Bo - 31 January 2009, 6 Shevat 5769
January 31, 2009 by karyn
Bo
Exodus 10:1 – 13:16
The Torah: A Modern Commentary, pages 448 - 471
Revised Edition, pages 406 – 417
Haftarah Bo
Jeremiah 46:13 – 28
The Torah: A Modern Commentary, pages 700 – 702
Revised Edition, pages 427 – 429
Saturday 31 January 2009, Shabbat Shevat 6, 5769
From Rabbi Gersh Zylberman, Temple Beth Israel, St Kilda, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia
stub·born adj.,
-
- Unreasonably, often perversely unyielding; bullheaded.
- Firmly resolved or determined; resolute. See synonyms at obstinate.
In Hebrew stubbornness is called “Akshanut”.
In Yiddish if you’re stubborn you’re an “Akshen”.
It’s often hard to admit to ourselves when we are being akshens. We like to think of ourselves as just the opposite - broad-minded, reasonable, giving, willing and yielding in all circumstances. But the reality is that sometimes it can be surprisingly difficult to change our course, say we were wrong, reframe our perspective and really hear someone else’s point of view. And when we are stubborn it can really hurt us. It can send us down the paths of bad business decisions, it can send us down the path of relationship break up and it can mean the end of a job.
Why all this talk of stubbornness, Akshanut? I’m glad you asked.
In our parshah this week as we progress through the unfolding drama of the Exodus narrative we read about the “mother of all Akshens”, the “grand poobah” of stubbornness: Pharaoh – King of Egypt.
Was he stubborn? Boy was he stubborn! He was so stubborn that, as we have already read, he would not budge even though his whole country was covered in blood! Was he stubborn? Boy was he stubborn! He was so stubborn that he would not budge even when frogs were everywhere, or swarms of insects infested every little nook and cranny, or the cattle got sick, or everyone got boils!…..You get the picture.
Pharoah was a real Akshen, a real tough nut to crack.
So what can we learn about our own comparatively rare and benign stubborn moments from the experience of the greatest Akshen of our Torah?
Commentator Nahum Sarna points out that our Torah mentions the “hardening of pharaoh’s heart” a total of twenty times, and what is “hardening of the heart” if not becoming stubborn?
The first ten references relate to the first five plagues and the second ten references relate to the remaining plagues. But the references to stubbornness and hardening of Pharaoh’s heart change as the episode unfolds.
In the first ten, Pharaoh hardens his own heart. From this we can conclude that Pharaoh is in a position to choose. He has the free-will to be stubborn or not to be stubborn. And we know what he chooses, don’t we?
In the latter ten references to hardening pharaoh’s heart, it is God who does the hardening. This week we read “Vayomer Adonai El Moshe, Bo el Paroh, ki ani hichbadeti it libo!!” “And God said to Moses – go to Pharaoh because I [God] have hardened his heart.” (Ex 10:1)
Now Pharaoh’s choice has been taken away. He is no longer in charge. Something has changed and yet he is still getting hit with plagues! That can’t be fair, can it? It is one thing if you choose to be stubborn, quite another if God is making you stubborn!
The message here is –if we make our own bed, eventually we are going to have no choice but to lie in it.
Pharaoh was so persistently unreasonably, perversely, unyielding and bullheaded that eventually he was simply unable to change course.
He became locked into being an akshen.
In the end he was on a collision course with the consequences of his own behavior and so Pharaoh and his people suffered immensely.
May we, in our (hopefully more occasional) moments of stubbornness remember Pharaoh’s lesson, and ensure that a little stubbornness doesn’t become a habit. As pharaoh found out, stubbornness is a hard and painful habit to break.
Gut Shabbes!
Questions for the Shabbat Table:
1. Why did Pharaoh and Egypt need to experience so many plagues before letting the Israelites go?
2. Can you think of times that you have been stubborn and later regretted it?
3. Do you agree that being stubborn can become a habit? Why/Why not?
Lior Zalmanson young adult event
January 27, 2009 by nicola
| February 23, 2009 | ||
| 6:00 pm | to | 8:00 pm |
Please RSVP to Nicola Ossher at tamar@upj.org.au or (02) 9328 7644
Va-eira - 24 January 2009, 28 Tevet 5769
January 24, 2009 by karyn
Va-eira, Exodus 6:2−9:35
Shabbat, January 24, 2009 / 28 Tevet, 5769
The Torah: A Modern Commentary, pp. 420−448; Revised Edition, pp.379–400
The Torah: A Women’s Commentary, pp 331–354
Haftarah, Ezekiel 28:25−29:21
The Torah: A Modern Commentary, pp.696−699; Revised Edition, pp.401−404
Seeing Through the Dark of the Eye
Irwin A. Zeplowitz
The notion of doubt as a key element of faith is hinted at in this week’s parashah and in the rhythm of the Jewish calendar. In this week’s portion, Moses and the people of Israel are paralyzed by uncertainty. The parashah opens with God promising Moses that the people will be redeemed. Moses speaks to the Israelites, but they pay no heed. Why can’t they believe? What bars them from faith in God? The Torah explains that “their spirits [were] crushed by cruel bondage”(Exodus 6:9).
A belief in God is meant to change us. Faith is a willingness to be challenged by our doubts yet still establish a purpose and goal for living despite them.
Jewish tradition has never shied from the expression of doubt. The Psalmist often laments the absence of God, but always with the reassuring hope that God’s comforting presence will return. Job rails against the capriciousness of life, yet is grounded in a belief that God is just. Even the methodology of the rationalist philosophers of the medieval period, which sought to explain God through reason, hints that faith alone may not be enough to ensure belief. Nachman of Bratzlav was a Chasidic master wracked by self-doubt, cynicism, and bouts of depression, yet he told powerful stories that used these emotions as a way to reach toward meaning (see Arthur Green, Tormented Master: The Life and Spiritual Quest of Rabbi Nahman of Bratslav [Woodstock, VT: Jewish Lights Publishing, 1992]).
The assurance that doubt is part of faith also is found in the Hebrew calendar. There is something strange about the way Jewish months begin. Rather than emerging in something we can see, a Hebrew month begins with what is unseen—the new moon. While, in ancient days, the new month was affirmed by the sighting of the sliver of the moon in the western sky at sunset, a new month actually begins when the moon is, from our perspective, absent.
Perhaps the rationale is to teach us that even in what seems to be the end is there also a beginning. As a new month begins, therefore, we offer a blessing—seeing the Holy One in the darkness of the heavens as in their light. Just as each new month brings something different, a cycle of darkness and light, so do we move through different seasons of faith and uncertainty. The power of faith is in seeing the joy in each stage—and accepting that our doubts are as natural to us as the waxing and waning of the moon in the sky. Thus, our Sages teach that we see through the dark of our eyes ( Tanchuma ,ed. Solomon Buber [Vilna, 1885], T’tzaveh 4 and 6).
What a profound teaching this is for us in our moments of despair. Instead of abandoning God in times of uncertainty, it accepts that such moments of darkness are built into the very warp of the world. True, steadfast faith is not, then, a lack of doubt. The very opposite! Our hesitations can lead us to a different kind of faith, more consonant with the experiences of our lives. We accept that people change in physical ways. Modern psychologists, such as Lawrence Kohlberg, taught us that human beings go through moral development as they mature (”The Development of Modes of Thinking and Choices in Years 10 to 16,” Ph. D. dissertation, University of Chicago, 1958). Why should our faith not change, too? Our spiritual development, therefore, is fostered by all that happens to us: the times of exaltation and the moments of doubt, days of plenty and times of loss. Rabbi Janet Marder teaches that “mature faith understands that thoughtful people have doubts and must live with uncertainty”(”Erev Yom Kippur Sermon 5765,”www.betham.org/sermons/marder040924.html).
How, then, do we move from a despair brought about by doubt to a mature faith rooted in uncertainty? Perhaps the way our ancestors observed the moon can guide us. In ancient days the Sages did not declare a Rosh Chodesh until two witnesses came to say they saw the sliver of the moon. There are two important aspects of this teaching: first, that something new only occurs when the hint of light is seen; and second, that no single witness alone is sufficient.
So it is in our lives. We all have doubts. It is the willingness to hope—even against all odds—that light will come that opens for us the possibility of something new. And we cannot ever really do it alone. Only by relying on others do we find our way toward the light.
In the Torah portion, when Moses says no one will listen to him, God answers that his brother, Aaron, will go with him to Pharaoh (Rashi to Exodus 6:13). Aaron has never been mentioned before. Why now? It is to teach Moses that he cannot be strong and of certain faith alone. Faith is not, for the Jew, the lonely search for meaning. It is fostered, instead, in the connections we make and in the support we receive from others.
If God responded to Moses’s doubts, can God not respond to ours? Let us not, therefore, stifle our doubts or those in others. Let us not feel we must defend God against the slings and arrows unleashed by those in pain. May we, to the contrary, open ourselves to our doubts and the questions of others; and let us use those doubts to nurture a different kind of faith—a mature, steadfast assurance that life has meaning only when we use the dark emptiness of uncertainty to open us to the light of belief.
Rabbi Irwin A. Zeplowitz is senior rabbi at The Community Synagogue in Port Washington, New York. He has taught at Kolel: The Adult Centre for Liberal Jewish Learning in Toronto, JLearn on Long Island, and the URJ Kallah. He is immediate past president of the Alumni Association of Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion and was chair of the Joint Commission on Sustaining Rabbinic Education. Rabbi Zeplowitz can be reached at rabbiz@commsyn.org.
DAVAR ACHER | 
Faith Versus Action
Michael S. Friedman
When asked to compose an essay about faith, Jake, a confirmation student of mine, opened with powerful words: “When millions of Jews were slaughtered [in the Shoah], were any of them asked to write an essay? As far as I know, almost none of them lived long enough to write anything.”Jake went on to write in convincing terms that discussing an abstract concept such as faith is not nearly as important to him as action: proudly declaring oneself a Jew, reading Torah, or pursuing tikkun olam.
Rabbi Zeplowitz speaks eloquently about faith and its potential to transform our lives. But as my confirmation student pointed out, faith is not a prerequisite for being a Jew or living a Jewish life. Let me be clear: I wish neither to denigrate nor to devalue faith and those who profess it. However, I encounter so many for whom faith is at best an abstraction and at worst a superstition. Perhaps they are satisfied with a scientific view of the world, or perhaps they have suffered repeated setbacks in their journey on earth. In one way or another, they are not open to the profound possibilities that Rabbi Zeplowitz describes. And that’s okay, because there are other paths.
In Parashat Va-eira, God—unknown to our people throughout the generations of slavery in Egypt—makes four promises to us: “I will free you . . . [I will] deliver you . . . I will redeem you. . . . And I will take you to be My people”(Exodus 6:6–7). From this we learn that action leads to faith, for it is only after we are freed, delivered, and redeemed can we truly become God’s people. And it is through our own action that we may open ourselves to the possibilities of faith.
Rabbi Michael S. Friedman is a rabbi at Central Synagogue in
New York, New York.
Shemot - 17 January 2009, 21 Tevet 5769
January 17, 2009 by karyn
Shemot
Exodus 1:1 – 6:1
The Torah: A Modern Commentary, pages 382 - 414
Revised Edition, pages 346 – 359
Haftarah Shemot
Isaiah 27:6 – 28:13 and 29:22 – 23
The Torah: A Modern Commentary, pages 692 – 695
Revised Edition, pages 375 – 378
Saturday 17 January 2009, Shabbat Tevet 21, 5769
Rabbi Johanna Hershenson, Temple Sinai, Wellington, New Zealand
Parashat Shemot begins with the names of the tribes of Israel that descended into Egypt. The rabbis tell us right away that the Israelites merited redemption from Egyptian slavery for four reasons, one of which was that they maintained their names. Despite over 400 years of total immersion into Egyptian culture and language, the ancient Israelites could trace their names back to the very sons of Jacob who led them into Egypt during the famine in Joseph’s time.
The modern Hebrew poet, Zelda, is perhaps most well-known for her poem about a person’s name, as follows.
Unto every person there is a name
Bestowed on him by God
And given to him by his parents.
Unto every person there is a name
Accorded him by his stature and type of smile
And style of dress.
Unto every person there is a name
Conferred by the mountains
And the walls which surround him.
Unto every person there is a name
Granted him by Fortune’s Wheel,
Or that which neighbors call him.
Unto every person there is a name
Assigned him by his failings
Or contributed by his yearnings.
Unto every person there is a name
Given to him by his enemies
Or by his love.
Unto every person there is a name
Derived from his celebrations
And his occupation.
Unto every person there is a name
Presented him by the seasons
And his blindness.
Unto every person there is a name
Which he receives from the sea
And is given to him by his death.
Individual names are one thing. Sometimes we are challenged to live up to our names and other times we are challenged to overcome them. We rely on family and friends, wisdom from our literary and ritual tradition, and the community in general for this sort of personal growth and development.
Names we share as a group are something else. Still we are challenged to live up to the name of the community with which we choose to identify or to overcome it. But by definition we have less say or power as individuals. We have to co-exist with the beliefs and goals of others who bear the same communal identification.
Perhaps, we Jews know this truth more than anybody. We bear the names “Jew” and “Zionist” often without considering what those names mean to us as individuals let alone as members of a diverse whole.
Identifying as a Jew can be a religious, national, or ethnic identification, not to mention differing proportional combinations of the various strands of connection. A religious Jew might be observant, semi-observant, or not at all concerned with halachah. A secular Jew might light candles on Shabbat or fast on Yom Kippur but never set foot in a synagogue or even be passionately atheist. Some Jews proudly identify, while others are indifferent to the label, and still others are embarrassed, afraid to be recognized, or even self-hating. Some Jews want their Jewish identification to be distinct from association with Israel while others consider being Jewish and Israeli synonymous, and an entire continuum of personal identification lays between the two.
When Israel is at war, living with our communal names becomes even more challenging than usual. Our neighbours make assumptions about what we think simply because they see us and know us as Jews and/or Zionists.
Today’s violence in Gaza is certainly no exception. Even within our households we hold many different opinions about how to cope with Hamas’ commitment to Israel’s destruction and how to support the development of a free and sustainable Palestinian state without compromising the safety and security of Israelis.
I don’t have any wisdom to share. I don’t have any idea how to end the rockets, how to develop a functioning social and economic infrastructure in Gaza, how to manage the enormous obstacles between where we are now and the sort of peaceful co-existence I still believe is possible.
I do know that denying the complexity of the name I bear when I stand as a Jew and/or denying the many facets comprising the name of any other human being attached to a greater community is a mistake. I pray for the courage and strength I need to continue to listen and hear, look and see, think and feel and speak honestly and compassionately about opportunities for cultivating mutual respect among individuals and peaceful co-existence among communities.
I must acknowledge who I am, what are my guiding principles. I must acknowledge my neighbours and their guiding principles. And, between us we must find what we share and build upon it.
Mutual respect and peaceful co-existence begin with the exchange of names. As the poet, Zelda, teaches, we all bear many different names. It is my prayer that we take stock of the names we carry, own them, and open ourselves to the names others carry in our midst. Safety and security are fruits we cultivate internally and promote by our conduct and way of being in the world.
Israel movement reaches out to communities on Gaza border
January 16, 2009 by Steve
Assistance during Times of Emergency through the Development and Strengthening of Jewish Identity
The Sha’ar Hanegev Regional Council, which borders the Gaza Strip, is home to approximately 6,000 residents that live in 11 communities among which are Kibbutzim, Moshavim, and development towns
The Israel Movement for Progressive Judaism (IMPJ) sees as its duty right now is to help and support the citizens of southern Israel in any way we can, in the spirit of the saying “It is not your job to finish the work, but you are not free to desist from it” (Pirkei Avot).
We are dividing our efforts in this field into two main areas:
1. Community Recovery
The southern community of Israel has been through a very difficult period. For the last 9 years, they have been living their lives around shelters and safe zones waiting to see where the next rocket will hit. Some members of the local community stayed in their homes and were forced to spend many days in bomb shelters. Others left to find shelter far from their homes in search of peace and quiet.
We must now help renew and reinvigorate community life, strengthen the congregational structures, enhance their activities, and emphasize the significance of community as the social, spiritual, and religious basis for the lives of its members.
2. Recovery through Community
We believe that in times of crisis people find particular comfort and support in their local community. The IMPJ will work to strengthen and empower our ongoing connection with the Sha’ar Hanegev Regional Council. IMPJ congregations and professional staff across the country will turn to the local residents of southern Israel from all walks of life, offering support, study, counseling, and guidance for anyone who desires our services. Israelis, from the south as well as across the country have sustained a significant shock, and we believe that strengthening the place of community in Israeli society can make an important contribution to empowering individual Israelis as they attempt to return to their normal lives.
For the long run, as a movement, we view this project as an opportunity to be partners in developing a model for young progressive Jewish leadership—a model which sharpens and presents questions of identity to these youth in a time when they desperately need to address these issues. This is a program whose results will be felt now and for years to come
Southern Beit Midrash
During the academic year of 2007-8 the IMPJ has launched a pilot Beit-Midrash for the residence of Sha’ar Hanegev region. This Beit Midrash, intended for residents of the region, holds learning sessions every two weeks led by teachers and rabbis of the IMPJ. On the day the Beit Midrash opened, 9 Kassam rockets were fired and despite everything, and perhaps because of the situation, 15 people from Kibbutz Mefalsim and other kibbutzim in the area attended the lesson led by Rabbi Shlomo Fox entitled “Is my blood redder? Issues in Exchanging Hostages, Then and Now.” Already by the second meeting, 25 individuals attended, and their responses demonstrate the need for a Jewish learning experience in this region.
For 2009 we aim to continue develop and expand our Beit Midrash program with an emphasis on outreach to the local community.
Communal Outreach
For the last couple of years The IMPJ has developed an amazing cooperation with the local council of Sha’ar Hanegev which constitutes for the IMPJ a genuine opportunity for outreach to a community that is one of our natural target populations. We have an opportunity to assist this region, one which for many years has not experienced calm, through building a long-term relationship with the community and exposing southern Israel to the Movement for Progressive Judaism.
For 2009 we wish to expand and develop IMPJ involvement in the local community life through Jewish events such as a community Tu B’shvat Seder, special learning session around the Jewish calendar etc.
It is essential to remember that all of the above activities are taking place in the shadow of Kassam rockets falling on the region. Therefore, all work plans are very flexible and attentive to the immediate need of the local population.
Now, more than ever, they need us to be with them.
We need your support to make this happen
“The Inestimable Value of Human Life” - sermon by Rabbi Paul Jacobson
January 12, 2009 by Steve
This week, as our offices at the synagogue were carpeted, I found myself rearranging my office and I came across copies of sermons that I had written during my third year of studies in university, more than nine years ago. In a speech that I wrote for this week’s Torah reading, Parashat Vayechi, I found the following:
One of the fascinating things about this parasha is its first two words – Vayechi Yaakov – “And Jacob lived.” But only a few weeks ago, the character Jacob was blessed with a new name – Yisrael. And throughout the rest of the book of Genesis, the names Jacob and Israel are interchanged randomly. Can we do that here? Instead of vayechi yaakov, can we read the opening verse of the text as “Vayechi Yisrael” – meaning, “And Israel lived?”[1].
Given the news in Israel this week, it seems only appropriate that our parasha should speak about the life of a character named “Israel.” Today though, we’re not speaking about Israel the person, the character in the Bible, inasmuch as we are talking about his descendants, the Jewish people, and the ongoing challenges we face in order to ensure our people’s survival and Israel’s ongoing prosperity.
As of Friday afternoon 9 January, Operation Cast Lead, an offensive against Hamas militants in Gaza, was preparing to enter its third week. The United Nations Security Council had demanded an immediate cease-fire, but news reports from the Jerusalem Post seemed to indicate that the United Nations would not determine when the operation in Gaza would conclude.
As of Friday morning, 758 Palestinians were confirmed dead, including 257 children, 56 women, and 130 Hamas fighters, against 11 Israelis.[2] These statistics are tragic and the stories coming from Gaza are gut-wrenching. As the death toll rises so does international criticism. Yesterday, the New York Times reported, “The International Committee of the Red Cross reported finding “shocking” scenes during the first lull, on Wednesday, including four children, weak and emaciated, next to the bodies of their mothers. In a rare and sharply critical statement, it said it believed that “the Israeli military failed to meet its obligation under international humanitarian law to care for and evacuate the wounded.”[3]
Such a statement is only part of the problem. Does Israel, under international humanitarian law have an obligation to care for and evacuate the wounded? Yes, it does. But what about the democratically-elected government of Hamas, who is supposed to be looking after the needs of its Palestinian civilians? When Israel withdrew from Gaza in 2005, it left the responsibility for government in the hands of Fatah, who were later democratically-removed from power by Hamas. Did Hamas build roads during this time to ease the flow of traffic and to assist the distribution of aid? No. Did Hamas build hospitals where Palestinians could receive medical attention and proper care? No. They continued to fire rockets into Israel and to receive munitions support from foreign governments like Syria and Iran. More than three years has passed, and the situation, including the plight of the Palestinian people has grown even worse. And Israel takes the blame, yet again.
What sickens and saddens me beyond compare is that we cannot even agree with our so-called “neighbours in the peace process” about the inestimable value of human life. That is because Hamas is not a “neighbour in the peace process.” They never have been. They never will be. How one horribly misguided woman from Melbourne could claim in an op-ed piece in Thursday’s Sydney Morning Herald that “Hamas is not a terrorist organisation”[4] is absolutely beyond my comprehension. Hamas does not desire peace. It desires the eradication of Israel and the annihilation of the Jews who live there – nothing more and nothing less.
Moreover, I become increasingly convinced that the expression “the value of human life” does not even enter Hamas’ vocabulary. To think that Israel is celebrating the death of Palestinians, to think that Jews around the world are rejoicing in the news of this recent incursion into Gaza, could not be further from the truth. As Jews we believe that all life is sacred, and has meaning, purpose, and value. As we read in the Talmud, one who saves a life, it is as if he saved the whole world. One who takes a life, it is as if he destroyed the whole world.[5] Similarly, we recall the Midrash, the rabbinic story where the Israelites have just crossed the Sea of Reeds. The angels in heaven are celebrating, singing, and dancing, as the Israelites stand on the other side of the sea on dry ground. God turns to the angels and says, “Why are you celebrating? My children are drowning.”[6]
No matter how hard I try to find a story presenting a similar perspective from the Palestinian side, I am unable to do so. Yesterday, one of my friends from rabbinical school sent me a YouTube link to a Pro-Hamas rally in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. In the video were pictures of people saying, “Nuke Israel,” and “Jews should go back to the ovens.” One man was videotaped saying that the purpose of the rally “was to show people the beauty of Islam. When we show them that beauty they will have no choice but to accept Islam because they will recognize that it is already a part of their lives in so many ways.”[7] Such comments are derogatory, insulting, rabid messages of hate. They show no respect for Jewish life and clearly no appreciation for any other kind of culture either.
The New York Times[8] included a story yesterday that illustrates this point further. Dr. Awni al-Jaru, age 37, endured horrible casualties as a result of Operation Cast Lead. Hamas militants in the next building fired mortar and rocket rounds. Israel fired back and missed. Dr al-Jaru commented, “My son has been turned into pieces. My wife was cut in half. I had to leave her body at home.” He was one of the innocent casualties. And then he went to the hospital. One of the other men there was twenty-one years old and had shrapnel in his left leg. He demanded quick treatment and turned out to be a militant with Islamic Jihad. He was smiling a big smile.
“Hurry, I must get back so I can keep fighting,” he told the doctors and anyone else who would listen.
He was told that there were more serious cases than his and that he needed to wait. But he insisted.
“We are fighting the Israelis,” he said. “When we fire we run, but they hit back so fast. We run into the houses to get away.” He continued smiling.
“Why are you so happy?” a reporter asked. “Look around you.”
A girl who looked about eighteen screamed as a surgeon removed shrapnel from her leg. An elderly man was soaked in blood. A baby a few weeks old and slightly wounded looked around helplessly. A man lay with parts of his brain coming out. He was on a stretcher, his family wailing at his side.
“Don’t you see that these people are hurting?” the militant was asked.
“But I am from the people too” he said, his smile incandescent. “They lost their loved ones as martyrs. They should be happy. I want to be a martyr too.”
To witness such episodes and smile, to remark that people should be happy because innocent children are being used as human shields or dying in attacks is beyond perverse. Given such stories, I find it increasingly harder to pass judgment on Israel for trying to remove a known terrorist organisation from power and working to enable Israelis to live with security, free from fear of rocket attacks. To think that any Jew is celebrating right now is a complete misunderstanding, a harsh bastardisation of what it means to be a Jew.
Sara Yocheved Rigler commented this week about the death of Staff Sergeant Dvir Emmanueloff, the first Israeli soldier to fall in the Gaza War. She explained that the whole spectrum of the Jewish people was present at his funeral.
“Most of the couple thousand mourners were like me and my husband, who had not known that Dvir lived until he died and the internet announced his death accompanied by a photo of a broadly-smiling, handsome young man. Why did we venture out at almost midnight on this cold January night? Because it was a death in the family? No, Jews are buried every day. Rather, we came because we all knew that this 22-year-old soldier had died for us, for the ability of Jews to live in the Jewish homeland safe from the terror attacks of our enemies.[9]
It is interesting to note that we rarely use the word “martyr” or “freedom fighter” to describe an Israeli soldier. We don’t even go so far as to suggest that someone in this conflict is dying al Kiddush Hashem, for the sanctification of God’s name. No, as Israel mourns the loss of its soldiers, we recognise their role in this latest incursion. And we acknowledge and mourn the sacrifices they are making to insure that Israel will survive.
Vayechi Yisrael – And Israel lived. That is all we want – for Israel and our people to continue to live. We do not seek the death of Palestinians or Arabs, or rejoice over their casualties. We want only for our existence, for Israel’s existence to be recognised internationally. We want to live in peace with our neighbours, within safe and secure borders. As we conclude the book of Bereshit, and we say the words, “Chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek” let us be strong, and strengthen one another, as we pray for the safety of our people, and we do everything in our power to help bring about the reality that all people may live peacefully with one another.
Rabbi Paul J Jacobson
Emanuel Synagogue
Sydney, Australia
10 January 2009
[3] Alan Cowell, “30 Confirmed Dead in Shelling of Gaza Family,” The New York Times, 9 January 2009. http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/10/world/middleeast/10zeitoun.html
[4] Sara Dowse, “Shocking cynicism of a poisoned homeland,” Sydney Morning Herald, 8 January 2009. http://www.smh.com.au/news/opinion/shocking-cynicism-of-a-poisoned-homeland/2009/01/07/1231004100045.html
[7]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j3Xl68kP4wo&eurl=http://blog.beliefnet.com/crunchycon/2009/01/jews-go-back-to-the-oven.html
Vayechi - 10 January 2009, 14 Tevet 5769
January 10, 2009 by karyn
Vayechi
Genesis 47:28 – 50:26
The Torah: A Modern Commentary, pages 302 - 316
Revised Edition, pages 306 – 316
Haftarah Vayechi I Kings 2:1-12
The Torah: A Modern Commentary, pages 359 – 360
Revised Edition, pages 323 – 324
Saturday 10 January 2009, Shabbat Tevet 14 5769
Rabbi Jeffrey Kamins, Senior Rabbi, Emanuel Synagogue, Woollahra, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia
The conclusion of the book of Bereshit is not so much a conclusion as a prelude of things to come - in the next book of Shemot and in the story we continue to live. Some matters raised at the beginning of the book remain unresolved and others apparently settled form the background for bigger challenges that we still face. In this sense, Bereshit, or “beginnings” ends with an important lesson: no matter what our expectations at the beginning of things there never is a real conclusion, just a transition to the next stage. Life is a series of challenges, lessons and growth.
Themes presented in Bereshit foreshadow the challenges presented in the rest of Torah, challenges that remain with us to this day. The first is framed by the question asked by Cain at the beginning of Bereshit: “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Cain’s question forms one prism through which we read the book of Bereshit. Generation after generation, brothers conflict: Yitzchak and Yishmael, Ya’akov and Esau, Yosef and his brothers. This final epic story of Yosef and his brothers that we have been reading these last few weeks brings us to a preliminary answer to Cain’s query. Eventually, Yehuda declares that he is surety for his brother; he indeed is his brother’s keeper. Yosef accepts this declaration in a moment of brotherly reconciliation that is reiterated in this week’s portion.
However, the denouement is not so clear and simple. If we come to learn in Genesis that indeed we are our brother’s keeper in a familial setting, the book of Shemot and the remainder of the Torah challenges us to extend the definition of brother beyond the family to “the other”, Jews and gentiles alike. While we pay lip service to the notion that we are our brother’s keeper, our deeds do not match our words. Clearly, as much as our ancestors had to evolve for thousands of years to answer affirmatively that we are, within the family, our brother’s keeper, so too we still need to evolve to understand our responsibility for all humanity.
Other themes introduced in the book of Bereshit reinforce the general point that we will always have to struggle and grow. These are framed by the covenant made between God and Avraham, and then repeated to his son and grandson, our other patriarchs, Yitzchak and Yaakov: the promise of the land of Israel and the people who will inherit it.
This promise remains unfulfilled at the end of the book of Bereshit. While growing in numbers, the descendants of the patriarchs have come to a foreign land few in number. By the end of the Torah, while we have become a people as opposed to a family clan, we have still not inherited the land of Israel. By concluding with the ominous word “Mitzrayim”, Egypt, the book of Bereshit hints that the fulfillment of the covenant remains fraught with challenge.
Thousands of years have passed since the time of Joseph and his brothers and the Jewish people remains, as described in the Torah, the smallest among the nations. As well, the majority of our people still dwells outside the Promised Land. The promise of the covenant remains as difficult to achieve as the obligation to be our brother’s keeper, when brother no longer means sibling but “the other”. Might it be that the fulfillment of the covenant depends on the fulfillment of the challenge to really be our brother’s keeper? How can we fulfill the ideals and promise of Torah in such a complex world?
We wish the world were black and white, but the only thing that is black and white in the Torah is the ink of the letters on the parchment: the rest is the murky area of grey in which we really live. It seems appropriate that this parasha is entitled “Vayechi”, meaning “and he lived”, even while speaking of the death of Yaakov. Taken out of context, this simple phrase serves as an imperative for each of us: we must carry on in life, knowing that some promises remain unfulfilled, each challenge we surmount only leads to another greater one and that each time a book closes, another opens.
UPJ President, David Robinson, makes statement on the Gaza situation
January 9, 2009 by Steve
UNION FOR PROGRESSIVE JUDAISM STATEMENT IN LIGHT OF THE SITUATION IN GAZA
“We express great sadness over the deaths of the innocent civilians in Gaza and we received news of the deaths of children in the U.N. schools with anguish” said Union for Progressive Judaism President, David Robinson. “Our thoughts and prayers are with all of the innocent people, on both sides of the border who have become victims in this conflict.”
“It is our hope that the Palestinian people, and all those who care about their future, will realize that such terrible mishaps can be easily avoided - and that all their leadership need do is to stop firing rockets randomly at the population of Israel” said Robinson. “Beyond that they must also realize that the terrible living conditions of all people in Gaza can change permanently if they will only recognize the right of Israel to exist.”
“As Jews we mourn the loss of innocent lives and we pray that the Palestinian people, and all of those people who are concerned for their welfare, will speak out against the intransigence and barbaric attitudes of the Hamas leadership.”
“As Progressive Jews we totally support Israel and her need to defend her children and civilians. We also believe in the ability of faith-based people to change and to find solutions that promote respect and allow co-existence” said Robinson. “We can only hope that sensible people will acknowledge the right of Israeli children and civilians, as well as Palestinians, to live in safety and security and they will raise their voices to condemn those really responsible for causing this terrible situation.”
“In these troubled times we call on all people of faith to reach out to others, to redouble their efforts in the field of interfaith activities and to ensure that the blind hatred of a small group of Islamic fundamentalists is not allowed to dictate the safety of the Palestinian and Israeli people, or the mutual respect that exists between many of the religious groups in our region.”
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For more details contact:
Steve Denenberg
02 9328 7644; Mob: 0420 973 909; e-mail: steve@upj.org.au
Progressive congregations in Israel win battle against discrimination
January 6, 2009 by Nicky
The Ministry of Religious Affairs was recently sued by the Reform Movement in Israel for refusing to include Reform synagogues on its list of synagogues around the country. The Movement’s claims were accepted in full by the Court and the State was ordered to pay damages.
Click here for full article.
Vayigash - Genesis 44:18 – 47:27
January 3, 2009 by karyn
Vayigash
Genesis 44:18 – 47:27
The Torah: A Modern Commentary, pages 281 - 297
Revised Edition, pages 287 – 296
Haftarah Vayigash
Ezekiel 37:15 - 28
The Torah - A Modern Commentary, pages 357-358
Revised Edition, pages 302 - 303
Saturday 3 January 2009, Shabbat Tevet 7, 5769
Rabbi Gary Robuck, North Shore Temple Emanuel, Sydney NSW
The silly season permits many of us the time we desire to catch up on our reading. Whether our preferences lay with fictional accounts, biographies, history or romantic thrillers, the summer affords us the chance to enter new worlds through the portal of literature.
My wife, Jocelyn serves as a kind of advance-guard for me when it comes to reading for Jocelyn is a big reader and regularly receives from friends or happens upon books which she in turn passes along to me. Always they are presented with a rating. Some are highly recommended, others are interesting but the very best come bearing the highest praise-“even you will not be able to fall asleep while reading it!”
I was given just such a book not long ago. It is a 2005 title called, Ordinary Heroes written by Scott Turow who also wrote, the sensational 1987 book, Presumed Innocent. It is a beautifully-written book containing a story within a story. On one level it is about courage and morality, warfare and ambition. But more important is the relationship described between father and son; a relationship shrouded by tightly-held secrets. Because dad succeeded in keeping so much inside, his son must go to enormous lengths in an attempt to know his deceased father. Sadly, events buried in the past prevent the two from fully understanding one another and achieving the intimacy both men presumably would have desired.
It is this dimension of Turow’s book which seemed most topical to me when re-reading our sidra, Vayigash. It too is all about relationships. Initially, Joseph has a diseased relationship with his brothers who conspire to do away with him but are content ultimately to sell him to Ishmaelite traders. There is the matter of the boy’s relationship to their father Jacob, Jacob’s love for Joseph and with Benjamin, the youngest of the brothers.
In preparation for these remarks, I discovered a number of vibrant commentaries. The Gerrer Rebbe, also know as the S’fat Emet whose insightful works concentrated on the moral and ethical lesson offered in the text, suggests that Judah, not knowing Joseph was his long-lost brother, nonetheless sensed a secret deep in his heart, a secret that needed to be revealed. Judah’s approach was filled with trepidation and anxiety as he sought just the means necessary to draw out the secret residing within Joseph’s heart.
The Gerrer Rebbe derives this understanding from the word, Vayigash itself. Though it means literally, “he approached”, the author implies that the whole mishpoche was remote from one another, uncomfortable with intimacy and reluctant to approach.
The explanation as to why this may have been and why it is often true of families today is unearthed in our ancient Midrash. In Bereshit Rabbah, our rabbis remind us that “approaching” is a very complicated action both physically and spiritually. Often, the Midrash maintains, we approach others with varied, multiple intentions. The Midrash teaches us that “approaching” can be in a spirit of contentiousness, in a spirit of contrition, or even in a spirit of “tefillah” which means prayerfulness. What would you imagine to have been the spirit in which Judah approached his brother Joseph?
Rabbi Barry Starr of Temple Israel in Sharon, Massachusetts, has developed a novel interpretation of our story’s modern-day significance. According to Rabbi Starr, the repeated use of the word, vayigash, (come near to me) is meant to remind us how important it is that we approach others “willingly, openly, and enthusiastically”. Rabbi Starr acknowledges something most of us know to be true: it is hard to “open up” as did Judah and Joseph did; hard to approach others with caring and love. Yet, when we do so, we achieve breakthroughs in our relationships with others, touching their souls and seeing within their faces, the very face of God.
In a culture like ours that prefers handshakes to hugs, in which we each harbour secrets which divide us, in which we place a premium on our personal space, we could use a dose of boldness, the sort exhibited by Judah when he approached his brother Joseph. It is not easy to break down the walls which in some instances we have spent years constructing, walls that may separate us from those we love. Even Joseph had to say to his brothers in chapter 45:4 “g’shu na ei’lay” come near to me. Yet doing so will in most instances succeed bringing closer together parents and children, siblings and friends.
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