Vayechi 5775

At the center of this week's parasha we find the blessings that Yaakov (Jacob) bestows – first upon Ephraim and Menasheh, and then on the rest of his children. The first few tribes, though, are not blessed, but instead are cursed. The first blessing that we read is bestowed upon Yehuda (Judah).

Yehuda is blessed in various ways: as the recipient of his brothers’ praise, as overtaking his enemies, as having great might, as holding the ruler’s staff, and more (Genesis 49:8-12). Why is it that Yehuda receives this great blessing, and not the brothers before him?

It seems that the answer lies in the transformation of Yehuda’s character throughout the book of Genesis. Yehuda as a youngster is willing to sell his own brother Joseph in to slavery (Gen. 37:27). It is only after Yehuda learns a powerful lesson from his daughter-in-law, Tamar, and admits, tzadka mimeni (Gen. 38:26) that Tamar was more righteous, more just than he, that Yehuda learns that he must begin to stand up for those who are vulnerable.

And so, in last week’s portion, Vayigash, Yehuda begins a massive speech, with a heart-wrenching plea to save his brother Benjamin in front of the Egyptian viceroy, who unbeknownst to Yehuda is Yosef (Joseph). The Biblical scholar Yochanan Muffs describes this mode of standing up for those that are guilty in his influential essay, “Who will stand in the breach” (in his book Love and Joy). It features a model of the prophet whose key role is not a scolder or occasional comforter, but rather is the defender of the people. Yehuda has the chance to put his word to his father to the ultimate test. “Take me and not my brother,” he insists.

Yehuda receives the blessings of being respected by his fellows, and of leadership, because he was willing to stand in the breach. And we, the Jewish people, live the life of Judah every time we recognize ourselves as a people, as Yehudim, as his namesake. As Yehudim, we stand in the breach for those who are most vulnerable.

With this in mind, we at Anshe Emet are honored to host ONE Northside, various churches and organizations, and more on Sunday, January 18th, from 3;00 - 5:00 p.m., when we will talk about our respective faiths, the legacy of Dr. King, and systematic injustices in our community related to racism and gender inequality. We will also learn about how we can begin battling against these inequities. We’ll conclude with some food, breaking bread together, as we reflect on how to make change together. So please save the date, so that we can join together, living as descendants of Yehuda, as people who stand in the breach.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi David Russo

With thanks to Rabbi Zach Silver for quoting sections of his D'var Torah related to the theme of standing in the breach.

Vayigash 5775

Bless You

Toward the end of parashat Vayigash, Joseph brings his father and brothers for an audience with Pharaoh. Pharaoh’s meeting with Jacob is brief and emotionally intense, and at the end, just before leaving, Jacob blesses Pharaoh.

Rashi, commenting on Jacob’s blessing, notes that Jacob acted “according to the way of anyone who departs from an important person, blessing him and taking leave” (Rashi, Genesis 47:10). What does this concept of a parting blessing suggest about the nature of human relationships?

In one of my favorite passages from the Talmud, Rav Nahman and Rabbi Yitzhak are about to depart from one another when Rav Nahman asks Rabbi Yitzhak for a blessing.

Rabbi Yitzhak said to him: I will tell you a parable. To what is this matter comparable? To one who was walking through a desert and who was hungry, tired, and thirsty. He found a tree whose fruits were sweet and whose shade was pleasant, and a stream of water flowed beneath it. He ate from the fruits of the tree, drank from the water in the stream, and sat in the shade of the tree.

And when he wished to leave, he said: Tree, tree, with what shall I bless you? If I say to you that your fruits should be sweet, your fruits are already sweet; if I say that your shade should be pleasant, your shade is already pleasant; if I say that a stream of water should flow beneath you, a stream of water already flows beneath you. Rather, I will bless you as follows: May it be God’s will that all saplings which they plant from you be like you.

So it is with you: with what shall I bless you? If I bless you with Torah, you already have Torah; if I bless you with wealth, you already have wealth; if I bless you with children, you already have children. Rather, may it be god’s will that your offspring shall be like you (Ta’anit 5b-6a; tr. Steinsaltz).

We learn three things from Rabbi Yitzhak’s blessing of Rav Nahman. First, in order to give a blessing, one must be aware of the other person’s gifts as well as his needs, so that the blessing addresses the whole person. Second, a meaningful relationship demands that each person cultivate an awareness of gratitude for what the other provides. And third, in order to fully realize the inherent potential in the relationship, we must be willing to express our gratitude clearly and directly to the other person.

The end of the secular year offers us an opportunity for reflection. As we take our leave of 2014, it’s worth asking: what are the blessings we take from the year that is ending, and to whom should we offer those blessings? May it be a year of life, health, and peace for all of us.

Shabbat Shalom and Happy New Year,

Rabbi Abe Friedman

Miketz 5775

The Hard Work that Makes for Miracles

Yesterday, hearing the news that Alan Gross was released from a Cuban prison and was enroute to the United States, I began to image how he must have felt at that moment.  How accustomed he had become to prison life and its monotony. The difficult process of managing hope in an impossible situation and suddenly, with little or no warning to find himself on a plane with his wife and a number of American leaders must have been stunning. How must it have felt to learn that the Pope was instrumental in your release? As one of Alan Gross’ relatives said in an interview: “it is our Hanukkah miracle.”

It is noteworthy that our Torah reading this week features Joseph’s release from prison, and is always read on Shabbat Hanukkah. The Torah portion is called Mikketz based on the opening words of the reading. “Vayehi Miketz Shinatayim” : “At the end of two years’ time”. The Rabbis consider the word usage and come to the conclusion that the change in Joseph’s circumstances would be comparable to a light coming at the end of a period of darkness. One day Joseph was in an Egyptian prison lost to his family without the possibility of freedom and the next day he finds himself standing before the throne of Pharaoh and soon thereafter becoming the Grand Vizier of Egypt. It must have felt like a miracle. Surely, this was Joseph’s conclusion as well. He understood himself as a representative of God’s message when he told Pharaoh: “Not I! God will see to Pharaoh’s welfare.” The fact is that Joseph had already laid the foundation for his own salvation in the manner in which he interpreted the dreams of the Butler and the Cupbearer.

When the Macabees stood on the Temple Mount and rededicated the Beit Hamikdash they too understood the miracle of their victory. They had defeated an army far greater in number and in power.  However, the victory would not have been possible without the faith and courage of a father and a band of brothers who inspired an entire nation to revolt against the Assyrian overlords. Like Joseph, the Hanukah miracle had God’s blessing would not have been possible without the hard work and sacrifice of courageous human beings.

Alan Gross was released from prison and the light in the darkness may have felt like it came suddenly but his return to America was the result of the hard work of his family, our government, and the Vatican.  What we perceive as miracles are often the result of the best of humanity. Miracles are the result of human faith, courage and ultimately the blessing of God. May Alan Gross’ release mark a new beginning in relations with Cuba and a period of light for the people of this region.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Michael Siegel

Vayeshev 5775

Was Joseph’s Coat Really Technicolor?

Andrew Lloyd Webber’s famous musical about Joseph colors (pun sadly intended) our interpretation of a specific phrase in this week’s parasha. We read (Genesis 37:3), that Israel loved Joseph more than all his children, and that he made for Joseph a ketonet passim. The question is, what exactly is a ketonet passim?

There are two main interpretations of this phrase. The first, voiced most notably by the Radak (12th century French rabbi), explains:

Radak- The ketonet (cloak) was made of passim passim (many stripes), with one stripe of one color and the next another color... and the ketonet was beautiful.

This, of course, supports the modern day musical’s assertion that the cloak was multi-colored.

But there is another interpretation that the cloak was not multi-colored at all! Passim could indicate that the garment had sleeves, and that it reached the ankles and wrists. So according to this view, what is so special about the cloak? Ibn Ezra explains that it was merukemet, it was embroidered beautifully.

No matter how we interpret this phrase, we understand the function of the cloak – that it was meant to make Joseph feel special. Either because it was multi-colored, it was embroidered beautifully, or because it was a unique gift from father to son. We all can identify that this gift had great power, that it made Joseph feel special; and we all are familiar with the exclusion that his brothers experienced immediately after this gift was given.

We at Anshe Emet want to learn from Jacob’s positive lesson of sharing gifts to make others feel special, while recognizing that we do not want ANYONE to feel excluded. At this time of year, as so many of us and our family members are accustomed to receiving gifts, we are going to be sharing gifts with others who may not be as fortunate. On Sunday, December 14th, our Anshe Emet Synagogue community will celebrate our annual Festival of the Arts, highlighting our Religious School students’ accomplishments in music, drama, and dance, and also including appearances by choirs from BZAEDS. But there is an admission fee: a toy for the Lakeview Pantry Toy Drive. We are asking people to bring a new or lightly used toy with them to the festival. So I hope that you follow in our students’ example of sharing gifts in ways that makes people feel as special as Joseph, while ensuring that others do not feel left out.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi David Russo

Vayishlach 5775

THE POWER OF A NAME

Zelda Schneerson Mishkofsky was born in Poland in 1914 and died in Israel in 1985. In her life she was recognized both for her abilities as a teacher and as a gifted poet.  It should be noted that Zelda was also part of a great Chasidic line. Her first cousin was last Lubavitcher Rebbe, Menachem Schneerson of blessed memory.   To say that this woman had yichus (family standing) would be an understatement.  It is of interest to that throughout her life her pen name was Zelda with no reference to her famous family name.  One can speculate as to her reasons but I believe that Zelda offered her reason in one of her best known poems: Each of Us has a Name.

EACH OF US HAS A NAME

Each of us has a name

given by God

and given by our parents

Each of us has a name

given by our stature and our smile

and given by what we wear

Each of us has a name

given by the mountains

and given by our walls

Each of us has a name

given by the stars

and given by our neighbors

Each of us has a name

given by our sins

and given by our longing

Each of us has a name

given by our enemies

and given by our love

Each of us has a name

given by our celebrations

and given by our work

Each of us has a name

given by the seasons

and given by our blindness

Each of us has a name

given by the sea

and given by

our death.

In the poem Zelda writes of the different ways that we earn our names whether it be from our parents, our work, or our God. Her message is that during the course of our lives we earn our names in a whole host of different ways.  We can intuit that by only using as he nomme de plume Zelda wanted to allow her writing speak for itself without being overshadowed by her famous family name.  In the end, Zelda teaches us, the name that matters is the one that we earn for ourselves in life.

This is a lesson that Jacob manifests in this week’s Torah portion.  Jacob is en route to face his brother Esau after more than 20 years.  His last encounter with his brother was stealing the birth blessing that rightfully belonged to Esau.  Because Esau spoke openly of his desire to kill his brother after Isaac’s death, Rebecca thought it best for Jacob to flee his home and family and set out on his own.  After many years Jacob has a large family and at God’s behest is returning to his homeland to face his brother.  Up until this point Jacob has been the living embodiment of his name, which means the heel of a foot.  In the course of time he has acted without regard to the feelings of others.  Moreover, he has emulated the heel which is the most crooked bone in the body.

The night before Jacob was to meet Esau an angel comes to wrestle with Jacob.  The struggle continues till day break when the angel begs to be released.  Jacob demands that the angel change his name before he would set him free.  He then received the name of Israel: the one who wrestled with God and prevailed.   The power of the name change was that Jacob worked to fulfill his new name.  While given by an angel it would still have to be earned.  Jacob would have to actualize his new name that very morning when he faced his brother again.  For the first time Jacob faced up to a situation without guile or subterfuge.  To the day he dies Jacob sent the rest of his life earning his new name.

Great art speaks throughout time. The poetry of Zelda may have been autobiographical, but it also speaks to each of us and to our ancestor who chose to live up to the name of Israel.  The same challenge remains for his descendents.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Michael Siegel

Vayetzei 5775

And [Leah] conceived again, and bore a son; and she said, This time will I give thanks to the Lord; therefore she called his name Judah: and she left off bearing (Gen. 29:35). This week’s Torah portion has no shortage of birth stories – eleven of Jacob’s twelve sons are born in the course of the twenty-one year span of this parshah – but Leah’s pronouncement upon the birth of her fourth son stands out: what does she mean by give thanks to the LORD? Why only now, with her fourth and final son?

For Rashi (France, 1040-1105), Leah knew through prophecy that Jacob was destined to have twelve sons. Since he had two wives and two concubines, if the sons were evenly distributed the women would give birth to three apiece. Leah’s first three sons, then, were merely what she “deserved;” with the birth of her fourth son, she recognizes that she has received something to which she was not strictly entitled, and therefore offers thanks to God.

Leah sees that, in comparison to her sister and their maidservants, she has drawn a larger share of the sons (and, therefore, social standing – if not necessarily their husband’s love), and she is grateful for her ascendance over her rivals. I have sympathy for Leah: it’s no secret that her husband loves her sister more (29:30); the Torah twice describes her as hated by her husband (29:31, 29:33) and she explicitly states her hope that bearing sons will win Jacob’s love (29:32). The Torah’s compression of this information into four consecutive verses only heightens the pain Leah must have felt. In the context of such a poisonous family atmosphere, it’s not hard to imagine Leah incessantly comparing herself to the other women in the household, fiercely competing for Jacob’s affection.

Understandable, perhaps, but not exactly uplifting. Biblical heroes are far from perfect, but we still look to them as paradigms through which we can understand the world we live in – and I am troubled by Rashi’s vision of a zero-sum, dog-eat-dog competition within the family. I take comfort, then, in the words Rabbi Abraham Ibn Ezra (Spain, 1089-1164) imagines Leah saying at Judah’s birth: “I will give thanks to God, because I desire no more; I thank God for giving me all of this, and it is enough for me.”

The subtle but crucial difference between how Rashi and Ibn Ezra read the verse lies not in the fact of Leah’s gratitude or satisfaction, but in the means by which she develops that sense of gratitude. For Rashi, Leah thanks God for giving her more than the other women; in Ibn Ezra’s imagination, she expresses gratitude for having more than she expected for herself.

In this way, Leah anticipates the words of our Sages of Blessed Memory: “Who is wealthy? One who is satisfied with his portion” (Pirkei Avot 4.1). In Ezra’s Leah finds her gratitude, and ultimately her happiness, in herself, without comparison to others. As we join the rest of America in celebrating Thanksgiving, our parshah offers us the chance to reflect on the foundations of our own gratitude. True happiness, our tradition suggests, arises out of a sense of “enough,” knowing that our needs are met and, perhaps, we have even been graced with a little bit extra.

Shabbat Shalom and Happy Thanksgiving,
Rabbi Abe Friedman

Toldot 5775

This week, we read of the origin stories of twin brothers, Jacob and Esav. Of course our tradition’s preference is for our ancestor Jacob, our hero. And like any superhero, our protagonist Jacob has one main flaw – Jacob can be manipulative of others, and that manipulation comes back to haunt him.

The first narrative that describes Jacob’s actions begins with Esav coming back from a field, famished. And Jacob is making a delicious nazid, a delicious stew. The Hebrew is vague as to what kind of stew this is. And when Esav sees it, he begs his brother (Genesis 25:30):

הַלְעִיטֵ֤נִי נָא֙ מִן־הָֽאָדֹ֤ם הָֽאָדֹם֙ הַזֶּ֔ה כִּ֥י עָיֵ֖ף אָנֹ֑כִי
Please, give me a gulp of the red-stuff, that red-stuff, for I am so weary!

I offer you the literal translation of Dr. Everett Fox so that you notice Esav’s language. He doesn't call the stew a nazid like the narrator calls it. He asks for ha’adom ha’adom, the red-stuff, the red-stuff. Either he is so tired that he is delusional and cannot even identify what the food truly is, or he is in the process of fainting, and is stuttering his words.
And it is at this point that Jacob had a few options – he could ignore or reject his brother; he could generously offer food; or he could make a deal over the beloved birthright. Jacob chooses the third option.
To this action, and the subsequent deception of his father Isaac for the birthright, the rabbis respond by saying midah keneged midah – that measure for measure, Jacob meets deception later in his life. He is deceived in the marriage of Rachel, he is deceived with his son Joseph, he is deceived in every element of his later life.

Our rabbis teach us (Mishna Avot 4:2):
מִּצְוָה גּוֹרֶרֶת מִצְוָה, וַעֲבֵרָה גוֹרֶרֶת עֲבֵרָה
A mitzvah initiates another mitzvah, and a sin initiates another sin.

And this teaching surely seems to apply to the story of Jacob.

As we ourselves begin the Thanksgiving season, we may not be approached by a brother who physically comes up to us, desperate for food. But we know that there are so many people in desperate need, in our immediate community, and throughout the world. So what will you do this time of year, to support others in their need for food, to initiate more mitzvot in our world?

This past Sunday, a group of 6th-8th graders baked over a dozen pies for the Night Ministry, supporting thousands of members of our community who otherwise might not be able to have a festive Thanksgiving meal. And in a few weeks, our Religious School is taking part in the Lakeview Pantry’s Toy Drive. Instead of treating this season as a time just to think about what we personally will get as presents, we are celebrating our community’s desire to give to people in need.

So as you approach Thanksgiving and Hanukkah, I hope that you’ll consider how you can give and share, and how to teach that to family and friends, so that we do not fall into the same trap that our ancestor Jacob did.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi David Russo

Vayera 5775

Vayera 5775

First---my favorite joke.
A Rabbi and his wife were waiting out the terrible flood in their town.  The Rabbi prayed for the rain to stop.  As the water rose higher and higher, he and his wife were forced to go up to the highest level of the house.  They looked out the window and a lifeboat came to the house----“Rabbi, you and your wife have to get in.  The levy has broken and you’ll drown.” His wife got in the boat but the Rabbi insisted that his prayers would stop the rain.  The lifeboat left.  The rain continued, the Rabbi prayed, the water rose and the Rabbi fled to the roof.  Another lifeboat came by.  “Rabbi, this is the last lifeboat.  Get in.  You’ll drown.” “No,” said the Rabbi, “My prayers will stop the rain.”  The lifeboat left; the Rabbi prayed, the rain continued and the Rabbi drowned!  When he got to heaven, he demanded an audience with God.  He went before the Almighty and asked why God hadn’t heard his prayers and stopped the rain.  “What’s the matter?” asked God.  “Didn’t you get the 2 lifeboats I sent?”
(With thanks to Rabbi Siegel who told me that joke about 15 years ago.)

Now, let’s talk about the prophet Elisha, the central figure in this week’s Haftarah for Parasha Vayera.  We learn of two women he helps.  In the first story, Elisha’s miracle allows a poor widow to retain her dignity by having her pour oil from her small jug into borrowed vessels---the small jug miraculously holds enough oil to fill many many vessels of oil and the woman can then sell the oil to support her family.  Elisha has helped her to help herself.

In the second story, a wealthy Shunemite woman who has offered Elisha hospitality on numerous occasions becomes pregnant after Elisha tells her she will bear a son. (Like Sarah in this week’s Torah portion, she has an elderly husband and doesn’t believe she will have a child.) She indeed bears a son who, after growing up, takes ill one day and dies.  The woman rushes to find Elisha and will not leave him until he agrees to come home with her since she believes he can heal her son.   Elisha follows her home and does heal the boy.

What are we to learn from all these stories?

These are all stories of faith and hope and that we can have miracles in our everyday life simply by asking for help or accepting help when it is offered.  Elisha won’t be waiting for us around the next corner, but our friends, our family and our community are there---sometimes with vessels to donate that we can fill or sometimes helping us fill those vessels.  We probably won’t see a flaming chariot descend from the heavens but we may get a meal from a caring friend when chemo has left us too drained to move.   Perhaps we will have a chance encounter with a bicyclist who warns us of a treacherous turn in the upcoming path which keeps us from having a terrible accident.  Or we may get an offer of a part time job that will put food on the table, allowing us to maintain our dignity. 

Miracles surround us every day.  We must be open to the possibility that miracles can happen to us and be ready to act. And we have a choice---we can be skeptical and dismiss those who want to help (we can send the lifeboat away) or we can accept their help, their advice, their guidance and get in the boat!! 
The choice is ours.

Shabbat Shalom,
Debby Lewis

Lekh Lekha 5775

Lekh Lekha 5775

This week’s parshah, Lekh Lekha, includes a fascinating supporting character: Melchizedek, king of Shalem. The geopolitical background to his story has a complexity worthy of contemporary cable drama: four kings have united to dominate the cities of five other kings; the five weaker kings rebel – unsuccessfully – and in the course of battle Abram’s nephew, Lot, is taken captive. Abram, who until now has remained uninvolved on the sidelines, musters his household into a small private army and marches into battle to rescue his nephew; in the process, he defeats the four kings and restores the others to their cities.

In the aftermath of this battle, Melchizedek suddenly appears. We have seen no mention of him until now; although his city was in the same general area, he, like Abram, seems to have been uninvolved until now. Melchizedek, who is additionally described as a priest of God Most High (Gen. 14:18), brings wine and bread to meet Abram, and blesses him. Abram, in turn, gives Melchizedek a tenth of his war spoils. Then, just as suddenly, Melchizedek vanishes and our story resumes where it left off (see Gen. 14:17-21ff).
Who is this mystery man? While Israelite society separated the roles of priest and king, some other local cultures merged the two. Melchizedek, as a priest-king, was clearly a man of substantial power; and yet he comes to Abram with wine and bread – clearly ritual items – and blessed him in the name of El Elyon, “God Most High.”

Scholars have noted that the Divine name El Elyon is very ancient, appearing in some of the oldest Semitic texts available to us. Melchizedek, then, stands as one of the rare Biblical monotheists outside of Abraham’s family and the eventual Israelite nation. While we often think of Abraham as the person who brought monotheism to the world, Melchizedek’s appearance here reminds us that no person, culture, or nation has a monopoly on truth; Abraham might have done more than any other Biblical character to promote and spread monotheism, but even he was not the only one to recognize God’s role as Creator of heaven and earth (Gen. 14:19).

This Shabbat, as Melchizedek briefly flashes across our consciousness, we have the opportunity to take this lesson to heart and to remember that wherever we go – at work, in our families, in the spheres of religion, politics, or society – we must walk humbly, recognizing that no person has an exclusive hold on the true, right, or best answers in life.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Abe Friedman

Noach 5775

Shabbat Shalom!

In Sunday’s outstanding SHMUSY play, one of the hilarious scenes involved an older gentleman being quizzed on his knowledge of brachot (blessings) by Rabbi Russo before partaking of food from the Shabbos Kiddush table. The kids and Rabbi Russo enacted the scene with humor and passion. 

As I reflect back on the question of blessings, this week, my heart is drawn to the beauty of the blessing our tradition offers upon seeing a rainbow, “Blessed are You, Ruler of the Universe, who Remember the Covenant.” What covenant does God remember and do we remember when we see a rainbow? Not the much acclaimed covenant of Abraham and God. No, not the particular covenant between the Jewish people and the Divine. Rather, the covenant we remember when we see the rainbow, naturally, is the covenant that God made with Noah after the Flood. Precisely the topic of this week’s Torah portion.

In Genesis, Chapter 9, verse 13, the Torah reads, “I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between Me and the earth.” The rainbow is God’s covenant not with the Jewish people (Abraham has yet to be born) but rather with the whole of humanity. Looking upon the rainbow, we are reminded that we too are covenanted not only with our Jewish brothers and sisters, but also with all those children of God, all those children of Noah, who survived the same Flood, who came from the same Source, and who deep within our collective past witnessed the same miracle of a dove, an olive branch, and a rainbow saying, “life goes on… there is hope… God loves you always.”

In Aharon Yaakov Greenberg’s collection of Chasidic commentary, Iturei Torah, Zion Hillel is quoted sharing this insight: “How does the rainbow symbolize peace, unity, and the continuing existence of the world? Because the rainbow is composed of many colors and shades and they all merge into one unity!  And so it is with the differences between people, in all their groups, tribes, and nations.  Life is based on understanding and mutual tolerance, on harmony and on peace, and they are the foundation of the continuing existence of the world. "

This Sunday, SHMUSY President Aaron Kamel and I will be joining Pastor Michael Neal’s community of Glorious Light Church at 9:30am to deliver the 1500 books donated by the AES community over the High Holidays to Real Men Read. This project, inspired by our own youth leader, symbolizes a moment of “remembering the covenant.” We are partnering with our African American Christian brothers and sisters on the South Side to provide literacy to those in need of education and encouragement. We are demonstrating that we remember that we come from one God and that we have one destiny as children of Noah. We are living out the wisdom of Zion Hillel in celebrating the Rainbow of Humanity, with all its colors and shades, of which we are an integral but not a singular part. If you are so moved, we would be honored to have you join us as we celebrate the coming together of our two communities, and our shared faith in the covenant of God shown in Noah’s rainbow, “life goes on…there is hope… God loves you always.”

-Rabbi D'ror Chankin-Gould

Bereshit 5775

This coming week we end the annual ritual of reading the national history of our people, the Torah. And immediately after we finish, we roll the scroll all the way back to the beginning and start over. Why? There’s a saying that the stories never change, but we do. Every year when we hear these stories of our ancestors, we as individuals living in the present are in different places and circumstances in our own lives, giving us new perspective on the old stories. I love that concept. But in some ways, it is insufficient to address some of the ways in which we identify with the stories of the Torah. Our circumstances may change, but do we?

While things may change over time (see: electricity, industrial revolution, the invention of the cookie – to name a few seismic advances in civilization), we stay human. The quality of being human is universal and constant. In that way, the stars of this year’s SHMUSY play, “Holy Cow! I’m Having a Bat Mitzvah,” have come to the same conclusion. That our ‘human’ness is indelible and unchanging. For instance, humans always have a need for finding meaning and order in the chaos of their lives. This year we’re playing with a seminal story in the Torah about that very thing: the Golden Calf.

What relevance does the Golden Calf story have to the High Holiday season? In Haazinu, we hear the last words from Moses before we move on to the promised land without him. Without Moses. Only one other time since escaping slavery in Mitzrayim have we Israelites been without Moses. And that episode gave us the Golden Calf. We were unable to cope without leadership, without constant proof of God’s presence. And now God is trusting us to make our way into Canaan without our prophet, our hero. What lessons can we learn from the first episode of Moses’ absence to help guide our way moving forward? Both in biblical time and in year 5775? That is what we aim to explore in this year’s play. Come see it at 4:00 p.m. on Sunday, October 19 in Blum Community Hall to see if we have come up with any good answers to this dilemma! There will be cookies.

- Jon Adam Ross