Chopping Wood

Change of Place and Identity - Thoughts After Yom Kippur

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 07:12:00 +0000

About a year after we arrived in Michigan, Rena and I went out for dinner to celebrate my birthday. We took in a late dinner at Milk and Honey (ob"m), and then decided to head to a movie. I wanted to see the new Spiderman movie and the movie had already been out about two months, so we figured that the theater would be pretty empty.
It was. As we walked in, it was clear that not many people were out to see Spiderman on a Sunday evening eight weeks after its release. Not many - other than the two families from the Young Israel of Southfield (the other Young Israel in Michigan) that were sitting five rows behind us.
"Hey Rabbi! How's it going?" they asked good-naturedly. While I was somewhat taken aback, they didn't seem perturbed that I was in a movie theater.
"Should we call you the Spider-rabbi?" I didn't get it, but I think it was a half-hearted attempt at humor. Looking back, perhaps they themselves didn't expect to end up in a movie with a rabbi, and it was they who were uncomfortable, and not me.
At that moment, I turned to Rena and said, "You know what I just realized? That I can never do anything at all anywhere in this community, and not expect the entire communty to know about it."
And I was right - that's just the way it is for shul rabbis.

The frightening imagery of the Unetaneh Tokef prayer prominentls highlights the seriousness of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur: "Who shall live, and who shall die? Who by water and who by fire?" And yet, at the conclusion of the prayer, we find some consolation in the crescendo,

ותשובה, ותפילה, וצדקה מעבירין את רוע הגזרה

And repentance, prayer and charity remove the evil of the decree

(Parenthetically, we should note an important aspect of this phrase: first of all, it does not mean that these three acts remove the evil decree, as many mistakenly believe. If so, the prayer would have said, מעבירין את הגזרה הרעה. Rather, they remove the harshness - the evil of the decree. For a fascinating lecture on this issue and much more about Unetaneh Tokef, listen to this lecture by my teacher Rabbi Jacob J. Schacter at YUTorah.org)
Most authorities agree that the author of this prayer derived the highlight from a well-known gemara in Rosh Hashanah (16b):

ואמר רבי יצחק: ארבעה דברים מקרעין גזר דינו של אדם, אלו הן: צדקה, צעקה, שינוי השם, ושינוי מעשה. צדקה - דכתיב +משלי י+ וצדקה תציל ממות, צעקה - דכתיב +תהלים קז+ ויצעקו אל ה' בצר להם וממצקותיהם יוציאם, שינוי השם - דכתיב +בראשית יז+ שרי אשתך לא תקרא את שמה שרי כי שרה שמה, וכתיב וברכתי אתה וגם נתתי ממנה לך בן, שינוי מעשה - דכתיב +יונה ג+ וירא האלהים את מעשיהם, וכתיב +יונה ג+ וינחם האלהים על הרעה אשר דבר לעשות להם ולא עשה. ויש אומרים: אף שינוי מקום, דכתיב +בראשית יב+ ויאמר ה' אל אברם לך לך מארצך, והדר ואעשך לגוי גדול ואידך - ההוא זכותא דארץ ישראל הוא דאהניא ליה.

Said Rabbi Yitzchak: four things rend apart a man's decree, and they are: charity, crying out, changing of one's name, and changing of one's actions. Charity - as it is written, "and charity shall save [one] from death." (Proverbs 10) Crying out - as it is written, "and they cried out to God in their anguish, and from their desperation he removed them." (Psalms 107) Changing of the name - as it is written, "Your wife Sarai, her name shall no longer be Sarai, rather her name shall be Sarah," (Genesis 17) and it is written, "And I shall bless her and I will also grant her a son." Changing of one's actions - as it is written, "And the Lord saw their actions," (Jonah 3) and it is written, "and the Lord regretted the evil that He had spoken to do to them and he did not do it." Some also say, even changing one's place, as it is written, "And God said to Avram go forth from your land," (Genesis 12) and then, "and I will make you into a great nation." And the other opinion says, that is the merit of the Land of Israel that helped him.

We readily recognize three out of the four from the prayer: charity and crying clearly refer to charity and prayer from Unetaneh Tokef. Moreover, changing of one's actions seem to signify a sense of repentance - the teshuvah from the prayer. Yet, aside from the fact that the the final two (or one and a half) - change of place and change of name - never appear in the text of Unetaneh Tokef (a subject Rabbi Schacter addresses wonderfully), they seem to challenge our sense of what Teshuvah is all about.
I'd like to focus on one of the two - the change of locations, and ask a simple question; why should the fact that I relocate from one place to another have any bearing on my spiritual standing before God? What difference does it make whether I reside in Oak Park, Michigan, or Silver Spring, Maryland or Yad Binyamin, Israel, if I'm still the same person?
While intellectually the question makes a great deal of sense and I truly had difficulty answering these questions, this year I came to an appreciation for the teshuvah of "changing of one's place." This year I think I understand. I came to realize that teshuvah is much more than an intellectual process. It can encompass a great deal of emaotion turmoil, and probably should.

To what degree do we evaluate and justify ourselves by the way that those around us relate to us? After all, I've lived in a community for a number of years; I've been active and involved, made friends and business relationships. Not only do others know who I am - I know who and what I am by the way that they relate to me. When I walk into shul, or a friend's home or a business, they recognize me, acknowlege me and in a very real sense establish who I am in my own mind. I don't need to search for my place. I have a place both physically but metaphysically as well: I'm the philanthropist (or the tightwad); I'm the shul talker (or the guy who never talks in shul); I never listen to the rabbi's speech (or never miss a word). Everyone expects me to be who they recognize, and I don't disappoint. It's that very sameness - the expectations of those who surround us that keep us constant and steady.
But what if one day you woke up in your own community and no one recognized you. The lady at Starbucks didn't give you your regular cup, because she doesn't know what you want. Would you buy soemthing different, or just the same cup of coffee that you do every day? Probably get the same. But then your secretary didn't know how to handle your emails. And your coworkers didn't know what to expect from you. And your kids didn't know what set you off or made you happy. Would you still act and react the same way you always did? We'd be thrown for a loop, because we'd need to reevaulate our actions, interactions and reactions - because you could no longer take anything for granted.
And what if you had a position in your community, and woke up one day and it was gone. You were just a regular Joe like everyone else. Would you still act the same? Would you still have the same expectations of yourself, and everyone else around you?

That's what happened to me this year.

Perhaps the most difficult aspects of serving as a communal rabbi is the "fishbowl" phenomenon. Everyone's watching you. They're looking at what you do, what you buy, who you greet, who you don't. They see you even when you don't see them, and care not only about what classes you give and hospitals you visit, but what movies you watch - or whether you watch them at all. And while it's really hard to maintain that constant sense of vigilance and attentiveness at all times in public, there's another side to it as well.

You get used to the fact that people know who you are. When you walk into shul, they subtely acknowledge your presence; they're (usually) comforted that you're there. When you walk into a shiva house or hospital, they visibly relax. They wait for you to finish davening in shul, and for you to make kiddush before anyone starts eating. When you visit them for a meal, it's a big deal - an honor.

I don't kid myself. I'm quite aware that it's not me personally - but my position as their rabbi. (Although I do think I'm a good guy also.) But that status - those reactions - become part of your psyche. You assimilate them, not necessarily in an egocentric way, but as a matter of identification. Being a rabbi wasn't just my job - it became in a sense a very real part of my identity, not just for others, but more importantly, for myself.

And then I moved to Isreal, left the rabbinate, and moved to another country. To be honest, people here know that I was a rabbi; I've spoken in shul here, give a regular gemara shiur, given a few classes and answered questions. But even to those people, while I'm a rabbi, I'm not their rabbi. And to most people here and all the Israelis, I'm just a regular person. A nice guy - somewhat knowledgable - but nothing special.

Which is just fine. I like my anonymity. I enjoy dressing casually in shul and around the community. I love not having to look around at the supermarket to make sure that I didn't miss saying hello (and inadvertantly insulting) someone.

But it's also very, very painful. If I'm not "Rabbi Spolter" - if I'm just Reuven Spolter, then while I know who I am, I've lost a very real part of "what" I am. I have to reassess: do I learn enough? What's my place supposed to be in my new community? What is it reasonable to expect of myself?

These are all questions that I never asked myself as a rabbi, because they more or less answered themselves. And they don't anymore. This last Yom Kippur - during davening actually - I finally became aware of the extent of this loss of self-identity and how much it was affecting me. And that's when the questions truly came to the forefront. I think this is part of what the Gemara means when it refers to "change of place." It's that sense of confusion, self-awareness and reevaluation from losing the surroundings you took for granted. It's about asking questions you never thought to ask.

Answering these very questions are the essence of what teshuva is all about. And they don't stop at Yom Kippur.

Yom Kippur is just the beginnning.

A Tale of Two Containers

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 12:20:00 +0000

Two containers. They look the same. They both have Hebrew writing. Except, if you look closely, the one on the left is fructose, our sweetener of choice. On the right, you'll find peglax, the Israeli equivalent of Metamucil.
Add Erev Rosh Hashanah. Mix well. And you get the following:
Rena was making challah for Rosh Hashanah. (Don't say it.) She reached for the white canester, which of course contained fructose, necessary to make the challah rise properly. (Don't say it). Little did she realize that yes, instead of taking the fructose, she took the peglax. (There, I said it.) They looked the same. They both have Hebrew and are the same size. And no, we didn't discover her mistake after eating the challah. Long before.
Lesson for today: Don't keep your Israeli laxative in the food pantry.
Now we know.
Shanah Tovah! Have a sweet (and regular) year!
From the Spolters

The Banking Crisis, Teshuvah, and Rosh Hashanah

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 09:45:00 +0000

Even in Israel we hear about the financial crisis plaguing US banks and sending shockwaves around the world. The combination of the devaluation of the dollar combined with the drop in the stock market has especially affected the poorest of Israelis, who count on donations from the US to make ends meet, as noted in this piece in the Jerusalem Post. (And not all of them learn in Kollel. Many are just poor.)
So, we all breathed a sigh of relief when the US government announced a massive bailout plan aimed at stemming the crisis, relieving the pressure on the banking industry, and returning Wall Street to normal. Many pundits - both political and financial from across the spectrum have come to agree that no matter how distasteful the bailout seems to be, non-intervention on the part of the government would bring even greater pain and calamity than the cost of the bailout.
It sounds true. But the bailout still bothers me - not because of my conservative "small-government" leanings. Rather, the bailout bugs me because of teshuvah - or the lack of it.

Rambam, along with so many other authorities, divide the process of repentance into a series of steps. First, one must regret one's past. Then I have to abandon the sin -- in essence, stop sinning. I must also confess my sin, either before God, if it's a ritual sin, or to my fellow man, if I harmed him in some way. Finally, I must definitively decide to never again return to my sinful ways. I must make a commitment never to transgress that sin again in the future. Without any one of these components, one cannot call himself truly "repentant." There is no real teshuvah. After all, can one truly call himself repentant if he doesn't regret his behavior? Or if he cannot commit himself to change in the future? Each and every component carries critical weight; without it teshuvah is lacking and faulty.
What then is the sin of the banking crisis plaguing Wall Street? Who is the guilty party - the sinner that must repent? While one might want to point the finger at some executive, who made the bad bets that sealed his or her bank's fate, that's only partly true. To my mind, we are all guilty. We're guilty of trying to transform a system designed to foster economic vitality and growth into a monetary printing press. We didn't just want our investments to grow. We wanted them to skyrocket, because normal, slow growth wasn't enough. In essence, we have been guilty of the cardinal sin of greed.
For some reason, I've always been a "buy and hold" kind of investor. My uncle bought me two shares of Dow Chemical for my Bar Mitzvah, and I've still got them. Only now they're six shares and worth several times their original value. But that type of investing doesn't really work right now. You see, investors aren't interested in slow growth; they're interested in meteoric growth. They don't want to know that you've made money for the past forty years. They want to see that you've got a plan to make significantly more money in the near future, or else your stock isn't worth holding on to -- and then it's not worth that much at all.
Shareholders get it, as do corporate executives, so they take steps that might not be in their long-term best interest to spur short-term growth. They front-end their stock options, and don't make plans for a viable long term future. I owned UPS for five years. UPS is a great company; it serves a need worldwide, and makes money year after year. And yet, its stock is worth less now than it was when I bought it. That's the world of investing in which we live today.
Banks got it too. It was not enough to make small profits by lending money to solid potential homeowners. That didn't bring a large enough return. So they started making even larger bets, and enjoying larger returns, a process that only fed upon itself. Until the whole house of cards came crashing down.
I really do feel that this crisis is something that we've all created and fed. Unless we all change fundamentally; unless we change our outlook on work and investing; unless we stop viewing the stock market as some type of slot machine that will safely and reliably keep on making payouts - we will only revisit this crisis again.
Which brings me to my problem with the government's bailout. I really do understand what it's trying to prevent: recession bordering on depression, rising unemployment, widespread misery. Who wouldn't want to avoid such a disaster?
And yet I wonder: Other than that scenario - other than real pain, spread throughout the country, and even the world - what can possibly change the underlying attitude that brought us this crisis in the first place? Where is the teshuvah? Where is the regret about the past? Where is the commitment not to commit the same sin in the future? Sure, the goverment will provide oversight, but how can government even hope to reign in a normal emotion and desire without the need to worry about the consequences?
From another vantage point, the US government is only going to make things worse: all it's really done is shown people that no matter what bad decisions they make; no matter how greedy they get and no matter how much money they lose - it won't be their responsibility. They won't have to pay the price. Someone will step in and save them.
Until someone won't.
I worry about the next time. Where is the US getting the $70 billion to finance this bailout? We're borrowing the money, of course. That's a lot of money to borrow. Who's lending us the money? What's going to happen when someone - or everyone - loses confidence that the US government - the biggest bank of all - can pay back all that money that it owes?
Then we'll have a run on the biggest bank - us - and every other bank as well. And then the "depression" that we're avoiding this year will seem small in comparison, a minor scrape compared to the terrible trauma we will then endure. And the US government will be powerless to prevent it.
I truly believe in the power of pain. No one likes pain, but everyone grows from it. In fact, pain is our most effective symbol of growth. Pain is also our natural radar system, warning us when we're going too far. Imagine a child born without the ability to feel pain. Rather than fortunate, that child must be watched and guarded at all times, because he has no ability to sense just how dangerous his actions might be. What about the parent constantly shielding his daughter from painful situations? Is that protection productive? Hardly, because his daughter never learns how to navigate life situations on her own.
And that's what's happened to us - to American society. In our unwillingness to feel any pain at all; to suffer through the relatively mild pain of a recession, we are losing any ability to sense our own limits. Run out of money? Borrow on a credit card. Maxed out your credit card? Refinance your house. Until no one wants to buy that house, and the bank forecloses. What's going to happen when the foreclosure isn't on Main Street, but on Wall Street?

It sounds depressing. It really is scary. But I cannot see how I'm misreading this situation. Am I missing something? Is there a silver lining? Is there any way that our society of debt - and living beyond our means, both as individuals and as a society - can escape unscathed? I don't see how.

But I sure hope I'm wrong.

I Did Not Miss Selichot. But What if I Had?

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Sun, 21 Sep 2008 16:26:00 +0000

I daven in a shul that has a minyan at 6:30am, followed by a second minyan at 7:30am. Because last night we recited Selichot for the first time at 12:30am, we had no need to arrive early for the morning davening.
After the first minyan ended, as I sat learning my morning mishnayot, a young boy - he looked about eleven - approached me. Would there be selichot, he asked me, before the 7:30 minyan. I didn't think so, but told him to ask the gabbai. The gabai told him matter-of-factly that because we had recited selichot during the night, there would not be an additional selichot in the morning.
The boy was crushed. Tears began to well in his eyes. He returned to his seat to wait for the second minyan to begin, and began to cry.
"Little boy," I called to him, "Come over here."
I showed him what he could recite from the selichot without the benefit of a minyan - reminding him to skip the י"ג מדות הרחמים - the 13 attributes of mercy of God - that require a minyan. When he learned that he could indeed, recite Selichot, he calmed down, returned to his seat, and began to pray.
And I wondered: what if I had missed selichot this morning - or any morning for that matter? Would I be upset, or would I simply chalk it up as "one of those things - what can you do?" Would I ever be so upset that it could bring me to tears?
I didn't think so.
I've got work to do.

A Shopping Trip, Israel and Parshat Ki Tavo

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 17:53:00 +0000

Today Rena and I went shopping. Actually, we went to the bank to get a loan for our car, and truth be told, it was a pretty good experience. The bank gave us a great rate (plus a discount on the loan), and the service was terrific. We waited almost no time, and were dealt with promptly and efficiently. (I know what you're thinking. Yes, this is Israel. Go to Bank Leumi in Kiryat Malachi, and speak to Dani. He's the manager.) While we were signing over and over again, I asked the woman helping us who she got auto insurance with. Not only did she tell me the name and give me the number, she picked up the phone and called them for us. That's Israel. It's like a big family.
In any event, we had some extra time, so we went to get a cup of coffee. Now in the States, you can also get a cup of coffee, but because it was a kosher coffee shop, we were able to drink our coffee not in the cheap paper cups, but in the glass mugs. It was just a pleasant experience that I really was never able to have in the U.S., and I appreciated being able to have it in Israel.
Then we went to the grocery store, where it's impossible to forget that Rosh Hashanah is coming. You walk into the store and there's a big sign that says, "Shanah Tovah!" The honey display is quite large as well. I even got into a small discussion with a middle-aged man about the sugar-free items in the health aisle of the store.
Finally, on the way out Rena bought a pizza at the store next to the grocery store, and she ended up having a nice discussion with the "secular" guy making pizzas about Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Rena commented on the fact that she never looks forward to Yom Kippur, and that it's a hard day. He told her that he always likes the day, because he feels spiritually cleansed and rejuvinated afterwards.
While each of these little vignettes aren't that special, put together I came away from a simple shopping trip with a great sense of positive warmth. While in America all our efforts go into living a Jewish life - who we congregate with; what we eat; where we go, in Israel, that life surrounds us in so many ways big and small.

All of this caused me to pause at a specific phrase that grabbed my attention from this week's parhsha. Ki Tavo begins with the מקרא ביכורים, the special declaration that each person must make when he brings his first fruits to the Kohen in the Beit Hamidash. Yet, even before he presents the bikkurim to the Kohen, the Torah tells us that,

וּבָאתָ, אֶל-הַכֹּהֵן, אֲשֶׁר יִהְיֶה, בַּיָּמִים הָהֵם; וְאָמַרְתָּ אֵלָיו, הִגַּדְתִּי הַיּוֹם לַיהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ, כִּי-בָאתִי אֶל-הָאָרֶץ, אֲשֶׁר נִשְׁבַּע יְהוָה לַאֲבֹתֵינוּ לָתֶת לָנוּ.

And you shall come to the priest that shall be in those days, and say unto him: 'I profess this day unto the LORD your God, that I have come to the land which the LORD swore to our fathers to give us.'

The verse caught my eye because as I was reading it, I felt that I was reading about myself, and my family. כי באתי אל הארץ אשר נשבע ה' לאבותנו לתת לנו - I have come to the Land which God swore to give to our fathers. I truly have. It's exciting and chilling to personalize the words of Torah in such a meaningful way.
But the verse bothered me as well.
Rambam writes that this text is actually part of the ceremony of bringing the bikkurim. The farmer must put the basket of fruit on his shoulder and make this declaration to the Kohen. But this statement made me wonder: What does the farmer mean when he says, "that I have come to the Land which God swore to our fathers to give us"? Is that really true. Truth be told, he was probably born in Israel. He's lived there his whole life. He's never been anywhere else. Why then does he tell God and the Kohen that he has come to the land, when that in fact is untrue?
Kli Yakkar suggests that we cannot really call the Land our own until we have given of it to another. Only when we share the bounty of the land with others can we take ownership over the land that God has given us.
Which, I guess is really the point. The beauty of Israel is really the community; the fact that since everyone here is Jewish, we can, for the most part, eat together. We share holidays together. We wish each other a shanah tovah. We share our health issues with strangers, because we're not supposed to be strangers. And maybe that's when the Land truly becomes ours.

Parshah Questions for Kids - Ki Tavo 5768

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Mon, 15 Sep 2008 18:56:00 +0000

Here's this week's PQK. Have a great week!

Parshah Questions for Kids - Ki Tetze

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Tue, 09 Sep 2008 16:21:00 +0000

Here's this weeks PQK. Enjoy!

Out of the Mouths of Babes

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Thu, 04 Sep 2008 12:35:00 +0000

Leah, not really realizing it, put me in my place.

Me: "Hi Leah. How was school today?"

Leah: "Great!"

Me: "Yeah? What did you do?"

Leah: "Well, first we had davening, then we had art and made glue. Then we learned how to cross the street. Then we learned about a rabbi."

Me: "Oh yeah, which rabbi?"

Leah: "Not you."

Parshah Questions for Kids - Re'eh

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Fri, 29 Aug 2008 08:15:00 +0000

This week I've changed the format a bit, and the parshah questions are all on the first aliyah of the Parshah, and also on the Rashis on that piece, so you can do the questions out of the chumash.

Click here for Parshah Questions for Kids
Click here for Parshah Questions for Kids with Answers

Table Talk - Re'eh 5768: God's Place

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Fri, 29 Aug 2008 07:27:00 +0000

In no less than five places in Chapter 12, Moshe refers to the“place which the Lord your God shall choose.” (see verses 5, 11, 14, 18 and 21):

כִּי אִם-אֶל-הַמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר-יִבְחַר ה' אֱלֹהֵיכֶם, מִכָּל-שִׁבְטֵיכֶם, לָשׂוּם אֶת-שְׁמוֹ, שָׁם--לְשִׁכְנוֹ תִדְרְשׁוּ, וּבָאתָ שָּׁמָּה.

וְהָיָה הַמָּקוֹם, אֲשֶׁר-יִבְחַר ה' אֱלֹהֵיכֶם בּוֹ לְשַׁכֵּן שְׁמוֹ שָׁם--שָׁמָּה

כִּי אִם-בַּמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר-יִבְחַר ה', בְּאַחַד שְׁבָטֶיךָ--שָׁם, תַּעֲלֶה עֹלֹתֶיךָ

כִּי אִם-לִפְנֵי ה' אֱלֹקיךָ תֹּאכְלֶנּוּ, בַּמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחַר יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ בּוֹ

כִּי-יִרְחַק מִמְּךָ הַמָּקוֹם, אֲשֶׁר יִבְחַר ה' אֱלֹקיךָ לָשׂוּם שְׁמוֹ שָׁם

The appearance of such similar language in such close proximity is striking. Clearly Moshe places great emphasis on "the place", so much so that if forms a central them in Parshat Re'eh.
What is this unnamed place that Moshe repeatedly refers to in the Torah? Midrash Sifrei (on Devarim 72:5) answers based on the rest of the verse: לשכנו תדרשו ובאת שמה -- “unto His habitation shall you seek.” You seek and find, and then the prophet will tell you. This is what we find with King David [who sought out the Temple Mount in Jerusalem]. And how do we know that he followed the instructions of the prophet? As it is written, '[The prophet] Gad came to David on that day and said to him, Go up, build an altar unto the LORD in the threshing-floor of Araunah the Jebusite,' the location of the Temple Mount in Jerusalem today.,
It's fascinating to me that in the tradition of the Midrash, Yerushalayim is not something that God chooses unilaterally and we accept. If He had done so, it would have been fine with us. But that's not the case. It must be a place "that we seek" together with God. It's not a one-way street. It's a partnership between God and the Jewish people. Sure, he shows us the place, but we must seek it, build it and establish it as His holy city.

Parshah Questions for Kids - Eikev

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 11:27:00 +0000

Here's this week's installment of Parshah Questions for Kids. Just as an aside, I started asking my kids parshah questions about a year ago, giving them jelly beans (my personal favorites are Jelly Bellies) when they'd get a question right. It turned into an immediate ritual, with Jelly Bellies flying all over the dining room, but with the parshah as an integral part of our Shabbat table. Right after we finish the challah, my kids are already shouting, "Questions! Questions!" Even if you don't give the kids the sheets to fill out before Shabbat, feel free to use the questions (with or without answers) as a great tool at the Shabbat table.

The parshah questions are based on the Mibreishit Sheet for Kids from last year. The sheets are available here.
Download the parshah question sheet here.

Table Talk for Eikev - And Some "Last Minute" Aliyah Stories

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Sun, 17 Aug 2008 04:00:00 +0000

As many of you already know, we did not sell our home before we moved to Israel. Sure, we tried to sell our home. And someone even made an offer on the home, and went through the process of having the house inspected. So when he called me to tell me that based on the inspection they decided that they didn't want to buy the house, I was, to say the least, upset. It really sent us right back to the drawing board. As the time for us to depart Michigan approached, I started making arrangements to have someone show the house to potential renters; someone else gracefully agreed to make sure that the rental went through - all in all, everyone in Oak Park was truly generous with their time and energy to try and help. Yet, it's somewhat disconcerting to leave town without having taken care of our single biggest expense - our home.
On Wednesday evening, I decided to try again on Craigstlist and see if someone might want to rent the house. It was a last-ditch effort, as Friday was July 4th, and we were scheduled to leave on Sunday, which we did. Thursday morning I got two calls about the house, and showed them both Thursday afternoon. Both actually filled out applications. When we called the family that we preferred to ask them if they still wanted the house and they answered in the affirmative, we asked them, "When would you like to take possession of the house." They said, "Would Monday be too soon?" Actually, it would not. While we were packing on Sunday they came and got the keys, and they took the house on Monday.
If that sounds like last minute, wait until you hear about our minivan: because we were making aliyah from Edison, where my inlaws live, we needed to keep our minivan until the last week. Then I figured that I would sell the car in New Jersey. After all, I had sold my other car on Craigslist in less than twenty-four hours. So how hard could it be to sell a Honda Odyssey minivan - a really great car. As it turns out, harder than I thought.
I looked on kbb.com (Kelly Blue Book) to estimate the value of the car, underpriced it a little, and posted the car for sale. No bites. Nothing. So I waited a bit. Towards the end of the week, I was getting a little nervous, so I took it to a local used car dealer who looked at the car and called me on Thursday afternoon to let me know that he could only offer half of what I thought I would get. Half. (That's a lot of money.) It turns out the car wasn't worth as much as kbb.com said it was, and he would also have to have work done to make the car new enough for him to sell off his lot. So, he advised me to try and sell it myself (with two days to go), where I'd do much better. So I posted to Craigslist again, with a much lower asking price. I got a couple of calls - and one email from someone who might be interested, but he wasn't sure.
One family came Friday, said that they loved the car, and would most definitely buy it on Sunday, but that their father had to come look at it and bring the money. Great. They call me Sunday morning (Shiva Asar B'tamuz), tell me that they're coming in the evening, and that they're really buying the car. Again, great.
They show up around 6pm, get in the car, take it for a spin to show the father, and get out of the car with long looks on their faces: "Sorry." What do you mean sorry? "It has stains that won't come out, so we don't want the car." What do you mean? Your wife and son saw the car last Friday, and didn't say a word? "Sorry." (To this day, I still don't know if he was trying to bairgain for a lower price or not.) So they walked away, the night before we're supposed to go to the airport and fly off to Israel. That's that.
But it wasn't. On a lark, I called the guy who had emailed me. Do you want the car? Perhaps. OK, I told him, but you have to come see the car tonight - or I can't sell it to you. Can you come? He could. You understand that it's a family car - it has some stains in it? He did.
He came, liked the car, and said that he would bring his mechanic the next morning. OK, we told him, but we need to have the car back by 9:30am so that we can load it up to get to the airport.
8:00am - my cellphone rings: "Reuben, my mechanic won't come to the house. He's kind of old, and wants to bring the car to his garage. Can you do it?" Sure, why not. After all, we're only moving 5,000 miles away today.
His mechanic looks at the car, tells him that it's fine, and we drive back to my inlaws. Now I'm out of time. We have to load up, no easy feat with nine of us going (including three inlaws coming with), and twelve bags that had to fit in a minivan and a small car. My buyer tells me: I need to go to the bank to get the money for the downpayment - he would give my father-in-law the rest later on in the day. Fine. Whatever. To be honest, I wasn't really sure whether he'd also decided to change his mind, and in the back of my head something told me that I wasn't going to see him again.
We stuffed ourlseves in the cars. We're about to leave. The kids are getting antsy. And finally, as I'm getting into the driver's seat, the buyer of the minivan pulls up, gets out of his car, and hands me the cash for the downpayment.
How's that for last minute? I really can't think of any way that it could get any closer.
Why do I tell you all this? First of all, because I think that they're really great stories. But also because I couldn't help but think of both of these "last-minute" stories when I read a great d'var Torah from the Ohr Hachayim on Eikev in a book called "Ma'ayan Hashavua."
Ohr Hachayim notes the strange language found at the beginning of the Parshah:
והיה עקב תשמעון את המשפטים האלה -- "and it will be because you listen to these commandments" (Devarim 7:12). What is the meaning of the word והיה - "and it will be"? He explains that the word והיה always connotes joy, as it says in the Midrash, אין והיה אלא לשון שמחה -- "the word והיה always refers to a state of joy." What does this have to do with listening to the commandments? In his second answer he says, שאין שמחה לאיש אלא בסוף השמיעה -- "a person only experiences joy at the end of [his] hearing."
Sometimes, in the middle of a process, it can be difficult to see the joy during the middle. But then, oftentimes later on at the "end" - בסוף השמיעה -- it becomes easier to see the larger process from hindsight, to understand that God's hand had been behind life's events all along.

New Chopping Wood Feature - Parshah Questions for Kids

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Fri, 15 Aug 2008 06:50:00 +0000

During these slow summer months, I find it very hard to review the parshah with my children, and when we come to the table, because they don't have school, they don't know what's in the parshah. So, I made up a parshah sheet for them, which, if all goes well, will be an ongoing feature here on the blog. Feel free to tell your friends!

The parshah questions are based on the Mibreishit Sheet for Kids from last year. The sheets are available here.
Download the parshah question sheet here.
Download the parshah question sheet with answers here.

Tisha B’av and Ganei Tal

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Sun, 10 Aug 2008 13:39:00 +0000

I started noticing the small signs just a few days after I arrived. In truth, they were unmistakable. A note in a car here; a comment there. But only over the last few weeks has it begun to sink in to me. Today, on Tisha b’Av, the day we set aside to commemorate and mourn Jewish tragedy and loss, I find myself focused on the evacuees from Gush Katif, specifically the citizens of Ganei Tal. Three years ago, almost to the day, the government of Israel evicted the citizens of the twenty-one communities that comprised the Jewish towns throughout the Gaza strip. Then it destroyed their homes, one by one, until the lives that they had spent the last three decades building were nothing but piles of rubble.
In truth, my new life rests firmly on their tragedy, giving me a small, vague sense of guilt. Personally, I had nothing to do with the expulsion from Gush Katif. Politically, I opposed the plan. So then why do I feel guilty? I’ll explain.
Because the residents of Gush Katif refused, under any circumstances to believe and accept that their government would actually carry out the eviction plan, they made almost no plans for the day after. Following the disengagement, they found themselves dazed, homeless, and bereft of their possessions and livelihoods. After spending three months in temporary lodging, the government sent the people of Ganei Tal, en masse, to a small caravilla-city on the outskirts of a small yishuv called Yad Binyamin, found in the Sorek region about twenty miles west of Jerusalem. In addition, the Torat Chaim Yeshiva, formerly located in Neve Dekalim, the largest settlement in Gaza, relocated to a new home in a formerly closed school in Yad Binyamin. Almost instantly, a small, lazy town of thirty families found itself host to a community several times its size with a yeshiva to boot. The residents of Ganei Tal settled into their new, albeit tiny homes, tried to find jobs, and rebuild their lives following their eviction from the only home that they had known.
This being Israel, someone realized that there might be money to make in Yad Binyamin. And he – actually they -- were right. Yad Binyamin presented a wonderful real estate opportunity. Just a forty-minute drive from Jerusalem, thirty from Tel Aviv and sitting right on the brand new Highway 6, Yad Binyamin could offer large, spacious homes within reasonable commuting distance of good jobs. Moreover, with the yeshiva anchoring the community and the Israeli residents of Ganei Tal serving as a base, the community would attract Torah oriented religious Zionists looking to buy new homes outside of the regular overpopulated areas. Two years ago the building began, and Yad Binyamin has experienced a tremendous period of growth and expansion – as well as skyrocketing home values for those lucky enough to have bought their homes on paper at the beginning.
Today, Yad Binyamin continues to expand at a breathtaking pace. New families move into their homes weekly. I watch from my back porch as the construction on our new shul continues apace, hopefully to be completed in time for Rosh Hashanah. Today, the residents of Ganei Tal find themselves not on the outskirts of Yad Binyamin, but in the heart of town. Their arrival marked the beginning of the explosive growth of Yad Binyamin. Without their presence, I have no doubt that I would not be living here either.
Having just moved into my new home – large by Israeli standards, I walked to shul one morning through the caravilla-town of the residents of Ganei Tal, and realized that these residents lived not in nice homes, of brick and concrete like mine, but temporary small homes made from converted trailers. This past Shabbat my son said to me, again while walking to shul, that it was a good thing that we didn’t live in one of those houses. “Why?” I asked him. “Because our lift container was almost as big as those houses. There’s no way that we would have been able to fit our stuff into one.” Of course he was right. Our lift (a forty-footer, holding way too much stuff) was indeed almost as big as a trailer. And these people have lived in these trailers, every day of the year for the past three years, still waiting for their government to approve the construction of their new homes.
Last night, after reading Eichah, I visited the exhibit just put on display by the residents of Ganei Tal about their yishuv. I found myself unexpectedly, but profoundly moved. The exhibit graphically describes the birth of their yishuv in 1970, literally out of the sands of Gaza. They displaced no one. They took no unclaimed land. The Arabs of the area, they told me, informed them that the last people to plant successfully in the sands of Gaza were Abraham and Isaac. And yet they planted – and the earth, at least in their hothouses – sprouted forth. Every progressive photo documents the growth of the yishuv, the construction of even more and larger hothouses, to accommodate their ever-expanding agricultural industry.
Of course, on tables lie burnt shells and rockets; mortars that landed within the yishuv, fired at the residents for the crime of living in Gaza. And finally, the wall of the fallen; men and women who died in terrorist attacks, living their daily lives, traveling to work or walking near their homes. There aren’t many – five or six. But that’s five or six too many.
I learned about some of daily life in Ganei Tal; the community center, the makolet (small store); the municipal building and the shul. Another wall simply presents pictures of houses – beautiful homes, large even by American standards. The homes were surrounded by green grass, plants, trees – an oasis in the desert.
And as I looked at those pictures – those magnificent, gorgeous homes, I thougt of the homes the very same residents occupy today, a fraction of the size, stuck in the center of a town, as nice as it is, that they did not choose. And I turned to the next wall – a wall of Ganei Tal today – to find pictures of piles of rubble where homes once stood, and the shul – the only building left standing by the Israelis - now a shell of concrete, looted of any material that might be of any value.
Today, on Tisha B’av, I find my mind filled with thought of the people of Ganei Tal. My feelings are not really political. While I realize that many Israelis seethe with anger over the disengagement and even dream of returning to Gaza when the army inevitably reenters Gaza, I’m not so sure. In some ways, we’re far better off without the responsibility and demographic obligations of a million and a half Arabs who hate us. But Tisha B’av isn’t about politics. It’s about national and personal suffering. And as a nation – as a people, we suffered for two reasons: we suffered because the government of Israel felt that we needed to destroy Jewish communities, for whatever reason; and we suffered because we caused wonderful people, our Jewish brothers and sisters – immeasurable pain, pain that they still feel to this day, and probably will feel for the rest of their lives.
In America, I never gave them a second thought. Tsk, tsk – a terrible thing, the evacuation from Gaza. But these are real people, with real challenges and problems, struggling to make a life for themselves each and every day. And on Tisha B’av we need to ask the important questions: what did we do to cause their suffering? How did our behavior fail to save them, and us, from their fate? And, perhaps most importantly of all, what will we change to ensure that what happened to the people - the mothers and fathers and children of Ganei Tal, never happens again?

Thoughts on Fairness, Ethics and Jewish Leadership - Parshat Pinchas 5768

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 01:13:00 +0000

With the gut-wrenching swap this week between Hizbullah and the government of Israel, I felt motivated to write this piece about the nature of Jewish leadership and the ethical and moral commitment that we have to our soldiers, wherever they may be.
May the memories of Ehud Goldwasser and Eldad Regev be a source of strength for the Jewish people.

News as Entertainment - the Newseum in Washington

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 02:02:00 +0000

Last week, we took some time to visit the Newseum, the brand new museum dedicated to news opened sponsored by a consortium of organizations. Surprise, surprise -- the museum was "pro-news". Go figure. Actually, I enjoyed it quite a bit. I am, after all, a bit of a news junkie. But I found that the museum was more interested in the actual news events themselves than the way that news is covered per se.
Most alarmingly, I didn't see any attention given to the shortening and changing nature of news - and especially television news. It has become increasingly clear that the attention span of the average viewer has become increasingly shorter as time progresses. Yet, the museum did not really address the gradual shift from news coverage to sound bites and formulaic coverage. While the 4D infotainment movie about the news (straight out of Epcot Center and Universal Studios) was certainly fun and highlighted the contributions of Edward R. Murrow and the investigative reporting of Nellie Bly, the museum conveniently neglected the shrinking budgets of news services, increasing reliance on blogging, and the near eradication of investigative reporting.
A former member of mine (I left the shul, not her) recently left the newspaper business for precisely that reason; the lack of reporting integrity, the increasing pressure of coming in on deadline, and the inability to have the time and resources to do true community reporting.
The museum was certainly flashy and entertaining, but it lacked a sense of depth and seriousness in covering the news.
Kind of like news coverage itself. I guess in that way the Newseum presents an accurate depiction of the news.

A Rest Stop on the Jersey Turnpike

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 14:08:00 +0000

Passing by a rest stop on the New Jersey Turnpike - I think that it was the Woodrow Wilson stop, Rena wondered alound how they decide who to name the rest stops after. I wondered in response whether in fact it was an honor, and whether one could refuse. I imagine the following conversation.

"We'd like to name a rest stop after you."

Long pause.

"Gee...thanks. Can you think of something else?"

A Nation of Whiners

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 18:51:00 +0000

John McCain found himself in hot water yet again, when a close friend and advisor, Senator Phil Graham told the Washington Times that the nation is not in a recession -- it's more like a "mental recession," and that we've become "a nation of whiners." The backpedaling was fast and furious. McCain could not distance himself from Graham fast enough, telling a crowd in Michigan, "He doesn't speak for me, I speak for me," and quipping that the only post he would be eligible for is the "ambassadorship of Belarus." Ha ha. Keep your day job, John.

There's only one problem with Graham's comments. They're right on. We're not in a recession, as any economist will tell you. The country's economy, while certainly stalled and stagnant, continues to grow at a slow rate - almost one percent this past year. If the defenition of "recession" is negative economic growth (and it is), then we're clearly not in a recession. In addition, the dramatic and cataclysmic language that sells in the press and drives the economic frenzies that we watch on CNBC today have little to do with reality. Perception becomes the reality, and makes companies, organizations, people -- everyone - crazy. An article about the woes of the hotel business in the Washington Post entitled "Slide by Marriot Signals Distress for Hotel Industry" - sounds rather ominous, doesn't it -- describes Marriott's recent announcement of negative growth increases in per room revenue - called RevPar. While it sounds pretty bad, it simply means that the increase -- the rate at which the income per room goes up year after year -- will be less this year than last year. So, if the revenue per room increased by 1.5 percent last year, the increase will be less this year -- maybe 1 percent. In fact, the article in the Post is itself misleading, giving the impression that RevPar will decrease, when in fact it's only a decrease in RevPar growth -- it will grow this year less than last year.

Despite all that, revenue is down at Marriott. Last year during the 2nd Quarter, Marriot made $207 million. This year it only made $157 million. No, it didn't lose money, and there should be good reasons why it made twenty-five percent less money than last year, but the hysteria surrounding Marriott caused a steep sell-off of its stock dropping it to 52-week lows, and prompting the Washington Post to write, "Let there be no mistaking it now: The hotel boom is kaput."

Kaput? I'd love to be kaput and only make $157 million this quarter. Just ask Robert LaFleur, an analyst with Susquehanna Financial Group, (also quoted in the Post article) who said: "Let's keep everything in perspective. They are calling for RevPar growth in North America to be down 1 percent. That's not exactly the Great Depression."

But in the recession-frenzied climate in which we find ourselves, no one can keep anything in perspective. Which brings me back to my original point.

We are a nation of whiners.

Sure, some people are suffering, having difficulties making their payments, having their houses foreclosed, forced to find other places to live. But is anyone starving in the streets?

I recently left Michigan on my way to Israel, and things are so bad there that I simply could not sell my house for an affordable price. There was no way, unless I was willing to sell for about $50 thousand less than the price I paid seven years ago. So the recession -- sorry - housing slump hurt me as much as the next guy.

But did it? I rented out my house to a couple who were foreclosed on their house. What happened to them is private information, but for reasons that were in some part beyond their control, they lost their house.

What happened to them? Are they on the street? No - they're both hard-working, great people. They both have good, stable jobs. So they rented my house, a four-bedroom home in a quiet neighboorhood with great neighbors. Is it as nice as their old home? Probably not. But can you say that they're suffering? Can you say that I'm suffering?

But if you ask the New York Times or Washington Post, of course we're suffering. As long as things aren't better today than yesterday, that's suffering.

All of this reminds me of the section in the Torah that describes the complaints of the Jewish people in the desert: (see Bamidbar 10:35) There the Torah tells us that the people were mitonenim - which Artscroll translates at "those who seek pretexts of evil," but really simply means "complainers." We recognize an onen from the laws of mourning -- we refer to someone who lost a close relative but has not yet buried him or her as an onen - a person in anguish. But a mitonen is someone who puts himself into that state of anguish -- notice the reflexive form of the verb. What troubled the mitonenim? The Torah doesn't tell us, but Rashi (on that verse) quotes the Midrash which tells us that they said, "Woe unto us, how much have we struggled on this journey -- three days without any rest!"

Sounds pretty spoiled -- doesn't it?

To my mind, the McCain campaign is floundering -- not just because he's old, can't really give a powerful speech, and represents the incumbent party during an economic downswing. The real problem is that he doesn't convey any vision. Whether you like Obama or not, his sweeping rhetoric engages an audience. It gives the listener a sense of vision for a better America. McCain does no such thing; it's just more of the same. We'll keep slogging along in Iraq until things are secure enough to come home. There are no easy answers on the economy. The current foreign policy of the Bush administration has been doing a pretty good job.

There's no vision. And without vision, there isn't going to be a victory either. To my mind, when asked about Graham's comments, he should have said, "You know what -- we are a bunch of whiners. All of us. Our soldiers are across the world fighting for us, and we're worried about whether we'll be able to afford the newest ipods." He should not extend the Bush tax cuts. Rather, he should take the money that the government would save and use it to pay down the national debt. He should advocate the idea that there must be a price to be paid by the average citizen during a time of war. And paradoxically, if we feel the war - if we sense that we're sacrificing too - I think that the American people would be more supportive of it. He needs to begin to speak about the notion of sacrifice for the country -- economic sacrifice, personal sacrifice, volunteerism, and a sense of dedication to something larger than ourselves.

These are all issues that he personally represents, and can advocate forcefully. In a sense, he needs to become more of a father figure for the country, instead of pandering to us and telling us how he's going to make it better.

Because he can't. And he won't. And unless he starts telling it the way it really is, we all better get ready for an Obama adminstration.

The Ideal Husband - and Jewish Love

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 23:28:00 +0000

Maureen Dowd published this piece in the New York Times this week about the qualities of an ideal husband. While it's certainly a nice list of advice, does it strike anyone as interesting that a priest who's never been married is an expert on marriage? Sure he's got years of counseling experience, but what role does life experience have? This reminds me of the halachah that someone who wants to be the shliach tzibbur for the congregation must be at least thirty years of age, and should preferably have (aside from a nice voice) a wife and children. There's simply no way to compare the prayer of a father and husband responsible for his wife and children to the worries and difficulties of a bachelor, no matter how studious, serious and well-meaning.
At the same time, Father Connor neglected the most important aspect of marriage that Hollywood loves to obscure: the difference between love and infatuation. Infatuation is the feeling of excitement, sexuality and obsession that kindles romanticism, sexuality and passion. Love, on the other hand, is a far deeper sense of mutual respect, identity and most importantly, giving and deviotion. Without that sense of dedication to the well-being to one's spouse, a marriage truly has no solidity or foundation. With it, romantic love can grow and flourish even in the absence of infatuation.
The Mishnah in Avot comments on the notion of lasting and ephemeral love, defining for us true love (which endures) and fleeting love (which does not):
(I'm translating in English - my Hebrew isn't working right now. I'll try and add later.)

Any love based on an external factor - if the factor becomes negated, the love is negated as well. [But love that is] not based on an external factor can never be negated. What is the love that is based on [an external] factor? This is the love of Amnon for Tamar. [And the love] that is not based on a factor? This is the love of David and Jonathan.

Amnon doesn't love Tamar. He lusts for her. Once he satisfies his lust, her very presence forces him to confront his terrible behavior and the fact that he could have raped her. So he transforms the lust and "love" he before felt into hatred and disgust. On the other hand, the love - platonic love and respect - that Jonathan and David feel for each-other represents a sense of respect, shared ideals and common goals. Therefore, even when David represents an existential threat to the very life of Jonathan, he cannot and will not abandon the friend he loves so much.
For marriage to succeed, it must be based on the Jewish concept of love. Jewish love is something that can be nurtured and developed, if one really wants to do so. If one has a sense of respect and admiration for another, and shares the same values, goals and ideals, true love can grow, develop and thrive. Give enough to that person, truly from the heart, and love will grow. On the other hand, infatuation, most often based on looks and sexual desire, usually fades. What's there to base a marriage on after that?
Unfortunately, when Hollywood's all you've got to go on - and that's true for most of America - we begin to understand the astounding and troubling divorce rates so prevalent in Western society today.

My Final YIOP Drashah - The Power of Optimism

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Sun, 06 Jul 2008 20:52:00 +0000

I’ve mentioned a couple of times that I’m on a Steven Ambrose kick; I finished “Band of Brothers,” so I now moved on to "D-Day". Towards the beginning of the book, he describes the difference in mentality between the Supreme Commander of the Allied Expeditionary Force, Dwight D. Eisenhower, and the commander of the German Army in the Western theater of France, Erwin Rommel. While Romell was a realist, cognizant of the difficulty of holding off an Allied landing in France, Eisenhower was an unrelenting optimist. An official US Army biography on Ike writes,

Through D-Day, Eisenhower's most marked characteristics were his unfailing
optimism about the success of the invasion and his determination to overcome all
obstacles that stood in its way.

That type of attitude filters down. When a leader exhibits optimism, positive energy and a can-do attitude, that attitude permeates his or her entire structure. Subordinates feed of that energy, and find ways to accomplish things they thought that they could not. Just think about the power of a simple word of encouragement. Just when you’re ready to give up – at a job, an assignment, a task – it doesn’t matter what. And then someone comes over and says, “You know, I know this is difficult, but I’m sure that you can do it.” How powerful such a simple expression can be! And how easy. And if optimism can bring energy enthusiasm, pessimism can destroy it. And that pessimism can be so dangerous, that it must be rooted out even at great cost.
Today we read about Moshe’s seemingly small mistake – the sin of מי מריבה – the waters of מריבה. The Torah describes a water shortage, and the complaints of the nation for water. God tells Moshe to approach the rock and speak to it – to ask it for water. Instead, Moshe gathers the people around the well, and instead of speaking to the rock says to the people, שמעו נא המורים, המן הסלע הזה נוציא לכם מים – “Listen please you bitter people. From this rock should we extract water from you?!” He then hits the rock twice, the rock gushes a torrent of water and everyone’s happy.
Except God. You see God had instructed Moshe to speak to the rock, not to hit it. God’s judgment is swift. יען לא האמנתם בי להקדישני לעיני ישראל – “Because you did not have faith in Me to sanctify Me in the eyes of the Jewish people,” לכן לא תביאו את הקהל הזה אל הארץ אשר נתתי להם – “therefore, you will not bring this congregation to the Land that I have given them.”
Virtually every פרשן is perplexed. OK – Moshe made a mistake. Yes, he hit the rock. But doesn’t it seem a little extreme? Doesn’t God seem a little harsh to take from Moshe his greatest single desire – to enter the Land of Israel – for such a seemingly small misstep?
Commentators offer scores of answers to this question – each one just a little different. I’d like to focus on one approach suggested in the Midrash. Quoting a פסוק in שיר השירים that refers to an orchard of almond trees, the Midrash compares leadership to climbing an almond tree.

האגוז הזה חלוק, מי שאינו אומן לעלות בו מיד הוא נופל, שצריך לשמור עצמו שלא
יפול הימנו, כך כל מי שמשרת את ישראל צריך לשמור עצמו שלא יטול את שלו מתחת ידיהם
כגון משה וישעיה ואליהו, משה אמר שמעו נא המורים (במדבר כ' י') ונאמר לא תביאו את
הקהל הזה (שם שם /במדבר כ'/ י"ב), ישעיה אמר ובתוך עם טמא שפתים אנכי יושב (ישעיה
ו' ה') מיד ובידו רצפה (שם /ישעיהו/ שם /ו'/ ו'), אליהו כי עזבו בריתך בית ישראל
(מלכים א' י"ט י' וי"ד) ונאמר ואת אלישע בן שפט [מאבל מחולה] תמשח לנביא תחתיך

Just as the almond tree is smooth and slippery, and one who does not know how to
climb it will fall immediately, so too anyone who serves the Jewish people must
guard himself not to take his hands out from under them, as did Moshe, Yishayah
and Eliyahu. Moshe said, “Hear please, you bitter ones,” and it says, “you will
not bring this congregation.” Yishayah said, “And I sit amongst a nation of
impure lips,” immediately [he was punished with] a burning stone. Eliyahu said,
“For the House of Israel has abandoned your covenant,” and it says, “and you
shall anoint Elisha ben Shafat as a prophet in your place.”

What’s the connection between these three examples? In what way do Moshe, Eliyahu and Yirmiyahu – three of our greatest prophets and teachers – fail? They don’t fail as much as they are no longer able to see only the positive. They have lost their rosy glasses. They cannot only see good in the Jewish people anymore. Moshe finally sees the people as, המורים – a bunch of bitter complainers. And that’s why he can no longer lead the Jewish people, because leaders must be eternal optimists. They must always be able to see the good in their people; their potential and beauty and energy, and see not their faults and shortcoming, but their potential to continue to build and grow.
Indeed, this sense of optimism has carried the Jewish people through the darkest imaginable times; through tiresome and tiring persecutions, pogroms and pillaging, hatred and Holocaust. And yet we persevere. Why? How? Because we’re eternal optimists. We have to be. It’s in our blood. Just look at the קדושה we said this morning.

ממקומך מלכנו תופיע – ותמלוך עלינו כי מחכים אנחנו לך
From Your exalted
place You will appear, and You will rule over us, for we are waiting for you.

Notice that we don’t say, מלוך עלינו, הופיע לנו – “please God, rule over us, reveal Yourself.” We don’t ask for that because we take we take it for granted. Of course God will redeem us. We just don’t know when. So why not now? Indeed, why not?
We don’t wonder whether the redemption will come. We know that it’s coming, in our sense of faith and belief and yes, eternal optimism. And we are commanded to know it as well – it’s the last of Rambam’s Priciples of Faith – אני מאמין באמונה שלמה – I believe with perfect faith. That’s not just faith. It’s optimism – the ability to overlook the darkness of the tunnel and see the light at the end.
Indeed, every great endeavor; every project or business or enterprise rests on a foundation of optimism. A good friend told me this week, “If you don’t ask, you get a ‘no’ one hundred percent of the time.” And he’s right. But to ask, I’ve got to think that the answer will be yes, because if I didn’t, I’d never ask in the first place. If I thought I’d fail, I’d never take that new job, or begin the new program, or move to Israel – because, “what’s the point if I’m only going to fail anyway”?
I am optimistic not just about the גאולה, but also about the power of community – and specifically this community, to achieve great things. Last week David Ungar spoke at סעודה שלישית, and he said that he loves coming to shul because here we witness the rebirth of Judaism before our eyes, and he’s right. But it’s only happening because the are, were and will be people who put their energies and efforts into the faith that our shul will continue to thrive and prosper.
Winston Churchill once said, “The pessimist sees difficulty in every opportunity. The optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.” These are difficult times in the US. A deflated stock market, and a terrible Michigan economy. It’s easy to see dark days ahead. But Churchill, who had a few things to worry about in his time, also said, “For myself I am an optimist - it does not seem to be much use being anything else.”
There will always be challenges and difficulties. The strength of this shul lies in the amazing ability of its members to see above them; to overcome them and continue to build and connect the Jewish people of this entire community to God. It has been an honor to lead this shul, to teach you and learn from you, and to speak from this pulpit week in and week out. And, as I leave you I can honestly say that the future of the Young Israel of Oak Park is very bright indeed.
It’s all up to you.

The Salvation Serpent - Table Talk for Chukat 5768

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 12:11:00 +0000

In one of the most unusual sections in the Torah, God commands Moshe to form a molten copper snake and place it on a stand in order to save the Jewish people from the bites of the deadly serpents tormenting the people. Moshe of course follows God's instructions. The Torah tells us that whoever was bitten by a snake would look at the copper serpent and be healed.
This episode leaves us with the obvious question: why would God instruct the Jewish people to create a symbol so similar to the idolatry that the Torah expressly forbids? Could this not lead to confusion and sin?
Rashi quotes the famous Mishnah in Rosh Hashanah:

Does the serpent kill or give life? Rather, whenever the Jewish people focus their gaze towards the heavens and subjugate their hearts to their Father in Heaven, they would be healed. And if not, they would perish. (Rosh Hashanah 29a)

Yet, the message of the rabbis in Mishnah begs the question: why create confusion? Why not simply instruct the people to look to God without the need for the serpent?
To my mind, the symbol of the serpent most accurately represents the challenge of faith in the physical world. Modern medicine uses that very symbol to represent the medical profession, and the healing power of medicine in the world. Isn't it ironic that the symbol God wants to represent faith in Him and His ability to heal us, now represents the power of modern man to heal, without need for God. We could ask the very same question as the Mishnah:

Does the doctor kill or give life? Rather, the sick must focus on God and subjugate their hearts to their Father in Heaven.

The doctor must do his job. He must act as the agent of God. But in the real world, we sometimes confuse the agent with whom he represents, and put our faith not in God, but in the doctor.
This is the message of the serpent - the danger of confusion. It's up to us to see through that confusion, and maintain our faith in God throughout the trials and tribulations of life.

Table Talk for Korach: Many, Many Mitzvot

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 12:33:00 +0000

Last week during the drashah/question and answer session, someone asked me how we know that there are exactly 613 commandments. I answered that I thought that it was an oral tradition that had become accepted over time. The source of the number 613 comes from the Gemara in Makkot 23b which states,

Rabbi Simlai taught: 613 commandments were told to Moshe (at Sinai); 365 correspond to the days of the year, and 248 correspond to the limbs of the human body.

The gemara then gives a proof for the number 613, from the famous verse: תורה צוה לנו משה -- "Moshe commanded the Torah to us." But the Gematria of Torah is only 611? (400+6+200+5) The gemara explains that while Moshe transmitted 611, we heard an additional two commandments from God Himself at Sinai.
In any case, the number of commandments, at least to me, seems less important than the message of the gemara relating the commandments both to the human body and the days of the year. Very often we view the commandments as burdensome; as obligations and responsibilities we must fulfill. So we find ways to do our duty in the most minimalistic way possible.
But by connecting the number of commandments with the human body and the days of the year, the gemara communicates the notion that commandments are, first and foremost, opportunities. Each day of the year can be infused with meaning. Every limb in the body has a purpose, and can achieve sanctity and holiness.
That's what Moshe tried to teach the Jewish people. It isn't the quantity or the number necessarily, that's as important as the quality of performance, and the connection with God that observance brings. If we find the meaning and connection, the numbers will come too.

Table Talk for Shelach 5768 - The Right to Wear the Uniform

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 12:07:00 +0000

I'm on a Steven Ambrose kick; after just finishing Citizen Soldiers, I picked up Band of Brothers, (yes, the one they made an HBO miniseries about) and just finished the first chapter. The book, which follows the journey of E Company of the 506th Regiment of the 101st Airborne from Normandy in 1944 to Germany and the end of World War II.
The first chapter describes the grueling nature of the training facing the troops who volunteered for the Airborne division -- far more intense and difficult than regular Army training. Yet, men pushed themselves harder and farther than they thought possible for the right to put the Airborne wings on their lapel and dress like a paratrooper. One soldier said, "We were all ready to trade our lives for the right to wear these accoutrements of the Airborne."
Shelach concludes with the commandment to wear tzitzit, the fringes on the corners of our four-cornered garments. (You might recognize this section as the third chapter of the Shema that we recite morning and night each day.) While we already know about the commandment to wear tzitzit, the section itself seems puzzling. We wear the tzitzit to "remember all the commandments of God and do them." (15:39) Yet, commentators wonder how the fringes of a garment remind us to perform mitzvot. Furthermore, the section concludes by mentioning the Exodus from Egypt: "I am the Lord your God who has taken you out of the Land of Egypt...". (verse 41). That's nice, and certainly interesting. But how does it relate to tzitzit?
I was thinking about tzitzit in light of the Airborne uniforms of the E company. What we wear and how we dress speak loudly about our identity; who we are, with whom we identity, and even how we behave.
Think of wearing tzitzit not an obligation or commandment, but a privilege. What if we saw putting those fringes of our garments not as a burden, but a mark of accomplishment and exclusivity? If we did, then putting on those tzitzit would instill in us both a sense of pride and also a sense of obligation -- the requirement to live up to the expectations of the uniform.
Now we can understand why God mentions yetziat mitzrayim (the Exodus) in the section of tzitzit. God brought us out of Egypt to become His people. And if we're going to dress in His uniforms, we better act like His soldiers, and purport ourselves in the proper fashion - by observing the laws of His Torah.
The mitzvah of tzitzit is what we call a mitzvah kiyyumit -- a mitzvah of fulfillment. Torah law does not require anyone to wear tzitzit. If one wears a four-cornered garment, then it must have those fringes. The decision to wear that four-cornered garment is entirely voluntary. (Common custom today mandates the wearing of a tallit-kattan during the daytime though.) It's almost as if God tells us, "You don't have to wear my uniform. But if you're going to put on the uniform, then wear those fringes with pride, and act like one of my soldiers, "So that you will remember and do all of My commandments." (verse 40).

Table Talk for Beha'alotecha 5768

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Fri, 13 Jun 2008 11:54:00 +0000

Life is full of second chances. If I didn't watch the game live, I can always watch it on my Tivo. If I "forgot" to pay my taxes, sooner or later the IRS will grant me an amnesty period to correct any oversight I might have made. Second chances give us the opportunity to make amends for errors or oversights we might have made.
Beha'alotecha gives us the Torah's most prominent second chance: Pesach Sheini. Those people who were tamei (ritually impure) during the offering of the korban Pesach approach Moshe with a problem. They missed out and want to offer the sacrifice. לָמָּה נִגָּרַע, לְבִלְתִּי הַקְרִיב אֶת-קָרְבַּן ה' בְּמֹעֲדוֹ -- "why should we be kept back, so as not to bring the offering of God in its proper time." (9:7) Moshe, repeats their request to God who answers in the affirmative, telling Moshe about the law of Pesach Sheini (the second Pesach). Essentially, God gives them a second chance, commanding pretty much anyone who did not bring the korban Pesach at the proper time to be sure to bring the offering the second time around a month later.
I can think of only one other case in Jewish law that deals with second chances. The gemara in Berachos teaches us that if a person forgot to recite a given Amidah or was prevented from doing so, he may "make up" that prayer at the next opportunity. Essentially, if I forget or cannot recite Shacharit on a given morning, I can (and must) recite two shemoneh esreh prayers at Minchah time; the first counts as Minchah, and the second counts as the Shacharit I missed that morning.
Yet, these examples have always left me wondering: why are these the only two prominent cases of second chances in Jewish law? If I forgot to eat matzoh at the Seder, or shake a lulav, or light Chanukah candles at the proper time, halachah offers no mechanism for me to make up those mitzvot. Why not? What's unique about the korban Pesach and prayer that demanded that we all get a second chance?
To my mind though, second chances have an even greater cost. If you can always do things over, that ability to repeat robs the event or activity of its meaning and import the first time around. Why bother trying very hard on my golf shot if I can just take a mulligan? Why make the effort to light candles on time if I can just do it next week? From this perspective, having a second chance isn't always the greatest blessing.
I most cases, you have to get it right the first time. Because there won't be a second chance.

Table Talk for Naso 5768 - Mesirat Nefesh

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Reuven Spolter) — Thu, 05 Jun 2008 15:01:00 +0000

We normally interpret the term mesirat nefesh, literally meaning “giving of life-force” to refer to someone willing to make significant sacrifice for the sake of God, Judaism or the Jewish people. This sacrifice can refer to great economic sacrifice, or even putting oneself in physical danger for the sake of a powerful cause.

But we that Rashi utilizes this term in our parshah in an entirely different context that might surprise us. Describing the consecration of the mishkan we find at the end of the parshah, the Torah begins the section by telling us, וַיְהִי בְּיוֹם כַּלּוֹת מֹשֶׁה לְהָקִים אֶת-הַמִּשְׁכָּן – “and it was on the day that Moshe completed the erection of the mishkan..” (7:1) Rashi and others immediately wonder: did Moshe alone build the mishkan? After all, Betzalel, Oholiav and numerous craftsmen, artisans and other workers invested their time, effort and energy to construct God’s home in the desert. Why then does the Torah specifically attribute the construction of the mishkan to Moshe?

Rashi explains: לפי שמסר נפשו עליו – because he “gave of his life” for the sake of the mishkan. In contemporary American term we would say that he was “moser nefesh.” In what way did Moshe sacrifice? Rashi elaborates: “to ensure the form of each and every item the way that God had shown him, to instruct the craftsmen, and he did not err in even one creation.” In essence, Rashi defines Moshe’s mesirat nefesh as an incredible attention to detail; an insistence on perfection in the construction of the mishkan and a tireless devotion to that cause.

At first glance, Rashi’s explanation does not corresponding to our normal definition of mesirat nefesh. Does attention to detail and meticulousness necessarily imply self-sacrifice? Or must we redefine mesirat nefesh in a new and different way?