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"Why did the Jewish person bring a ladder to the synagogue?
Because they heard the service was going to be uplifting! " This really is my hope each week. To bring some joy and levity to this community. Especially these days, when the news is grim and stress is high. Over the years I have noticed that my favorite teachers are the ones who make me laugh, while imparting their wisdom. From them I have learned to bring humor to shabbat services. Shosh says I am most funny on the bima. I am accepting that as a challenge. I need to bring more silliness to the rest of my life. We learn in the Talmud that when the month of Adar arrives, (as is the case today!), joy increases. The coming of Adar heralds the holiday of Purim. It broadcasts that Spring is coming. The days are getting longer, the sap is beginning to run, the earth is preparing to bloom. It is a strange and wonderful thing to feel religious pressure to express joy. Every year I find the spirit of Adar and the practice of Purim unexpectedly cathartic. This year, as the moon of Shevat began to wane and I realized Adar was on the horizon, I felt called to investigate my relationship to joy. I realized that right now, more than joy, I am trying to levitate, to experience more levity. I am seeing becoming more lighthearted as a spiritual pursuit, probably always but especially now. Which is to say, the giggles are very welcome. Many people want to know the secret to longevity. I am not a scientist or a doctor, but I have been spending a lot of time with Shosh’s grandmother, Harriet who is 102. Some decades ago she read that laughing can make you live longer. So she bought a book of jokes. At night, Harriet and her husband of 60 years, Al, would lie in bed, hold hands and read each other silly jokes. I am so endeared to this practice. From Harriet I have learned to lead with gratitude and encourage laughter. It's helpful to remember that laughing is good for us. I notice it loosens me up. Softens my shoulders. Makes me more forgiving, more flexible, more receptive. This Rosh Hodesh Adar, I am leaning into Grandma Harriet’s wisdom. I am in the market for some new jokes so I can take myself less seriously and fill my days with more levity. If you see me, feel free to tell me a joke. I am collecting them! What can you do to levitate? This joy, the world won’t give it to us. But we can give it to each other! For most of us, the image of God as King is uncomfortable. On Rosh Hashanah, we sweeten and swallow it with apples and honey. We mumble it in Hebrew blessings (eloheinu melech haolam), but when confronted with the English translations, we cringe and rewrite the metaphor.
But this week, God as King is strangely comforting to me. The entire rabbinic tradition of talking about kingship makes sense to me in a new way. As if to say, something compassionate, just, indivisible, and even ineffable is ultimately in charge, not you mortals who cannot control your desires for power and money. I noticed this spiritual shift as I was reciting Ashrei, an acrostic psalm we are instructed to say three times daily. Most weeks I am drawn to the word selah at the end of the first line, to the spacious pause it invites. But this week it is the letter mem that calls to me. It reads, מַלְכוּתְךָ מַלְכוּת כָּל עֹלָמִים, וּמֶמְשַׁלְתְּךָ בְּכָל דּוֹר וָדֹר Malkhutekha malkhut kol olamim, umemshaltekha b’khol dor vador Your kingdom shall last for ever and ever, and Your rule shall extend into each and every generation. I took refuge in the repeated emphasis on a divine monarchy in the heavenly realm. I have always been drawn to the midrashim that distinguish between a King of flesh and blood and Melech Malchei HaMelachim - the King of Kings, aka God, because they are a reminder that our ancestors conjured the image of God as King in contrast to the terrible monarchs of their time. And they took the time to reimagine a sovereign source of power that was in service to its subjects, not the other way around. I have been singing this line from Ashrei with fervor, reminding myself that for thousands of years Jews have lived under foreign rule that has not represented their best interest or their values. And we developed our own moral codes and spiritual hierarchies to counter the unjust hierarchies we lived under. On Thursday night, Rabbi Gila taught me and the KT teens a wild story from the Babylonian Talmud about Alexander, the Great (Tamid 32b). “After his death, Alexander arrived at paradise: He called out: Open the gate for me! A divine being from within the Garden of Eden called back: Only the righteous shall enter. He said to them: I too am worthy, as I am a king; I am very important. If you won’t let me in, at least give me something from inside. They gave him one eyeball. He brought it and he weighed all the gold and silver that he had against the eyeball, and yet the riches did not balance against the eyeball’s greater weight. He said to the Sages: What is this? Why does this eyeball outweigh everything? They said: It is the eyeball of a mortal person of flesh and blood, which is not satisfied ever. The Sages instructed to take a small amount of dirt and cover the eye. He did so, and it was immediately balanced by its proper counterweight. The eye is never satisfied while it sees what it wants.” Then and now, the richest men on earth, who dare to call themselves kings, are insatiable and unworthy of our allegiance. May we have the courage and clarity to honor our ancestors, to defy the will of tyrants and to live righteous lives worthy of the Garden of Eden. As we sing in Avinu Malkeinu, ain lanu melekh ela atah - there is no King but You! Such a desperate plea. May it be so. It is strange how often I find myself asking “What is Torah?”
As a rabbi, one might think the answer would be straightforward. Yet, as both a student and a teacher, I keep returning to this question. Not just what can Torah teach us, but what is Torah itself? It comes up in nearly every grade at Torah school, as they iteratively expand their understanding of what Torah includes. From the sacred scroll to the ever-expanding midrashic traditions, to their own ideas and insights. It comes up in conversation with my B’nei Mitzvah students as we prepare for their Dvar Torah. It comes up on Simchat Torah. And certainly it comes up this week, as we read parshat Yitro, which includes an account of the giving of Torah on Mt. Sinai. At its root, Torah comes from the root ירי meaning to point, aim, shoot or direct. The same root creates the word yoreh, the first drenching rainfall at the beginning of the farming season, which one midrash describes as “rain that pervades and satisfies the earth and gives her drink down to the deep.” Rain is afterall water directed at the earth. It is also an archery term, used when one points an arrow at its target. From these two usages alone, we learn that Torah is meant to sustain us at our core and direct us on our path. I thought of all of this on Monday night, as I had the honor of hearing Ta-Nehisi Coates read from his new book “The Message.” (Spoiler: I am planning a virtual Omer book group for this book in May, in case you want to reserve a copy at the library now!) Coates spoke to a crowded auditorium at Swarthmore College. During the Q&A students repeatedly asked him for advice, which he was very reluctant to offer, with one exception. He implored these young adults to stop using social media in general and X specifically. Quoting, “It is extremely important that you not engage in distraction. Do not spend time trying to disprove people who do not believe you to be human. You’ll never win.” He went on to describe social media as addictive, defeatist, and designed to drag you into irresolvable fights with people with whom your disagreements are minor. He concluded, “Get it off your phones!” This was a stark moment. I think the crowd was looking for organizing advice, not screen time suggestions. I know our relationships to screens and digital communities are complex. And even as I tend to agree with Coates’ advice, I am aware that social media is a place of so much connection and resource sharing. So even more than his directive, I am drawn to the sentiment behind it. We find ourselves in uncertain times. Heed Coates’s sacred advice, “It is extremely important that you not engage in distraction.” Whatever that may be for you. There is a tension between stay informed and becoming distressed, even panicked. This is by design. Coates reminded me we need to be disciplined in our intake of the news. The world needs your attention whole, unfragmented, clear, critical, alert, aware. In my own life, Torah serves as the opposite of a distraction. It is an anchor, pulling me down through the present to something ancient and enduring. It is directional. It is meant to guide and quench. Time studying Torah is time well spent. Each week Torah is here to connect you down to the deep. I will end with prophetic words that come directly from this week’s parsha. In Exodus 19, the Holy One tells Moses to tell the Isrealites, it’s me God, remember “How I carried you on eagles’ wings!?” וָאֶשָּׂ֤א אֶתְכֶם֙ עַל־כַּנְפֵ֣י נְשָׁרִ֔ים I am a green football fan (pun intended). The city pride has been palpable and contagious. What a joy to be carried on these Eagles’ wings! Go Birds ! And to imagine this feeling as the origin story of a collective faith that bound us together and first connected us to something Ineffable. One of the most precious parts of every week is joining the KT Torah School during their prayer time with Rabbi Michelle.These kids have learned to pray, from their hearts, for what they care about most. Apparently, last week, when asked who they wanted to pray for, my younger child responded, “For every country who will be part of World War III.”
When Rabbi Michelle told me this, my heart sank. Granted my kids have been playing a lot of Risk (a board game about imperialism). And we have been listening to a lot of Les Miserables and Hamilton, which leads to lots of talk about the French Revolution and the American revolution, respectively. So that is part of where this is coming from. Amidst all this talk of war, when they ask about WWIII I always assure them that hopefully there will never be another world war again. But they have also been asking me questions like “What if Trump allies with Putin and North Korea?” which is their way of expressing concerns we all share. Their questions are reasonable and I don’t have a rational answer. But I also don’t need one because Torah teaches me that miracles happen. That nothing is unchangeable, including the course of history. If at the end of this week, you, like me, are feeling we are collectively in need of a miracle (or several), you are not alone. (Take a lion’s breath with me. Roar if you can.) This week’s Torah portion is replete with miracles. The story picks up after Pharoah has agreed to let the Israelites go. Rabbi Elliot Kukla writes, “As they fled slavery with their taskmasters in hot pursuit, they came up against the Sea of Reeds —a churning, impassable ocean. But suddenly, their horizon literally expanded: “Moses held his arm out over the sea and the Eternal One drove back the sea with a strong east wind all that night, and turned the sea into dry ground (Exodus 14:21).” This was arguably the pivotal moment in Jewish history. We tell and retell the story of the parting of the sea in every weekday, Shabbat, and holy day prayer service, morning and evening. It is recounted in prayer more frequently than the details of the creation of humanity or the giving of the Torah.” We learn in Pirkei Avot (5:4) that there were 10 miracles at the sea. Here are the miracles I noticed. Certainly it was a miracle that the sea parted. That it revealed dry ground in the midst of the sea (this is mentioned three times!). That children and elders could reach into the sea walls and grab pomegranates to satisfy their hungry cries. That Miriam had the spiritual resolve to lead the Israelites in song and dance. That the sea returned which prevented the Egyptians from continuing their chase on the other side. Moses turned the bitter water they found into sweet water. Then the oasis in Elim provided shade and water to rest and restore. And truly it was a miracle that the people were brave and scared at the same time, and found the faith to cross the sea. Rabbi Kukla continues, “Why do we need to hear this story so often? Because it is in this moment that we realized that nothing is immutable.” This shabbat, may the merit of our ancestors open us wide like the sea, fill us with courage, song, faith and determination. And the knowing that the miracles we need are close at hand. In a week that has felt like quicksand, I am grateful for the reminder that dry ground appeared in the midst of the sea. May it be so! |
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Office & Mailing Address: 5300 Whitby Ave, Commercial #2, Philadelphia, PA 19143
General Questions: (267) 702-6187 or [email protected]
Shabbat Services: 5300 Whitby Ave, Commercial #1, Philadelphia, PA 19143
General Questions: (267) 702-6187 or [email protected]
Shabbat Services: 5300 Whitby Ave, Commercial #1, Philadelphia, PA 19143