Dear Chevre (Friends):
In this week’s Torah portion, God summons Moses out of the burning bush to go forth and redeem the Children of Israel. “Who is this God?,” the reluctant and skeptical prophet wonders: “Who shall I say has sent me?” (Exodus 3:14) God simply responds: ehyeh asher ehyeh. What, exactly, do the words signify? Ehyeh is the verb “to be” in the imperfect tense, which can be translated either as present or future tense in English; asher is the relative pronoun “what” (or “who”). Therefore, there are at least four possible translations: “I am what I am,” “I will be what I will be,” “I am what I will be,” and “I will be what I am.” Is this just smoke and mirrors? Is God just toying with Moses? Is God reprimanding him for inquiring into the unknowable, as when God pronounces later on: “No person may see My face and live!” (Exodus 33:20) Or, does ehyeh asher ehyeh convey a more positive, profound message about the Jewish conception of the deity whom we worship?
Many Rabbinic commentators point to the occurrence of the very same word ehyeh just two verses before: ehyeh imach, “I will be with you [when you free the Israelites from Egyptian bondage].” (Exodus 3:12) Accordingly, they interpret ehyeh asher ehyeh as divine reassurance: “Who shall you say has sent you? The One who has already promised: ‘I will be with you.’” Rabbi Michael Lerner goes further. For him, God not only comprises the ultimate Source of comfort, but the ultimate Source of transformation. “‘I shall be what I shall be’… God is the Force that pulls all Being to move beyond what it is to what it ought to be.” (Jewish Renewal, p. 65) Lerner derives his interpretation from the context, which is the moment of liberation. “At its heart, Judaism is a proclamation to the world that the way things are is not the way things have to be.” (p. 66) The Jewish God stands for the capacity within us to transform the present world of oppression and cruelty we see around us into a future world of justice and kindness.
The Midrash writes: “the burning bush is like the human heart. They burn, but are not consumed.” The human heart is the storage tank for love, strength, determination, courage, creativity, and purpose. Thanks to God, the tank never runs dry.
Rabbi Brian
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
December 15, 2010: Human Blessings
Dear Chevre (Friends):
Last week, I discussed human miracles (as opposed to divine miracles). Today, I would like to discuss human blessing (as opposed to divine blessing).
During our worship, we bless God (“Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Ruler of the Universe…”) or we ask God to bless us (“May the One who blessed our ancestors, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah, bless…”) Rarely do we articulate blessings to one another. In this week’s Torah portion, at the close of the Book of Genesis, Jacob gathers his children around him in order to bless them before he dies. His words combine admonishment with encouragement, connect past and future, and situate the individual life stories of his listeners within the larger context of peoplehood. Every week to this day, Jews repeat the words of Jacob’s blessing to their own children just after the Shabbat candlelighting.
Blessing is more powerful than prayer. In prayer, we ask God to accomplish a task that we by ourselves cannot complete. In blessing, we become God’s agent in accomplishing the task. When we embrace our children and recite: “may God make you like Ephraim and Manasseh, who carried forward the life our people,” we are, in fact, pledging ourselves to our children that we will not fail them in the responsibility to carry forward Jewish tradition. By binding the recipient and the giver to a common purpose, blessing strengthens both of them.
My blessing for the JCOGS community is that it may continue to carry forward the life of our people.
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
Last week, I discussed human miracles (as opposed to divine miracles). Today, I would like to discuss human blessing (as opposed to divine blessing).
During our worship, we bless God (“Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Ruler of the Universe…”) or we ask God to bless us (“May the One who blessed our ancestors, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah, bless…”) Rarely do we articulate blessings to one another. In this week’s Torah portion, at the close of the Book of Genesis, Jacob gathers his children around him in order to bless them before he dies. His words combine admonishment with encouragement, connect past and future, and situate the individual life stories of his listeners within the larger context of peoplehood. Every week to this day, Jews repeat the words of Jacob’s blessing to their own children just after the Shabbat candlelighting.
Blessing is more powerful than prayer. In prayer, we ask God to accomplish a task that we by ourselves cannot complete. In blessing, we become God’s agent in accomplishing the task. When we embrace our children and recite: “may God make you like Ephraim and Manasseh, who carried forward the life our people,” we are, in fact, pledging ourselves to our children that we will not fail them in the responsibility to carry forward Jewish tradition. By binding the recipient and the giver to a common purpose, blessing strengthens both of them.
My blessing for the JCOGS community is that it may continue to carry forward the life of our people.
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
December 8, 2011: Praying for a Human Miracle
Dear Chevre (Friends):
Last week, at the height of the deadliest and most catastrophic wildfire in the history of the modern State of Israel, President Shimon Peres said: “We are praying for the fire to end; we are praying for a miracle.” What miracle, exactly? Hanukkah commemorates the miracle “of those days at this time of the year.” What miracle, exactly? Was it the supernatural miracle—that a single day’s supply of oil lasted for eight? Or was it, rather, the human miracle—that an outnumbered band of freedom fighters mustered the courage and determination to overthrow their mighty oppressors… against all odds to the contrary.
The blaze reportedly broke out from an illegal landfill, but the devastation really stemmed from tinder-dry conditions due to the worst multi-year drought on record. Climate change affects different regions of the globe disproportionately, and, unfortunately, Israel is particularly vulnerable. The water level of the Sea of Galilee has dropped to within fifteen inches of “the black line,” below which the lake will dry up completely, like the Aral Sea. Last month, alarmed Israeli ornithologists reported the first ever sighting of the desert swallow in the streets of Jerusalem, an ominous sign that the Negev is beginning to creep up the Judean hills. On November 16, the Chief Rabbi of Israel declared a public day of fasting and prayer for rain to restore the natural order.
The Chief Rabbi was not off-base—on condition that we direct our prayers and fasts to ourselves, as well as to God. One of the prayers for redemption in our Siddur maintains: “we cannot only pray to You, O God, to end starvation; for You have already given us the resources with which to feed the entire world, if we would only use them wisely.” (Rabbi Jack Reimer) Similarly, the prophet Isaiah proclaims on Yom Kippur, the most solemn of fast days: “Is not this the fast I desire? To break off every yoke.” (Isaiah 58:6) So, yes, I, like Shimon Peres, am praying for a miracle. I am praying for a human miracle—that we, citizens of the earth, break off every yoke of greed for short-term gain, overthrow our mighty disregard for environmental degradation, use our God-given resources wisely, and learn to live within, not above, the natural order… against all incentives to the contrary.
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
Last week, at the height of the deadliest and most catastrophic wildfire in the history of the modern State of Israel, President Shimon Peres said: “We are praying for the fire to end; we are praying for a miracle.” What miracle, exactly? Hanukkah commemorates the miracle “of those days at this time of the year.” What miracle, exactly? Was it the supernatural miracle—that a single day’s supply of oil lasted for eight? Or was it, rather, the human miracle—that an outnumbered band of freedom fighters mustered the courage and determination to overthrow their mighty oppressors… against all odds to the contrary.
The blaze reportedly broke out from an illegal landfill, but the devastation really stemmed from tinder-dry conditions due to the worst multi-year drought on record. Climate change affects different regions of the globe disproportionately, and, unfortunately, Israel is particularly vulnerable. The water level of the Sea of Galilee has dropped to within fifteen inches of “the black line,” below which the lake will dry up completely, like the Aral Sea. Last month, alarmed Israeli ornithologists reported the first ever sighting of the desert swallow in the streets of Jerusalem, an ominous sign that the Negev is beginning to creep up the Judean hills. On November 16, the Chief Rabbi of Israel declared a public day of fasting and prayer for rain to restore the natural order.
The Chief Rabbi was not off-base—on condition that we direct our prayers and fasts to ourselves, as well as to God. One of the prayers for redemption in our Siddur maintains: “we cannot only pray to You, O God, to end starvation; for You have already given us the resources with which to feed the entire world, if we would only use them wisely.” (Rabbi Jack Reimer) Similarly, the prophet Isaiah proclaims on Yom Kippur, the most solemn of fast days: “Is not this the fast I desire? To break off every yoke.” (Isaiah 58:6) So, yes, I, like Shimon Peres, am praying for a miracle. I am praying for a human miracle—that we, citizens of the earth, break off every yoke of greed for short-term gain, overthrow our mighty disregard for environmental degradation, use our God-given resources wisely, and learn to live within, not above, the natural order… against all incentives to the contrary.
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
December 1, 2010: The "December Dilemma"
Dear Chevre (Friends):
It’s called the “December Dilemma.” Every year we go through it. We are bombarded on the radio, on television, on the road, in the malls. How do we avoid getting caught up in the general frenzy of the season? How do we teach our children to appreciate their own Jewish heritage when the entire world is celebrating something else? How can we possibly compete with the undeniable magnificence of the bedecked Christmas tree, the loveliness of the Christmas carols, and the enjoyment of the Christmas feast?
The solution is not to elevate Hanukkah to the same stature as Christmas. The attempt to do so is deceptive and disingenuous. Hanukkah is a peripheral festival within Jewish observance, whereas Christmas is one of two fundamental holidays for Christians. Hanukkah (pardon the pun) cannot hold a candle to Christmas. The solution, I think, is to celebrate the richness and diversity of the entire Jewish ritual calendar. There’s Hanukkah, but there’s also the cornucopia of fruits and nuts on Tu B’Shevat, the carnival on Purim, the family Seder on Passover, the blast of the Shofar on Rosh Hashanah, the decorations in the Sukkah on Sukkot, dancing with the Torah on Simchat Torah, and on and on—not to mention Shabbat. Christian families may come home to the magical beauty of the Christmas lights once a year, but Jewish families come home to the magical beauty of the lights of Shabbat every week.
In truth, we should appreciate every major religion for its unique constellation of customs and traditions. The fallacy of the December Dilemma is that it tries to compare individual slices of the entire Jewish and Christian pies. Taken as a whole, however, each religion offers its adherents a joyous, celebratory and richly rewarding path through life.
Happy Hanukkah! (And, more importantly, Shabbat Shalom)
R. Brian
It’s called the “December Dilemma.” Every year we go through it. We are bombarded on the radio, on television, on the road, in the malls. How do we avoid getting caught up in the general frenzy of the season? How do we teach our children to appreciate their own Jewish heritage when the entire world is celebrating something else? How can we possibly compete with the undeniable magnificence of the bedecked Christmas tree, the loveliness of the Christmas carols, and the enjoyment of the Christmas feast?
The solution is not to elevate Hanukkah to the same stature as Christmas. The attempt to do so is deceptive and disingenuous. Hanukkah is a peripheral festival within Jewish observance, whereas Christmas is one of two fundamental holidays for Christians. Hanukkah (pardon the pun) cannot hold a candle to Christmas. The solution, I think, is to celebrate the richness and diversity of the entire Jewish ritual calendar. There’s Hanukkah, but there’s also the cornucopia of fruits and nuts on Tu B’Shevat, the carnival on Purim, the family Seder on Passover, the blast of the Shofar on Rosh Hashanah, the decorations in the Sukkah on Sukkot, dancing with the Torah on Simchat Torah, and on and on—not to mention Shabbat. Christian families may come home to the magical beauty of the Christmas lights once a year, but Jewish families come home to the magical beauty of the lights of Shabbat every week.
In truth, we should appreciate every major religion for its unique constellation of customs and traditions. The fallacy of the December Dilemma is that it tries to compare individual slices of the entire Jewish and Christian pies. Taken as a whole, however, each religion offers its adherents a joyous, celebratory and richly rewarding path through life.
Happy Hanukkah! (And, more importantly, Shabbat Shalom)
R. Brian
November 24, 2010: Thanksgiving’s Jewish Roots
Dear Chevre (Friends):
Thanksgiving is the only American holiday with religious overtones to which Jews can easily relate. This is not surprising, since there is strong historical evidence that, originally, Thanksgiving was consciously modeled on the Jewish festival of Sukkot.
The Pilgrims were well acquainted with Jewish history and culture. After fleeing England and before sailing for America, they spent a dozen years in Amsterdam, where they came into contact with the bustling Sephardic Jewish community that had recently been expelled from Spain. The Pilgrims identified their own journey to seek religious freedom in the New World with the Israelite Exodus from Egypt. The wigwams that they built, with help from Native Americans, for their first harsh winter on American soil resembled the temporary booths (“sukkot”) that sheltered the Children of Israel in the wilderness. The Pilgrims established Thanksgiving for the same basic religious purpose as Sukkot—to express gratitude to God for the fall harvest. With respect to timing and duration, the first Thanksgiving at Plymouth in 1621 resembled Sukkot far more than our modern celebration. The Pilgrim’s Thanksgiving took place over the course of many days in early October, not, as today, during a few hours in late November. In fact, Thanksgiving most likely coincided with Sukkot that year. (It was not until President Roosevelt, many centuries later, when the holiday was instituted on the last Thursday of November.)
In our era, Thanksgiving is truly an interfaith celebration of freedom and bounty, which Jews, Christians, Muslims, and all other Americans can share equally. Its roots, however, are distinctly Jewish.
I offer you the following prayer for use, if you wish, at your Thanksgiving tables. It was written specifically for Thanksgiving by the well-known liturgist, Rabbi Naomi Levy:
For the laughter of the children,
For my own life breath,
For the abundance of food on this table,
For the ones who prepared this sumptuous feast,
For the roof over our heads,
The clothes on our backs,
For our health,
And our wealth of blessings,
For this opportunity to celebrate with family and friends,
For the freedom to pray these words
Without fear,
In any language,
In any faith,
In this great country,
Whose landscape is as vast and beautiful as her inhabitants.
Thank You, God, for giving us all these. Amen.
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
Thanksgiving is the only American holiday with religious overtones to which Jews can easily relate. This is not surprising, since there is strong historical evidence that, originally, Thanksgiving was consciously modeled on the Jewish festival of Sukkot.
The Pilgrims were well acquainted with Jewish history and culture. After fleeing England and before sailing for America, they spent a dozen years in Amsterdam, where they came into contact with the bustling Sephardic Jewish community that had recently been expelled from Spain. The Pilgrims identified their own journey to seek religious freedom in the New World with the Israelite Exodus from Egypt. The wigwams that they built, with help from Native Americans, for their first harsh winter on American soil resembled the temporary booths (“sukkot”) that sheltered the Children of Israel in the wilderness. The Pilgrims established Thanksgiving for the same basic religious purpose as Sukkot—to express gratitude to God for the fall harvest. With respect to timing and duration, the first Thanksgiving at Plymouth in 1621 resembled Sukkot far more than our modern celebration. The Pilgrim’s Thanksgiving took place over the course of many days in early October, not, as today, during a few hours in late November. In fact, Thanksgiving most likely coincided with Sukkot that year. (It was not until President Roosevelt, many centuries later, when the holiday was instituted on the last Thursday of November.)
In our era, Thanksgiving is truly an interfaith celebration of freedom and bounty, which Jews, Christians, Muslims, and all other Americans can share equally. Its roots, however, are distinctly Jewish.
I offer you the following prayer for use, if you wish, at your Thanksgiving tables. It was written specifically for Thanksgiving by the well-known liturgist, Rabbi Naomi Levy:
For the laughter of the children,
For my own life breath,
For the abundance of food on this table,
For the ones who prepared this sumptuous feast,
For the roof over our heads,
The clothes on our backs,
For our health,
And our wealth of blessings,
For this opportunity to celebrate with family and friends,
For the freedom to pray these words
Without fear,
In any language,
In any faith,
In this great country,
Whose landscape is as vast and beautiful as her inhabitants.
Thank You, God, for giving us all these. Amen.
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
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