Yitro 5774

One of the centerpiece mitzvot in parshat Yitro is the mitzvah of lo tirtzach - that it is forbidden to murder. This mitzvah is often glossed over, I assume because it is so completely obvious. But over the past few months and years, we have certainly seen this all over the news, whether in Chicago or across the country. This mitzvah of lo tirtzach is violated in our cities, our country, and our world constantly. It is certainly as important now as in the time of the Children of Israel and Moshe, when this mitzvah was placed in the center of the aseret hadibrot, the 10 commandments.

There are two ways that we can interpret lo tirtzach. The first is a very limited understanding: when the Torah says lo tirtzach, that we cannot murder, the Torah is telling us that we cannot perform that final act of killing. This view is represented by Ibn Ezra, who comments:

בידך- we are prohibited from killing the person with our own hand.

For Ibn Ezra, one is liable for transgressing the commandment of “you shall not murder” only if you have done something fairly direct to kill that person: with your hands themselves, or with your words, your testimony.

But there is another, more expansive view of lo tirtzach. Maimonides, in his immaculately organized code of Jewish law called the Mishneh Torah, could have created a section titled “הלכות רוצח- Laws of Murder.” But instead, he used the title “הלכות רוצח ושמירת הנפש - Laws of Murder and the Protection of Life.” For the Rambam, the law that we are not allowed to murder is completely intertwined with laws about the preservation of life. In the very same place where the Rambam mentions that a murderer is to be executed, he also talks about how there is a mitzvah to not stand idly by when someone’s life is in danger; to build guardrails on our rooftops to prevent people from falling; to help a person whose animal collapses on the road. The Rambam, in the same place where he talks about how one must not murder, also writes that we cannot leave people abandoned and helpless. For the Rambam, if we perform what seem like small acts of chesed, kindness, we are simultaneously preventing murder and protecting life.

This coming Monday, Anshe Emet will host over a hundred people of multiple faiths from the Lakeview area at Anshe Emet, as we come together for a day of learning and service in honor of Martin Luther King Jr. We will explore how the values of preserving life, freedom, and equality are manifested in our faith traditions, in the work of Dr. King, and how we can make those values into a reality today by taking action on issues including juvenile justice, mental health justice, money and politics, and supporting those in our community who were formerly incarcerated. Please join us, as we come together to learn, to act, and to live up to the Rambam’s imperative of preserving life.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi David Russo

Beshallah 5774

Taking the Long Way Home

At the beginning of this week’s Torah portion, Beshallah, the Israelites begin their journey out of Egypt – but right at the beginning, something strange happens: When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them by way of the land of the Philistines, although that was near. For God said, “Lest the people change their minds when they see war and return to Egypt” (Exodus 13:17). Several questions immediately jump out: Don’t the Israelites want to get out of there as fast as possible? Why do they agree to follow God the long way around? And how could God imagine that, so soon after their liberation, the Israelites would want to go back to Egypt?

Rabbi Moses Maimonides (Spain, Egypt, and Israel, 1135-1204), the great medieval Philosopher, answers these questions directly in his Guide for the Perplexed:

God refrained from prescribing what the people by their natural disposition would be incapable of obeying… it would be just as if a person trained to work as a slave with mortar and bricks, or similar things, should interrupt his work, clean his hands, and at once fight with real giants. It was the result of God's wisdom that the Israelites were led about in the wilderness till they acquired courage. For it is a well-known fact that travelling in the wilderness, and privation of bodily enjoyments, such as bathing, produce courage, whilst the reverse is the source of faint-heartedness: besides, another generation rose during the wanderings that had not been accustomed to degradation and slavery [Maimonides, Guide for the Perplexed 3:32, tr. M. Friedlander].

In other words, the physical liberation is merely the beginning of the Israelites’ intellectual and spiritual liberation. Only after an adjustment period could a new generation, raised in freedom and conditioned by the challenges of life in the wilderness, take possession of the Promised Land.

Of course, Maimonides’ lesson remains true for us today. We spend a great deal of time thinking about ways we hope to change, grow, or develop, and rightfully so – but do we also grant ourselves a “wilderness period” in which to relinquish old habits and learn new skills? Or do we unfairly judge ourselves for not immediately turning over a new leaf? “God refrained from prescribing what the people by their natural disposition would be incapable of obeying,” not just because it was the most prudent course of action at that time but also as a lesson to the rest of us: when we set goals, whether for others or for ourselves, we must be careful to shape the conditions in such a way that we have a reasonable chance of success. It might be the long way home, but it is the only sure path to the Promised Land.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Abe Friedman

Bo 5774

Bo 5774

Darkness and Light

As parashat Bo opens, God and Moses bring the final three plagues upon the Egyptians. While the Torah is generally ambiguous about the Israelite experience during the time of plagues, during the next-to-last plague, Darkness, the Torah tells us very clearly that the Egyptians did not see one another, nor did anyone rise from his place for three days, but all the people of Israel had light in their dwellings (Exodus 10:23).

While the verse would seem to suggest that Israelite homes were lit while Egyptian homes remained dark, Rashbam (Rabbi Shmuel ben Meir, a grandson of Rashi; France, 1085-1158) offers a very different reading of this verse: “The people of Israel had light in their dwellings, even if [the Israelite] was sitting in an Egyptian house.” In other words, according to Rashbam, wherever an Israelite went she could see; and no matter where the Egyptians were located, they experienced only darkness.

Here we find an important lesson from God’s contact during the plagues: despite God’s great anger and desire to punish the Egyptians for their cruelty, God was still extremely careful to be sure that God’s anger – and its tangible consequences – only affected the Egyptians. The plague of darkness – and, presumably, the other plagues as well – did not reach the Israelites in their own homes; but more than that, even if an Israelite went into an Egyptian neighborhood or home, the darkness did not affect him. Only the Egyptians, whose evil deeds brought the plagues upon them, suffered the consequences of God’s wrath.

While the parshah focuses on God’s actions, I know that sometimes I react to negative or uncomfortable situations by taking out my frustration on others who are really not part of the problem. The challenge presented to us by the plague of Darkness – difficult to apply, but vitally important – is to cultivate an awareness of our feelings and our reactions, and to discern when we are expressing those feelings appropriately and when, perhaps, we might be bringing negative reactions from one sphere of life – work, family, friendships – and letting it out in a different area, impacting people who bear no responsibility for our misfortune. Of course, such behavior is “only human” – but as humans who were created in the Divine Image, we must strive to be more than “only human,” to be Godly; and one piece of that puzzle is to stay aware of how our reactions affect others.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Abe Friedman

Vaera 5774

Vaera 5774

The Passover custom of drinking four cups of wine is based on the four expressions of redemption that are found at the beginning of Parshat Vaera (Shemot/Exodus 6:6-8):

(6) Say therefore to the children of Israel: I am the Lord. And I will take you out from under the burdens of Egypt, and I will save you from their bondage, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with great judgements. (7) And I will take you to me as a people (this refers to the giving of the Torah at Mt. Sinai) and I will be your God, and you shall know that I am the Lord your God who takes you out from under the burdens of Egypt.
(8) And I will bring you to the land, concerning which I swore with an uplifted hand to give to Avraham, Yitzhak, and Yaakov…

The late Biblical scholar Nechama  Leibowitz noted that a gradual change takes place from the first expression to the second, then to the third, and to the fourth reflecting the changing relationship between our ancestors and both the Egyptians and God, as follows:

1) “And I will take you out from under the burdens of Egypt” – Bnai Yisrael are at this point in total subjugation to the Egyptians.
2) “And I will save you from their bondage” – Here the Egyptian bondage is still a factor, but the Egyptians are not mentioned by name. This reflects a lessening of the subjugation.
3) “And I will redeem you” – Here the Egyptians and the bondage are not referred to at all, reflecting a liberation from Egyptian subjugation.
4) “And I will take you to me as a people” – After being completely liberated from the Egyptians, Bnai Yisrael can forge a new relationship with God.

Her interpretation is intended to show the wisdom underlying God’s not attempting to bond by immediately and decisively liberating our ancestors, but rather by slowly building God’s relationship with them until the moment was ripe for them to connect in a meaningful way.  Although God could have granted our ancestors their freedom one fell swoop they probably could not have handled it – for they had been slaves far too long and viewed the world through the prism of slaves.  Freedom was granted slowly – in stages – as they became accustomed to their new status and privileges.  Only when they became response-able did they became responsible.

Had they attempted to forge that new relationship with God while still under Egyptian subjugation they would surely have failed.  They same may be said for all of us. Building a relationship with God is a process.  It takes time and energy.  Only after we have prepared the ground, planted the seeds and continue to care for them can we hope to see a relationship blossom and grow.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Matt Futterman

Senior Educator

Shemot 5774

Shemot 5774

In this week’s parasha, Shemot, we read the dramatic scene of Moses, when he leaves the palace to explore what is happening in Egypt. The narrator (Exodus 2:11-12) tells us that Moses observes and Egyptian beating an ivri, a Hebrew: “And he looked this way and that way, and when he saw that there was no man, he slew the Egyptian...” Moses looks around, and seeing no one, he kills the Egyptian. There are two main ways of understanding this passage.

The first is that Moses looked around to see if there would be any witnesses to what he was about to do. He was checking to ensure that no one could trace this back to him.

But another way of reading this narrative is that which is mentioned in the rabbinic midrash (Vayikra Rabba 32:4): that no one was ready to champion the cause of the Holy One, the just ways of God.

Some of our rabbis, picking up on the fact that the verse says that Moses did not see an ish, another person stepping up, immediately ascribe to Moses the devout observance of the rabbinic maxim: Where there is no person, strive to be one (Pirkay Avot 2:5).

In this first trial, and the two that follow, Moses proves that he will fight for justice for those whose lives are threatened. Whether for his brothers and sisters, for friends, or for neighbors, Moses risks his life to protect the weak. Moses, when seeing that no one else is stepping up, takes actions into his own hands.

This shabbat, we commemorate the yahrzeit of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, one of the great rabbis and social activists of the 20th century. Rabbi Heschel’s yahrzeit, the 18th of Tevet, typically falls during the week of this week’s parasha. There could not be a more appropriate parasha to commemorate Rabbi Heschel’s memory than the one when we remember the origins of Moses fighting on behalf of those who are most vulnerable. After all, Rabbi Heschel marched with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. in Selma, Alabama, walking arm in arm to bring about civil rights in our nation.

It is this legacy that we commemorate this week as we remember Rabbi Heschel’s yahrzeit, and as we prepare to commemorate the legacy of Dr. King. On Monday, January 20th, from 2:00-4:30 p.m., we at Anshe Emet will be hosting an interfaith Day of Study and Action in Honor of Martin Luther King, Jr. The theme of the day is entitled: “CIVIL RIGHTS: People of Multiple Faiths Continuing in MLK’s Struggle.” We are very excited to host over a hundred people (middle school and older) of multiple faiths residing in the Lakeview area here in our synagogue, as we come together for a day of learning and service in honor of Dr. King. We will begin by reflecting on the legacy of MLK from faith leaders from various traditions, followed by learning about problems of civil rights in our communities. Then we will begin acting on solving these problems through tangible action.

As we commemorate Rabbi Heschel’s memory, and as we think about Moses’ legacy as a man who fought for injustice, I hope that you will join us in that conversation one month from now, as we follow in the footsteps of Dr. King and his dream for a more just society here in America.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi David Russo

Vayechi 5774

Two Burials, One Path Through Jewish History

In Vayechi, the final Torah portion in the book of Genesis, we lose Jacob – the last surviving Patriarch – and his favored son, Joseph. These two deaths – and in particular, the instructions each man gives for his burial – illustrate the two central values that have kept the Jewish people intact for thousands of years.

After giving each of his children a final blessing, Jacob – having spent his final years in Egypt, far from home – instructs his sons to bury me with my fathers in the cave… which Abraham bought (Gen. 49:29-30). Jacob asks to be buried with his ancestors, and moreover he explicitly invokes his family’s connection to that land – the Land of Israel – in explaining his choice of burial site. In doing so, Jacob sets the paradigm for every generation to follow: no matter where in the world Jews have roamed, we have always kept one eye toward Zion.

Not long after Jacob’s burial, Joseph too prepares to die, and he too gives directions for his burial. Joseph, however, makes a very different choice: in the final verses of Genesis, Joseph makes his brothers take an oath that when God eventually brings them out of Egypt and back to their homeland, you shall carry up my bones from here (Gen. 50:25). While his father was taken home to be buried in the company of generations past, Joseph’s body will remain in Egypt indefinitely, until every last Israelite returns home. Joseph, too, establishes a pattern for later generations to follow: throughout our history, the Jewish People have thrived when our various sub-groups have stood in solidarity with one another.

Two recent books examining Jewish history in the last half-century highlight the importance of these values. Joseph’s model – standing in solidarity with other Jews and working together to improve the overall Jewish outlook – comes to life in Gal Beckerman’s thrilling history of the Soviet Jewry movement, When They Come For Us, We’ll Be Gone. Equal parts adventure story and modern history, When They Come For Us shows how Jewish solidarity – whether in Latvia or Cleveland – gave otherwise unremarkable Jews the power to defy both of the world’s Superpowers and write their own chapter in the Jewish Saga.

Jacob’s ultimate commitment to the Land of Israel comes to life in Like Dreamers, the latest book by Yossi Klein Halevi, who visited Anshe Emet a few weeks ago. As many of us had the privilege of hearing directly from Yossi, the book tells the story of the Israeli paratroopers who fought to reunite Jerusalem in 1967 and the courses their lives took in the years that followed. One striking theme in the book is how both camps that developed after the Six Day War – the settlement movement and the peace movement – place Jewish sovereignty in the Land of Israel at the center of their arguments. Despite taking diametrically opposed viewpoints, these two groups still share a deep and almost overwhelming love for Israel.

I highly recommend both of these books, each of which offers a revolutionary new perspective on recent events in Jewish history. As you read them, I hope you will also take time to reflect on how you engage with each of the two Jewish values we learn from this week’s parshah – our connection to the Land of Israel and our solidarity with the collective Jewish People.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Abe Friedman

Vayigash: Joseph's Moment of Truth

Joseph's Moment of Truth
Revealing his true identity, the viceroy cannot control his emotions.

By Rabbi Charles Savenor

The moment of truth has arrived. With Benjamin framed for stealing and sentenced to enslavement, Joseph waits to see how Jacob's other sons will respond. Joseph believes that his well-orchestrated ruse will finally expose his brothers' true colors.

Judah's Appeal

This week's parsahah opens with Judah appealing to his brother Joseph, the Egyptian viceroy, to free Benjamin and to enslave Judah in his place. Judah's eloquent petition recounts his brothers' interaction with this Egyptian official as well as the familial circumstances of Jacob's household. Benjamin, the youngest son in the family, occupies a valued place in their father's eyes, Judah says, because he is the last living remnant of Jacob's deceased wife, Rachel. In conclusion, Judah asserts that if he were to return home to Canaan without Benjamin, he could not bear to see his father's immediate and long-term pain and suffering.
Judah's words arouse Joseph's soul, as the Torah tells us that "V'lo yachol Yosef lehitapek. . ."--"and Joseph could no longer control himself before all his attendants, and he cried out, 'Have everyone withdraw from me!' So there was no one else about when Joseph made himself known to his brothers" (Etz Hayim, Genesis 45:1).

Witnessing Joseph's intense reaction to Judah's appeal, we wonder what exactly pushes Joseph to his emotional limit? What does Judah say or do that compels Joseph to reveal himself at this moment?
Our most trusted biblical commentator, Rashi, surmises that since Joseph's emotional outburst is juxtaposed with evacuating his Egyptian servants, Judah's self-incrimination embarrasses Joseph. The viceroy of Egypt fears that when these alleged spies are introduced as his brothers, the family's reputation, and his by association, will already be tarnished in Egypt and in Pharaoh's court.
Rashi's analysis helps us to understand the momentary reality, yet other interpretations exist, which incorporate the larger context of Joseph's dreams and the patriarchal covenant. As soon as Joseph "unmasks" himself, he urges his brothers not to be upset about their having sold him into slavery many years before: "Kee lemeheeyah shelahani Elohim lefnayhem"--"(for) it was to save life that God sent me here ahead of you" (Etz Hayim, Genesis 45:5). Joseph believes fervently that God's preordained plan for him involves maintaining life for his entire family and the civilized world. Thus, Joseph stores food for Egypt for times of feast and famine, and secures safe passage to a new land for his family.

Actualizing the Covenant

The outcome of Joseph's story not only affirms his childhood dreams, but also actualizes the first part of God's covenant with the patriarchs and matriarchs. As Jacob's family settles in Egypt, Act I of the epic of the children of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob comes to a close. With such an immense epiphany--that his dreams are realized and the future of his people secured--how could we expect Joseph to contain his emotions?
Additionally, sustaining brotherhood, one could argue, is humanity's first ongoing challenge, upon being escorted from Eden. After slaughtering his brother, Cain utters the timeless question, "Hashomer ahi anohi"--"Am I my brother's keeper" (Etz Hayim, Genesis 4:9)? Nahum Sarna asserts in the JPS Torah Commentary of Genesis that "the sevenfold stress in this chapter on the obvious fraternal relationship of Cain and Abel emphatically teaches that man is indeed his brother's keeper."
By repeating the Hebrew word for brother, "ah," in Genesis 45, Joseph responds as much to Judah's words and actions as to the first disastrous confrontation between the first siblings in the Torah. In other words, Joseph's emotional outburst stems from hearing Judah's passionate plea beyond their own family's story, in a larger context that affects all of the children of Adam and Eve.

The overarching challenge of being one's brother's keeper, however, continues throughout Genesis. Sadly, the partnership efforts of generation after generation become impeded and frustrated by jealousy, competition, and greed.

At the beginning of his amazing odyssey, for example, Joseph ventures to talk to his brothers on his father's behalf. Having lost his way, Joseph speaks to a stranger, who asks Joseph what he wants. "I am seeking my brothers" (Etz Hayim, Genesis 37:16), he says, which sounds like a straightforward request for his brothers' physical location, but constitutes, in actuality, a deep-seated desire to be in concert and live in harmony with his brothers. Furthermore, Joseph's words can be understood as his personal response, in the affirmative, to the question Cain posed generations before him--this is how he perceives one should be his brother's keeper.
In our story this week, Joseph is overwhelmed by Judah's compassion for his father, and for his brother, Benjamin. It is not only that Judah is willing to take the place of his brother, but that he does not want to contribute to his father's pain. Judah has learned from the loss of his own two sons what loss can do to one's soul. Aviva Zornberg expounds in Genesis: The Beginning of Desire: "Initiated into the fellowship of pain, Judah becomes capable of investing the whole force of his personhood into preventing its recurrence." With his compassion and courage, Judah demonstrates before Joseph's very eyes what it means to be a brother.
In the end, the significance of what Joseph learns surpasses even his wildest dreams. He loses control of his emotions because not only will his brothers be reunited, but also humanity has finally proven that it can shoulder the responsibility of brotherhood.

May our generation be blessed with compassion, mutual respect, and patience so that we can actualize the prophetic dream of mending our world into a global community replete with peace, love, prosperity, understanding, and most importantly, sisterhood and brotherhood.

Rabbi Charles E. Savenor is the Director of Kehella (Congregational) Enrichment for United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism.