be with us and protect us, at least as well as human beings protect and care for the guests that dwells within their homes.  “Spread over us the shelter of Your peace” teaches us that we should be modest and judicious in our possessions, for we do not wish to incur envy, which is a threat to peace.

Shabbat Shalom!

Cantorial Comments - Parshat Haazinu                                  October 12, 2019 - 13 Tishrei 5780

10/10/2019 02:43:32 PM


“Yesterday is not ours to recover, but tomorrow is ours to win or lose.”

  Lyndon B. Johnson (1908-1973), 36th US President


I often find that I am often comparing Yom Kippur to running a marathon, as it seems that in so many respects, the extended metaphor illuminates many different aspects of the value and experience of the day.  Nobody that I know really “likes” running a marathon, rather, it’s the comradery and teamsmanship, the festivity, the knowledge that we are doing something healthy for ourselves, and especially, the overcoming of a challenge that we find exhilarating.  I have yet to meet someone who says to me, “you know the last two miles of the marathon, when you’re dripping in sweat, you’ve got a painful stitch under your ribcage, but you’re still far enough away from the finish line that you can’t feel any relief that it’s almost over?  Yeah, I love that part”.  It is also true that unless you train and prepare properly, a marathon can be especially painful (if not dangerous) experience.  So too, those who only come to shul on the High Holydays and have never experienced a Shabbat service, are likely going to have a much harder time deriving benefit from the Yom Kippur experience.  Just as running a marathon without training can be a physical overload, Yom Kippur without Shabbat can be a God-overload.  Still, after finishing a long day in shul, most of us come home feeling good in the knowledge that we made it to the finish line.  We’re feeling a little bit lighter, a weight off of our shoulders (or that could just be the dehydration).  But this year, unfortunately, my personal feeling of post Yom Kippur euphoria was cut short when I came home to find that while I was in shul all day, my mobile phone and credit card numbers had been hijacked to make fraudulent purchases.


Of course, it’s all going to be just fine.  The fraudulent purchases were reported, the cards were canceled, and somebody at Rogers is working on getting me my phone number back, but it still feels terrible.  I ran the marathon, and somebody who wasn’t part of the race stole my prize t-shirt at the end.  The negative thoughts that ran through my head were almost worthy of having to do my “Al Chet” prayers all over again.  Unfortunately, that’s the big challenge.  While our jobs as Jews are to remain committed to ma’asim tovim (good works), and leading our lives in the spirit of Torah and mitzvot, there will always be forces that try to push us off track.  It’s easy to get demoralized and frustrated as we begin to wonder whether all that effort is really worth it when it would be so much easier to maliciously take what we want from others, just as some seem to want to take from us.  Yom Kippur may be just one day, but being Jewish is a lifetime, which means that we must hold ourselves to a better standard not just one day a year, but every day.


This week’s parsha is Haazinu.  Moses reveals the text of a song that he has written that he will teach to the Israelite nation.  The song reminds us that God is both righteous and just, and that all corruption stems not from Him, but from mankind.  The Israelites, therefore, should take care to remember their blessings of all that God has done for them, from delivering them from slavery to sustaining them during their forty years of wandering in the desert.  The song promises that in the future, there will be times when the Israelites are tempted to turn away from God and descend into evil, but it is especially at those times that they must remember their promise to be a holy nation, to always aspire to be better.  This promise, says Moses, must supersede all of your other commitments, it must be at the forefront of your thoughts and must guide your judgement and actions “for it is not an empty thing for you, for it is your life, and through this thing, you will lengthen your days upon the land to which you are crossing over the Jordan, to possess it” (Deut. 32:47).


Shabbat Shalom,


Rabbinic Reflections - Parshat Vayelekh                      October 5, 2019 - 6 Tishrei, 5780

10/03/2019 04:56:27 PM


Author Agatha Christie once quipped: “An archaeologist is the best husband a woman can have. The older she gets the more interested he is in her.” And journalist Andy Rooney observed: “I’ve learned that life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer it gets to the end, the faster it goes.” Comedienne Phyllis Diller had this to say about growing old: “I’m at an age when my back goes out more than I do.” The Torah portion “VaYelekh” also makes observations about growing old; in this case about Moses in particular. The Torah portion for this Shabbat opens with Moses saying: “I am a hundred and twenty years old. I can no longer go out and come in.” Our translation reads: “I can no longer be active - and the Lord has said to me: 'You shall not go across the Jordan River.'” A hundred and twenty isn't bad—and there are two contradictory statements about Moses' condition. Here he says, “I can no longer go out and come in,” a statement of physical weakness; and in the closing verses of the Torah it says, “His eyes were not dimmed and his strength had not left him.”

The Sages of the Talmud and Midrash offer various comments: He was physically strong, but he was weak in Torah. He could no longer study and teach Torah, so he realized that his life was at an end. Another comment suggests that even if he was not weakened, he was no longer growing in strength. He was no longer acquiring new knowledge. Some people stop learning at a much younger age. Moses, always the teacher and always the learner, knew that when he stopped learning, the game was up.

However, Rabbi Harold Berman thinks there is something more to this, and Moses actually tells us what it is. Moses says: “The Lord has said to me: 'You shall not go across the Jordan River.'” God is telling Moses, “You're finished with your life's work. You have nothing more to achieve." We all know stories of people who looked forward to their retirement, finished their last day of work or went to their retirement dinner, and suddenly died. On the one hand, there is a great sense of sadness that a person did not get to enjoy the leisure time he or she had planned. On the other hand, there is a realization that most people need purpose in their lives to be able to keep on going. Some people, when they leave their life's work behind, have no real sense of what living is all about.

I feel sorry for people like that. I believe life is more than work. Life is a sharing of good things with people we love, it is in many cases the opportunity to see and enjoy children and grandchildren and even great grandchildren, telling them stories, offering them ideas, and being role models for their future.

We don't know much about Moses' children. Rabbi Berman reminds us that they are mentioned only as children, when they are born and in one other story when they join Moses wife and father-in-law following the Exodus. Unlike Aaron, whose children are active and share in the priesthood in his lifetime, Moses' sons seem to be nowhere around. Except for a strange hint in a text at the end of the book of Judges suggesting that someone might be a descendant of Moses, we never hear anything about them. There is good reason to believe that they and their mother have long since departed the scene. What we know about Moses is all work, never interested in retiring, tired of traveling, no home life that anyone speaks of, no friends that we know of; it's all leadership all the time. Everything is focused on the goal of getting these people to, and preparing them for, the Promised Land.

And here they are. Goal achieved. No more goals left. We see in this Torah portion Moses' frenetic movement from Levites, to elders, to Joshua, to closing ceremony—desperate to hold on to something important to do. Finally, he will take to writing poetry; a few parting words of verse to leave with us besides the law and the history. He can't stand the idea that there is nothing left for him to do. Perhaps, concludes Rabbi Berman, the enigmatic expression: "I can no longer go out and come in,” is best translated: “I have no place left to go, and nothing left to do.”

All we can do is feel sorry for Moses, as we feel sorry for anyone who is so wrapped up in anything that without it there is nothing left. We are grateful for all Moses has given, only saddened by the reality that he has held on to nothing for himself. Maybe he should have taken up golf? Maybe a good poker game with the guys from time to time? Maybe he should have volunteered on occasion and helped a school or orphanage? Even the greatest and busiest of people need to have a life outside their work.

Some may remember the movie City Slickers with Billy Crystal, in which the tough cowboy teaches the city guy the secret of life. “Just one thing,” he says. We disagree. Just one thing isn't enough. We need to look around us and think of many things we could do, many ways we can connect to other people, many opportunities we all have to make our lives meaningful, no matter how old we are.”

As we begin a new year may I suggest that we keep doing the most important things we do and keep getting better at doing them, but that we also bring some variety into our lives. There are people to whom we can offer support and there are causes that need our attention. There are new things to learn and places to explore. Personally, I am looking forward to many different things in many places in the year ahead. I hope you are, too. If we stop finding things to do and places to go, we have very little left.

May the year ahead be a happy and healthy one, a varied and interesting one, a year of giving and receiving, coming and going and a year of always growing into new things that will enrich every day of our lives.

Shabbat Shalom and Shana Tova

Cantorial Comment - Parshat Nitzavim                                September 28, 2019 - 28 Elul 5779

09/26/2019 02:36:06 PM


“All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.”
            -       Peter Pan, by James M. Barrie (1860-1937)

While it was not a mandatory study for all cantorial students, through my years at the seminary, I made it a point to take some courses in CPE, that is, Clinical Pastoral Education – the sort that our esteemed rabbi teaches at Baycrest.  Sometimes I would be chatting with hospital patients through the day about their lives and personal challenges, and sometimes I would be called in the middle of the night to be with someone in their last moments of life.  It was an extremely rewarding, but also an emotionally draining experience which would then be compounded by reliving those experiences in our class sessions so we could all learn to better support people.  Phrases such as “God works in mysterious ways”, “we cannot understand God’s big picture” and similar platitudes were often a part of our class discussions, which were rudimentary answers to the most fundamental theological question: why do bad things happen to good people?  On the one hand, it was comforting to hear that among the students in my class who represented a broad theological spectrum from Catholic priests to Presbyterian Church ministers, nobody had any better answers to this question.  On the other hand, while some of my fellow students were content to use such platitudes, I absolutely hated them.  I believed (and for the most part, still do) that very few people actually want to hear that God intended their suffering to be part of a greater purpose.  A child with cancer, a natural disaster that claims the lives of thousands, or even the Holocaust…  how do we reconcile the idea of a good God with this kind of suffering?  We do it by acknowledging that we cannot see the world from God’s perspective – perhaps six million die today so that hundreds of millions can live later?  We cannot know, and so I towed the party line.  What else could I say?  That God isn’t actually good?

The trouble is that in the Torah, God really isn’t described as “good” per se.  As we take out the Torah from the ark this Rosh Hashanah, we will recite the 13 attributes of God as they are described in the Torah – “The LORD, The LORD is a merciful and gracious God, slow to anger and abounding in kindness and truth.  He keeps kindness to the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin, and acquitting the penitent” (Ex. 34:6-7).  The word “Tov – good” is decidedly absent, but that’s not the worst of it.  If we look in the Torah, it seems that the excerpt that we read on Rosh Hashanah was incomplete as it cuts off mid-sentence.  That last part about “acquitting the penitent” actually fully translates to “does NOT fully acquit the penitent, but rather visits the iniquity of parents upon children and children’s children, upon the third and fourth generations” (Ex 34:7 THE REST OF IT).

In our parsha this week, Nitzavim, Moses is winding down his long speech to the assembled Israelite nation regarding God’s divine charge, “I make this covenant, with its sanctions, not with you alone, but with those who are standing here with us this day before the LORD our God and with those who are not with us here this day” (Deut. 29:13-14).  Moses is proclaiming that the covenant, the contract of loyalty embodied in the Torah, is between God and all Israelites, and all future generations of Israelites who are not yet born.  I am no lawyer, but I can’t imagine that in Canadian law it is possible to make a contract with someone who doesn’t exist yet.  But yet, this is the nature of God’s perspective.  The problem with our perspective is not that we don’t know God’s big picture, it’s that we can’t because we simply lack the perspective.  It’s like trying to fathom the volume of the universe in cups of sugar which is about 3.57x1083 cups.  While it’s not that hard to write it on paper, to truly perceive its magnitude is a completely different story.  Similarly, the Torah is attempting, in fairly plain language, to explain the nature of God, but we lack sufficient perspective to understand.  So, of course, it offends our sensibilities.  Why would God visit iniquities of parents on their children?  Simple, because the children are under contract.  Not fair?  Maybe, but without it, children are then not entitled to a Jewish relationship with God.  God paints in large brush strokes that transcend time and space just as easily as He paints with a single fine tip, that’s the difficulty.  Bad things sometimes happen to good people because they must, and it’s not that we don’t know God’s reason, but because we can’t, and never will.  All we can do is trust in God, and this, truly, is the most fundamental definition of faith.

Shabbat Shalom,

09/26/2019 02:35:34 PM


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Rabbinic Reflections - Parshat Ki Tavo                      September 21, 2019 - 21 Elul 5779

09/19/2019 05:50:40 PM


Yiddish is a colorful language.  There is no other language I know of in which a curse can sound like a blessing.  Here is a selection of curses from Nahum Stutchkoff's Thesaurus of the Yiddish Language:


  1. Ale tsores vos ikh hob oyf mayn hartsn, zoln oysgeyn tsu zayn kop.
              (All problems I have in my heart, should go to his head.)
  2. Eyn imglik iz far im veynik.
              (One misfortune is too few for him.)
  3. Khasene hobn zol er mit di malekh hamoves tokhter.
              (He should marry the daughter of the Angel of Death.)
  4. Oyf doktoyrim zol er dos avekgebn.
              (He should give it all away to doctors.)
  5. Zalts im in di oygen, feffer im in di noz.
              (Throw salt in his eyes, pepper in his nose.)
  6. Trinkn zoln im piavkes.
              (Leeches should drink him dry.)
  7. Gut zol oyf im onshikn fin di tsen makes di beste.
              (God should visit upon him the best of the Ten Plagues.)
  8. Ale tseyn zoln bay im aroysfaln, not eyner zol im blaybn oyf tsonveytung.
              (All his teeth should fall out except one to make him suffer.)
  9. Migulgl zol er vern in a henglayhter, by tog zol er hengen, un bay nakht zol er brenen.
              (He should be transformed into a chandelier, to hang by day and to burn by night.)
  10. Zayn mazl zol im layhtn vi di levone in sof khoydesh.
              (His luck should be as bright as a new moon.)

Yet none of these curses are as threatening as those found in this week’s Torah portion of Ki Tavo.  In this week’s Torah portion, the end draws near for Moses.  The journey is completed.  The Israelites have been reminded of their obligations to their people, their land, and their God.  Now Moses brings closure to 40 years of “people-building” with a ceremony of rewards & punishments.  If they follow God’s path of mitzvot, these will be their gains.  If they choose not to follow, these will be their losses.  The list of blessings and curses in Ki Tavo is interestingly unbalanced.  There are 55 verses of curse and only 14 verses of blessing!  What we have is a unique insight into human behavior and further evidence of God’s existence.

Rabbi Howard Siegel points out that humankind is not born with an innate sense of good.  Neither are we born with a natural inclination toward evil.  People are simply born! Unlike the animal world which is instinctively wired, humankind develops instincts based on background and environment.  An infant is born into an existence of complete selfishness.  Everything is done for him/her.  As the infant grows into adolescence, the child begins learning responsibility; not just for oneself, but for community, as well.  He/she learns how good and wonderful the world can be.  This alone does not compel the youngster to abandon his/her narcissistic roots.  Therefore, the parent/teacher instructs the child in the consequences of not assuming responsibility.

The Israelites, after 40 years of adolescence, prepare to take on the responsibilities of adulthood.  Like many children, they’ve learned their lessons the hard way.  Now, in a concluding ceremony, they are reminded if they want the blessings of a good place to live, children, wealth, and peaceful interaction with neighbors and friends, they’d better heed the words of the Torah; not to, could be disastrous.  The Torah portion reminds all of us that the good life is the result of taking obligation, responsibility and commitment seriously.  A colleague of mine was asked, “How do you know God exists?”  He responded, “There is no other way to explain why people choose to do good!” Our sense of responsibility, though not innate, is divinely-inspired!


                     Shabbat Shalom!

Cantorial Comment - Parshat Ki Tetze                            September 14, 2019 - 14 Elul, 5779

09/11/2019 05:23:45 PM


“A little bit of mercy makes the world less cold, and more just.”

-      Pope Francis

The summer is drawing to a close, kids are back in school, routines are readjusting, and once again, the High Holydays are getting close.  There is always a different flavour in the air this time of year, and in the Jewish calendar, it is called the Season of Repentance. Every morning after prayer services, we sound the shofar to remind us of this; a reminder that we all have some important soul work to do, ideally before Rosh Hashanah arrives.  We are meant to use this time to take a spiritual inventory of ourselves, recall the things we have done, good and bad, over the past year, make restitutions where they may be require, and explore areas for self-improvement for the year to come.  Ultimately, however, when the High Holydays begin, tradition teaches that each of us will come to account before God alone, and the Supreme Judge will pass his judgement upon us as we hope to be inscribed and sealed in the Book of Life for another year.  Luckily for us, “El melech yoshev al kiseh rachamim – The Lord King sits upon the Throne of Mercy - this quote from the High Holydays liturgy reminds us that despite the forcefulness of Jewish law, God airs on the side of mercy in all cases. I think that that makes God, in many ways, a Conservative Jew.  Like Conservative Judaism, where ancient Jewish law is forced to find some reconciliation with modernity, God, in His capacity as Judge, mediates between the stricture of Jewish law and the reality of what it means to be human.

As we near the end of the Torah, Parshat Ki Tetzeh offers us kitchen sink collection of important commandments.  We see everything from family law to the treatment of animals, from healthy agricultural practices to foreign policy.  Many of the mitzvot contained in the this parsha are ones we all love to remember, laws that make us feel good about who we are as Jews as they demonstrate to the world how progressive our society was during a time when other civilizations still practiced human sacrifice, laws that makes us feel that we are deserving of the adage “a light unto the nations”.  Then there are those few laws that seem a little bit odd and seemingly without explicit purpose except perhaps to teach us that mindfulness in all aspects of life is an important philosophy – an example of this is the law of shatnez, the prohibition of wearing a garment made with intertwined linen and wool fibers.  But amidst the many sensible laws and the few odd ones, there is one in particular that stands out in our parsha this week that seems to fall into a rare third category, a category of laws that we do not talk about very often, and indeed, we tend to sweep under the proverbial rug.  This is the law of Ben Sorer Umoreh – the Law of the Glutenous Son.

The Torah describes the possible scenario in which parents may find themselves raising a gluttonous and rebellious child, who, even after chastising, still demonstrates serious behavioural problems.  In this case, according to the Torah, his parents shall “take hold of him” and bring him before the elders of the community to officially declare him a Ben Sorer Umoreh, after which, the child is stoned to death.  Fortunately, today, even in the most orthodox Jewish communities, this commandment has never been enacted.   According to tradition, it has NEVER been enacted at any time in history, in any Jewish community.  Why?  Well, obviously we wonder who would ever consider doing such a thing in the first place. But more than this, rabbinic literature demonstrates just how uncomfortable this passage was for our great rabbis throughout the ages as they tried desperately to avoid challenging the wisdom of the Torah directly.  The Rabbis of the Talmud explain that this case would only apply if the child be drunk on a particular variety of wine in particular quantities, and to have consumed particular types of food (also in particular quantities), and the Talmud continues, spending several full pages of discussion on the exact circumstances which would warrant the declaration of Ben Sorer Umoreh.  So many stipulations were made that it effectively made the real-life occurrence of such a situation impossible.

It is written in the Mishnah that the entire world stands upon three principles: Torah, service to God, and acts of lovingkindness – all three are needed for balance.  To view the words of the Torah in a vacuum, without the other two would be incorrect, and perhaps even reckless or irresponsible.  It is through the lens of service to God and acts of lovingkindness that the rabbis, in their wisdom, placed the extra stipulations on the commandment of Ben Sorer Umoreh.  So too, as Conservative Jews, we do not view Torah law in a vacuum, without considering service to God and the spirit of lovingkindness.  At the same time, we also do not deny the reality of what the Torah explicitly states, and perhaps that does mean that sometimes our ideology is in conflict.  Being human, however, is all about conflict, fallibility, the inconsistency between what we know is right and what we sometimes end up doing.  Just as we, as Conservative Jews, must muddle through an uncomfortable grey area in Judaism without the reassurance of a simple answer, or the comfortable peace of mind that goes along with it, so too, God passes judgement upon us while allowing a healthy amount of wiggle-room for our humanity.  And so, we brave the chaotic waters and do our best to always have in mind what we believe in our hearts is in service to God, we consider how those ideas might manifest themselves as as acts of lovingkindness, and attempt to keep them in balance with our tradition.  God, too, evaluates our actions with respect to Torah, while keeping in mind that Torah is only one pillar, and that the world requires all three.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbinic Reflections - Parshat Shoftim                                    September 7, 2019 - 7 Elul 5779

09/02/2019 12:25:20 PM


We are fast approaching the High Holidays.  Our tradition directs us to the process of teshuvah, of looking within ourselves and thinking about those things we might want to change, to evaluate those thing that we feel in our hearts were wrong, and that we don't want to do again.  The process is a difficult and painstaking one.  First, it involves recognition of what is wrong, and then doing something about it.  This involves truly being repentant, expressing heartfelt remorse to God, and if the wrongdoing involved another person, expressing remorse to that person first and then asking God to forgive us for hurting another person.  We then have to make certain that we do not commit the same wrong again.

The first step sounds easy: recognizing things that we feel we shouldn't do.  It is not as easy as it sounds.  We all know that we often find many creative ways in which to make excuses for ourselves.  We convince ourselves that it wasn't really wrong; we ignore what is really there.  But what we don't realize is that it is also easy to be OVERLY critical of ourselves as we go through the process of teshuvah.  We attempt to throw out the baby with the bathwater as it were.  Teshuvah is not just about wiping out the past and creating a “tabula rasa,” but rather it is about integrating the past with the future.  We need to decide what to throw out, and what to preserve.

Thinking about this integration, I became fascinated by the concept of what we do or do not decide to keep, what does and does not get destroyed, what do we want to integrate and what do we leave behind?  In this week's Torah portion, we are told (Deuteronomy 20:20): “Only the trees which you know are not fruit trees you shall destroy and cut down.”  The Torah gives us rules of waging war.  When you have a city under siege for a long time, we must not destroy its trees.  We may eat of them, but we must not cut them down.  Rav Saadia Gaon in his comment on this verse explained that the part of the verse which states, “but you must not cut them down,” means that we must differentiate between what is potentially the enemy (i.e. a man) and a tree, which is not the enemy.  We need to be careful not to treat the trees like a man hiding from you in a siege.  In short, we don't treat everything as though it were the enemy.

What is a possible modern application of his thinking?  In more recent times we have the example of the Vietnam War.  During this war, there was rampant bombing of the Vietnamese countryside with napalm, destroying the foliage of the forests.  There was sharp criticism of this practice.  Armies went into someone else's country and indiscriminately destroyed everything in sight.   Armies destroyed the people and the land.  Whole forests were devastated.  The only thing that mattered was winning—at all costs.  It didn't matter what was destroyed in the process.  This verse from the Torah, according to Rav Saadia, is warning us not to do this when we are at war.  The trees are not our enemies.  People may be. The Torah specifically asks (Deuteronomy 20:19), “Are trees of the field human to withdraw before you into the besieged city?”  Saadia interprets the verse as a rhetorical question with an obvious answer: the tree is not like a man who is to be routed out and destroyed.  From these comments Rabbi Jackie Wexler learns an important lesson about teshuvah.  Just as in battle we may make the mistake of treating everything in front of us as the enemy, instead of just destroying the enemy, so too with teshuvah we need to differentiate between what experiences are to be destroyed from our past, and which experiences need to be retained because they may later bear fruit.

Rabbi Wexler teaches that these same restrictions, of not wasting precious resources, apply to ourselves, and to our past experiences, at this time of year as well.  The entire month of Elul is a time of self-scrutiny, a time to re-evaluate our actions and deeds, to cut down that which needs cutting, and change that which needs changing for the New Year.  It is all too easy to go in and simply tear ourselves apart, cutting everything down, and thinking that this will give us a fresh start, when in fact we diminish ourselves in the process.  There is a real danger of cutting down the good with the bad, the fruit bearing trees, along with the chaff.  We need those building blocks, those trees on which we can bring new growth.  A true fresh start allows for growth and renewal.  It doesn't wantonly destroy, but rather clears the way for a new beginning.

The tendency in our society is exactly that: to destroy things, or throw them out instead of working on them to make them better. My car last car lasted 15 years.  When it was 7 years old and began to have minor problems, it necessitated almost $1,000 worth of maintenance work and repairs . Many people would have simply gotten rid of the car.  But the car was a good one. It had given me virtually no problems for all of the 7 years.  Mostly it needed maintenance.  Once I had worked on it and renewed it, the car once again drove like the day I purchased it for another 8 years!  So why should I get rid of it?  All it needed was some work, and once again it had a great future.

The ramifications for our soul-searching are more critical.  We need to be careful not to reject out of hand as a total failure that which we mark with failure.  It is sometimes easier to see the whole as a failure and throw it away, instead of working on the part that needs improvement.  This call for discrimination means that as we go through this process of self-scrutiny we need to do so with a sense of compassion towards ourselves.  When Saadia states that the tree is not like a man who is to be routed out and destroyed, he is telling us that the tree is not the enemy. Some people do teshuvah the same way, choosing to wipe out the past, instead of seeing our past mistakes as the building blocks for future growth.  Perhaps we need to be reminded not to cut them away, keeping in mind that WE are not the enemy; that our many fine qualities are not as well.  Certainly there are things each year that we feel a need to change, thus we have this opportunity for self-examination and renewal.  But we need to do so with compassion towards ourselves, remembering the many building blocks inside of us for good, and always, always nurturing those trees that may later bear fruit.
Shabbat Shalom!

Cantorial Comment - Parshat Re'eh                                August 31, 2019 - 30 Av 5779

08/29/2019 02:48:37 PM



 “Life is like a game of cards. The hand you are dealt is determinism; the way you play it is free will.”       -     
                            Jawaharlal Nehru (1889-1964), first Prime Minister of India

                            and disciple of Mahatma Ghandi

Healing rocks, homeopathy, astrology, psychic readings, are just a few of the popular culture fads to which I most certainly do not subscribe.  Other than noticing a few psychic parlours advertised along Sheppard Avenue, I hardly ever come across these kinds of things in my day to day life, but in my annual visit to the CNE, they are hard to avoid.  It is equally hard for me to avoid noticeably rolling my eyes when I see someone hand over lots of money for a piece of quartz crystal “guaranteed” to help with weight loss.  But are these things any more bizarre the Jewish belief in a supernatural, all-powerful and all-knowing God?  By what right is my belief, objectively speaking, any more or less strange than somebody else’s?  (Oddly, astrology and psychic readings just so happen to be historically and culturally rooted in Judaism.)


The Muslim conquest of the Iberian Peninsula in 711 CE and subsequent mass growth of the caliphate was actually considered a Golden Age for Jews under Muslim rule.  While Jews may still have been second-class citizens, they were, on the whole, tolerated and even respected in mainstream society, at least more than in the Christian world.  Muslim rulers treasured knowledge, the sciences, philosophy and mathematics, and would go to great lengths and great cost to build vast libraries.  It was also common practice for the Muslim rulers to sponsor great public debates on a wide variety of topics, and when theology was discussed, there would always be a Jewish delegation present to defend the Jewish belief system.


Historic records record one such debate in which the topic of discussion was reconciliation of mankind’s free will with the nature of an all-powerful God.  It bothered people that, on the one hand, both Islam and Judaism agree that the fundamental nature of God is that God is all-powerful and controls all things, and yet, both religions also believe that mankind is given free will to make both good and bad decisions according to his conscience.  After much discussion, the Muslim delegation, led by Abu Nassr Muhammed ibn Muhammed al-Farabi concluded that these two theological points are irreconcilable and a moratorium was declared on the topic.  Unfortunately, history does not recall what was said by the Jewish delegation, but let’s just imagine that they spoke about the beginning of this week’s parsha…


“Re’eh – “See” is the title of our parsha this week.  Moses continues his speech to the assembled Israelite nation on the banks of the Jordan river, “Re’eh – See, this day I set before you a blessing and a curse” (Deut. 11:26).  Moses makes it very simple for the Israelites – do what God says, follow the commandments, and you will be blessed, or ignore me, fall into sin, and you will be cursed.  Israelites gets to choose for themselves or whether they will be good or evil because that is their right.  The name of the tree that Adam and Eve ate from in the Garden of Eden was not The Tree of Knowledge, rather, it was The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.  The nature of free will is not about deciding which toothbrush you want to buy, rather, it is about how each of us decides for ourselves whether we are good or evil with a reasonable knowledge of which is which, a knowledge which was originally reserved only for God.  Kabbalah teaches that when God created the universe, He had to first retract a part of Himself from a place in order to create it, before filling that place with God once again.  So too, perhaps, human free will, i.e. the knowledge of good and evil, is God once again, retracting a part of Himself in order to give a piece of Godliness to humanity.  But then, how does God fill Himself back into that void?  This is where free will and fate coalesce – while we may choose between good and evil, what is ultimately destined for us is in the hands of God.


Admittedly, this is not a perfect resolution to question, and I can only imagine that our ancestors produced a far more compelling argument at the interfaith debate.  But while we may not know what the Jewish delegation said, we do know that while Islam put an end to their discussions, Jews continued to debate this issue in their own houses of learning.  While some may believe that unanswered questions are dangerous, Jews love them.  The word “Islam” means “submission”, to give oneself over without question.  By contrast, the entire Torah seems to be about Israelites doing everything BUT submitting, and that was always about our choice – our free will.  Our legitimacy is inherent in the fact that we acknowledge that we do not have all of the answers, but that we struggle and challenge each other in the pursuit of knowledge to find them.  More importantly, we believe that not finding an answer does not invalidate the pursuit of it.  It’s true, sometimes Jewish belief does border on the bizarre, but even if it takes a thousand years, we don’t mind challenging and investigating them. What right does Judaism have to claim legitimacy over any other strange belief?  Just ask the psychics at the CNE if they are ready to handle a thousand years of challenge and investigation.  We’re in no rush.


Shabbat Shalom,


Rabbinic Reflections - Parshat Ekev                                        August 24, 2019 - 23 Av 5779 

08/22/2019 02:42:18 PM


When I was planning my trip to see my kids in the US this past week, I looked for hotel with exercise facilities.  I called several hotels, with no luck.  Finally, I thought I had found one. I asked the receptionist if the hotel had a weight room.  "No," she replied, "but we have a lobby and you can wait there.”

Fitness is an important part of life.  The Talmud teaches that we have a responsibility to teach our children Torah, a profession and how to swim (Kiddushin 29a).  Swimming is an excellent fitness exercise.  Indeed, one of the most often quoted verses in the Torah appears in this week's portion when Moses recounts the early history of the Israelites desert journey by saying (Deuteronomy 8:3): "God subjected you to the hardship of hunger and then gave you manna to eat, which neither you nor your fathers had ever known, in order to teach you that MAN DOES NOT LIVE ON BREAD ALONE, but that man may live on anything that the Lord decrees."  Rabbi Chaim Potok, in his commentary of the Eitz Hayim Humash notes, "This familiar verse is usually taken to mean that people need "more than bread"-including culture, art, and food for the spirit."

Rabbi Howard Siegel takes this commentary one step further and suggests that a lot of people would also benefit greatly by more exercise and better nutrition! Rabbi Siegel points out that The New York Times reported in an article that 24.5 percent of American adults are not just slightly overweight, but categorized as "obese."  Twelve states report more than a quarter of their adult population is obese.  In 1985, not a single state had more than 20% obesity.  Today more than 40 states do.

What does this have to do with Torah?  Everything!  In a later portion of the Book of Deuteronomy we will read another oft-quoted verse (30:19): " I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose Life!"  Overweight people are at a significantly greater risk of sudden death by heart attack, diabetes, or a plethora of other ailments.  As a human being, our task is to provide a quality of life to all inhabitants of this earth.  But what is the practical worth of this effort if one is unable to enjoy the fruits of this world because of health issues that could have been prevented by understanding that life has to be nurtured both spiritually and physically.

Health expert tell us that the three most important things we can do are eat right, exercise regularly and get a good night’s sleep.

So, my prescription for a better life:
          1) a regular program of exercise,
          2) eating a more nutritional diet, and
          3) bringing more Shabbat into our lives.  

Judaism knew, eons ahead of our time, what provides us with good health!

Thus, there are certain times in my day that are sacrosanct (holy, and not to be tampered with):  My daily prayer moments and exercise time.  Monday-Friday mornings, before morning minyan, I can be found either lifting weights or cycling.  This time is inviolable.  My day is not complete without it.

Kashrut, the dietary laws, has taught me nutrition.  The ideal of Kashrut is a vegetarian life style.  Not everyone achieves this ideal.  I am careful about the amount of red meat I eat and eat fish as a protein alternative.  Kashrut has also taught me to curb my cravings.  I limit my intake of sugar, salt, and fats. Keeping Kosher informs my choice of restaurants. Specifically, it keeps me away from Fast Food joints (don't be fooled by the new, improved looks of McDonald's, Wendy’s, etc).  Fast food restaurants are the No. 1 reason for the increase in obesity and are simply bad for our health.  Stay away!

And then there is the day of rest-Shabbat:  The feast for the spirit!  One day a week I rest my mind, body, and soul.  I spend time appreciating the works of my hands and the beauty of God's world, and then I am ready for another week: inspired, in shape, and healthy.

If your health is being compromised by your weight, don't put off change any longer.  We are approaching the eve of another year; another opportunity to start again.  Do it!  And remember the words of Deuteronomy: “Man does not live on bread, alone!”

Shabbat Shalom!
                           Rabbi Geoff

Cantorial Comment - Parshat Vaetchanan                    August 17, 2019 - 16 Av 5779

08/16/2019 01:01:34 PM


“Ultimately, prayer is intended to have an effect on the individual and his or her actions.  It makes us more aware of the world, of nature, of history, of God’s role in history, of the nature of God and His demands upon us.  It emphasizes the importance of study and the performance of commandments, both moral and ritual.”

  Rabbi Professor Reuven Hammer (1933-2019)

 It was the summer of 2009, and before going back to New York City for my final year of cantorial school, I was spending a restful week with friends at a cottage in the Berkshires.  While many of the cottagers in the area were Jewish, there was no cottage synagogue nearby for Shabbat, but really, there was no need. The Jewish cottagers had become accustomed on Shabbat to heading over to one particular cottage on the lake where they all knew they would have one of the most unique, spiritually engaging and academically stimulating Shabbat experiences that could be had… but it was a carefully guarded, unadvertised local secret.  I had been looking forward to it all week because I was about to have Shabbat at the cottage of the legendary Rabbi Professor Reuven Hammer. His books were required reading for many courses at the Jewish Theological Seminary for rabbis, cantors, Jewish educators and undergraduates.  One of the great rabbinical minds and shapers of the Conservative movement, Rabbi Hammer was a past president of the International Rabbinical Assembly, served as head of the Masorti Beit Din in Israel, and was the founding director of what is today the Schechter Institute.  About twenty or so people gathered together on Rabbi Hammer’s deck overlooking the lake, and we conducted our services as the sun rose over the water.  That was my personal experience meeting the great Rabbi. Sadly, Rabbi Professor Reuven Hammer passed away this week.

This week’s parsha is Va’etchanan, which continues Moses final speeches to the Israelite nation before crossing the Jordan River into the land that would become their permanent home.  There is a great deal in this parsha that would appear to be nothing more than a repetition, a rehash of material that Torah already covered quite a while ago.  It is particularly hard to miss the revisiting of the Ten Commandments.  With some slight variation in the wording, it’s the same Ten Commandments that we read months ago in Parshat Yitro.  Repetition is a useful literary device for captivating writing in poetry and novels, but one of the first rules of biblical exegesis is that there is no sentence, word or even a single letter than is superfluous in the Torah.  Traditional teaching forces us to consider that in each case where it may seem that the Torah is repeating itself, it is doing so for a specific reason and that there is something critical and unique to be learned by it.  Before the repetition of the commandments, Moses is sure to point out to the Israelites, “not with our forefathers did the Lord make this covenant, but with us, we, all of whom are here alive today” (Deut. 5:3). After forty years of wandering, the generation of Israelites that had personally experienced the public revelation at Mount Sinai had nearly died out completely, the same generation that had personally experienced slavery in Egypt.  This generation, the one now entering the land of Israel had grown up free.  In this repetition, we learn that these commandments do not simply apply only to those that were there to witness and ratify them, but that the covenant made at that time was eternally bound to all future generations of Israelites forever – a confirmation ceremony, if you will, whereby Moses offered the new generation of Israelites an opportunity to formally affirm the oath made by their ancestors.

As I look through my personal library at home at the various Judaica books that I have read and studied as a student and over my career, I feel humbled that many of their authors who were leading thinkers of the Jewish world, and of Conservative and Masorti Judaism in particular, are people whom I have been uniquely privileged to meet in their lifetimes, studied with in person, or with their direct decedents.  Reuven Hammer z’l, Neil Gillman z’l, Louis Jacobs z’l, are just some of the great modern Jewish thinkers who have furthered the understanding of what prayer, God, Jewish philosophy, law and culture means for many individuals and families who identify as Conservative Jews, and who challenged those who object to the legitimacy of Conservative Judaism with reason, scholarship and keen insight.  While I imagine that the majority of our shul members may not have heard of some of these amazing people, let alone had a chance to study with them, their contributions to Conservative Judaism certainly inform many of the thoughts and ideas that I offer in the weekly Shabbat Sheets, and when I offer a dvar Torah in shul. It is their approach to Jewish law and prayer that inform the policies of Beth Radom, and the way we operate in our own shul; their ideas have and will continue to have a lasting impact on us all.  And there are yet more great men and women alive today, who continue doing the work of building our movement and enriching our beliefs and ideologies.

This Shabbat, let us invoke the memories of these great leaders of the Conservative movement and acknowledge that their legacies have a lasting impact on each of us.  Conservative Jews are not a catch-all group whose raison d’etre is to meander religiously somewhere between Reform and Orthodoxy. Let us reaffirm our commitment to the positive definition that Conservative Judaism was meant to be – an evolving, but authentic, rigorous, rational and academically consistent approach to Jewish life and ideology fit for the modern era. 

To experience what believe to be among the greatest contributions of Rabbi Reuven Hammer, I encourage all those who are interested to purchase a copy of Or Hadash: A Commentary on Siddur Sim Shalom (available in the blue shabbat version and the red weekday version).  Easily found on Amazon, it is exactly a copy of the Siddur Sim Shalom that we use in our shul, but with Rabbi Hammer’s commentary on each prayer written into the margins.

Shabbat Shalom,

Cantorial Comment - Parshat Devarim                             August 10, 2019 - 16 Av 5779

08/09/2019 02:17:47 PM


“Kol ha’olam kulo, gesher tzar m’od, vahyikar lo lefached klal.” – “The entire world is a very narrow bridge, but the important thing is not to be afraid.”

 – Rabbi Nachman of Breslav (1772-1810),

father of the Breslovor chassidic dynasty


This week we begin the final book of the Torah with Parshat Devarim.  The biblical narrative has concluded, and the book of Devarim documents Moses final speeches to the fledgling Israelite nation.  Aware that God will not allow him to cross the Jordan river into what will become the land of Israel, Moses offers his speeches to the people on the East bank of the Jordan over a 36 day period, after which, Moses knows he will die and Joshua will lead the people on a campaign to conquer Canaan.  The literary style in which the book of Devarim is very different than the rest of the Torah, so much so that most academic scholars believe that this part of the Torah was written much later than the rest, and added to the Torah cannon around the 6thand 7thcenturies BCE.  The speeches are something of a recapitulation of the entire Torah, intended to remind the Israelites of their history, what they have been through, what they have learned, and what will be expected of them in the time to come.


The Shabbat experience this week is mixed with the very pungent flavour of Tisha B’Av.  This Sunday, we mark the 9thday of the Hebrew month of Av as the day of the year on which both Temples were destroyed, the first in 586 BCE, and the second in 70 CE.  It is a day of ‘bad luck’ for Judaism, similar to a Friday The 13thin popular culture.  Tisha B’Av is a day of mourning, where prayers are led in a quite undertone, we sit on the floor rather than our comfortable chairs, and we fast for a full day.  During the time of the Temple, Judaism was observed much differently than it is today; the Temple was our primary focus of worship and Jewish existence revolved around the sacrificial cult.  Traditional Jewish teaching tells us that on both occasions, the destruction of the Temple was God’s punishment to the Jews for not following Torah.  At the same time, we also acknowledge that the destruction of the Temples forced the Jewish people to reinvent Jewish existence in a much more decentralized way, giving birth to rabbinic Judaism, the manner of Jewish observance that has sustained Jewish life for the last two thousand years, which we continue to practice today.



Tisha B’Av and the beginning of the book of Devarim is a serendipitous pairing.  In each, we reflect on a liminal moment in Jewish history when the future felt frightening and unclear, and both are punctuated with a profound sense of fear over the loss of God’s allegiance.  While in the case of Tisha B’Av, this is perceived more overtly with the destruction of the Temple, we cannot overestimate what must have been a similar sense of loss for the Israelites at the end of their wandering in the desert – they are losing Moses, God’s pillars of smoke and fire that guided them by day and night, and of course the mana that fell from heaven – all of the physical reminders that made them feel divinely protected.  Our nusach encourages a bit of blurring of the lines between Shabbat and Tisha B’Av so that the themes from each spill into the experiences of one another.  As a cantor, it is my responsibility to weave Tisha B’Av melodies into the Shabbat service in order to help facilitate that blending of themes.  Even though it may bring notes of sadness and mourning in to the experience of Shabbat, it also means that some of the strength and beauty of Shabbat is brought into our experience of Tisha B’Av. 


Twice in Moses’ speech in Devarim he says, “Fear not, and be not dismayed”, “Have no dread or fear of them”.  Why? “For I have already delivered them into your hands”.  Moses is reminding the Israelites that even though they may not have those physical signs of God presence anymore, the hard work has already been done for them – they simply have to claim what God has already provided.  And this, in a way, is a nice way to think of life – do your best, but at the end of the day, if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.  So too, the tragedy of Tisha B’Av is preordained, if this what God intends, than this is what God intends.  But Moses also reminds us that we still need to do our job which is to have faith, live by the law of Torah, treat each other with dignity and respect.  Moses reminds us that those times when we lived up to our agreement with God, things went well for us, and only when we forgot to keep our agreement, did we ever see hard days.  And even out of the ashes of the Temple, Judaism can be reborn into a new era, equipped with the infrastructure to evolve and adapt, making it the only ancient civilization that continues to survive to this day. It is true that the world does not always work out in perfect equity, and sometimes God’s answer to our prayers is “no”. But as we read the rest of



the book of Devarim, we will continue to see how Moses drives one central point home, and that is that our agreement with God states that we have a priority relationship with Him, and whether He answers our prayers “yes” or “no”, the critical thing to remember is that He answers.


Shabbat Shalom,


Rabbinic Reflections - Parshat Matos-Masei                            August 3, 2019 - 2 Av 5779

08/01/2019 04:13:46 PM


A physics teacher writes a question on a board: “A 40kg child that’s 100cm tall is holding a parent’s arms swinging them at 0.5 revolutions a second.  If the parent let go of the child after 2 seconds, where will the child end up?

A few moments later, the teacher comes over and reads a student’s answer: “In a foster home!”

It’s tough to let go!

As the Torah winds down to its end, as the Book of Bemidbar lists the many stops along the way for the People of Israel, we begin to see that there is a transition taking place.  The leadership of Moses is ending.  This Parsha is a review of all that Moses has accomplished with the understanding that there will be no new accomplishments for Moses.  It will now be Joshua's turn to lead the people.  The future of Israel and all the history that is yet to be written will be about Joshua and not Moses.

While the Torah seems to indicate that Moses makes a gracious and elegant exit, appointing Joshua and giving him a charge on how to lead in the future, there are some signs that Moses will not “go quietly into that dark night”.  In the Book of Devarim, Moses recounts how he begged God to change the divine mind and let him enter the Promised Land.  It is recorded there that God replies, “My mind is made up. Don't even bring up this topic again.”  This exchange between God and Moses opens the door for the Rabbis to speculate on Moses's attitude as the end came near.

The Midrash has an extensive account of the last days of Moses.  It has Moses drawing a circle in the sand and refusing to move until God annuls the decree of death for Moses.  God then shuts all the entrances to Heaven so the prayer of Moses cannot enter.  Moses pleads with all of nature to speak out on behalf of the prophet, but each one cites a verse from the Bible as to why their plea will not be heard by God.  God tells Moses that God wanted to destroy both Moses and the People of Israel but Moses convinced God to save the people of Israel and now he can't have it both ways.  He saved Israel but he will not be able to save himself.

Then there is a fascinating exchange where Moses asserts that if Joshua is to be the leader that God should let Moses go into the Promised Land as the servant of Joshua.  As I read this section I almost felt as if God was humoring Moses. God allows Moses to be the servant of Joshua.  The next day Moses gets up early to serve Joshua.  The people come to learn from Moses but he is gone.  They find him with Joshua and want Moses to teach them but he tells them that it is forbidden and they have to learn from Joshua.  The people refuse until God comes and tells them to learn from Joshua.  Moses sits at Joshua's right hand as he teaches.  When the lesson is done, Moses follows behind Joshua as he goes toward the Mishkan.  The cloud of God descends and Joshua has a conversation with God. When it is over, Moses asks, “What did God say to you?”  Joshua tells him, “When I served you, did you tell me everything that God said to you?”  At that moment Moses says, “I would prefer to die 100 times rather than have one moment of envy.  Ribono Shel Olam, until now I sought life, but now my soul is surrendered to You.”

God teaches Moses a valuable lesson about letting go.  There are things that are worse than death.  The legacy of Moses is eternal. There is no more that Moses could ask from life.  It is time to let go and leave the leadership to Joshua and Aaron's son, the High priest Eliezer.  It does no good to envy their new positions.  Moses has done it all and now is the time to let others lead.

Rabbi Howard Siegel wrote, “Among the most difficult tasks in life is “letting go”  Whether it is sending children into the world as young adults or retiring from a job that defined one's existence for so many years, we all have to eventually “let go”.  Everyone says how wonderful it will be to move on in life, begin anew, face new challenges, and set out for new horizons.  Unfortunately, these are only words.  Too often our actions, like those of the biblical giant, Moses … betray our words.”

Rabbi Randy Konigsberg reminds us that if there were a modern example of this fear of letting go, we need only think of the Green Bay Packer football team and their famous quarterback, Brett Favre. He was one of the most successful quarterbacks in team history. Several seasons ago he announced his intention to retire from football.  It was time to let younger quarterbacks take the field.  Then, suddenly, Brett Favre changed his mind, he did not want to retire. But the team did not want him back.  They had decided to move on without him.  Brett had such a hard time letting go that he went on to play for Green Bay's rivals and he would retire twice more before he “really meant it”.  Bret Favre had real problems letting go.

Yes, it is hard to step out of the lives of our children.  It is hard to let them make the mistakes and suffer the consequences of their choices.  It is hard to let go of our parents as well.  No matter how sick or feeble they may become, we always want just one more day with them.  We want them to be present in our lives.  But we all have to let go of our parents as well.  We have to internalize their lessons and continue to grow without them.

It is hard to retire and let others take on the responsibilities of our work.  We know all the tricks of the trade.  We know all the quirks of the customers and how to get them what they want.  How could someone else ever fill in for all the experience we have in our work? But now we have computers and smart phones.  Now we market on social media and on websites.  Customers are not just in town but all over the globe.  We need to let go and let others tackle this new world in which we live.

I understand very well the difficulties of moving on.  For Moses, it was the green monster of envy that convinced him to let go.  For Brett Favre, he had to tarnish his extraordinarily reputation with several losing seasons before he understood it was time to retire. We can only teach our children so much before they have to learn to walk for themselves, and we have to bite our lips and say nothing as they learn the hard lessons of experience.

Letting go is one of the great gifts that we can give to the future.  Not because we are useless, but we need to continue to grow with new challenges and learn to leave the old ones to the generation just behind us.  I have often said that it is better to leave and have people wish we would stay than to stay and have people wish we would leave.  How else will future leaders know of our extensive wisdom in life, if we can't show them we are wise enough to move on?

May God help us serve our community wisely and may God give us the wisdom to graciously make way for others to serve when our time to let go arrives.

Shabbat Shalom!
                          Rabbi Geoff

Cantorial Comment - Parshat Pinchas                                  July 27, 2019 - 24 Tammuz 5779

07/26/2019 10:58:09 AM


“With great power comes great responsibility.”   -    Spiderman

Greetings from my honeymoon!  Well, not quite.  As I write this article, Jamie and I are on a plane heading to Jamaica, so I’m not in too much trouble for working on our vacation.  The last month for us has been equal amounts of wonderfulness and exhaustion, and we are simply bursting with gratitude for our parents, families, extended families, friends and community who have surrounded us with so much love during this most exciting time in our lives.

Of course, Jamie and I are looking forward to this very special time together, but we’re also using this time to calm down from all of the excitement, and just recharge our batteries.  More and more, we all deserve some time to disconnect from the world a bit, which seems to get more exhausting each year.  Every thought and idea by every human connected to social media from politicians to celebrities, from long lost acquaintances on the other side of the world to next-door neighbours, seems to affect us almost every hour of every day.  All of them compete for our increasingly limited attention, and many even resort to extreme acts and antics in order to rise above the noise and get their messages heard.  The world then becomes a place of extremism, and getting a vacation from it every once in a while, seems more and more necessary in order to preserve our own sanity.

As a society, we tend to criticize extreme acts, especially those clearly done for no more reason than to force us to pay attention.  I admit that I am no exception, as I often criticize the Women of The Wall who, while championing the noble cause tolerance for inclusive egalitarian prayer at the Kotel in Jerusalem, typically organize ‘stunts’ which force confrontation with police, fighting while holding Torah scrolls, and usually ends up with several protesters in jail.  But perhaps, at the same time, the stunts work too.  After all, I’m talking about them, even though I’m not happy about it. While we all love to espouse our belief in our western criminal justice system, it’s not coincidental that movies featuring vigilante super-heroes that operate above/outside the law are so popular, and that is because we all are forced to admit that we live in a world where justice often goes unserved and isn’t the perfect and equitable place we all want it to be.  Paraphrasing the words of the Commissioner Gordon from the Batman comics, vigilantes may not be the heroes that the world deserves, but perhaps they are the heroes that the world occasionally needs.

This week’s parsha, Pinchas, opens with a story that is hard for our modern sensibilities to absorb and for the traditional commentators to explain.  Pinchas, grandson of High Priest Aaron, happens upon a Israelite man who is ‘fraternizing’ with a Midianite woman.  “When Pinchas, son of Elazar son of Aaron the priest, saw this, he arose from the assembly and took a spear in his hand, and followed the Israelite into the chamber and stabbed both of them, the Israelite and the woman, through her belly.” (Num. 25:7-8).  Incredibly, Moses and God REWARD Pinchas for his zealotry, “Say therefore, I [God] grant him my Covenant of Peace.  It shall be for him and his descendants after him a covenant of Eternal Priesthood, for he was zealous for his God, and atoned for the Israelites” (Num. 25:12-13).

The best way to understand the approach of the traditional commentators to this difficult moral issue in the text, I believe, is through the example of a real historical figure who, himself, committed the most gruesome acts known to man, but who saw himself as a realist, sacrificing the few to save the many.  For this, his image was forever iconified as one of history’s most terrifying horror villains… Dracula.  

Bram Stoker, author of the 1897 fictional novel, “Dracula”, based his character on the historical ruler of Wallachia (province of Romania), Vlad III Dracula (1428-1477), also known as Vlad the Impaler. Far from a villain, Dracula was (and is) considered a national hero of Romania, having defended his people against both Ottoman and Saxon invasion.  Dracula earned his cognomen as “the impaler” for taking captured soldiers back to Wallachia from Transylvania to have them impaled as a gruesome warning all those who would terrorize his citizens.  By doing so, Dracula became notorious for his barbarity, and instilled fear into his friends and enemies alike.  He became a monster who invaded the nightmares of soldiers, but he also likely averted years of war for Wallachia, saving many soldiers’ lives on both sides.  Meanwhile, in the Torah, God responds to  the actions of Pinchas “the impaler” who “has turned my [God’s] anger away from the children of Israel by his zelously avenging Me among them, so that I did not destroy the children of Israel because of My zeal” (Num. 25:11).  In last week’s parsha, the Midianites seduced the Israelites into turning away from God and worshipping the Canaanite God, Baal Peor in a ceremony involving all manner of immoral behaviour.  God then punished the Israelites with a plague which then ended the parsha. It seems that at the beginning of the parsha this week, the punishment wasn’t meant to be over yet, but for the intervention of Pinchas.  Pinchas’ actions cut through the roaring crowds and captured everyone’s attention, not unlike the kinds of things that attract our attention in the media which trigger our disdain.

So then why is Pinchas not punished?  Is it not meant to be the fate of those that commit atrocities, like Dracula, even for good reason, to sacrifice their good name in the process?  Not necessarily.  As we mentioned, Vlad the Impaler is not a bloodthirsty demon in Romanian legend, but a hero.  It really all depends upon who is telling the story.  We may not agree with Pinchas’ actions, but would the Jewish people be around today without them?  Pinchas may not have been a hero, but perhaps he was the vigilante that we needed.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbinic Reflections - Parshat Balak                                         July 20, 2019 - 17 Tammuz 5779

07/18/2019 03:24:34 PM


"Do you believe in life after death?" Shimmy Rubenstein asked one of his employees.
"Yes, Sir." the young employee replied.
"Well, that makes sense then," Mr. Rubenstein went on,
"Because after you left early yesterday to go to your grandmother's funeral, she stopped in to see you."

A rabbi walks up to an atheist and says, “Afterlife.”
The atheist stares and says, “I don't get it.”
The rabbi replies, “I know!”

While many religions focus on getting to the afterlife, Judaism focuses on the here and now. We do have different traditions about olam haba, “the next world,” but Judaism teaches (Deuteronomy 30:19), “Choose life,” rather than death; the focus is on living this life and not worrying so much about the next. This is a lesson reinforced by Bilaam’s actions in this week’s portion of Balak. The Israelites arrive at the steppes of Moab prepared to enter the land of Canaan. Balak, king of Moab, sees the defeat of his neighboring rulers and fearing a similar fate, hires the non-Jewish prophet Bilaam to curse the Israelites. However, Bilaam is a true prophet and can only say what God commands, so he utters blessings instead of curses. Looking out over the Israelite camp, Bilaam says in his first oracle (Numbers 23:10f):

Who can count the dust of Jacob,
Number the dust-cloud of Israel,
May I die the death of the upright,
May my fate be like theirs.

Rashi, Rabbi Shlomo be Yitzhak (11th century France), commenting on the phrase “may I die the death of the upright,” simply says – “among them.” The Hafetz Hayyim, Rabbi Israel Meir Hakohen who lived in Poland in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, explains: Bilaam did not want to live as a believing Jew, but very much wanted to die as one. Why? Because the life of a God-fearing Jew is not an easy one: he has to restrain himself and keep away from many things. There are many commandments he must perform. Each day and every hour he has various obligations. The Jew’s death is not like that. For the believing Jew, death is only a transition from a temporary life to a permanent one [the afterlife, which the Rabbis call the world to come] . . . and that is why Bilaam wanted to die as a believing Jew. But it is no great feat to die a proper death. The real feat is to live a proper life.

Rabbi Joyce Newmark, teaching about this verse points out that it is true that the gemara in Avodah Zarah explains that there are those who earn their place in the world to come in a single moment, but they are the exception. For most of us, the world to come, however we may understand it, is earned by the deeds of an entire lifetime. In other words, as the Hafetz Hayyim teaches, living as a Jew is far more important than dying as a Jew.

Newmark observes: Perhaps the greatest tragedy of our age is that millions and millions of people are being taught that God cares more about how we die than about how we live. Impressionable, usually young, people are being told that the surest path to the world to come is through acts of “martyrdom,” through dying – even if that death involves the unforgivable sin of murder. This is not what the God of the Torah, and the world, asks of us. The Torah teaches that the point of religion, the point of mitzvot, is this (Leviticus 18:5): “You shall keep My laws and My rules, by the pursuit of which man shall live.” The Talmud adds this explanation: “Live by them – and not die because of them.”

 ​​​​​Newmar concludes: Bilaam had it wrong. This is the true blessing:

May I live the life of the upright,
May my fate be like theirs.

Shabbat Shalom!
                        Rabbi Geoff

Rabbinic Reflections - Parshat Hukkat                                  July 13, 2019 - 10 Tammuz 5779

07/11/2019 09:18:33 AM


A member of the Senate, known for his hot temper and acid tongue, explodes one day in mid-session and begins to shout, "Half of this Senate is made up of cowards and corrupt politicians!"

All the other Senators plead to the angry member that he withdraw his statement, or be removed from the remainder of the session.  After a long pause, the angry member accepted.

"Ok" he said, "I withdraw what I said.  Half of this Senate is NOT made up of cowards and corrupt politicians!"

In this week’s Torah portion, Moses loses his temper with the Israelites.  We recall the story.  Years ago, the people had complained about the lack of water, and God told Moses to strike a rock, Moses did, and water gushed forth.  In our Torah reading this week, once again the people complain, but this time God tells Moses to speak to the rock.  Now, Moses and Aaron struggled with this contentious people for 40 years, and they appeared to have had enough, because this time Moses does not follow orders.  This time, Moses strikes the rock, not once but twice.  The people still get their water, but both Moses and Aaron are punished.  Neither is privileged to enter the Land.

For all Moses’ humility, this greatest of teachers did have one great flaw – his temper.  All his devoted service to God and Israel were not enough to grant him at least entry into the Land.  He was marked not by his service but by his temper. The Talmud (Eruvin), teaches that a person is known according to three things.  In a word play, the Talmud uses two letters – Kuph and Samech – and adds various vowels to them to indicate those three ways.  A person is known first by "Kees" – by his pocket – in other words, how he shares his material blessings with others;  then by "Kos" – by his cup – or by what and how he drinks – and eats; and finally by Ka'as – by his anger.  How do we manage our temper? Generosity, eating and drinking, and anger.  All three ways in which our reputation is fashioned, and all three are addressed by Jewish law.

There should be no surprise when I tell you that generosity is addressed by Jewish law.  We all know the requirements of tzedakah – and remember that tzedakah is not charity, not something we do when we feel like it.  Tzedakah is more appropriately rendered as “doing the right thing,” sharing what we have with others, because we are God’s conduit in sharing the blessings with which God blesses humankind.

Then there’s the fact that we are known by how we eat and drink.  Of course, there are the rules of kashrut, of Pesah (Passover), of how to choose the appropriate wines (kosher, of course).  But I think there’s more to this requirement.  It’s not just what we eat but how we eat it.  Do we stop and say a brakhah (blessing)?  Do we binge?  Do we abuse food and drink?  Do we live to eat or eat to live?  Then let’s take this one step further.  If we expand the notion of eating and drinking to include everything that goes into our bodies, clearly we can be judged – and we are judged – by whether we abuse any kind of chemical: alcohol, tobacco, prescription drugs, and illegal drugs.  We are judged by how we give and how we consume.

Finally, we are judged by how we manage our anger.  Note it’s not whether we get angry, because of course it would be unreasonable to expect a person never to become angry.  But how do we manage it?  Do we learn how to release it safely? Do we abuse others?  Do we turn it inward, rage against ourselves, and find ourselves depressed?  While we might think that Moses is the paradigm for that kind of problem – if he had managed his frustration at the people he led, might he have been permitted to enter the Land and die there?

How will we be judged?  It’s not yet the High Holy days, but it’s never too early to begin considering how we are to be judged, by God and by others.  Will we all make leadership gifts to the Jewish institutions that need our help, both here and in Israel? Will we temper our intake of food and drink, making the proper choices, and recognizing the blessings we have each time we enjoy them?  Will we respect our bodies enough to turn away from the kinds of chemicals that can only do us harm? And will we recognize when our anger is controlling us, and learn to turn the tables so that we control it?

How do we use our sacred gifts – the blessings God gives us of material wealth, of sustenance, of family and friends?  How do we ensure that we sanctify our lives daily? How do we use our pocket, our cup, and our anger?

Shabbat Shalom!

Thu, October 22 2020 4 Cheshvan 5781