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Way back in time, when the Temple in Jerusalem still had a fire on its altar, we prayed by bringing our offerings to the altar. We participated in the everyday offering, the thanks and atonement offerings, and a total of countless variations too numerous to recount here. When Rome destroyed the Temple, we went into exile from Jerusalem and found new ways to offer our ritual prayers to God. We replaced certain offerings with verbal prayer and others with specific rituals. In particular, instead of bringing pieces of our bread to burn on the altar, we created a spoken prayer of thanksgiving.
�Praised are You, Adonai our God, Eternal Sovereign, Who brings forth bread from the earth.� Anytime we serve bread at a meal; we say this prayer. We acknowledge the blessing of sustenance. The one problem, though, is that bread does not come from the Earth. The grains come from the Earth, but it takes a lot more than grain to make bread.
This week�s Torah portion helps us see that even basic sustenance is not basic. �God humbled you, causing you to hunger and then fed you with manna, which neither you nor your ancestors had known, to teach you that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of Adonai.�
The grain alone is not sustenance. Manna is a bread-like substance that we gather from the ground and eat. It is different from the grain, for it is lovingly processed. In announcing our appreciation for the �bread� that comes from the Earth, we express thanks for a finished product. No longer in the wilderness, we do not expect to wake each morning to find manna on the ground waiting for us. We now rely on each other for sustenance and recognize that without each other, we are lost.
The prayer presumes the process and all the hands in the process of turning the grain into bread. This process includes those operating the farm that grew and sowed the grains. It includes those in charge of transporting the grain to the refineries and bakeries and those who prepared and baked the bread. Ultimately, this process involves those who made sure it got to us. Sounds like a lot, but it is not the bread that sustains us. What sustains us is how, acting, in God�s stead (the manna that just appeared), we nurture each other.
From the Rabbinic tradition, we learn, �Eem aen kemach aen Torah, eem aen Torah, aen kemach.� If there is no bread, there can be no enlightenment. If there is no enlightenment, then bread does not matter. We share a holy relationship with each other. During creation, God said, �It is not good that man is alone.� We are not � we have each other.
It is for this reason that I ache for our country. The rhetoric of hate rips us apart. The statement from the president�s office calling any Jew who votes Democratic disloyal to this country reeks of the pogroms of ages past. There is no soft-peddling this or morally equivocating. This language from the President, his campaign promise to pay the legal fees for anyone who beat up his opposition, his comments to only people of color who disagree in congress about going back to their country � these are the scariest words a nation can hear. We need to return to each other, feed and nurture each other. We need to make clear our unwillingness to plunge our nation into the depths of zealotry that has seen everyone who is the other demeaned and purged in history. We can and must do better � NOW. Shabbat Shalom.

Monmouth Reform Temple
332 Hance Avenue
Tinton Falls, NJ 07724
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Biblical teachers point to the Bible�s poetry as being symbolic of its artistry. At the same time, these same teachers argue that nothing happens in the text by accident: everything has a meaning. When it comes to texts of �poetic symmetry,� one stands at the crossroads. It is certainly possible that the value of the symmetric texts is pure art, but I never knew a poet who wrote only for the sake of creating art. Poetry speaks to the soul. It causes pathos and celebration in the heart of the reader who vicariously experiences the poet�s soul�s response to life. Passing off texts as being nicely �poetic� does little to help us internalize anything of lasting value. There has to be something more, and my tradition�s bent on exegesis demands the more profound look.

This week�s Torah portion includes a text that we recite every morning at the beginning of worship. �Mah tovu ohalecha Ya-akov; mishkenotecha Yisrael � How good are your tents (ohel) of Jacob; your sanctuary (mishkan) of Israel.� Of course, Jacob is Israel; his name gets changed after wrestling with God. Well, it sort of changes. We still call him Jacob but also call him Israel. Indeed, the text refers to his offspring as �B'nai Yisrael � children of Israel.� Especially given the beautiful melodies written to illuminate this text, it is beautiful poetry.
That said, I see a difference between the tents of Jacob and the sanctuary of Israel � even in the wilderness story. "Tents" speak to our dwellings; the places where life happens. A "sanctuary" is a place of worship and holiness. Yes, I absolutely believe that the two are inter-related, but they speak to different aspects of our lives. Of note, both structures, as they appear in this text, are temporary. As Israel moves through the wilderness, they set up and take down both the tents and sanctuary as they journey.

Our homes are both our tent and our sanctuary. We participate in all the mundane aspects of living within our home structure (building, tent, encampment, or other). Life happens there. At the same time, life is not mundane, and every interaction with someone else should elevate our spirit to some higher plane of appreciation. Paying bills is mundane. Securing the services for which one is paying adds to the well-being of one�s family. Eating is ordinary. Appreciating that, having eaten, one is better equipped to face the challenges and celebrations each day brings as a blessing.

We cannot ignore the part about doing what one needs to do to live as securely as possible. If, however, we see our life�s work only as a means to a more secure end, we have failed in faith. In 1923 (the same year Martin Buber wrote �I and Thou�), German Protestant theologian Rudolf Otto, wrote �The Idea of the Holy.� He argued that one finds �holiness� in the daily experiences of living if one lives in a state of awe. As Buber wrote about the sacred relationships we share with God and with each other, Otto argued that one could not know a relationship is sacred until one experiences awe and blessing in the company of one�s neighbor or with God. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote, �Just to be is a blessing. Just to live is holy.�

He presumed, however, that one should live in the sense of wonder. �Wonder, rather than doubt, is the root of all knowledge.� Not knowing can give rise to skeptic fear, complete disinterest, or a search for meaning and understanding. �Our goal should be to live life in radical amazement� get up in the morning and look at the world in a way that takes nothing for granted. Everything is phenomenal; everything is incredible; never treat life casually. To be spiritual is to be amazed.�

�How good are your tents (ohel) of Jacob; your sanctuary (mishkan) of Israel.� We pray for lives of freedom and security; lives where our needs and wants get met. A t the same time, we need to utter the same prayer for everyone else (whether we like them or not), for if we see these wants and needs as being sacred, then they are holy for everyone, not just us. �Justice is never just us.� Shabbat Shalom.

                              Shabbat Shalom With
                      A Heart Healthy Dose Of Torah -
                                      B'haalotecha
                                Numbers 8:1-12:16

Having faith requires a belief in prophecy. Yes, this is a bold statement. I did not say that faith required a belief in specific Prophets or Biblical inerrancy or even any definition of God. No, having faith requires that one believes in prophecy.

Prophecy has nothing to do with predicting the future; it serves as the most essential tool in forging it. Prophecy is the message that changes hearts and minds. Often prophecy hurts; it forces us to improve our course and our behaviors. It points fingers at our deepest and most secretive challenging behaviors. Prophecies are the words uttered, the ideas shared, and/or the example given that helps people see past their current visual and ideological horizon to some broader more holistic understanding of some piece of the world. Prophecy is spiritual education. We can learn the nuts and bolts of traditional subjects all day, but if we never learn what to do with or learn from the �facts� or the experiences, the teaching does not matter. We have to have eyes, ears, and hearts open to seeing past what we thought we knew yesterday. We need, as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr taught, be able to take the next steps even when we can�t fully see the staircase. Faith helps us know that it�s there. Prophecy helps us understand that there is a reason to have faith that it is there.

Houses of worship spend a lot of time teaching about prophets. My entire Jewish tradition begins with the Torah and its first line of commentary; the books of the Prophets. We learn that the different religions dogmatically �cut-off� prophecy at different stages of development as if the ability to prophesy rested in only certain people. The differing religious traditions define those �somebodies� differently.

Within the scripture, though, we get a slightly different message. We chose to include the teachings of specific voices in a variety of texts, but we also know that prophecy is not exclusive to those people. Experience and faith help us understand that prophecy never ended. In this week�s Torah portion, Moses confirms that prophecy should rest on all people. Around him are religious zealots who disapprove.

This week, Eldad and Medad (2 elders) prophesy in the camp. Tradition tells us that these are humble men and that (according to the Rabbinic tradition) their prophecy spoke to the people entering the land and the coming of the Messianic Age for all people. Moses� son Gershom and Joshua brought this news to Moses. They wanted to imprison or kill these charlatans and frauds. Only Moses could prophesy! Moses responded, "Are you zealous for my sake? If only all God�s people were prophets, that God would bestow the divine spirit upon them!"

Far from upset, Moses was thrilled that there were at least two people paying attention. Indeed, their prophecy risked lowering Moses� esteem in the community, but that was what was and is supposed to happen. God doesn�t speak to one person or the other. God speaks, but only some of us listen. What we know for sure is that those who claim God speaks only to them are delusional.

Further, it would be inconceivable for the God who creates in us the capacity to love, and who maintains the grandeur of nature, to speak in ways that excluded some of God�s children. If we all believe that one God created everything, then each of us, not some of us, are in this together. If one excludes others, he excludes himself.

The Prophet Joel spoke on behalf of God, �I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your old will dream dreams, your youth will see visions. Even on my servants, both men and women, I will pour out my Spirit in those days. I will show wonders in the heavens and on the earth.� Our job is simply to pay attention.

We exist in a world of distractions; the distraction that feeds or demean our ego. Where we pay attention, we grow the ability to discern the silver from the dross and the wheat from the chaff. It has been my custom to bless every Confirmation Class (10th grade) with these words from Joel and the affirmation from Moses. If we instill the awe of prophecy within our future leaders, we can change the world and bring healing to all who are in need. To paraphrase the late great poet and humanitarian Achad Ha�am, the world will become whole through prophets and not diplomats. Our job is simply to pay attention. Shabbat Shalom.

Judgment may well up as a wall of water, but
Righteousness is the mightiest of rivers.

Monmouth Reform Temple
332 Hance Avenue, Tinton Falls, New Jersey 07724
(Office) 732-747-9365 --- (Cell) 732-575-2088

                    B�midbar
                    In the Wilderness
                    Numbers 1:1-4:20

Rav Avraham Yitzchak Kook cautioned regarding the moral and spiritual dangers inherent in political life:
�We must not allow the tendency toward factionalism, which threatens most strongly at the inception of a political movement, to deter us from seeking justice and truth, from loving all of humanity, both the collective and the individual, from love for the Jewish people, and from the holy obligations that are unique to Israel. We are commanded not only to be holy individuals but also, and especially, to be �a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.'�
Of course, he was speaking to a Jewish audience, but this teaching resonates and transcends long past the parameters of one tradition to the broader human culture. We were born to disagree. The standard joke about Jewish conversations is that if you speak to five Jews, you get twelve opinions. Blessed to experience time with a variety of cultures, I learned that this phenomenon is not unique to Jews. It is kind of like food at religious events. We may have been first, but I can�t imagine any religious event (except fasting holidays) where people get sent away hungry. There is no one way to see tradition, ritual, or even God. We do not agree over a lot of things. Still, though, we find ourselves in each other�s company, camaraderie, worship, celebration, and commiseration.
Torah holds a great deal of power in ways that its framers may not have even intended. Perhaps part of its magic is that it evolves in every generation even past the limited horizons of the editors. This week�s portion concentrates on the census. We find ourselves in the wilderness, and Moses wants to make sure who he can count on for the battles the people will face along their journeys. The census does not include males too old or young to fight or women. In theory, though, the text intends to be inclusive.
In no piece of the census do we find a separation or designation on who matters more than others (except for the above-referenced military available age). The census of who we count upon does not distinguish between the rich or the poor, the priest or the layperson; nor does it offer any assessments on a person�s worth based on whether he is gay or straight; his race; scholarship; behavioral attitude; criminal record; or tribal status. Each counts equally as a human being. I do not know whether or not the sages expected this conversation, but it screams off the pages to me today.
Each human spark is unique and valuable, as each of us forms in the image of the same source of creation. Each of us has divinity racing through our veins. So, when God calls for a census, it is no different than when we get up each morning and take stock of our body�s ability to face the day. We are the cells, arms, legs, heart, and lungs that make up the divine. Each of us performs this checklist every day, so it becomes unfathomable how we can demean and dismiss another person who shares equally in being part of the organism of God. Each of us represents a mutually dependent cell/organ of the divine. We can better divorce ourselves from each other�s dignity than we could be okay chopping off a limb from our body. If one wants to ask why evil exists in the world, one need only look at the way people treat each other. If we changed our behaviors, we would change the world.
The first step in this world change has to come from within each of us. Each of us holds prejudices and irrational feelings towards others. These feelings root in our insecurity. Fear happens because we feel unable to face someone or something different. The number of people who hate Muslims and yet, know nothing about Islam is tragic. The hypocrisy of hate that allows one to say whatever he/she wants, but then chastise another for saying the very same thing destroys the community.
�Ani v�atah neshaneh et ha-olam. You and I, we can change the world.� If we don�t, who will? It takes listening and breathing. It takes trying. It takes trying to get together even (and maybe especially) with people who think differently. It is about holding people accountable civilly and celebrating each other where we can. We choose, but if the Torah speaks to us � there is no other viable or ethical choice than �Human First.� Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom
with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Emor
Speak
Leviticus 21:1−24:23
3

My tradition teaches that there is no special task or rite in the religion that only a Rabbi can perform. We have made a profession out of the Jewish clergy (Rabbi and Cantor), but that is more to facilitate the operations of a synagogue in a world where our normal lives take us all over the place. Oddly, the only function that rests only on the Cantor and me is performance of a wedding � and that is because of state law. The state grants us special privileges to perform legally binding ceremonies in a religious context, but the officiant has to a recognized leader within of a house of worship or otherwise designated denominational structure. If Cantor or I empower someone into a �ministry� role, then that person is also allowed to perform weddings. Of course, judges, government officials, ship captains, and (in some jurisdictions) even a Notary Public can, as well.
Our nation�s government grew from the ethic of being �by the people for the people.� It, too, supposedly operates in a system wherein elected officials, officers, etc are held to the same standard. No one is above the law in a well-working society. The President and the garbage collector must hold to the same set of rules. Now, we all know that it does not work this way. We know that we exist with people of privilege and lack thereof. We know that economy, education, and opportunity impact people�s access to the resources necessary to grow and thrive in society.
From where does the ethic of equality stem? The Bible repeatedly tells us that one standard exists for all humanity. No one is above the law. No one is beneath our dignity. No one is to be left out. Torah reminds us of this charge for equality, again, this week. Quite literally, Moses speaks to the Priests (on behalf of God) and tells them, �One law shall be exacted for you (the Priest), the stranger (those traveling amongst you) and resident (Israelite) alike, for I am the Lord, your God.� (Lev 24:22)
We know that every act of violence begins when people are insecure of their standing and well-being in a community. This insecurity manifests in the powerful and powerless, alike. Insecurity comes from lack of faith, knowledge, and hope. Where people know and understand themselves and what they believe � and really believe what they say they believe, they don�t need to force their beliefs on other people. Whether it is the current hate-filled screaming matches over gun violence, abortion, immigration, or governance, people have forgotten that the founders of this nation sought to ensure that our conversations should lead us to commonality � even in disagreement, we can respect each other�s humanity.
Our conversations have devolved �into all or nothing� warfare. There has to be a winner and a loser, at the cost of all civility. Pointing out that extremism on any subject is a problem for America, I take lots of abuse. I am okay with that. In each case, I invite people screaming at me for coffee. When I get the opportunity to share time with people, I know that we will find ways to disagree respectfully. It is when people refuse to speak civilly, repeatedly affirming that one extreme position or the other is the only �correct� choice that we risk losing hope for our future.
I always go back to Torah (which for me is never irrelevant) and its demand that we remember we are no better than our neighbor � and no worse. Some are privileged and some need empowerment. Some are able to stand on their own and some need our help in learning to do so. For all the people touting their religion, it seems to me that people forgot that whatever God is or isn�t, our respective scriptural teachings demand that we respect each other and lift each other � every each other. The priest, the resident, the alien; the official, the manager, the homeless; but for single changes in circumstance, we would find our roles reversed.
This week, Torah reminded me that we have to speak out for decency. I spoke at our local mosque�s Jumah two weeks back. In addition to praying for restoration as Ramadan approached, I shared that we are one people with one heart; am echad eem lev echad (Hebrew); sha-eeb wahid biqalbee wahid (Arabic). We need to stop showing up at each other�s events and start showing up in each other�s lives. I am blessed to share the same messages in other synagogues and churches. In each, I remind people that we have made political fodder out of everything we hold sacred. When we put elitism and power first (on either side of any political debate) people have forgotten what is most sacred � each other. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom
with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Beshalach
Lori and I are �hooked� on a series we watch on Netflix. �Designated Survivor� depicts the rise of an American President who ascended to office solely because he did not die when the entire Capitol Building blew up at the hands of terrorists. Its episodic themes present (intentionally or unintentionally) an incredibly �both-sided� (and sometimes eerie) commentary on American politics and government.

That said, we watched an episode the other night that partly focused on a Confederate monument built post Reconstruction, as an �in your face� to the minority community of the city in which it stood. Given the primacy of this conversation in the news, one would be hard pressed to say that its focus on TV was a coincidence. Looking around the table at which this debate took place, one found the stereotyped usual suspects. A Southern White man spoke out in favor of the heritage of the south. Two young women (one White and one Black) called him a racist and demanded that the Confederate Hero statue come down immediately. The government attempted to draw a compromise which no one liked. All eyes turned to an elderly African American man, a Pastor who had earned national prominence and respect (picture Dr. King at 80). As he spoke, the room grew quiet. He argued that the statue should stand where it is. The White heritage man glowed! The two young women bristled. The White young lady accused the Pastor of selling out just so he could get an invite to the White House.

The Elder Pastor stood up and tersely reminded the young lady that as a White Female, she had no clue what sort of abuse or degradation he had experienced in his life or what journeys he has had to travel. As her look of shock filled the camera lens, the Reverend reiterated, �That statue stays right where it is.� He went on to talk about how he refused to let the racism that still flares in this country get whitewashed and forgotten. He argued that removing the statue ends the conversation and all memory of degradation. Militantly, he wanted to have it to point to and teach from.

At the end of this week�s Torah portion, Israel battles and defeats the Amalekites, an overtly evil people who do things that the Torah describes as indefensible. The text (Exodus 17:14) tells us that God commands Moses to blot out the name of Amalek from history. They are so evil that we should not remember them at all. If we really wanted to blot out Amalek, we should have left them out of the Torah story. No one would then have ever heard of them.

Theories are wonderful. Having the statue in one�s face, or hearing the command to blot out Amalek are great teaching moments. Theories do not always work. For many in my tradition, Amalek is just another story in the big picture. Even while we admonish never taking the Torah literally, there are those who will argue that �blotting out� Amalek is about Amalek; end of story.

No differently, while the Reverend�s strength of character taught him to stand up to bigotry, for so many who are not as strong, the statue remains only as a symbol of ongoing oppression. Caught between the ideal of remembering to fight the negative behaviors that hurt each other and the perpetuation of fear, we struggle.

We have better answers. Our goal, vis-�-vis Amalek, is not to blot out the memory of what happened but to blot out the behaviors from being replicated. Every day, the scribes who write Torah scrolls start by writing the name Amalek and then blotting it out with ink. If we intentionally �blot out Amalek,� we have to remember what horrible things people did and commit to never doing them. It is an ongoing wrestling match.

As with the statue, for so many, it will never be a teaching tool. That said, we now have the Memorial for Peace and Justice, a bold memorial to the mass lynchings that sully our nation�s history, in Montgomery, Alabama, and to the bigotry that remains still too prevalent in our world. It is horrific, and it is powerful.

We need to remember where we have been previously stuck in oppression if we intend to move forward in righteousness. We need to be intentional as to how we use teaching tools and symbols, making them transparently accessible to people, all people. For the present day Amalekitish oppressor (bullies) and modern-day bigot, we have to take an unequivocal stand. Justice First and Justice Now. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom
with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Vayeitzei

I spent the first part of this week with a crew from Monmouth Reform Temple in South Carolina helping a church and some families recover from Hurricane Florence. The devastation was horrific. The areas in which we worked are forgotten areas. Over the course of several hurricanes that caused torrential river flooding, people lost everything. F.E.M.A. came last time (Hurricane Matthew). For most families, they are not coming again, and insurance is non-existent. As construction of a new Interstate highway linking the inland to Myrtle Beach looms, small-town officials and conspiring developers create obstacles to people staying and rebuilding. When lands become vacant, people snatch them up, fix the problems and make tons of money, while leaving the previous owners with nothing.
More and more, we experience abuse and dysfunction in organizational and governmental life when we forget that the people matter most. Nationally, this government is supposed to be of the people and by the people. In any competent organization, the client population dictates the orientation and direction it must travel. Where a government or organization is out of sync with its population, it fails to offer the services, products, protections, and needs that help people feel the need to continue/grow their participation. As society continues to evolve (and devolve), leadership has to respond in ways that keep it viable. Organizations fold and governments collapse when they remain too out of touch with the people.
At the age of 95, Philosopher/activist Grace Lee Boggs taught, �I think we�re not looking sufficiently at what is happening at the grassroots in the country. We have not emphasized sufficiently the cultural-revolution that we have to make among ourselves in order to force the government to do differently. Things do not start with governments.� The Peace Pilgrim (Mildred Norman) walked across the United States 6 times. She died on her 7th shore to shore trip. Her take: �I define democracy as control by the people. Insofar as people succeed in solving their problems fairly and efficiently at a grassroots level, they retain control over their lives. Insofar as they delegate their problem solving to a higher authority, they lose control over their lives.� Meaningful information flows up to leadership.
Thousands of years earlier, Torah teaches this very same ethic. This week, Jacob flees from the wrath of his brother whom he cheated out of the birthright blessing from their father. He experiences an epiphany as he dreams of a ladder to heaven. Oddly, he sees the angels going up and then coming down. Commentators get stuck on the fact that they are not bringing messages from God to the people, rather, they bring them from the people to God. Even while we speak of an �All-Knowing� God, perhaps the best part of �All-Knowing,� is in knowing that there are things that one does not know. A strong executive knows that his/her decision making must come from the information brought in from people in the field.

God needs the angels for information on what is needed here on earth. In this text, we find the value of prayer. In those moments when we seek strength and focus, we climb that ladder. If we are focusing on praying (as opposed to mouthing the words and reading the pages) we remove ourselves from our regular focus on the daily grind. We are these angels. We then get to come back down the ladder with a greater sense of purpose and value. Prayer must be intentional, and when done with focus, it provides the grassroots connection with the needs of the family and community that helps us understand how heal the world.
We will never learn of the horrors people face or of their need for help if we rely on getting our news from the �top� down. Governments are not sending us to places in need of relief; people are doing that. People who pay attention to each other�s needs: only in this way can we heal our world. Margaret Meade said, �Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.� Only in listening to and learning with each other can we make sense out of what is, to better inform leadership as to what we need. I pray that we invest some time in our future. Shabbat shalom!

The world exists on the foundation of dualities. Even while most of the time we live somewhere in between the extremes, we know that for every yin there is a yang. Granted, the yin and yang are themselves fluid, but as opposing concepts, humanity accepts them and works from there. Many will argue that we use merisms as a means to describe large overriding principles of life in short and concrete comparisons. �Night and day� really mean all 24 hours. �Heaven and Earth� includes all of the universal creation. A dear friend and teacher, Rabbi Chanan Brichto zt�l, taught that the value of a merism is in the word �and.� �And� spans the chasm between the two words it connects.

When we look at personalities, we speak of �good and evil� as if the two words express all behaviors of all of humanity. Most people are not at one end of the spectrum or the other (even while many assert that we divide in such a manner). Probably, most accurately, one should say that we are never at one end or the other most of the time, but there are certain episodes in all of our lives that hit both ends (we hope more to the good than the other direction).

Torah calls this reality into conversation this week as we meet the twins, Esau and Jacob. In truth, the text treats them as though they represent the introvert and the extrovert. Jacob is the introvert, staying close to home, living well under his parent�s shadow. Esau is the hunter, the man of the field and adventurer.

Their youth is somewhat tortuous, and our tradition goes to great lengths to reconcile some difficult texts. Jacob is a lying and cheating young man. Esau seemingly lacks any long-term life strategies. In this one Torah portion, Jacob cheats both his brother and his father out of valuable birthrights and blessings. The text leaves us somewhat sympathetic for Esau. The portion ends as Jacob flees from his brother�s rage for having been deceived out of everything in life that matters.

Seemingly, one walks away from this week�s portion with a skewed message of truth. Being simple and transparent does not help. Esau was simple and transparent and lost. Jacob, deceitful throughout the story seems to win everything. Over the course of the story, we will learn that neither is the case. Esau will become a great leader, and Jacob will mightily struggle with family and with God. Watch over the next few weeks, as Jacob is on the �cheated� end in dealings with his father-in-law and his children.

Justice wins, but not for a while down the road. I have faith that the system works and that despite horrific episodes throughout history where parts of humanity failed, there have always been the people who appreciated truth and blessing who somehow righted the course of history. In the interim, though, a lot of people suffer.

Tonight is the anniversary of Kristallnacht. Many argue that while it is by no means the beginning of World War II, it is the visible beginning of the Shoah (Holocaust). Anti-Semitism was on the rise in Europe. This day of synagogue destruction was not the first Anti-Semitic act in Europe. It was not even the most barbarous of pogroms. It was, however, the most visible and openly hostile statement of the direction into which Germany was headfirst diving. We were used to regrouping after pogroms. There was no regrouping from Kristallnacht. It took a full seven-year Sabbatical cycle for any sense of normalcy to return to Europe. 80 years after Kristallnacht, we have not solved this problem and Anti-Semitism is still strong � as is anti-everything these days. Yet, more people than ever are finding their way into each other�s arms realizing that this is not about label based discrimination; the violence all comes from ignorance, fear, and the dismissal of each other�s dignity.

It will take a painful �hip-wrenching� epiphany for Jacob to understand. It will take a lot of trust from Esau to move past his own pain and anger. It takes a lot of difficult work to heal the chasms between people, and yet, we know that the bridge returning us to each other is possible. I receive a lot of requests to address the word �redemption.� Quite simply, I learned that it means the restoration of value. When we learn that each of us matters; when we look into history and see how much destruction stemmed from our failure to see divinity in each other�s eyes, then the world will experience redemption. It has to be for all of us and not some of us, and those who think that they have the market cornered on God�s blessings � over and above everyone else � these people most assuredly don�t get it. Truth will never come down to choosing which religion to espouse; they are all truth coming from one source of all creation. We will come to know and embrace truth when we understand that we are all in this equally-together. Shabbat Shalom.

This week�s portion always makes me cringe. From Abraham�s circumcision recovery, the death of Sodom and Gomorrah, and the binding of Isaac, this is just a physically and emotionally painful portion. Anytime I can look at this text and see something unique and healing � it is a good thing!

So, trying not to rehash the same themes that we usually share, I thought about our commitment to homelessness awareness and the dignity of the stranger. As the portion begins, Abraham sits in the opening of his tent, having just circumcised himself, greeting three strangers who appear veritably from nowhere. He greets them, �My Lords, if now I have found favor in your eyes, pass not away, I beg you, from your servant.� (18:4). The Rabbis go off in all different directions on the words and syntax of this comment. �Lord� can certainly mean God. �Adoni� is just as certainly also possibly a term of respect for any man. Whether three individuals are angels or not is certainly up for debate. Of the many ways in which we have used this text, I found two that I could not ignore.

First, the somewhat easy reading of the text can inform us that Abraham is addressing the guests, asking them and the others not to pass by his tent without availing themselves of his hospitality. Even in his own recovery, he is concerned for the dignity and well being of his guests. We learn an important faith value that welcoming the stranger is more important than our discomfort. Welcoming them with the utmost of dignity affirms their humanity, not their stature. While we have most often assumed these individuals to be angels, the text does not say it is with any finitude.

This first lesson, though, feeds the second and (in my opinion) more profound rendering of text. We do refer to God as Adonai (without vowels, Adoni and Adonai are the same words). Perhaps Abraham does acknowledge God, and according to Rav Yehudah in the name of Rav asks God to stand by while he attends to his guests. In his ongoing prayer, he invoked God�s name, as if to say, �Hold on.� He then addressed the men. Rav Yehudah taught us that taking in guests is greater than receiving even the Divine Presence. Welcoming the stranger is more important than even prayer.

Throughout this episode, God/angel tells Abraham that Sodom has sinned. God will destroy the city. Now, I know that accusations of sexual sin top the list of popular accusations, but the text fails to concretely tell us. It does, however, demonstrate that the people of the city are horrible to the poor and the stranger. �Because the cry of [the victims of] Sodom and Gomorrah is great, and because their sin is very grievous (18:20).�

From Pirkei d�Rabbi Eliezer (dating as far as 1700 years ago), we get the Midrash, �In Sodom, it was decreed: �'Whoever hands a piece of bread to a pauper or stranger shall burn at the stake.'�

From the Talmud, Sanhedrin, �a. If a poor man happened to come there, every resident gave him a dinar, upon which he wrote his name, but no bread was sold to him. When he died, each came and took back his dinar.� And b. �A certain maiden gave some bread to a poor man, hiding it in a pitcher. When the matter became known, they daubed her with honey and placed her on the parapet of the wall, and the bees came and consumed her.�

Putting it all together, the greatest sin, the sin worthy of destruction is ignoring the needs of the stranger. Taking care of the stranger is so important that talking to God has to wait until after you have fulfilled your obligation. I don�t see it as much of a stretch to say, ignoring the needs of the stranger bars an individual from talking with God. Prayer is without value where one fails to live the prayer in his/her daily life and behavior.

I am a big proponent of prayer, so, we need to put ourselves in a position to be heard � we have to do the sacred work of welcome and engagement. Shabbat Shalom.

Just verses before this Torah portion begins, we meet Avram (later known as Avraham) for the very first time. His father took him and his wife Sarai (later Sarah) and the rest of the family and settled in Haran. Now, we meet a 75-year-old Avram who has no children, as his wife is, at this point, barren. The Rabbis go to great lengths to fill in the first 75 years of which Torah remains silent (other than that Dad moved the family).

Midrash after Midrash fills in the gap with storylines that speak to his age of awakening, understanding, faith, self-sufficiency, and the like. One story proffers that a three-year-old Avram emerged from hiding in a cave and looked up at the sun and proclaimed it God. He then saw the moon supplant the sun. He thought the moon must be more powerful than the sun. It must be God. The next morning, as the sun rose, he realized that neither the sun nor the moon was god. There was a God who controlled them both (and everything else). Maimonides argues that Avram could not have understood God until he was 40, the age of wisdom. Other stories posit ages between 4 and 75 for his first encounter with God.

Why do our sages feel the need to fill in the blanks? Well, when God calls Abraham, one of the questions we ask is why him? What is so special about this man that God chose him? Perhaps it is not really about just him. The sages know what each other has written; they knew of all these differing proposed dates for Avram�s epiphany.

Our sages understood that this story and its potential teaching speaks to each of us � very personally. The point? Well, perhaps each understood that our lives do not stagnate and with each day comes a new level of wisdom/experience. Each day, we see the world through a broader or narrower lens, based on yesterday�s engagements. No differently than reading the same Torah yields new commentaries each year, our relationship with faith changes and each moment is an opportunity for a new epiphany or awakening.

As I reflect on my faith journey, I do not recognize the many past iterations of �me.� I cannot say that I was inauthentic, or that I am better or smarter now. I can only say that I am different than I was and most certainly from what I will be. The Midrashic paradigm of Avram tells us to be open to learning, growing, sometimes shrinking, and always evolving.

I stay alarmed at the way in which people dig their heels into entrenched ideals and shut the door on any possible to learn, as they proffer their own �perfect� answers for all time. How can we exist in relationships when we refuse to listen, to engage, to learn with each other? We live in an era, though, where disagreement on any issue draws a forever line between people on every issue.

How can people exist in faith when instead of turning their swords into plowshares, they turn their plowshares into targeted missiles and their pruning hooks into daggers? In this country, the physical violence lays tempered for now, but the damage we inflict on the dignity of our nation, our religious traditions, and on our neighbors and family � all in the name of GOD � is untenable.

If, as our tradition teaches, every day prospectively opens the door for a �lev tahor � a new heart� and �hizdamnoot chadasha � a new opportunity,� we have an obligation to pay more attention. If we refuse to, then going to worship, praying over food, health, well-being, or peace is an utter waste of time. Prayer opens hearts and minds. It does not build walls and separation. It�s time to pray � to intentionally pray � and learn to hear each other.

We need to stop throwing the partisan manipulated rhetoric at each other. There are facts; there are truths; many are inconvenient and some beyond our understanding, but they are there. On Yom Kippur, we read from Deuteronomy that truth is not so far in the heavens or across the waters that someone has to bring it to us. It is available to each of us. We just have to pay attention. Shabbat Shalom.

Monmouth Reform Temple
332 Hance Avenue
Tinton Falls, NJ 07724 rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

With the storms that have crashed through the Carolinas and the Gulf Coast, I am tempted to write about the power of water and the line between devastation and renewal it negotiates. I would have to launch a conversation on Climate Change, environmentalism, and all things earthy. As I sat down to outline this conversation, I could not get past the beginning of the portion. Noah was a righteous man, IN HIS GENERATION. He was the best that his generation had to offer; a generation that was so evil that it warranted drowning with 40 days of torrential rains and the resulting flooding.

Order from nothingness. The literal text tells us that God created the world ex nihilo � out of nothing. Well, not quite nothing. Our morning liturgy reminds us that �God spoke and the world came into being.� Something had to exist for God�s command to have mattered. I can command the cake to bake, but if there are no ingredients and no oven, we will not be eating dessert. Torah calls this stuff �Tohu va Vohu.� The best translation I ever heard for this phrase came from a colleague who said, �Yucky� stuff. All of the majesty that we appreciate in this world originates in yuckiness. What we experience, stemming from this �yuckiness� are the most luscious of roses, most succulent melons, breathtaking canyons and forests, and all of the things in the world that make us go, �WOW!� Four plus years ago, we moved to the New Jersey shore. I had never lived this close to water. I stand in awe every time I go to the ocean and realize that this is not a vacation � it is my home.

At the same time, I recognize that creation continues to unfold and the universe still teems with �yuckiness.� Torah does not say that God finished all creation, only that God finished these acts of creation (the first week) and then rested. The story of creation continues throughout the rest of the Bible, every sacred text of all traditions, and most definitely through the relationships, we nurture and ignore.

Some of that yucky stuff exists all around us and within us. We are all works in progress, as is the world around us. Each morning we remind ourselves of this ongoing need for positive created energy. In the morning liturgy, we read �Baruch Sh�amar v�haya ha-olam. Praise is the One who spoke and the world came into being.� According to Biblical tradition, God created with speech. �Let there be light, and there was light.� This morning prayer reminds of two crucial life lessons and motivators. Each of us has an obligation to remember the power of our mouths. Made in the image of God, we have capacities little less than divine. We also create, and we do so as we open our mouths. We speak and create atmosphere between people. The second reminder built into this prayer is that we create with the same yucky stuff with which God did.

If we fail to be intentional in creating good out of yucky, it stays yucky. After each day of creation in this week�s opening Torah portion, God looks at how yuckiness transformed into a blessing and declared it, �Good.� We stand obliged to be able to look at all that we create, able to make the same declaration. �Good� takes effort. Living amidst the yuckiness is default behavior, and even where we will agree that we despise �yucky� (except for power mongers who love seeing us stuck and distracted in it), we often do not seem very motivated to participate in the transformation. We seem perfectly content to live in the chaos that leaves our world and relationships in disarray.

Perhaps as we renew our Torah cycle and continue our celebration of the new year, might it be possible to take a step back and pay attention? We pray for peace. We pray for oppressed people�s ascension to freedom and prosperity. We will revere the prophets and sages, our Biblical, folklore, and historical heroes who stood up to be counted and helped open our eyes to challenges � the yuckiness all around. Their life lessons compel us to model our behavior after theirs and our morals after the ones that bring healing into the world. We then go about our business as if they never existed. We need to do more.

Torah continues to present us with the choice that we have to make between the blessing and the curse. The blessing heals us and moves us forward. The curse may benefit some people, but always at the expense of another. The blessing affirms the majesty of life. The curse kills the spirit � even of those who benefit from the world remaining yucky. In every case, faith commands us to choose life. Shabbat Shalom.

On Rosh Hashanah, I spoke about the need to understand that multiple truths co-exist. Truth is about perception. We all know what we know, andWe just finished the Jewish High Holy Days. On the one hand, I am relieved of the stress. On the other hand, it was a beautiful holy day season at Monmouth Reform Temple. Many of my colleagues dread these days because of the pressure of preparation and the marathon services one has to lead. Once I know what I want to talk about for the Holy Days (sometimes a challenge), I get to focus on celebrating with my congregational family and extended family (as we welcome all guests). I am blessed to serve here.

That said, I love how our sages ordered our holidays and our Torah cycle. They are out of synch. We began the new year, even as we are not yet finished reading last year�s Torah cycle. I looked at this week�s Torah portion and realized that we still have a couple of weeks before we start over (Simchat Torah when we finish Deuteronomy and begin Genesis). I am intrigued with the location of this Torah portion in our calendar chronology. Is the new year a new start or is the new cycle a new start? The answer is yes, "new starts" are not moments in time; they are processes.

Of course, the sages give all sorts of reasons for why we are �out of synch,� but you know me. I am also often �out of synch.� What struck me this year, as I looked at the order of the fall holy days was - the order. We begin the new year while we are still ending last year�s reading cycle. At first, it seems odd that we begin something new, even while we have the old to still not just do, but celebrate. In the normal course of living, we experience the phenomenon of starting over while we still have to wrap up the past. Moving forward takes preparation and effort. Our intentions need to turn to the work of bringing closure to one world even as we embark on living the next (Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur). Certainly, we celebrate/reflect on those moments of new news, but we have to work through the good or challenging news we confront.

Our youngest went to college, and in the midst of her new and exciting adventure, she still had to finish packaging the emotions tying her to old routines and relationships back home. The excitement for one grows, even as we slug through getting past old expected norms. This same phenomenon rings true in the job market. Even when we land a new position, we have to finish our commitment (several weeks of notice) to our old job. Celebrating that moment of release when you get to start over (Simchat Torah); when you have a grip on the new (no longer distant future) status in life; this is worth the party.

Our sages showed keen insight in the way in which our holidays play out. We never reach too high a high or are allowed anything prolonged with the places of despair. The cycles of celebration/commemoration push us to maintain perspective and provides us with eternal hope. We always know that the next celebration is just over the horizon. Whatever today�s challenge, as Annie put it, �The sun will come out tomorrow.� The holidays of reflection (including memorials to those passed on) help us stay focused that celebration will come. From personal experience, I can tell you that having experienced this truth in my world (holiday and otherwise), it makes the challenges that much easier to process. It makes the work of t�shuvah (turning our hearts) less threatening. It allows us to participate in the toughest moments of atonement with hope.

While we read from the prayer book, acknowledging all the places where we fell short this past year, confessing our need to do the real soul searching necessary for change, we get to end every such thought with �and the time to celebrate is coming quickly.� We see so many depressed people who are stuck in their baggage. The promise of our cycle keeps reminding us that we are never without celebration, even in the toughest moments. This belief is precisely what compels me to tell people that I am blessed every day. I struggle with a lot internally and externally, but I absolutely know that I am more blessed than challenged, but often I take the blessings for granted. Failing to remember that the blessings exist is where most people who only struggle, emotionally fail.

So, we are in a new year and should be using the next couples of weeks to finish our reflections on the year passed by. I believe that we should all take some moments to reflect on the past, but more so, prepare ourselves to make the most of our joys to come. Shabbat shalom.

Monmouth Reform Temple
332 Hance Avenue
Tinton Falls, NJ 07724 rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

On Rosh Hashanah, I spoke about the need to understand that multiple truths co-exist. Truth is about perception. We all know what we know, and often, we know it so well that it is nigh impossible to believe that someone else�s thoughts could possibly be true.

In our current climate, we do this to each other with religion. We do this to each other with politics, economics, and every realm that requires us to invest ourselves in accepting a path or a rationale for how and why things happen. This behavior is not new, but it is a whole lot more pervasive than it has ever been.

Faith, however, is supposed to protect us from this spiritual alienation and segregation. Faith is supposed to remind us that we are common travelers, sojourning together through life seeking greater wisdom and greater understanding. Thousands of years ago, our sages understood that we need each other. Aesop wrote the fable, �The Four Oxen and the Lion.� A lion attack for oxen, but every time he got close, they turned their tales to each other�s so that from whichever direction the lion attacked, it met Oxen horns head on. Even the lion is no match for the powerful blow that the horns delivered. The oxen stayed safe this way. Over time, though, the oxen bickered about who was the strongest and bravest. Their spirited teamwork fell apart as a result of their failing respect for the dynamism that they collectively held for survival. As the lion approached, he could attack each from the rear or the side. A lion is far more agile than an ox. One by one, each ox became the lion�s meal. Together we stand, divided we fall.

This same parable finds its way throughout scripture and the folklore of every civilization. It is the focus of a large piece of this week�s Torah portion. We read that every seven years, we are supposed to stop working the land. Instead, we must focus our attention on spiritual growth; personally and communally. The land will continue to produce food, but for that one year, the fruit is fair game for anyone. Even while Torah counsels us on ethical business practices helping us financially secure the future for our families, it also reminds us that ultimately, our existence is a spiritual one, not one rooted in material possessions. We get to earn and grow our estate for six years, but every seventh, we need to take a step back and concentrate on reprioritizing our efforts. For that one year, we are not rich or poor. We are not privileged or challenged. Everyone has equal access to the food grown in any property throughout the community. We are one community. �Ahm echad eem lev echad � One people with one heart.�

After the sabbatical year, the Priest is supposed to gather everyone in the community and remind them of our unity and commitment to each other (read what Torah says about this) so that as we get back into earning our keep and growing our wealth, we will always stay mindful that we have an obligation to everyone in the community.

We are spiritual beings living material life experiences. How many of us end up feeling so unfulfilled in life because of the things we don�t have? How many of us defend positions to the point of argument to avoid having to face the reality that there may be more we don�t know; don�t possess? How often do we prioritize protecting what we have, even at the expense of growing who we are � or who we can be?

Moses is about to pass the leadership role to Joshua. A new era will begin. We are about to leave last year behind and enter a new opportunity to redefine who we are and who we want to be. What we know for sure, is that we need each other. We can fool ourselves some of the time into thinking that we are self-sufficient, but in every facet of life, we need someone else to help give life extra value. Let�s begin the new year affirming this truth, and let�s get back to growing from and with each other�s blessings. Shabbat shalom.

�You are all standing this day before Adonai, your God the leaders of your tribes, your elders and your officers, every man of Israel, your young children, your women, and your convert who is within your camp both your woodcutters and your water drawers, that you may enter the covenant with God ... But not only with you am I making this covenant and this oath, but with those standing here with us today before God, and also with those who are not here with us, this day.� (Deut 29:9-14)

Ok, this how this week�s Torah portion (Nitzavim) begins. It is not enough that we read it this Shabbat, but we will embrace it again on Yom Kippur. This text must be really important!

It is! I think that this text is dispositive of all matters about who matters and who doesn�t; who is in and who is out. Everybody who was there that day and everybody who was not there � that means - everybody in all time. Now, as I see it, the uber-religious folks out in this world claim that God is all knowing and all doing. So, from strictly a biblically literal perspective, an all-everything God would have known at that moment that there would be other religions and cultures. Still and all, God said �Everyone.� Who then is responsible for throwing people out? Blame God all you want, but as Pogo once said, �We have met the enemy. He is us.�

For the rest of us who are not quite so literal, I think that the paradigm rings true, as well. Whatever created us created all of us. The rest is commentary.

Now that I have settled all religious disputes for all time, I need to clear up one more thing before the High Holy Days begin. I don�t care what your politics are. I don�t care what your religion is. I don�t care about your gender, orientation, ethnicity, nationality, piercings, tattoos, or anything else that sets your biology, anatomy, life choices, or anything else that I could not think of at this moment. I care that you are human. The rest is commentary.

As we embark upon these days of restoration and renewal, take them seriously. Do not bother showing up if you come with a heart so stuck in partisanship (either direction) that you are unwilling to hear your neighbor. Do not bother showing if the pleas from the Torah and Prophets to care for the widow, the orphan, and the stranger � the impoverished and weakest amongst us will fall on deaf ears. If you have ever read Torah or studied the prophets, you must understand that this commitment to those in need are not choices and not an agenda. These are our sacred texts, and they define who we are and not what we do.

Amos 5:21-24 - �I hate, I despise your feasts, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them; and the peace offerings of your fattened animals, I will not look upon them. Take away from me the noise of your songs; to the melody of your harps, I will not listen. But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.�

Psalm 82:3-4 - �Give justice to the weak and the fatherless; maintain the right of the afflicted and the destitute. Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked.�

Since one cannot think to be Jewish, Christian, or Muslim and not accept these words from Zachariah as �gospel,� allow me to suggest that this should be the mantra that governs each of our thoughts as we engage the Holy Day season (and every day thereafter).

Zechariah 7:9-10 - �Thus says the Lord of hosts, Render true judgments, show kindness and mercy to one another, do not oppress the widow, the fatherless, the sojourner, or the poor, and let none of you devise evil against another in your heart.�

Rabbi Marc Kline
Monmouth Reform Temple |
332 Hance Avenue, Tinton Falls, NJ 07724

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Va-et'chanan

I am getting ready to attend my 40th high school reunion in about two months. Being 58 did not seem �old� until I realized that I finished high school four decades ago. In so many ways, they seem to have just blown by. When talking to old classmates recently located on social media, we start getting lost in nostalgia as we plan to see each other. Somewhere along the way, we start speaking about all that happened since and receive that wake-up call that makes us question whether or not we really ever paid attention to each other. Back then, it seems as though we all had so much in common. In a language of almost solidarity, we turned our tassels at graduation pledging to be Valley Vikings, forever.
Of course, we then all went our separate ways. Over the course of these 40 years, life has tossed us in all different directions. I am alarmed at the number of classmates who have left their earthly course. I am also somewhat amused, disturbed, concerned, thrilled, confused, and delighted at the twists and turns we have all traveled. The bully who has gone around apologizing to everyone after he came terms with his own situation, the �stoners� who are now conservative politicians, and the �most likely to succeed (or fail)� who are in polar opposite worlds from anything we could have imagined. The folks who hear that I am a Rabbi find the prospect hysterical (of course, there are days I still do, as well).

The innocence with which we left high school is gone. Looking back, the signs of all the things we now know or dismiss were there. Even as our classes, organizations, teams and friend groups seemed integrated and normal back then, we have the experience now, to know better. Racism was alive and well. We had an annual race riot that lasted a week. Coaches refused to let anyone who participated play. Men objectified women. Locker room talk was never appropriate, but it was rampant and sometimes ugly. As a Jew, I was the other in several situations. A friend accused me of bullying him because I objected to a graduation prayer that was going to be uniquely Christian � excluding all others from God that day. Somehow, though, with all of these very real stories, we celebrated sharing the pride of being Valley Vikings, forever.

Through all this reminiscence and perspectivization (is that a word?), I look at some our conversations now and have had to remind myself that there is a place in our lives where we did share so much, and even with the struggles, we found celebration in each other�s arms over the course of our four years. Certainly now, as this nation has polarized so many of us, I believe we need to think back to a time when the differences between what we believed and where we came from did not stop most of us from appreciating each other as human beings.

This week�s Torah portion includes a �retelling� of the �10 Commandments.� I always think of how they complement each other, teaching general precepts that transcend religion. Each speaks about sacred relationships; the way in which we are supposed to dignify each other. As I think about it, we have a lot of folks who push their own understanding of these commandments on each other, ignoring that this �push� only demeans each other�s dignity. The people who, in the name of God, now justify dismissing other people just don�t get it. Going back to school, we were, in all of our diversity, all Valley Vikings. It would be unthinkable to tell anyone from our group that they no longer qualify. Students transferred in, some citizen, some not, but each became part of our class �family.� No differently, our nation belongs to all of us, and by �us� I mean everybody. The National framers officially amended the United States Constitution to state that the inalienable rights included in the Bill of Rights get guaranteed for all people, not just all citizens or properly documents immigrants. I fail to see how so many people can quote the �10 Commandments� and then be okay tearing apart each other�s dignity.
Remember the command, �THOU SHALL NOT TAKE GOD�S NAME IN VAIN?� How can someone claim to honor the God of love, and rip apart another human being also created by God, and claim that this is love? No wonder religion gets a bad rap. It�s time for us to be more faithful. It�s time for us to show a whole lot more love � for everybody, not just with those who agree with us. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Devarim

I watched a video about a young lady who was celebrating losing 170 pounds. She said that she just had had enough watching life pass her by. She had to do something. She is now a physical trainer.

I counseled with an individual who, after hitting the age of 40 decided he needed to not only �finish� high school, but wanted more. At 50, he received his PhD in education.

I had a friend in high school who went on to star in professional sports until an injury ended his career prematurely. Rather than get stuck in �what could have been,� he now teaches high school history and pushes our youth to succeed.

When my father retired, my own mother decided to finish college. She went on to law school and earned an advanced Law degree in Securities law. We actually went through law school at the same time. Into her octogenarian years, she is still trying to retire but her clients won�t let her. I don�t know how religious these people are, but I am in awe of their strength.

For every one of these amazing success stories, there are manifold more that have very different endings. It is human nature to get stuck. We cannot always know how the stuff that happens to us will impact us. We can, however, always know that there are more and less productive ways to deal with whatever it is. We all experience hardship, whether it manifests spiritually, physically, or emotionally.

Sometimes the obstacles come from the circumstances imposed on us by life situations. Sometimes, life choices that open doors in one direction create roadblocks in others. Often, we do not realize how stuck we are until the task of getting �unstuck� seems daunting and overwhelming and stares us in the face. It takes superhuman effort to move on � or it takes faith and a push.

This week�s Torah portion gives us a little of both. Encamped somewhere between Mt Seir and Mt Horeb (Sinai), Israel is stuck. They spent a year there and God begins this text by telling them to get up and get out.

Moses spoke to the people of Israel according to all that God had commanded regarding them � �You have stayed long enough at this mountain. Turn and take your journey, and go. � See, I have set the land before you. Go in and take possession of the land that God swore to your fathers, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, to give to them and to their offspring after them.� (Deuteronomy 1)

To paraphrase, �God says that there are incredible blessings out there � go get them.� There is not a greater truth in life. How, though, do we get the strength to move? Ok, in the text, it says that God said so. I am not sure what to do with that. The Bible says that God says lots of things. People pick and choose what they think God �really� said, so, for me, God is not the answer. Even as we languish in our stagnant hell, we know that better answers exist. Having �God� tell us to move is nice, but I am not sure quite an effective answer. Almost in passing, the text gives us the solution.

Each of the above examples will be the first to tell you how much their support network helped on his/her journey. It takes someone getting involved and helping to accomplish healing and growth. This week�s text makes it clear that it was not God sending the people across the Jordan to inherit the land. No, God left these instructions to Moses. He prepared the people for freedom and prepared Joshua to lead them. We need people to hold us and push us.

Faith roots in believing that we matter and that others do, as well. The key to this instruction is not that God said it, but that Moses, on our behalf, acted on it. Every day, we encounter people who are locked into places of hate, pain, pain, or shame. If we understand how much we need people to help us, we need to stand with those in need and help bring them into healing. If we don�t get involved, they will stay stuck. Tradition teaches us, �Kol Yisrael aravim zeh b�zeh � Each of us bears responsibility for each other�s well being.� For whatever reasons people around us are in trouble, we are not allowed to let them sit and dwell in their pain or their dysfunction. As people of faith, we must act. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Matot-Massei

�You shall not defile the land in which you live, in which I Myself abide, for I the Lord abide among the Israelite people.�� (Numbers 35:34.)

You know how all sorts of folks claim that this is a religious country, how the Bible governs, and how God speaks through scripture? Now, I believe that we are people of faith. We believe in all sorts of things that we cannot empirically prove. I do not believe, however, that this is the same as religion. Call me and we can discuss it further. That said, for all the people who hold the Bible as the supreme authority, I have to reflect on the above text from this week's Torah portion.

God says not to defile the land. Why has this administration gutted the EPA and destroyed the many protective laws that protect our environment?

Why are we treating the stranger so horrifically, when the Bible says, over and over again, that we are to protect the rights, sanctity, and safety of the stranger?

How can we justify a system that accepts poverty as an "okay" reality? Many argue that the government should not bear the burden of ending poverty; that houses of worship should do that. Ok, but in this uber-religious framework, affiliation in houses of worship is dying. The ones that are strong (Joel Osteen, Creflo Dollar, Pat Robertson, etc.) don't have poverty ministries. They buy jets for their clergy.

How can we pray for peace and watch (or participate) as our neighbors suffer discrimination and bigoted based violence? Is it Godly to say that there are good people who promote violence (from the right or the left), and scream at only the political side with whom we don't affiliate? Can we, in good conscience, point fingers at the others with blame, when our schools, communities, and public places are being shot up by white men?? How can we pray for peace and health in the name of a loving God, and let people go without medical care, living wages, adequate shelter, or safe schools?

If love is a family value, how do we elect leaders on their third or fourth marriages, where the earlier ones ended in their own infidelity?

How can we argue that our education system is "God based," when the school to prison pipeline is out of control, when our teachers have to take second jobs to stay above poverty, when we do away with the funding the arts, but build new sports stadiums?

How can someone claim to be "pro-life" while they let children who are already alive squander in orphanages, in poverty, in ill health, or in any living hell?

I think we are lost in faith and too arrogant to look in the spiritual mirror. Would Jesus want you to call your Black neighbor the "N" word; especially when Jesus was a man of color and not white, himself? Would Moses or Mohammed condone attacking the weakest amongst us; or ignoring the pleas for help from the widow, the orphan, or the stranger?

How can we pray, and do nothing to honor the words emanating from our mouths? Do our ears really hear, do our hearts really feel the words uttered by our lips?

We cannot continue on this path that only throws us politically against each other with little or no respect for the "religious" values that we espouse.

People need to ask themselves if their holy scripture would allow the language, the behaviors, the disdain with which too many use to segregate from each other, ripping apart the fabric of our nation. I pray that we should all take a step back and see if our behaviors comport with an unconditional love of which all people of faith describe God. Shabbat shalom.

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Balak

I find myself scratching my head in disbelief. As leaders of the world seem to be at each other's throats, I watch as people across the globe align themselves on one side or the other, locked in step with the single-minded agenda of their "side's" loudest voices. While we experienced the McCarthy era witch Hunt post World War II, I don't believe that our nation has been this fractured since the Civil War (what a horribly inappropriate name for the bloodiest war in our nation's history). Brothers fought brothers and, quite literally, dinner tables ripped apart over "which side" one subscribed. Lost in it all was the realization that we had chosen single-minded ideologies over and above any regard for the sanctity of life or dignity of creation.

Weekends came and went, as clergy of all different faiths taught the "Golden Rule" to flocks who came to pray. People would pray for peace on their Sabbath and then begin the next week slaughtering their neighbors. It seemed as though peace mattered, "only so long as I got to win."

Those who spoke about the basic human dignity and respect we share as co-creations from the same divine parent got caught in the crossfire.

Today, people resort to screaming at each other and demonstrate little interest in hearing each other. At each other's throats in our quest to bully each other, we are also oblivious to the ways in which power hungry "brokers" manipulate us into hating each other while they continue in garnering power unimpeded and even undetected.

So intent on defeating the �other," we miss the opportunities for insight, wisdom, healing and peace that we desperately want to protect us, but cannot do so against our will.

We know better. If our national history was not enough to remind us of how sacred life should be, we get this week's Torah reading as an exclamation point to the command to pay attention.

Often, better answers than our raw emotions can muster stand right in front of our eyes. Reason screams at us, but we get too emotionally invested to pay attention. In the parsha, Bilaam's donkey is doing everything in his power to save his human master from certain destruction. Bilaam, however, remains intent on his mission and beats his donkey for getting in the way. Not until the animal screams at him in words does Bilaam pay attention, but by then, he had beaten and badly injured his trusted friend.

Are we blind to the damage we inflict on our society and on each other? Seriously, are we really okay living in an America ripped apart at the seams? Is winning more important than our neighbor's dignity and sanctity? Did we learn nothing from a Nazi regime who referred to humans as animals because they looked, loved, prayed, or spoke differently than do others?

The end of the Bilaam story is, or should be, our prayer today. Despite his king's orders to curse an entire nation, he looked out over his presumed enemy's camp and realized that they, too, are blessed. Different is not bad, and certainly not deserving of being cursed. Different is just different. Shabbat shalom.

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Korach

I love Pirke Avot. It is the earliest Jewish book of ethics. Ok, many will argue that the Bible is the earliest, but it is not uniquely Jewish. The text of Pirke Avot (literally the Portions of the Sages) includes teachings well over 2000 years old, and yet, they still motivate our sense of holiness and morality in the 21st Century. One of my favorite and most challenging texts is as follows:

Every argument that is for [the sake of] heaven's name, it is destined to endure. But if it is not for [the sake of] heaven's name -- it is not destined to endure. What is [an example of an argument] for [the sake of] heaven's name? The argument of Hillel and Shammai. What is [an example of an argument] not for [the sake of] heaven's name? The argument of Korach and all of his congregation (Pirke Avot 5:17).

Hillel and Shammai were great sages who agreed on almost nothing, but their debates led people to engage and to think. Still, today, we engage in some of the debates between the two that still play out in our daily lives. Disagreeing is never a problem in my world, being disagreeable is. So Shammai and Hillel led schools that a healthy dose of respect for their tradition and so, even when they disagreed, both were trying to seek God.

The text understands that Korach�s story served a very different purpose. Korach�s story is this week�s Torah portion. In a nutshell, Korah is a Levite, and as such, is entitled/obligated to religious tasks in serving the people. In his eyes, Moses and Aaron seem to have forgotten that there are other Levites, as they took on all priestly and prophetic responsibilities/entitlements for themselves. As the story plays out, God ordained that Moses and Aaron should be in charge, even while others would serve under them. Korach rebels. He argues that Aaron and Moses have taken too much authority on themselves and not engaged others who are supposed to share in the task.

Rabbis debate whether or not Korach had a valid argument. Some argue that he was right and the text depict how unfair things can be when, even being right, the earth opened and swallowed his entourage. Others argue that since God ordained what God ordained, Korach blasphemed and deserved the wretched fate.

Whether Korach was right or not is not, in my thought, the reason God got upset. My concern (and I think God�s), is in how Korach presented his case. Right or wrong, he came at Moses and Aaron threatening them. Had Korach taken Moses and Aaron aside to have this conversation, they might have agreed with him. No, in open rebellion, Korach sought to humiliate Moses, Aaron, and God. I have never seen a controversy end well that began with threats of rebellion.

People make good decisions, and we make challenging ones. The measure of our humanity is not so much in the decision, but in how we make it and how we play it out. In even the non-political world (if it is separable) we debate politically. Politics is about winning at all costs in the moment of battle. We need to engage more and sometimes even be thankful for the different opinions at the table. We have a lot to learn from each other, even in our disagreement. The moment that a conversation begins in attack mode, we condemn society to fall into the abyss. God opened the earth to swallow the assailants.

I am speaking about �derekh eretz;� the Jewish concept of decency and �mensch-hood.� The goal of faith is not to mandate consensus around any one idea. No, faith must give us the security and courage to face even the most challenging of situations with our eyes focused on the damage or healing that our reaction might produce. Another favorite text from Pirke Avot (2:14): �In a world where no one seems to be behaving humanely; strive to be humane.� Works for me! Shabbat Shalom.

I grew up hating professional students. I always thought, pejoratively, that people who spent their lives studying needed

As I pay attention to the news from the Middle East, I have to fight off some depression and frustration. I have been blessed to co-lead and lead two Interfaith clergy trips to Israel on behalf of our Heart of New Jersey Jewish Federation. The goal of each trip is to help Rabbis, Ministers, Priests, and Imams passed the headlines of the US or European news opening for each a more hands-on and personal immersion into what is really happening there. The result of each trip is the same. In fact, we now call it the �It�s Complicated� tour. Both sides experience pain. Both sides perpetrate and perpetuate the violence. It is, at its very core, complicated, even while people all over the world pick one side or the other (even chastising those who do not). Picking sides ignore reality. It is complicated, and please remember that perception is truth. I am called a flaming liberal by many because I understand that each side has a truth that they hold dear and sacred. Based in fact or not, it is their �truth,� and the only way to combat it is with respectful engagement, not warfare.

I hold strong beliefs that hold many people accountable, including and especially the so many people around the world who pick sides without thorough investigations. I can make arguments calling attention to Israel�s abusive policies. I can equally demonstrate the violent intentions of Hamas. I can show where Israel withholds necessary humanitarian aid and services to Palestinians and also how Gazan schools teach third graders to kill Israelis and Jews. I have been shot out of olive groves by Israeli settlers, standing with Palestinian farmers who had held that land for generations before there was an Israeli state. I have stood, shaking in a tunnel from Gaza into the backyard of an Israeli family who had experienced a thwarted kidnapping, and hidden in S�derot when Iron Dome intercepted a rocket launched from Gaza. Human lives are at stake and the world postures politically.

The current violence at the border is not about the embassy, it is about an overzealous blockade, though Egypt maintains the same blockade, but there is no attempt to breach it. It is a commemoration of Nakba, the Palestinian belief that they were robbed of their homeland. If it were all about the blockade, there would be fighting at the Egypt border, as well.

Here are important articles to read. There are many more, but here is a sampling. I pray it helps us communicate and not posture, for this situation is � complicated:

Perhaps the most thoughtful piece to share is one that speaks to my heart, but Rabbi Donniel Hartman often does:

Enter this week�s Torah portion: Bamidbar � In the Wilderness. I wander lost in this wilderness. I do not know how to save lives, fix misperceptions on both sides or keep people from posturing on one side or the other. Israel must be held accountable. Hamas must be held accountable. And, yes, even the United States must be held accountable. From the Nobel Prize that went to President Clinton for a promise of peace that he could not deliver, to President Obama and President Trump�s choices to ignore Gaza and along with it, many Palestinian human rights matters.

In studying this week, though, I do hold on to hope, because also tied into this week�s portion and celebration for they detail two most important lessons for humanity. First, with the taking of the census, we must become aware that people matter, not just as a group, but as individuals. The war may be between Hamas and Israel, but human lives are at stake, and each is sacred. Secondly, this weekend is Shavuot (The Feast of Weeks). According to tradition, the people receive the Torah on this holiday. They do not receive it in Israel, though. God reveals Torah at Sinai, in the middle of the wilderness: a land no one owns. Why? Torah is a universal truth. Its command to love and its respect for humanity is not the teaching of one religion; it is a core sacred value of every religion. Torah�s command inures to each of our benefit and obligates each of our souls, and every voice that would lord one of over another is nothing short of blasphemy.

From Amazing Grace, �I once was lost, but now am found; was blind, but now I see. �Twas grace that taught my heart.� Torah�s most profound and sacred lesson of faith is that this universal grace, the grace due to each of God�s created souls, is sacred for everyone with whom we meet. Shabbat Shalom

I grew up hating professional students. I always thought, pejoratively, that people who spent their lives studying needed to get a life. What a waste!!!!! Then, I went to law school. At that point, I added some more letters to my name and committed to a career of study (UGH!). If one does not keep up with the ever-evolving (or devolving) legal world, one commits malpractice. So, in addition to the many hours of mandatory Continuing Legal Education credits, I had to continue ongoing growth in the fields of law in which I practiced. This study was different, though, I had to do so to make a living. All sorts of horrible things would happen if I just stopped studying.

Religious study is �a whole nother� animal. Studying for the sake of studying. I can promise you that this idea was not in my DNA pattern growing up. I never understood the Rabbinic commitment to spending all day in the Yeshiva (house of study). There was nothing to gain from spending time pouring over books and debating texts.

Well, of course, we know �I saw the light!� Seriously, as I began tutoring Bar/Bat Mitzvah students in Little Rock, I quickly experienced the powerful impact and enlightenment that results from text study. No, I am not an �uber� religious fanatic. In fact, I am not a religious person. Through engagement with our tradition, I learned faith, and I believe that I am devoutly faithful. I came to understand that the psychology of the world is eternal and the human condition wrestles with many of the same challenges as did our ancestors, thousands of years ago. Over two thousand years ago, a sage understood that if one in the community is oppressed, none are free. Another figured out that one cannot serve God by throwing food on an altar, as though our function was to fatten the God of excess. No, the food on the altar went to the people who spent their time governing, hearing complaints, solving problems, These priests, in turn, shared it with the poor in the community. While we have not solved the problems of ego and insecurity, we continue to passionately find relevant ways in which to help people overcome themselves and each other. It is through the Torah debate that a group of people create a synergy, finding better answers as a group than anyone could have imagined on his/her own. I understand that religion is a concern in this generation. I understand how badly it gets abused, and that religious dogmatism may be the single greatest enemy against faith. Even if I believe that religion struggles for relevance in this generation, it remains crystal clear to me that faithful study continues to open our eyes (and keeps religion from idolatry).

This week�s parsha includes an interesting word construct: B�chukotai. The context of the verse has God instructing Moses, �If you walk in my ways and obey my laws, I will give you rain in its season.� The word �chok� means laws, but the type of law that one observes through discipline, not because it ties strictly to a result. Don�t speed so that you get fewer accidents. Don�t withhold the wages of a laborer. These rules make sense. While �Dinim� and �Mishpatim� involve definable practice with definable goals, �Chukim� are matters of faith. Issues of mixing linen and wool, kashrut, or the red heifer are radically different. In fact their only value is to study and interpret, but in that process, worlds open up. To debate whether an animal is fit to eat, one has to first debate whether we should be eating animals, and if so, we need to understand the value of life-giving life and the responsibility we have not to abuse that meal. Ultimately, for many, it has nothing to do with the narrowly focused rituals and everything to do with the moral values that come out of these conversations. These conversations only happen, when we get together to study � just for the sake of studying.

More valuable than gold are these conversations for they impact how we see and treat the world, including how we are supposed to interact in the business world, the familial world, and the faith world. The nightmare revolves how many abuse this process and give it a bad name for the rest of us.

�I will give you rain.� If we are diligent in our study and our conversations, if we struggle to grow, then life fertilizes our spirit no differently than the rains grow the grains in the earth. Join in holy conversations around study; it helps to make a lot of sense of rituals that seem to exist for the sake of existing. Some you will accept, some you will not, but for each, you will have made an informed choice as to which help you focus and which only serve as distractions. Shabbat Shalom.

I was one of those teenage students who did everything I was supposed to do, but only what I was supposed to do, to get good grades. I graduated high school with honors. I participated in a lot of activities. I also know that my heart just was not in a lot of it. Perhaps it did not help that I lived under my valedictorian brother�s shadow. I was never going to be as smart as was David. I was never going to be because I just did not care enough to be, yet still, others expected me to be. The one thing that really mattered was throwing the discus and playing football, but I destroyed my shoulder during my freshman year at Tulane University. Oh well.

It was not until my brother went to Medical School at Tulane and we shared an apartment that I began to figure things out. First, I did not have to keep up with him. We were very different, but not lesser or better. Second, and far more important, I had aspirations and realized that walking through life is not going to get me there. Value is absolutely tied to effort. I got through everything but did not have much value to show for having done it. David always wanted to be a Doctor, and until the day he passed away was (by acclaim of colleagues and patients) one of the finest.

So, I look at this week�s Torah portion and somehow see my life's epiphany therein. Moses receives a command from God, �The fire on the altar shall burn on it; it shall not go out. The Priest shall kindle wood upon it every morning.� If we take the age-old precept that nothing in Torah is superfluous, then any perceived redundancy is not � redundant. Hence, we have, in this portion, two separate ideas. The first is that a fire burns on the altar 24 hours a day - 7 days a week. As the text seems to teach, this fire comes from God. We see from several places in Scripture that the altar fire comes straight from God (most notably the Elijah story). Whether the wood was there or not, the fire exists. The second piece tells us that even if the fire exists on its own, the Priest must still fuel it. Why do we need to fuel a fire that will not extinguish?

As I said, value is absolutely tied to effort. There may be a fire on the altar, but it can cook no food if we fail to engage it in an appropriate way. Fire may destroy us when we misuse it, as well. The priest has to fuel the fire and tend to it in order for the ritual offerings to have value. In tending to the fire, the resultant enhanced flame feeds the needy amongst us, helps ring atonement and restoration, and helps us acknowledge our thankfulness for the gifts that enrich our lives.

The very presence of God is meaningless if we pay no heed to the power that we can derive from the partnership. The time spent getting good grades has no value if one only remembers facts for a test and then empties the brain thereafter. I tell our youth that studying for the celebration of Bar/Bat Mitzvah is worthless if the goal is to regurgitate sounds that seem like Hebrew on the pulpit only to forget everything the next day. Each of us is a priest. Torah tells us that people of faith are a mamlechet kohanim, a kingdom of priests � all of us. Each of us has a life handed to us. We may not control it�s setting, it�s beginning or end, or the challenges or blessings that prejudice our paths, but each of us makes decisions on how to respond to all of it. If we fail to respond, we waste our lives.

I wasted a lot of years walking through relationships and opportunities. Perhaps this reality explains why I sometimes feel neurotically driven to fill my calendar � my life with so many chances to learn, to grow, to make a difference, and to celebrate life. Perhaps in my epiphany, I find the root of my standard answer to everyone who inquires as to my well being. �I am blessed every day.� I have learned of this gift from people in all stations of life: poor and rich; old and young; ill and well; oppressed and powerful. The origin of Gospel music was an affirmation that while white slave owners may have claimed to own someone�s body, no one owned his/her soul. The stories of heroism from the NAZI imposed ghettos reminds the world that we are prisoners of hope, even if held prisoner to hate. The Psalms both celebrate the majesty of our relationship with divinity and our commitment to seek light even in our darkest moments. The fire exists on your altar. With what will you tend it? With whom will you share its produce? U�v�charta b�chayim. Choose life, don�t just live it. Shabbat Shalom.

Torah teaches us that a tremendous amount of energy went into to building the Tabernacle in the wilderness. Over the course of 13 chapters in Exodus, Torah details every aspect of the tabernacle�s creation, training of priests, and dedication to serving God. Over these chapters, we read and re-read the same instructions. Most clearly, this is important stuff! Torah devotes only two chapters to the creation of the universe (and they oppose each other). We get the Sinai revelation in 3 chapters. The entire plague and Exodus story only gets 11 chapters.

Throughout time, sages seek to understand why so much text, with so much repetition, went into describing the Tabernacle�s creation. Perhaps the process of creating a place where God may dwell amongst us must be an intentional act. Our sanctuary cannot be built cutting corners, displacing people, or alienating people. Elsewhere in the Bible (Isaiah 56:7) we learn that our sanctuary is a house of worship for all people, not just all people who wear the same religious label. It is relatively easy to put together a worship experience for people who all think and act alike, but it takes intentional attention to the details to make one�s sanctuary open for all people.

Perhaps the repetition teaches us that the Tabernacle is not just one structure; it is every structure that creates a home for God. We need to build each of our homes paying attention to the details. How do we provide for each other? How do we furnish, decorate, and design in ways that make all people feel welcome? In and of itself, this would be a great lesson. No home should be built or lived in without concern for neighbors and for all who might cross our threshold.

Perhaps the text is so lengthy and repetitive to frustrate the reader into asking why we need it at all. Herein we find the most difficult question in all of philosophy and theology: �Why are we?� Why does God need us to build God a home? God can be everywhere and nowhere. Does God need us to do anything for God? With all of the power we ascribe to God (Creator of the whole universe), what need would God have for us? Well, to be honest, God has never told me so directly, but I think that there is one thing that God does not control but that God needs. God needs to matter. The Master of all good has no way in which to judge what is and is not good, except through how we use and proliferate or abuse and destroy the blessings given us.

If a simply hospitable world was the goal, then the simple act of creation provided that. Because God does not need us to build a building in which to dwell, the purpose of building is for us to find a place in which God can dwell with us. I refuse to believe that the textual details of color and material matter, but that they call on each of us to bring our best gifts and build with our best intentions and hearts. God did not finish creation and then create us to enjoy it. God is still creating and evolving �creation.� We are part of the process, not simply the inheritor of the finished product. Our role, as animated partners in the on-going creation, is to evolve ourselves; become vessels through which love and light can be absorbed and shared. This enlightenment cannot happen by accident. We must be deliberate in fashioning our environment, honing our spirit, and focusing our energy, all to foster �good� in the world. Where we fail to be intentional in this work, we end up with what we see too often in the news; the pain and degradation of society and the ultimate destruction of our earth.

Building a place wherein we can dwell with divinity takes intention but not much work. The glistening gold of the Torah is the value our hearts bring to the work. The strength of the acacia wood is the unyielding will for love and dignity with which we engage each other. The inner sanctuary where the priest meets God is the space between each of us when we have the opportunity to engage. The Torah�s altar of sacrifice is the public domain where we meet the world. No, differently than the priest has an obligation dignify whatever people bring to the altar, we must dignify all who with whom we come into contact. The world works when heaven and earth touch � when God dwells with us, not just around us � where we treat each other with the dignity do service to God. Shabbat shalom.

Moving to the north has brought its share of blessings and challenges. One challenge that I never saw coming (but should have) was that when someone yells, �Rabbi!� they may not be talking to me. In Florence, South Carolina or Lexington, Kentucky, there was a real dearth of Rabbis. The odds were that if someone yelled that word, they were talking to me. Up here, we exist on almost every street corner. I am only one of hundreds in this part of the world. It has taken me a while to not immediately responding, �Yes?�

Likewise, we all know this scenario. Someone shouts, �Hey, you!� The whole room turned around to look in the direction from where the voice came. A sole face looked back at them. �To whom were you addressing?� shouted one voice in response? �I guess all of you since each of you turned.� It�s not like, �Hey David or Debi,� it was just �Hey you!� Each of us has a name, yet, in that moment, each of us forgets our identity and becomes simply, �you.� Are we conditioned to believe that any time an ambiguity happens in conversation, that we are the subject of who is being spoken?

How many times do we walk into a conversation and either assume that they are talking about us, or interrupt in such a way to make sure that they are not? Basically, we are insecure people in need of affirmation and validation, and sometimes, at any cost. We need to know who the "you" is, and whether or not it is us.

This week's Torah reading is the only weekly portion of the cycle that never includes Moses' name. Torah depicts God giving lots of instructions to an anonymous "you." The sages argue, "Of course God speaks with Moses, who else?"

Who else? Well, the text involves finishing the nuances of Tabernacle worship. To whom else would God be talking? Maybe, just maybe ... us? Wait, yes, I said it. The "hey you" might actually mean �you.�

Maybe the problem is not that we think the world is talking about us. Maybe the problem is that we are not listening. I think we should be conditioned to turning our heads when the �Hey, you!� statements fly in the air. When the prophets of scripture spoke, they spoke of �you.� When the heroes of history have spoken words of challenge and blessing, it was to �you.� When someone screams for help, they scream for �you� to answer. So, when God is giving us the details of how best to respect the gifts of our community, God is speaking to �you.� When we are more caught up in not being the object of a conversation or making sure that we direct the conversation, we create barriers that keep us from the opportunities to hear ourselves being �called.�

When Moses saw the burning bush, our sages teach that it was burning for anyone to see. Only Moses stopped to investigate. When God called Abraham, our tradition debates whether God called Abraham or whether God called and Abraham was the one who acknowledged hearing it. The Biblical paradigms keep teaching us that we are always subject to hearing God�s voice in our lives, only some of us listen with the intent of hearing God. �Hey you, feed the hungry.� �Hey you, shelter the homeless.� �Hey you, teach people.� �Hey you, love your neighbor.� The poet John Donne instructed us that if we are involved with humanity, then when the bell tolls; when someone yells �Hey you;� don�t ask for whom it tolls. It tolls for you. Let�s listen for our call to service; let�s get to work. Shabbat shalom.

Torah�s first set of 10 commands happens in the first verses of Torah. Contrary to popular thoughts, we do not have to wait until the Mt. Sinai experience to hear about God�s expectation for the world. God said, �Let there be light.� God expected that light would happen, and it did. Over the course of the Genesis �Chapter One� creation story, God will speak ten commands. Ten spoken commands created the entire world, as the forces of nature and the elements of the universe jumped at each time divinity spoke.

Torah teaches us that it took little effort to create the magnificence of our world. This text speaks metaphorically, but the point is that the puzzle piece all came together; there were no distractions, disputations, or discriminations to get in the way.

Fast forward to the current week�s Torah reading. Simply to build a place in which God could dwell (on the earth created by ten statements), it took an �Act of Congress.� God had to give 92 commands, in this portion alone, just to build the Tabernacle (a portable structure that was supposed to be the traveling reminder that God is always with us).

Of course, in the interim between the creation of the world, and creating a place safe for God to rest with us, the text teems with human distractions, disputations, and discriminations. Building the Tabernacle should have served as the rallying focal point, returning all people from their exiles from each other and from God. Everyone encamped around the seat of the divine presence, and even as the people traveled through the wilderness, they recreated this same communal structure wherever they stopped. No sooner was it completed, though, than the wars started that even further divided the people. Moses faced internal rebellions and external attacks. We revered the Tabernacle but ignored its call to community and unity, each tribe did as it pleased and each nation sought its control over others. Fast forward 3500 years, it has gotten no better.

10 acts to create the world. We missed something important, along the way. We see it play out in horrible ways. In just our country, the �bastion of freedom, security, and democracy,� we exist in a fractured nation. Whatever one�s politics, no speaks with each other, they scream at each other, as if winning the political battle is more important than governing for all our people.

The distraction of �winning� takes precedence over even our safety and security. Yesterday we witnessed the 18th shooting in a school this year and the 30thmass shooting over the last month and a half. 6572 gun violence incidents have been reported and verified this year (2018). How many went unrecorded or unnoticed? It took one potential shoe bomber to make everyone remove their shoes before getting on a plane. One lot of laced Tylenol made every manufacturer create extra �sealing� in all product packaging. And � no control of guns or violence.

At the beginning of the Torah portion, God exhorts Moses, ask people to give gifts from their heart. From these gifts, we will build the place where God can dwell. A gift from the heart holds greater ultimate value than a gift motivated by ego, status or power. Our Tabernacle is our nation; our schools are the farms in which we grow the next generations of leaders. We perpetuate the myth that we are a faithful nation, as those who lead simply ignore the shooting of over 400 of our children in the last month and a half. Why were they shot? They happened to be attending school � if you will, worshipping at the tabernacle of hope? How do we sing songs and read words, calling ourselves prayerful, make tithes and go about our business? How can the uber-religious voices of this nation continue to support legislators who offer prayers of condolence to victim families, and also prayers of thanksgiving that it wasn�t their own children, and then do nothing to respond proactively?

It is time to be people of faith, to call on our leaders to pay attention to our hearts that bleed, being far more important than our egos that only drain. It will take a lot of work, but the tabernacle of freedom needs to be rebuilt, and God needs us to do it.

For all who argue that this conversation does not belong in a house of worship when you come screaming at God when your loved one was shot; when you ask me to preside over that gut-wrenching funeral � it becomes a matter of faith. Shabbat shalom.

I know a Chasidic story about a woman who was very ill. Her doctors came out of the hospital room to consult with the woman's husband. "We have done everything we can do, but your wife is not going to make it. We are sorry." The husband responded, "I know the power of physician to heal. I know that this is your job and your calling. But nowhere has a physician been given the right or the ability to determine that a human being is incurable. That is for God to decide."

In my chaplaincy capacity, when someone says that they are terminally ill, my immediate response is, "I don't know what I don't know. You will die when you die. In the meantime, let's live and celebrate what we have, for it is only horrible to sit and wait to die."

While we speak, in this instance, about matters of healing, this principle transcends everything we experience in life. We have to understand that there exist pieces of our lives over which we have control and others beyond our grasp. We walk through choices as to how we live, and we choose to be either a fatalist or an activist.

A fatalist waits for things to happen to him. An activist accepts the empowerment to impact the process of living; he wants to have some say over what happens. There are "big picture situations" beyond our control, but even as to those circumstances, we are never without the ability to make some difference. Still, though, we face sometimes daunting obstacles on the path of remembering our power. How often do other people hold us back? People fail to thrive, believing that God ordained their challenges (physical, fiscal or spiritual). Many simply accept the voice of authority making up rules dictating who "has" and who "has not." How many of us get stuck believing that the current answers are the best and most appropriate answers?

We watch too many people experience this painful sense of reality. Scripture, however, teaches us that we always have a choice between the blessing and the curse; between choosing to live or waiting for death. This week's portion reminds us that we cannot sit passively and wait for resolution. In the face of illness or injury, we have an affirmative obligation to bring healing (Ex. 21:19). At no place outside of criminal justice do we have the authority to determine that someone is fated to suffer (even at their own bad choices). I know people who have outlasted their doctor's life sentence. I know people who have fallen, only to rise and find greater success than they could have imagined. We break through stereotypes and change the course of the human engagement on a regular basis. Research and engagement take us to a more intense appreciation of our humanity each day. This activism, mandated by Torah, is the source of every breakthrough that adds value to life.

Such is our commitment to social justice. Every day, we read from our prayer books prayers of healing, justice, and restoration. The prayers never exist in the first person singular, and almost never in a narrow first person plural that involves only a segment of the population. Our Messianic prayers involve peace (wholeness) for the world. Any time that we make decisions that inure to the benefit of some at the expense of the other, we become the force that keeps this Messianic dream from bearing fruit. We see people starving, people who are homeless, families in poverty, rampant discrimination, and u'v'charta b'chayim - we must choose life.

In this day and age, we witness a greater divide between the "haves" and "have-nots"; between the majority and minority populations; between the "powerful" and the "other." We see political rhetoric sham as spiritual discourse where power brokers try to justify through God, their fortunes and other people's miseries.

Faith demands our commitment to each other's growth. Affirmatively, we must step out, even from our comfort zones, to help enrich each other's lives. Torah only empowers us to heal; not to diminish. Last week, as we received the Ten Commandments, the people said, "All that the Lord has spoken we shall do!" We must reaffirm this vow ... and do the work of healing the world. Shabbat shalom.

Sadie Finkelstein lived in an apartment on New York's Lower East Side for about 50 years. Her son, David, had made it big in the corporate world as a cosmopolitan businessman, wheeling, and dealing, traveling to every corner of the globe. Of course, he shopped in only the world's most exclusive boutiques.
For his mother's 75th birthday, David decided to send her a gift of the finest Russian caviar and France's most exquisite Champagne. From his hotel suite in Paris, he had the items shipped with one-day delivery, the Champagne and caviar on ice!
A few days later, David called his mother up. "Ma," he asked, "did you receive a package?"
"Sure, I received a package," his mother said. She did not seem impressed
"Well, how was it?" David asked in anticipation.
All he heard was a sigh. Then ... a pause, "To tell you the truth," said Sadie "The ginger ale was very sour, and the blackberry jelly tasted too salty."

This week, in Torah, we get the "Aseret hadibrot," or in English, the "Ten Commandments." Walk into any Jewish sanctuary in the world, and you will find them somehow displayed. 613 "commandments" exist in the Torah, and these ten represent the much bigger corpus of ethical precepts, ritual admonitions, communal regulatory recommendations (note I avoided the words "rules" or "commands").

Tradition teaches the "giving" of these top ten as a crescendo moment in the Biblical narrative. As a prelude to the revelation, God tells Moses a couple of things. God is addressing a throng of close to 2 million people at the foot of Sinai. Torah tells us that there are 600,000 men of military age. By the time you add the males too old or too young to serve and all of the females, we estimate 2 million. Granted some read the text as 60,000 men who would yield 200,000 total people. Either way, the texts, and commentaries make it clear that not only did the descendants of the 70 that Jacob brought to Egypt come out, but there were others, as well. Judah, by the way, represents only one-twelfth of the tribes tied directly into Jacob's bloodline. So, B'nai Israel (children of Israel) is not simply a biologic term of DNA ancestry. In other words, lots of people who had no blood ties to the ancestor Jacob stood as the spiritual inheritors of the blessing.

God then tells Moses to tell all of the people, "Now, if you obey and keep my covenant, you shall be a treasure to me, for all the earth is mine. You will be a kingdom of priests, a holy nation." (Ex 19:5-6)

The question arises, who owns this inheritance. All of Jewish tradition roots in these texts. That said, I would argue that all religions (certainly the three western religions) root in these texts. Yes, they read differently in different traditions and translationally in different languages. 20 years ago, I had a myopic debate with the then Secretary of State for South Carolina over the exclusive use of one version over another. If we use the Christian version versus the Jewish version, does that make sense? By the end of the conversation, it hit me that neither was appropriate in the statehouse/court. Using either version (even if we could agree) excludes everyone else who does not have such a text or a text in a similar format.

How much energy do we spend trying to supersede each other in faith? How many victories do we claim because we diminish someone else? Here is my truth: God (whatever God is) does not belong to any of us. We belong to God. We are pieces of this bigger universe; it is not ours. What matters most is what value we put into and on this relationship. Is it salty jelly or is it caviar? Do we celebrate our faith and wrestle with righteousness or do we complacently walk through this world? Or worse, do we measure our existence by how well we can aggrandize ourselves and our situations, even at the expense of others? A lot of people say prayers and have memorized the "Ten Commandments," but how many of them pay attention to how they live their prayers or ethically wrestle with living righteously in this world? It is time to stop "being" religious and time to start "doing" faith. Shabbat shalom.

People are upset. Whichever the political ideology under which one falls, people are upset. No one is happy with the other side, and many not thrilled with their own. I stay puzzled and stuck in the reality that this great nation, founded upon the primacy of the people's power and rights, should be mired in so much distrust and apathy. We take pride in being part of a community that stands up for justice, and while we have differing opinions on what makes something just or unjust, our tradition is to talk and share, and mutually grow. Most, unfortunately, most of the time, now, we jump to our own conclusion and then defend it against all others ... often to the point of physical and/or emotional violence. Everyone complains about the tenor of our discourse. I have yet to hear anyone say that they like the way we are treating each other. We don't do anything to fix the problems or to undo our anxiety against each other (or with the tenor of discourse), we just continue to scream at or dismiss each other.

It is with great relevancy that I read this week's Torah portion. Amongst the many story lines included in it is the one about the Amalekites. As the children of Israel left Egypt and crossed the sea, the Amalekites attacked them from the rear flanks, nipping off the elderly and the children who could not keep up. The war that ensued witnessed Israel strength's and abilities as they fought back the stronger adversary. The harshest difficulty that Israel faced was the destitution of its soul. So long as the soldiers could see Moses's arms in the air cheering on the troops they waged miraculous battles, though they were outnumbered. When Moses' arms fell to his side, exhausted from having held them up, the spirit of the troops fell, as well. Joshua and Caleb had to prop his arms up to keep the troops strong.

Every Israelite knew that this was a life and death war, an existential threat to the entire peoplehood. Families and children were at risk. Despite this harsh realization, it took an outside force, Moses' arms waving, to motivate them to battle more intently.

I just returned from Israel. I led a group of 20 clergy on a mission to see what is happening there, debunking the agenda of myths of apartheid or unparalleled perfection in governance. Israel is a political being and is a blessing and still has enormous challenges.

I had a conversation with a colleague there that this trip was Moses' arms. The "Amalekites" are the one's trying to hijack all Israel conversations into one extreme or the other. Where we are not vigilant to let people know that we are working hard to present more normal conversation, madness ensues.

This same truth describes everything from our conversations on race, immigration, government, the National Football League, gender equality and orientation, and religion. Whether we believe that the people should know better, as we would have hoped with the Biblical Israelites fighting Amalek, we need to be the arms of hope held high. We need to talk with, work with, engage with, love with and listen to one in each other with a sense of radical amazement and always open hearts. It worked, it works, and it will work; opening up to each other is the path of hope into peace. For all who need the constant reminder, we need to keep our game face on and lovingly look forward to each new day. Shabbat Shalom.

As I am journaling about our trip, I will make one abbreviated thought about this week's Torah portion. What we do has significance beyond that which we understand.

Often, when we do not think through what we are about to do, we end up with a result far different than anything we had anticipated. We call this rule the law of unintended consequences. Sometimes, the "unintended consequence" provides blessings beyond one's wildest dreams. Often times, though, our failure to think things through ends up biting us in the rear. We are talking beyond the "leap of faith," for the "leap" presumes that one has done his/her best to decide. Sometimes, even with best efforts employed, you still have to close your eyes and leap. Often, we never get that far, before thinking matters through, we jump the gun and take the plunge. When it works, it is exhilarating! When it falls short, it really falls short.

This week's Torah portion bothers me for a host of reasons, but one that screams at me today is the very command for Israel to paint lamb's blood on their home's doorposts. God summoned the Angel of Death to come and take every family's first born male child. The Angel was to pass over the homes painting in lamb's blood and the Israelites were not to leave their homes the entire night. A two thousand year old commentary on this portion teaches that the command not to go out tells [us] that once the destroyer is given permission to destroy, he does not discriminate between righteous and wicked."

The episode does end that night, though. The final plague resulted from Pharaoh's original decree for death of all male Israelite children. God tells Moses that Pharaoh's decree will come back to haunt him, as his own son will die. Dr. King taught us that hate cannot drive out hate. Jewish tradition teaches that one act begets the next: good begets good and evil begets evil. The cycle is never "one and done." It will continue until it is broken.

Opening the door for evil here, we know that throughout the journey into "freedom," Israel continues to live under the threat of war, insurrection, and fear. Even after settling the land, people have never known peace. War begets war as we have, for thousands of years, continued the vicious cycle of power mongering. The Mechilta writer understood that once one opens the door for evil, it does not discriminate. It will continue to destroy lives until someone closes the door. Closing the door can only happen from a place of love and compassion. Slavery built Egypt, and slavery destroyed Egypt. Violence gave Pharaoh power and removed it from him. Violence freed Israel and continued to oppress it. People use violence to gain advantage over others, and violence gives that same power to someone else.

We cannot celebrate the death of the first born of Egypt, even while it leads to Israelite freedom, for it only serves to condemn the one celebrating to violence in the future. Over the course of several thousands of years, we know and teach that the only way to heal the word is to turn our enemy into our friends. Perhaps we will find that good begets better and better begets great. We all know folks who need to be treated better, often better than they treat others. In the end, there might be peace. Shabbat Shalom.

Moses brought a message of redemption! He was going to free Israel from its bondage! After 400 years of slavery under the whips of Pharaoh's taskmasters, Moses brought a vision of hope. Stoked by God's desire for justice and righteousness, Moses came back to his homeland. His destiny was not a return to power and the pursuit of Pharaoh's throne. No, he came back to free the people he had helped oppress in the days before his own enlightenment: these were his people all brought forth from the loins of Jacob. These enslaved people were his family, and these were his roots. In learning who he really was, he defied his adopted royal status; he killed an Egyptian; he ran away. Sent on a mission direct from the mouth of God, he returned delivered his message of freedom to his cousins, and they rejected his voice.

The Torah tells us why they rejected his message. "Moses spoke thus to the children of Israel, but they did not hearken to Moses because of shortness of breath and because of hard labor. (Exodus 6:9)" Most commentators argue that the people could not hear Moses because their breaths were labored from their arduous labor. They read the text as though the verbs directly indicated a third person plural pronoun. It does not. Granted the rules of Hebrew grammar do not require the use of plural forms when speaking large numbers (especially as a group - "the people" vs. a million people). That said, the Torah, as written, leaves itself open for a multitude of readings and variations in understanding. So, true my obstinate ways, when I read this text, I understand how most readers default to blaming Israel's failure to hear Moses on their diminished health and strength. They just simply work too hard and have no energy to give to this cousin who ran to freedom, leaving them behind. After killing the Egyptian task master four decades earlier, Moses did what no one else could do; he fled. Now, forty years later he comes back and asks people to trust him. Short breath could simply be a euphemism for their perception that he lacked integrity. The harshness of all that they endured, when combined with their memories of him as an Egyptian lord and then his fleeing without taking any of them with him ... his disappearance for forty years, is it hard to imagine their distrust?

Moses takes on his former "brother." He grew up playing with the current Pharaoh. In nearly every attempt to recreate Moses' youth in commentary, the boys were best friends and relished in their status and their affluence. Leaving Egypt meant more than fleeing from justice for having killed an Egyptian. He was in line to be Pharaoh. He could have killed 100 task masters and faced no consequences. In fleeing, Moses' heart broke. He was not who he thought he was. His brother was not his brother; his family, not his family. Moses' heart and soul shattered as he learned that the entire life he grew up cherishing was a lie. Having "rebooted" his soul in the wilderness, he came back to set the record straight. Moses 2.0 brought a message of redemption and truth. His soul was on the line. No one wanted to hear him or accept him. I almost hear him trying to explain that he had been wrong. He learned. He apologized. His words fell on deaf ears.

Think about it; this is tough. A man who had been responsible for killing and enslaving your family learns that he is part of your family and, instead of staying to help the family, runs away for forty years. You stay enslaved during that time, enduring and witnessing all sorts of inhumanity until he returns out of the blue speaking about a God who heard your cries, but let your people live enslaved all these years. If this God were so powerful, why did it take so long? Yes, this is a metaphor. Healing takes time. It takes time to realize that a problem exists. It takes light years more to come to grips with the pain one has to experience in order to acknowledge, deal with, and then burst past one's demons. Most never accomplish this task and stay burdened for the rest of their lives. Moses is a great teacher because he faced his past and grew from it. The Israel that rebelled against him for the rest of the book more reflects so many of us who stay prejudiced, even at our own expense. In their inability to see past Moses' past, they could see themselves into the future. More distressing is the truth that we have no idea how many times God called to the people, and they failed to pay attention. The burning bush did not call to Moses. He saw it and then responded to it. How many signs and wonders do we walk blindly past? Moses' heroism happens because he not only deals with his past, but he also moves into the future knowing that he has worth. It takes a lot of fortitude to stand up to Pharaoh, and to one's own disgruntled family. It takes courage to leave yesterday's baggage in the past and to rise from the depths to know that hope exists for a much brighter future. We have a choice, we can get so caught up in our own prejudices and our own baggage that we condemn our futures, or we can deal with our past and imbue within ourselves hope for a valuable, healthful, and hopeful future. Shabbat Shalom.

Lost in the fights over who owns the Bible and how much of it God wrote vs. how much of it man created, some amazing stories get glossed over. Yes, we talk about the patriarchs and matriarchs, but too often, we treat them as iconic paragons of virtue and not human beings with real baggage and failings. Characters exist who get almost no airtime, but who play amazing roles in the way the story plays out and provide wonderful lessons into the human psyche and psychology. Bilcha and Zilpah are the actual mothers one-third of the tribes of Israel (Gad, Asher, Dan and Naphtali). Leah and Rachel get all the credit, but only because they "owned" their handmaidens and had them get pregnant and give birth to the tribes. According to one ChaBaD writer, "Bilhah and Zilpah also had lofty souls, but not as lofty as the Matriarchs (ugh)." Perhaps their sons might feel differently?

Shifra and Puah are two other ladies who get a very brief mention and almost no follow-up in scripture. They are the midwives who defy Pharaoh's decree to kill all the new born Israelite boys. They lied to Pharaoh as to why they were unable to accomplish the task, and God rewarded them. And, we move on. Now, tied into this one episode we find myriads of commentable issues. First, they lied. Lying is not good, except when it is. Next, they were Egyptians who honored God. The Rabbis debate whether or not they could have been Egyptian, since many claim that the only gods Egypt recognized were Pharaoh and the pantheon he worshipped. Hence, if they worshipped God, they could not have been Egyptian (again, ugh). Does it really matter? They stood up to Pharaoh; either way, it was a tremendously courageous act! And then, having stood up to Pharaoh, they shamed Egyptian women. They told Pharaoh, "The Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women, for they are skilled as midwives; when the midwife has not yet come to them, they have [already] given birth." Israelite women were better equipped for childbirth.

So, why is it that Torah goes on to simply ignore these ladies? As I see it, these two midwives may provide one of the most important lessons in character building. They did what they knew to be right, even while it meant taking on the Pharaoh ... the "Human God." If they were Hebrew, they were protecting their own people. If they were Egyptian, they were willing to risk certain death in supporting the "other." They did not ask for anything special. After accomplishing their goal, they went back to their work. Their "reward" came to them; they did not seek it. And, more, because of their courage, we got Moses. But for their courage, we might still be enslaved in Egypt.

Seriously, are willing to stand up against even our own when we know that something is wrong? How many of us hear our friends family or neighbors say something or watch them do something horrific, and then quietly pass it off, not wanting to cause a problem. No, we have to stand up, especially to our own, and help people see their own bias. Most often it comes unintentionally from a place of privilege or ignorance. Sometimes it stems from intentional and malicious bigotry. In both cases, as did Shifra and Puah, we need to take a stand. We need to call out the injustice and love people enough to help them be more loving.
Next week, we honor the memory of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. He was a stalwart advocate for justice. Today, we remember the yahrtzeit (death anniversary) of his dear friend and ally, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. Heschel taught us, "...morally speaking, there is no limit to the concern one must feel for the suffering of human beings, indifference to evil is worse than evil itself, that in a free society, some are guilty, but all are responsible." We have to stand up. We have to be counted. We have to change hearts and minds and, in so doing, change the world. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org
Monmouth Reform Temple, 332 Hance Avenue, Tinton Falls, NJ 07724

Shabbat Shalom
with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Vayechi

So, after last week's commentary, I received good feedback, mostly appreciating my take on Joseph's approach to his brothers and his sense of forgiveness. One friend quipped, "Wait until next week." Well, it is "next week." As this week's Torah portion unfolds, the plot thickens, especially if you add Midrash (commentary) into the mix. Jacob dies. At Joseph's request, Pharaoh leads an entourage to the cave of Machpelah, to bury Jacob with Abraham, Isaac, Sarah, Rebecca, and Leah. Joseph's mother, Rachel, is buried along the road to Bethlehem.
On the way back, the brothers grow anxious. "With Dad gone, perhaps he will now take his vengeance out on us?" Midrash Tanchuma adds a twist. It speculates that they were afraid because on the way back to Egypt, the entourage passed by "the pit" into which Joseph's brothers threw him. The commentary posits that Joseph stopped and went to inspect the pit. He stood there, pondering it, reflecting on his history and how it unfolded. It was at that moment that the brothers became afraid.

The text plays out wonderfully. His brothers tell him, "[F]ather commanded [us] before his death, saying, 'So shall you say to Joseph, "Please, forgive now your brothers' transgression and their sin, for they did evil to you' ... Joseph wept when they spoke to him. His brothers also went and fell before him, and they said, "Behold, we are your slaves." But Joseph said to them, "Don't be afraid, am I supposed to question God? Indeed, you intended evil against me, [but] God designed it for good, to bring about what is at present to keep a great populace alive. So now do not fear. I will sustain you and your small children." And he comforted them and spoke to their hearts. (Gen. 50:17-21)

Nowhere in the text does Jacob issue this instruction. Nowhere in the text does Joseph contemplate revenge. While they may have feared that his trip to "the pit" would cause ancient pain to resurface, Joseph in Midrash and in text maintains his belief that there are bigger forces at work than his brothers' evil or attempt to weasel out of trouble. In adding the pit episode into the story, the Midrash commentator argues that he did not go to the pit for any reason except to offer the prayer for thanksgiving. He stood there facing his history, thankful for the miracle of faith that gave him enough strength to weather the storm and still find a way to love his brothers. Joseph's tears come from the pain he experiences knowing that despite his commitment to his brothers, they lack the faith to believe in his sincerity. Yes, his brothers materially altered his life, but had they not done what they did, he might never have saved Egypt and the surrounding world from the famine.

Certainly not every painful act fulfills some greater divine plan, but ultimately, whatever we experience at the hands of another takes on its own life. We make choices as to how we move forward. Joseph could just as easily chosen a different course and kept to himself. When someone wrongs us, he/she may be responsible for the immediate pain and loss, but we have to accept responsibility for every choice that follows. Sometimes, in fact often, in our commitment to healing, we find other avenues for blessing. Too many people get hurt and get stuck, without realizing that we only continue to victimize ourselves when we hold tight to grudges; so tight that they continue to gnaw at us for years to come. We become the perpetrators of our own pain.

So, I cannot tell you what is and is not God's plan, other than to say that I refuse to believe that we are destined to live mired in anguish. Whatever has happened to us, we are where we are supposed to be in the moment that we are here. We have to decide what to do with it. Yes, the forces trying to hold us back do not magically wash away, but even in the face of the greatest challenges, we have an obligation to be human and humane. Pirke Avot teaches us, "In a world where no one is behaving like a human, strive to be human." In every case when faced with life and death (blessing or curse) we must always choose life. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom.
Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Monmouth Reform Temple, 332 Hance Avenue, Tinton Falls, NJ 07724

Shabbat Shalom
with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Vayigash

We teach that Torah has to continue to evolve if it is to stay alive. Torah has done just that over the last two-plus thousand years. As we read the text in the 21st century, we experience it in ways completely unimaginable by our ancestors. If we are to face the contemporary world in the midst of the storm, then our faith has to inform us on how to behave and on how to still experience holiness. This goal of Torah's eternal relevance stands as our guiding light as we walk through the many challenges and blessings that we face.

Currently, we live in a very insecure world. People bully when they lack faith. The more one has to prove how faithful he/she is to a "party line," the more others question how much God versus how much fear drives his/her spirit. I met with a virulent and vocal anti-Semite and asked him why he hated me. His quick response was because I am Jewish. I told him that Jesus was, too. Over the course of the next twenty minutes, we came to realize that he hated me because someone taught him to do so. Our daughters, by the way, were fairly close friends. They forced us to speak. My new friend spoke from my pulpit just months later.

For every one of these success stories, we know a myriad of stories wherein people simply chose never to engage and never to listen to each other. They began afraid, and as the wall they build between each other grew, so did the temperature of their fear. At some point, the fear manifests in violence. Every war in history devolves just this way. We begin with the presumption that we have cause to fear and then act in ways that fulfill our prophecy.

As I grow more and more concerned over the fear that grips people, I find myself heartened by a Chassidic commentary I read on this week's Torah portion. Joseph ascended to power in Egypt; second to only Pharaoh. As the years of plenty led into the years of famine (just as he had predicted), people came from all over the region to seek food and grain. It happened one day that, as he sat greeting all who came in need, he sat there face to face with his brothers who sold him into slavery and then told their father he had died. He recognized them. They did not recognize him. Of course, seeing them pulled him right back into the pit into which they threw him and from which they drugged him and sold him. Joseph struggles to control his emotions. "He cried, 'Order every man to leave me.' So no man stood with him while Joseph made himself known to his brothers (Gen. 45:1)."

Rabbi Chama bar Rabbi Chanina and Rabbi Shmuel bar Nachmani discussed this matter. One said that he acted unwisely, for had one of them hurt him, there was no one left to protect him. The other argued that he presumed that the brothers had become pious and holy, and therefore he was safe. With all due respect to the great sages, I believe that they are both short-sighted. Yes, Joseph took an enormous risk leaving himself alone with his brothers. Yes, he had to have faith that they would not attack him. That said, my take away is less presumptuous and more necessary. Joseph took a risk; he put himself out there. He was vulnerable. In this posture, he was no longer the threatening Lord over Egypt; he was Joseph. He was their brother. His first words to them are not words of spite or hate. He asked, "Is our father still alive?" While I cannot say that Joseph was unafraid, I most certainly understand that his fear did not hold him back. If we want to heal the world, we must step out on a limb.

Martin Luther King, Jr. taught us, "Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase." It is called "the leap of faith. Rav Kook, the first Chief Rabbi of Israel, taught that in the face of derision or senseless hate, one had to intentionally love. Dr. King put it, "Hate cannot drive out hate. Only love can do that." With every reason to hate his brothers, Joseph's only response was of love. You know ... Hal David and Burt Bacharach said it best, "What the world needs now is love, sweet love. It's the only thing that there's just too little of. What the world needs now is love, sweet love, no not just for some, oh, but just for everyone." Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Monmouth Reform Temple, 332 Hance Avenue, Tinton Falls, NJ 07724

Shabbat Shalom
with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Miketz

So much news! So many distractions! So few opportunities to engage! I did not make it to the URJ Biennial, but watched the plenary speeches live-streamed, and my colleagues who were there have shared a wealth of conversation on all that happened. First, congratulations to my colleague Rabbi Rick Jacobs and the entire URJ (of which he is President) for an event that was, by all acclaim, a wonderful and wonderfully spirited gathering. Our lay leadership that went came back excited, teeming with ideas, contacts, and enthusiasm. Second, as I posted last week, Reverend William Barber is an amazing champion for justice. He was only one of several brilliant and thought-provoking speakers.

Perhaps overshadowing my first two points, though is a realization that, while I knew was true, I really did not want to admit or address. It is now impossible to ignore. Reform Judaism is, in my core belief, the purest descendant of our 2000 year rabbinic tradition. When I read our ancient texts, I do not see sages debating ritual for the sake of ritual. I see the debates (especially over the stuff we call minutiae) as calls for us to pay attention. Every ritual in our tradition has a pragmatic corollary in our behavioral patterns. There are no "rules" set in stone, as the sages repeatedly provide us with perceptual ideas and then a bevy of exceptions to them. One cannot work on Shabbat, unless it is to save the life of a person or animal or to take care of an obligation to the community, or ... The scripture and Halakhah is the beginning of our conversation, and never the final answer. This mandate for diversity of thought was the cornerstone of Reform Judaism and the bane of ultra-orthodoxy (where the "rebbe" has the final say for any given community).

As Reform Jews, we devoted our faith to fulfilling the messages and dreams of the Prophets. From the Mosaic command to pursue Justice to Amos' command to let justice flow like the mighty waters; from Ezekiel's call to resurrect the dead and lost spirit, to the Zohar's command to Tikkun Olam (healing the world), each of us saw that the act of caring for the widow, the orphan, and the stranger was not a matter of economics or politics, it was the command from God. From Deuteronomy Rabbah, "Justice is the ultimate value in Jewish life and pillar of the world." The call to heal the world is as central to the Jewish mission as is the mandate of atonement. The most seminal Jewish text comes from the Mishnah, "If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am only for myself, what good am I? If not now, when?" Further Talmud teaches that if one has the opportunity to heal an injustice, it is as if that person perpetrates it.

So, my problem is simple, Reform Jews still do a lot of good work, but where is the "Jewish" in the act? These are good people who would show up to do good things even if they were not Jewish, but the severity of the commitment is at stake. Justice is more than feeding hungry people or keeping homeless people company over night. Justice demands change, and it was our study of our religious tradition that commanded and demanded our efforts. Without the faith piece in the equation, many of the matters which the prophets scream need attention, devolve to matters of political fodder for debate. Sadly, this is not just a problem in Judaism, all normative religion in America suffers thusly. A fundamentalism rooted in opportunism (the ministry of prosperity and centralized power) has hijacked the word "religion." People run from the word, but even more, from the core study that helps define who we are and what is really required of us. The people who go to "Bible Studies" are stereotyped so that too many believe that text study is irrelevant to being "normal. Nothing could be further from the truth.

We need to get back to studying. I cannot have a conversation with a congregant about what Judaism says or demands when he/she spends no time in "Jewish" education. Yes, we are social together, but are we Jewish together?

This is Hanukkah. It is a time to rededicate ourselves to owning our tradition, no differently than we remember the Maccabees rededicating the Temple in Jerusalem. This week's Torah portion tells the story of Joseph who rises from the obscurity of prison to a place of trust in Egypt. His meteoric rise came because of his commitment to paying attention. The sages teach us that Joseph studied God. He did not simply say prayers, he paid attention (studied) and through his study, figured out how to save the world. Pharaoh's priests were the ChaBaD leaders, Joel Osteens, Joyce Meyers, and Creflo Dollars of their day; living high dollar lives while selling God. Joseph first brought God to Pharaoh and in doing so, saved hundreds of thousands from starvation. Let's get back to basics. Shabbat Shalom and Happy Hanukkah.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Monmouth Reform Temple, 332 Hance Avenue, Tinton Falls, NJ 07724

Shabbat Shalom
with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Vayeishev

I am supposed to be writing this from Boston, at the URJ Biennial convention. Man plans and God laughs. I had a minor health set back (all good now), and I could not go. I was looking forward to seeing friends and colleagues, participating in some dynamic programming, and learning with and from a host of colleagues. My disappointment eased a bit, though, as I was able to watch a live broadcast of Reverend William Barber addressing the plenum. I have had the amazing opportunity of sharing the podium with this giant in civil rights work. He has a heart bent on justice and knows how to deliver a message that strikes listeners at their very core. "We need a moral movement and a moral breakthrough." Reverend Barber pinpointed the many economic, political, and cultural injustices that are moral failures. He made it clear that race was a factor, but not the major factor in this nightmare. This is about the abuse of power. He made it clear that this is disguised as political, but is rooted in the immoral abuse of power. I am attaching the link to the entire speech below. Quoting from throughout the Hebrew Scriptures he demonstrated that what is happening to our poor and minorities is antithetical to the teachings of our prophets. The officials are corrupt, and the Priests justify their iniquity. From Ezekiel 22:27-29, he quotes, "Her officials within her are like wolves tearing their prey; they shed blood and kill people to make unjust gain. Religious leaders whitewash these deeds for them by false visions and lying divinations. They say, 'This is what the Sovereign LORD says'-when the LORD has not spoken. The people of the land practice extortion and commit robbery; they oppress the poor and needy and mistreat the foreigner, denying them justice."

This week's Torah portion addresses this very problem. Joseph dreams that he wields power over his entire family. In response, his brothers first want to kill him, but ultimately sell him into slavery and lie to their father, claiming that he is dead. Abusive power met by abusive power. Some will want to argue that Joseph's dreams were prophecies from God and that the abuse he suffered set him up ultimately to fulfill his dreams. He did rise to become second in command of all of Egypt. He saved Egypt (and many others) from famine. The story will not end there, though. In his dream, everyone bowed before his power. It happened that way in real life, and in real life, the way in which he "saved Egypt" destroyed the nation. He made Egyptians sell themselves into slavery just to get their own grain back. The Book of Exodus begins with "a new Pharaoh who knows not Joseph." A rebellion took place, and the new leadership no longer recognized Joseph's reign. His search for power that begins this week ultimately consumed him and an entire nation.

Lord Acton said, "Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely." The adage has been true for all time. In truth, this nation has witnessed power mongers, on either side of the political aisle, vying for political power. One has to wonder how accountable elected officials feel towards their constituents. One also has to marvel at those of us who, trying not to be pigeon holed, claim to be "socially liberal and fiscally conservative." I wonder what this means. How can we support aid for the poor, at the same time we don't want to pay for healthcare or public education? How do we read scripture that calls us to care for the widow, the orphan, the stranger, and the alien amongst us, and not support the agencies that provide these very services? Is the system corrupt? Yes, but wiping away these needed services does not fix the problem, it creates a different far more egregious one.

One great lesson from the Joseph story is that we have to provide for people, our own and for others. Foreigners came before Joseph to get grain. Yes, he gave to everyone at a cost, and for the Egyptians whose grains he confiscated, that cost was their freedom.
There have to be better answers out there than either major political party currently espouses. Perhaps it is time for us to stand up. We need a moral movement and a moral breakthrough. I do not look to "fundamentalist religionoids" for morality, as they alienate those of God's children of whom they do not approve. The system cannot work until we recognize God's dignity in everyone we meet. When we do not understand our neighbor, our job is to learn and grow into understanding and engagement. Anything less is unGodly. Shabbat Shalom - I pray.

https://www.facebook.com/URJorg/videos/1961005517492184/
Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Shabbat Shalom
with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Chaye Sarah

I cringe every time someone refers to Torah as "Law." The Torah has no vowels and no sentence structure, so, no one can ever say, "The Torah says ..." Torah can say many things. As a recovering lawyer, I know that laws cannot be ambiguous; the courts rule that they are "void for vagueness." All that said, I read a commentary based on the teachings of Rav Avraham Kook (ostensibly Israel's first Chief Rabbi). The writer remarked about two types of Torah: a. the Torah of the Patriarchs, and b. The Torah of the Descendants. I had never thought about scripture in this light before. We normally speak of the written Torah versus the Oral Torah.

Thinking about the dichotomy that Rav Kook raised, a mundane piece of text (in my eyes) took on new life. This week's portion goes on at length about the Biblical Abraham's instructions to Eliezer. Abraham sends his servant off to the "homeland" to find a wife for Isaac (Abe's son). The specific instructions play out several times over, and one almost wants to skip over them the last times they get uttered.

However, Rav Kook teaches that the Torah of the Patriarchs and Matriarchs, the discussions of our ancestors take precedence in sacred authority over the "rules and regulations" offered by Moses and Aaron throughout the rest of the text. The conversations between our sacred ancestors come candidly from their hearts. The rules of religion come through formulated statements and thought out processes. The words of the heart are always more telling than the planned words from the mind's processes. We have the capacity to formulate formal statements. The heart, though, speaks with greater truth and spontaneity.

This conversation between Abraham and Eliezer focused on finding a life partner for Isaac. Spoken from the heart, this was a matter of the heart. So consumed in justifying this enormous amount of trust placed in him, Eliezer repeated his charge over and over, to make sure that he did just as his master had instructed. The story carries an urgency about it.

When we speak with each other, the intimacy and urgency of what we share runs far deeper than any rule we read out of a legal code or rule book. In every facet of life, those called on to interpret and enforce the rules do so only in light of the human interaction that begged the question. Whether it is a penalty on the football field or the driving infraction on a highway, it ultimately falls on the one seeking to enforce the rules to decide whether to (or how to) impose sanctions for any offense. The rule does not change. What changes, is the way in which we interpersonally understand the circumstances of the moment and the people involved.

For this very reason, the "Torah of People" must hold primacy over the "Torah of Rules." If I am responsible for deciding the fate of another in any given situation, I had better be faithful in my discernment. It is rarely in the law that we find discrimination; it is almost always in how to whom we apply it. Bigotry and ego hold its greatest power when part of a law maker's/enforcer's decision making.

Rabbi Abraham Heschel taught us that the world needs more Torah people and fewer Torah books. For two decades as Rabbi, I always thought that this referred to the need for people to do more good work. Torah's greatest command is to community healing. It teaches us to secure the dignity and safety of the weakest amongst us. Torah reminds us that we are stewards of the earth and all its array. What I learned this week, though, was that these lofty ideals are still secondary to one greater command. In being Torah people, we must accept, as primary to all mitzvoth, that honoring one's dignity transcends all other commandments. The Torah of people demands that whatever the rules of the community, the interpersonal relationship we share with each other is more important. The rest cannot matter if we do not begin every conversation with the heartfelt belief that when we speak with each other, the most sacred of engagements happens right there and then. Any conversation that begins anywhere else is blasphemy. Perhaps this makes the "Torah of People" the greatest "law" of humanity. While I am sure that most people who call Torah "law" do not see it this way, I have to reframe my own thoughts on the matter. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Shabbat Shalom
with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Vayeira

Throughout Torah, heroes emerge from anonymity, expressing their desire and commitment to change the world. One cannot miss the brevity with which Torah addresses the first almost 2100 years of earth's life story. In just eleven chapters of the first book, Torah passes through the work of creation and then twenty generations of people living many hundreds of years each. God found no champions amongst them. Then came Avram (not yet known as Abraham). At 99 years old, he circumcised himself as a sign of his commitment to God's covenant. Were that not enough, before he even had time to heal, he immediately set out to fulfill the most sacred part of our covenant. He sat in the front of his tent, even in pain, to graciously welcome the stranger. Welcoming the stranger is our most sacred task.

Strangers are not just the wayfarers traveling from community to community. The rabbis teach us that the stranger is everyone who continues to break new spiritual ground on the soul's journey to find meaning, value, and engagement in life. The truth is that every one of us, aware or unaware, walks this path. We are thirsty for fulfillment because at the core of each of us is a soul innately endowed with divinity. In seeking meaning, we seek only to fulfill our destiny. As per this week's portion, we possess an obligation to extend ourselves, even to our own discomfort, to help people along this path. We cannot profess to be people of faith if we stand unwilling to help people in this way.

We see people interrupt their own lives to take stands on matters for which they hold sacred beliefs. This faith is not a matter of the right or the left, and we defame God every time that we demean someone devout in his/her belief because we disagree. If we extended ourselves, perhaps we could learn that room exists for both of us in public discourse. We welcome the stranger: we heal the world by creating a new relationship.

We see people leave the comfort of their own homes to help restore lives shattered by the violence of nature or inhumanity. One does not serve because of his/her politics or religious affiliation. People dive into this healing work because we believe that whatever God is, God can only help where we step in to serve. In times of distress and need, there are no strangers; we only encounter other souls starving for the very love and comfort that we cherish for ourselves. In awe, I read the stories of people who, in the midst of their own loss, still work to save others. We welcome the stranger as we restore their lives.

We see people shun the other, everyone outside of our own sphere of understanding. In ignorance and fear, we create walls that separate us from each other's life blessing. The exile that we create only serves to devolve our world and cause us to spiral into the abyss. In turning our backs on each other, we destroy the very world that grants us so many opportunities for blessing.

From Avram, we learn that it is never too much trouble to help heal someone else's world. There exists no threshold that makes it okay to sit and watch lives disintegrate while quietly thanking God that this particular disaster did not touch your life. Torah is clear if one life is at risk every life is at risk. We have an obligation to stand up and serve and be heard, and to listen. Talmud teaches us that if one has an opportunity to protest and remains silent, it is as though he committed the transgression. Kol Yisrael aravim zeh b'zeh - each of us bears responsibility for each other ... even in our own moments of need. In accepting this charge lovingly, we do best represent everything divine in a world in need of divinity. Shabbat Shalom

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Monmouth Reform Temple, 332 Hance Avenue, Tinton Falls, NJ 07724

Shabbat Shalom
with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Lech L'cha

"Life is a journey and not a destination." I have heard these words begin funerals, weddings, and baby namings. Even while we stand in place to mark specific moments in time, the ultimate value of living ties itself to the flow of time and not simply the moments of loss or celebration. Abraham Joshua Heschel taught us, "Just to be is a blessing. Just to live is holy." We spend so much time focusing on the bookmarked moments and events blocked on our calendars, that we forget to focus on the continuum of blessings and challenges that create the broad spectrum portrait of life.

This past weekend, I gained a daughter, as my son married his beloved Emily. The next morning, we celebrated my grandson's first birthday. That afternoon and the next day, we toured universities with the last child still living at home. We journeyed through a host of celebrations over the course of a short period of time, even as we remembered that my late wife missed every moment. Without her, though, none of this would have been. Reverend Ed Daniels from Myrtle Beach was there. He was the DJ for my son's Bar Mitzvah 16 years ago. He wanted to come be part of this weekend. He brought his wife and twin sons. The last time I saw them, they were 4. They have grown into incredibly talented young men. Family came from everywhere. Life is a journey.

We experienced so much of the life cycle all in four short days! No wonder we are exhausted! Seriously, though, even with all of the focus on the future and the remembrance of the past, we got to spend a lot of time enjoying the present. Now that we are back home, how much of it still impacts our daily lives? How much of life's journey do we take for granted? We plan and plan and plan for events, enjoy them in the moment and then are saddened when they are over.

It seems to me, that the planning should include the way in which we will process and hold on to the moments, continuing to learn from them as we progress through life. My son got married, but the celebration of that day is meaningless unless we can count it as a transition into blessing. Even while we place so much emphasis on the event, on the moment, the wedding was a day of celebration; the marriage is the measure of the blessing.

This week's Torah portion sees God call Avram (not yet Abraham). God tells him to go on a journey. He is supposed to leave his father's home and traverse the world, sharing the concept of blessing at every stop along the way. The entirety of Torah then teaches us how to go beyond sharing good news for the moment, but rather blessings for the long haul. The blessing is transitive and not episodic or transactional. I am only blessed with your company if, after we part, I still feel tied in to the blessing.

The word "Shalom" illustrates this point most perfectly. We use it as a salutation of greeting and parting. In one, we celebrate that we are more whole now that we are together and plan on maintaining the added blessings when we part company.

When Israel travels across the wilderness, we learn the moral failure of seeing life's celebrations as merely episodes of things that happen. Despite the many signs and wonders Israel experiences through the wilderness, (freedom from Egypt and the sea parting for starters) Israel continues to fail in faith. There is no long term memory or continuum through which these miraculous events create the bigger picture of existence.

Lech l'cha, the title of the portion, literally means to get up and move ... and keep moving. The moment that we stagnate in growing our spirit and blessings, life loses its value. You can schedule event after event of immense celebration, but if they are only events and only episodes, they will have no long-term value and will provide no real blessing.For the blessing of having been together to mature, we need to do more than show up at events. Having been together in that moment, we need to find ourselves together more often and more productively.

My son and his bride will not have a successful marriage because of a beautiful wedding, but having had the beautiful wedding, I pray that all those there to celebrate will continue growing our impact on and with each other, such that the blessing of the wedding is that long term loving relationships become longer term and more loving. Even being at a funeral can provide blessings. It's about gratitude. Kak Sari, (modern philosopher) wrote, "Gratitude - an art of painting an adversity into a lovely picture." If the things we do and the people we love truly hold value, then we ought to spend a lot more time appreciating them as we journey through life. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Monmouth Reform Temple, 332 Hance Avenue, Tinton Falls, NJ 07724

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Noach

"Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection, the lovers the dreamers and me." Kermit, the frog, loves Miss Piggy. Think about it folks. Jim Henson and his Muppets shattered stereotypical bigotry. Now, I know that the Muppets each represent one of his friends from college (I learned that while on a college tour). I do not want to venture so far as to assess who was a pig, who was a flaming yellow bird, or who might have been any of the characters, but I stay fascinated that he felt no need to cast his friends in monochromatic or monoanimalic (I just made up that word) characters. They could have all been terrapins or bears, of differing shades, but he went out on a limb to demonstrate the diversity that existed in his sphere of "friendhood." So popular is the notion that Bert and Ernie are gay, that they have symbolically married in several "Gay Pride" parades across the country. Big Bird is at best, "flamboyant" and Fozzie Bear is downright obnoxious. Each character epitomizes some character trait and uses it to teach children how to better evolve into caring, compassionate, and intelligent young people. Any child (and adult) could watch the Muppet show or Sesame Street and feel included in the storyline and lesson plan. No one was excluded (including Big Bird's imaginary friend Snuffy).

And then there is a frog deeply invested in a steamy, entertaining, and often complicated love relationship with a pig. This all is the rainbow connection; the love and respect that beings of all shapes, species, colors, genders, and sizes hold sacredly for each other. Similarly, the late Harry Chapin taught us, "There are so many colors in the rainbow, so many colors I the morning sun, so many colors in the flower, and I see every one." Even depicting the still life of a flower provides an opportunity to bring the diverse blessings of the world into concert. Of course, the LGBTQ community sees the rainbow as its statement of inclusion. Everyone matters.

So, God created a rainbow for Noah as a sign promising never to flood the earth again. Knowing that the rainbow consists of diverse colors and shades across the spectrum, I cannot help but think that God is somehow recanting having condemned humanity. We really are all in this together.

Muppeteer and close Henson friend, Richard Hunt spoke at Henson's funeral. He said, "It's important that we all stop giving ourselves such a hard time. We've got to remind ourselves, and push ourselves, to let go - there's not much we can do except to be, and in being, become aware. And that's why Jim's last words are most important: 'Please watch out for each other,' he says. 'Love everyone and forgive everyone, including yourself. Embrace and open up your love, your joy, your truth, and most especially your heart.'"

This week, we repopulate the earth, with God's commitment that everyone and everything; every color on the spectrum matters. Apropos, I want to share the lyrics of one of my favorite Muppet songs, "Just One Person."

If just one person believes in you, deep enough, and strong enough believes in you ... hard enough, and long enough, it stands to reason, that someone else will think "If he can do it, I can do it."
Making it: two whole people, who believe in you, deep enough, and strong enough, believe in you ... hard enough and long enough. There's bound to be some other person who believes in making it a threesome ...
Making it three people you can say: believe in me. And if three whole people, why not... four? And if four whole people, why not ... more, and more, and more ... And when all those people, Believe in you,
deep enough, and strong enough, believe in you ... Hard enough, and long enough It stands to reason that you yourself will start to see what everybody sees in You ... And maybe even you, Can believe in you... too!"

Shabbat Shalom.
Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Monmouth Reform Temple, 332 Hance Avenue, Tinton Falls, NJ 07724

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Sukkot

The High Holy days are now behind us. It is time to start living all of the promises we made to be better, do better, and help others do and be better. Our tradition plunges us right into the first opportunity to live out our vows and start making a difference in the world around us. This week, we find ourselves in the midst of Sukkot. Sukkot is the Festival of Booths. According to Torah, as the earth prepares to go to sleep for the winter, we spend time not only gathering the Fall harvest but spending time with nature (in a sukkah-booth) to help us better appreciate the earth from which all life gains sustenance. Sukkot is a joyous time and a hopeful time.

Judaism maintains that the advent of the Messianic Age is tied deeply into this holiday. The announcement of Messiah comes on Passover. The covenanting of the Age takes place as we mourn on Tisha B'av and truly commit to "Never Again." During Sukkot, the Messianic Age is supposed to begin. It makes perfect sense to me. Just as the Earth is going fallow for the Winter, it takes a lot of hope to believe that what is barren will come back to life. I know this sounds familiar for non-Jews as well. Think about it folks, death and resurrection are part of every ancient tradition and religious scripture. Most often, resurrection ties into some spiritual world renewal. For us, we get a taste of it every year, with the hope that at some point, our renewed hope really will tip the scales and motivate people to fulfill the prophecy of world peace.

I need that hope now! With what has been happening in our world, as of late, I see more and more people afraid and angry. They have good cause. Our world governments are not responsive to people's needs. There are crazy people with access to the most devastating of weaponry. What purports to be religion in so many places is nothing more than fear-mongering and opportunism designed to make pastors rich and powerful.

I need hope now! Yes, in the face of disasters, people all over open their hearts, their arms, and their wallets to make a difference in the lives of those impacted. Yes, more people who never spoke together are sharing time, conversation, and loving embraces. Yes, even while the political divide only grows, more and more people are involved in the conversation; fewer are simply bystanders. But, with all of this beauty that surfaces, I need to be able to hope that the events when we come together will stop being episodic. I need to know that when we open our hearts that we don't use that moment or experience as the pat on the back soothing our consciences, allowing us to crawl back into the cave. I need to know that while more people are getting involved, that we do so responsibly and respectfully. I have no problem disagreeing with people over issues, but that never means that we have to dismiss each other. I can promise you that, in this climate, screaming rhetoric will not change the heart and mind of someone stuck in another point of view.

So, as Sukkot takes on full force, I am praying for a hint of the Messianic Age. For all the people espousing the different Messianic faiths in this world, we need to demonstrate faith by expanding our hearts. We need to understand more than we think that we know. We need to see that whatever our scriptural basis, we are not home yet, and more blood gets shed in the name of the peaceful concepts of God than any other cause. True, it is not God or religion mandating this, it is the people who co-opt and manipulate Jesus, Torah, Quran, and the many Holy Scriptures ... and God, to make them serve our egos. It is time for renewal in faith. It is time to cast off the things we think religion says and go back to see what our real values are supposed to be. We really are all in this together ... it is time we get to experience this blessing. Shabbat Shalom and Happy Sukkot.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Ki Teitzei

If you have ever had to help re-organize an organization, you know the adage, "If you always do what you always did, you are always going to get what you always got." In other words, if you keep batting your head against the wall, it will keep hurting. If you want your head to stop hurting, you need to make a change. I have always found it maddening how people somehow get accustomed to beating their heads against the wall and balk when you try to get them to stop.

That said, one of the great book titles in the world of organizational management is, "First, Break All The Rules." Marcus Buckingham and Curt Coffman elucidate the necessity of completely rethinking (deconstructing) the organization as it is before one can begin assessing what parts work or don't and whether any existent process heads the organization in the right direction. So, if you do this work, you know that the more rules one hands you through which to sift, the messier the reorganization process because most often, there is no conversation about their application and relevance. For whatever reason they were promulgated, the time has changed, but no one thought to rethink.

I remember a story (I am sure you know it) of a young girl watching mom make a brisket. First, mom cut off the end of the meat and placed the larger piece in the pan. "Why did you do that mommy?" Mom responded, "You know, I just learned to do that from my mother. Let's call grandma." They called grandma and asked why she cut off the end of the brisket before cooking it. She thought and replied that her mother taught her that way. They all called great-grandma and asked. She laughed loudly and said, "It was because I never had a pan big enough for the piece of meat your grandpa brought home."

This week's Torah portion, Ki Teitzei, includes more mitzvoth (rules) than any other. Over just four chapters of text, we get a list of 74 disparate rules. The text makes it seem as though Moses knows his time is running out and he feels mandated to get as much in at the last minute as is possible. The shotgun approach to delivering this list makes us skeptical as to whether or not there was any unifying intention behind them.

Herein lays the beauty of this tradition. The lists make absolute sense to some, are simply disparate lists to others, and for still others, they depict a literary equivalent to other such lists of rules in antiquity. Simply put, Torah begins but never completes a conversation. In its purest sense, it fuels our spiritual evolution and grows our faith. That said, for so many, it has become an idol. It becomes concretized and stagnant and the way in which it was read by one group at one time becomes their forever exclusive truth. Groups design customs and rituals around these stagnated understandings and build fences around these customs. Anyone who "does it differently" has blasphemed. As our world becomes increasingly politically segregated, the overflow into all matters sacred becomes more narrow-minded, as well.

Reform Judaism roots in the purest sense of Torah tradition; the idea that we engage and evolve text as it evolves us. I know that normative practices in other religions understand this same mandate for the growth of faith in a changing world. I look at this portion and hear Moses telling an anxious people, "You want rules? Ok, here is a bunch of rules." The rules are not going to save a community. The devotion to engaging people in meaningful conversation is what will save the community. Torah contains 613 of these mitzvot (rules). As Moses prepares to finish his farewell address and say good bye, his parting words are simple, "Grow together. Study together. Govern together. The rules on a page make no sense unless you give them life and (as a later sage would teach) turn them over and over again." Our current conversation lack this dynamic of organic conversations. It is no surprise that the exile between us only continues to grow. It is time to remember the prophetic words of the late John Lennon. "Come together, right now." Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Monmouth Reform Temple, 332 Hance Avenue, Tinton Falls, NJ 07724

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Re'eh

Saturday evening, my Red Bank community gathered in the nation's first vigil responding to what happened in Charlottesville. It took an energetic young lady to pull together over 200 people for the purpose of facing hate in the face and demonstrating love. Somehow, the Red Bank Human Relations Advisory Committee received credit for sponsoring the event. I sit on that committee. Lori and I walked downtown to be there in support and upon arriving, I was told that not only was I a host, but I was also speaking. I stood in awe of the people - children and adults alike - who rallied, who interrupted plans, who knew that being together in this moment transcended everything else. I spoke alongside two other colleagues in ministry and the night atmosphere was blessed.

All week, I have been stuck, struck with the anger, with a pit in my stomach that aches for Heather's family and for the people who had to endure the gathering of hate in their community, and with sorrow over the realization that this incident is not new and not isolated. I deeply appreciate the response from the city's mayor and the state's governor. More than that, I appreciate the thousands of people who gathered in communities across the country, who came to Charlottesville to help heal the community, and who keep showing up to prepare communities to confront hate when it shows on their thresholds.

With all this going through my head, I sat down to prepare Torah for this Shabbat. Torah is a living and breathing document; we call it the "Tree of Life." Sometimes, it shows incredible empathy in the most amazingly pointed ways. I opened a book to begin research and turned right to this teaching from Rav Avraham Mordechai of Gur, the 3rd Gerer Rebbe. Last week (Eikev), we read (Deut. 10:20) "You shall be in awe of Adonai, your God, worship and cleave to God and swear by God's Name." The Hebrew uses the second person singular in this verse; you as each individual. This week (Reeh), we read (Deut. 13:5), "You shall follow Adonai, your God, shall be in awe of God and keep God's commandments, heed God's voice, worship and cleave to God." These verses would seem redundant, but here, the text uses the plural "you." In the south, this is the difference between "y'all" and "all y'all."

The Gerer Rebbe asks why the Torah would speak differently in the two verses. He posits that most often we can handle our relationship with God one on one, demonstrating our faith as we walk through the world. Sometimes, though, when heresy and anarchy seem to control the atmosphere, the power of the individual is seemingly insignificant. The faithful need to come together to form a mighty force for righteousness. All I could do was put the book down and sit awestruck for the moment. Ok, as this epiphanic experience happens to so many of us, I have to believe that prophecy is real.

This week's portion begins with a challenge. "Behold, I set before you today a blessing and a curse. The blessing that you will heed the commandments of Adonai your God, which I command you today; and the curse, if you will not heed the commandments of Adonai your God, but turn away from the way I command you this day, to follow other gods, which you did not know." We make choices all day; every day. We determine what comes out of our mouths, what enters our hearts, and with whom we share our hearts. We choose whether to welcome each other's embrace or repel each other with hate. We choose the blessing or the curse. Choice is an intentional act. For too many, they let everyone else choose for them, sitting passively waiting for fate to take hold. Many hold God accountable, somehow feeling that God is the ultimate chess player in the cosmos and we are simply pawns in the game of life. Faith tells us that choice matters and that we have an ultimate say over our destiny. Our divine partner provides us with strength, but not with choice. Choice is in the human providence. According to the Gerer Rebbe, when enough of us choose the blessing, the world heals. I needed this affirmation this week. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Devarim

As people of faith, we believe that God calls us to witness all that happens in our world. Witnessing is an active verb. I am not sure that some parts of the religious world use the word correctly when they say that they are going to witness something to or for you, but the term certainly transcends simply "hearing." Being a witness implies that one really paid attention to the details and nuances of events or circumstances in which one finds one's self. The purpose of being a witness is to then take the experience and do something with it. In the case of social justice, one must pay attention to the injustices in the world and be so moved by what he/she sees, that he/she takes action to heal some part of the broken system. Hence our commitment to tzedakah - righteousness.

Many translate tzedakah as charity, but it is more than that. Later in the book of Deuteronomy, we will meet the root of this word in the famous phrase, "Tzedek tzedek tirdoff." Most people translate this phrase to mean, "Justice, Justice you shall pursue it. "Charity" is a voluntary act of compassion, the root word tzedek demands greater attention and commitment. As a recovering lawyer, I look at the scales of justice and know that a great many court decisions become law, and the standard of law is justice. I also know that many of these decisions are morally repugnant. Justice is the status quo of the current best answer at law, but we seek a higher standard. We seek the most righteous of answers. We seek solutions to problems, not just the next temporal band-aid. "Tzedek, tzedek tirdoff."

The prophets stared in the face of the judges and elders and screamed that there was a higher standard than the current status of the law. Slavery was at one time "Just" in America. Paying women less than men is "Just." Treating people differently at law and equity because of their gender identification is "Just." None of these judicial and legislative laws, though currently the standard of justice, are righteous.

From this week's Torah portion, we get another affirmation that there is more at stake than the status quo. Deuteronomy opens Moses' adjuration to Israel that they had to strive to always evolve in faith and communal dignity. Moses instructs the people, "Shamo'a bein acheichem ushefat'tem tzedek bein ish uvein achiv uvein geiro"-"Hear out your fellow human beings, and judge with righteousness between any person and a fellow Israelite, or any Israelite and a stranger." (Deut. 1: 16, NJPS translation)

The first word of the sentence (shamo'a) sounds a lot like the command to listen, "shema." They share the same root, but even as shema is a command to listen, shamo'a means to listen emphatically, to pay "uber" attention ... to witness. Paying attention is better than ignoring the world around one's self, but it takes bearing witness to be able to internalize what one observes well enough to understand its blessings and challenges. One cannot adequately celebrate or effect change where one does not understand what is at stake.

We live in an age where too many people tune everyone else out. Even those who pay attention adopt agendas as to what they will or will not hear. I know lots of "well informed" people who listen to only one voice in any dispute, and who ignore any voice with whom they disagree. We cannot find tzedakah - righteous solutions to problems when we willfully choose to ignore available data. When we listen intently enough to everyone to bear witness, we find that the most vociferous partisan arguments stand on the fewest egalitarian facts. If we want to change the world, we have to bear witness to each other and each other's thoughts and needs. If we can divorce ourselves from the prejudices that keep us from being the egalitarian witness, we will find ourselves making holistic and healing decisions for our future. We will hear the kol d'mama - God's still small voice transcend the partisanship with which we have burdened God. We will find ourselves in greater consensus as to what is right and righteous. Yes, it is easier said than done, but if we never take the first shot, we have zero chance at scoring any points. Let's all give greater effort to impose a little less and hear a little more. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Matot-Masei

Ok, herein lies the next chapter of Torah meets the real world. This week's Torah portion speaks of the need to designate six sanctuary cities (Numbers 35:13). No, I am not making this up or reading my interpretation into the text. The text calls for us to designate places for people to go, to protect them from vigilantism. Someone who commits a major offense retreats to a sanctuary city. The residents of the city protect that person until a lawful order comes through seeking his arrest. Sanctuary cities do not break the law. The misperception is that the sanctuary city battles the government to protect criminals. They do not protect hardened criminals or those fleeing the law. Simply, a sanctuary city makes sure that everyone (even criminals) receives "Due Process." Torah insists that there exist a time for cooling off and level headedness to ensure that justice gets meted out appropriately. No, Torah did not use those words, but Torah does demand that even criminals deserve fair treatment through the trial process.

Since we know that Torah speaks on many levels, we have to make sure to understand that while this "trial" process certainly has literal application, it has a higher, more spiritual application, as well. Each of us transgresses. Each of us transgresses in ways that hurt others.

Tradition teaches us that taking someone's dignity does greater harm than if we took their physical life. A humiliated person must live in his/her shame and embarrassment. It is no surprise that our tradition uses the paradigm of the sanctuary cities as part of the blueprint for atonement.

Sefer HaChinuch (a 13th century commentary on the Torah's 613 mitzvot) teaches us that many of Torah's 613 mitzvot can only be observed at certain times. In some cases, the requirements depend on one's circumstances. If one never finds himself in specific situations, then one can never fulfill certain mitzvot. Others apply in some cases, but not in all cases, again based on circumstance and situation. There are, however six mitzvot that apply to every person, every day ... in fact, every moment. One must accept that there is a power greater than one's self and accept that this force drives all forces of nature. One must renounce idol worship, while holding love and awe for the power that moves creation. One must also avoid the allure of pleasures rooted in transgressing the natural order that makes all of us equal. Whatever one thinks of God (supernatural force, ultimate natural force, or even greatest human behavioral paradigm), if we are not intentional in our faith, we risk faltering in our ethical and moral behavior. The six cities of refuge symbols for these six ultimate mitzvot.

We need to know that there is a place we can retreat to rethink and reevaluate our spiritual commitments and engagements. There has to be a "safe" place for us to regroup, and commit to proper celebration of our successes and atonement for our failures. We also have to commit to pursuing justice and allowing it to pursue us, fairly and righteously. There is no righteousness in avoiding the requirements to "face the music," nor in beating ourselves up unwarrantedly.

The six cities of refuge protect us from the outside forces that would cloud our vision and, also, from our own inability to think clearly. Where we can take a step back and remember to focus on these ever challenging mitzvot, then we can participate in the work of healing the world. Without this focus, we diminish the likelihood of our ultimate success.

In remembering that the world does not revolve around us, we better serve the needs that ensure for all of us, a better world. In the same sense, when we can understand our own personal needs for these places of sanctuary, we can better appreciate this same need for those around us ... even those with whose behaviors we cannot abide. Due process is unequivocally, the most important of all mandates for a functioning society, and it must exist for everyone. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Monmouth Reform Temple, 332 Hance Avenue, Tinton Falls, NJ 07724

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Pinchas

Sometimes the Bible's value in our spiritual education has as much to do with what is not in the text as to what it says (or can say). In Genesis, we read of four different creation stories in the book's first six chapters. The stories have some basic themes in common, though the order and actualization of creation differ, each from the other. The text does not tell us which really happened or which is the more believable. We know that each story comes from more ancient different mythologies (we have proof). In amalgamating them into one text, we must understand that each story is of ultimately the same significance. Many ancient sages affirm that the Bible tells its reader that it is not history. The sages responsible for creating the canon taught this, as well. The purpose of the Bible is to create meaningful, even holy, conversation. This conversation begins with the part of any story that is not there or not specifically spelled out.

As to creation, sages regularly write of ethical values attached to each of the stories and use the stories as the foundation for teaching in the modern era. In a commentary on Genesis Chapters one and two, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel taught, "Man's sin is in his failure to live what he is." Being the master of the earth (chapter one), man forgets that he is the servant of God (chapter two). While the text reads as though the acts are unrelated, Heschel, in taking them out of literal context, finds deep spiritual value. We are special, but not so special that we are not accountable.

Similarly, we read this week's portion. The text presents anecdote after anecdote screaming to be debated and expounded. Whether it is the zealotry of Pinchas, the condemnation of Moses, the division of the land, or the change in inheritance laws, the portion yields wonderful and challenging conversation.

One of the most often heard criticisms of the Bible is that it is "Patriarchical;" it gives sanction to male dominance. I believe it is exactly the opposite. I think society has always been male dominant, but this book helps to modify this unnatural but ever present reality. In several places throughout the text, little bombs go off that challenge the male-dominant status quo. Whether it is the story of Deborah and Ya-el defeating Sisera, the waters of Sotah in Numbers, or the strength of character displayed by most biblical women, the Biblical authors help to bring a healthier perspective to gender equality than they get credit for. One such lesson comes from this week's reading. Zelophechad, from the tribe of Manasseh, died leaving no sons. He did have five daughters, but the inheritance "law" did not allow women to inherit estates. The daughters petitioned Moses, who, in turn, petitioned God. God's decision was swift. The women should inherit their father's estate. For all of the times that Israel rebels when they do not like God's answer, there was no response; the text gives us nothing. One of the great revolutions in "societal norms" happens without argument or incident. Time and time again, we read of the law of primogenitor; the law that states that the firstborn son gets the double share. In just a few verses of scripture, the world of property ownership changed ... and no one argued. Women's rights are not special rights; they are equally God-given inalienable rights.
Now, for all the ultra-religious who believe in the inerrancy of the Bible, why then are we not paying women equal wages? Of course, other questions over the status of women and, by extension, the status of equality with respect to all humanity flow from this same conversation. Perhaps it is time for America to pick up the Bible and study it ... all of it ... as it was written and intended to be studied. I think a lot of folks might be surprised to learn what is and is not written there. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Balak

Every morning, we begin by offering a word of thanks to the source of creation. We made it to a new day. Whatever one thinks about creation, the one point upon which we all can agree is that we have another opportunity to make something monumental happen. During a morning worship service, one of the first pieces of traditional liturgy comes from this week's Torah portion.

The "evil" King Balak sent the "pagan" prophet Bilaam on a journey to curse Israel. As the prophet approached the encampment, he could not help but bless the people, instead, "How wonderful are your tents, O Jacob; your dwellings, O Israel."
Every morning, we celebrate the story of Bilaam's return from "The Dark Side." We relish in how God can force him to recite only blessings without derision. How wonderful is this story? For all ages, we get to share in the power of blessing.

In stopping to think critically about this ritual, I grew troubled. We love it when our enemy learns to bless us. What about our obligation to learn to bless them? If the purpose of this text is to teach us to bless, how is it that we thrive on demonizing the "other" amongst us? How can we celebrate Bilaam's epiphany and not force ourselves to look past our own prejudices? Ok, the text speaks of Balak as the evil King. You know, if I had heard that two million unknown people were thundering in my direction and that they were involved in war after war, I would be worried. I would seek to protect my kingdom. One should marvel that Bilaam could grow to a place of understanding. It is a miracle that we can overcome our prejudices and our fear for/of the unknown other. Were the epiphany not enough, Bilaam could have denied the king and walked away. Instead, he stayed and asked God to bless the encampment and the people therein.

How little we know of each other! I walked through an anti-Muslim demonstration a few years back. I asked the people if they had ever met and spoken with a Muslim. The number of people who said something to the effect of, "No, and I never want to," was simply alarming. How can you hate something about which you know nothing? No different was the person who thought I was a good "White" person until he found out I was Jewish, and then decided that I was no longer white. No different is the bigotry that determines a loving person is incapable of making life decisions for a life partner simply because he and his partner are the same gender. No different are any of the ignorances that drive us apart ... before we ever get to know who and what it is that we shun.

I do not believe that any hate is ever appropriate. I do believe that there are people of whom we must be careful, but that is because of things that we know that they do or have done. I also affirm that tradition teaches us that the gates for healing and atonement must always be kept open. Affirming hate slams these gates shut. Moreover, we cannot justify hateful rhetoric because of our lack of understanding of someone's race, culture, faith, gender, politics, or any of the adjectives that might define one's life orientation.
Repeatedly, Torah teaches us to love the stranger, reminding us that in the eyes of others, we are strangers. This week, Torah teaches us to overcome our prejudices and reach out to experience each other's blessings. If we are people of faith, whatever religion we espouse, we cannot do otherwise and call our behavior Godly. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Chukat

...No one is above the law ... Or at least no one should be. Torah presents us with a system of justice that treats all people as equals; no matter from where they come, how they pray, love or vote, their respective gender orientation, and certainly, who they are.

So many times, we read stories about how God gets fed up with the people and sends some plague or disaster against them. No, these are not histories, the texts are not to be read literally, and each story contains valuable insights into human frailties. This week, we experience a new phenomenon. Moses gets in trouble.

While wandering in the wilderness, the people grew thirsty. God instructed Moses to speak to a rock and instruct rock to send forth water. Moses was frustrated with all of the whining. Instead of speaking to the rock, he struck it with his staff. The rock brought water, but it was excessively bitter. For blaspheming against God (disobeying), God decreed that Moses must lead the people to the banks of the Jordan, but may not cross over into the "Promised Land" Even Moses is not above the law.

So, fast forward thousands of years. We live in a world where many people believe that they are unaccountable to others or to the organic societal systems that exist to protect the dignity of all life. Whether we speak about politics and governance, religious hierarchy and supersessionism, racism and gender inequality, or any place in society wherein we believe (or practice) that the rules apply only to others, in each case, the value of life is at risk. Even Moses had to play by the rules.

When we fail to remember each other's dignity, we commit ourselves to societal destruction.

Bob Dylan spoke it best:

"Ahh princess on a steeple and all the pretty people; they're all drinking, thinking that they've got it made. Exchanging all precious gifts, but you better take your diamond ring, you better pawn it babe. You used to be so amused at Napoleon in rags and the language that he used. Go to him he calls you, you can't refuse. When you ain't got nothing, you got nothing to lose. You're invisible now, you've got no secrets to conceal."

It takes so little effort to remember that we are each made of the very same stuff. It takes so little effort to be mindful that we all pray to a God (the same God) who created each of us the very same way. Whether one believes in a supernatural deity or simply controlling forces of nature, we all bleed the same blood.

Whatever our prejudice and fear, our need to be better than another roots in our own insecurities and not in the "danger of the other," until that fear drives the other to respond dangerously. All people need to spend more time learning and engaging, and less time spouting and fearing. If you want peace, we all must play by the same rules. It really is just that simple. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

I sat down to write this week's commentary, and I struggled with how Torah might help me through this week. Batman died this week. Adam West will always be Batman to me; he passed away. Batman is so Jewish. He has no super powers and yet the strength of his faith saw him through the scariest of traumas. He had the courage to battle even Superman. He had the ability to overcome the most horrific memories (watching his parents' murder) to lead the fight for justice and righteousness. Of all the superheroes (many created by Jewish writers), Batman was the real deal. He represents the great values that we teach from Torah. In the worst of situations, he remained a prisoner of hope. He worked with the police and the public to ensure public safety. Rich or poor, he had your back.

And then a Congressman was shot; shot preparing for an intra-congressional baseball game: perhaps the most bi-partisan friendly thing on our nation's agenda. Oddly, Congressman Steve Scalise possesses one of the loudest voices against gun control in Congress. Did you know that there were shooting deaths in San Francisco, Columbus, and Memphis that same day? Why does the Congressman who fought to allow his shooter to have the gun get more press than the innocent victims shot by the guns he wanted to allow freely on the streets? Where is Batman?

This same week, the New York Times opened the debate on clergy and politics. The Johnson Amendment (tax code law) keeps a non-profit house of worship from participating in partisan politics. It is tough because everything has become political these days. And, because it is all political, partisanship took hold of the respective sides on every issue. I struggle to understand how a woman's body is subject to a political vote or how partisan politics governs the environmental crisis. We spend so much time politically debating the science of the climate (I know that sounds silly) that we cannot even agree that breathing clean air, eating uncontaminated food, and having clean beaches, lakes, and rivers are necessary for our enjoyment of life. Safety from gun violence, racism (and all bigotry), safe living conditions, and care for the needy are all moral values about which faith has loads to say but to mention any of them from the pulpit puts clergy employment at risk. Then when we give nice "love each other and play nice" sermons, we gain derision for being irrelevant. How can we be the prophetic voice of justice and righteousness, and still avoid being political? Partisanship in a house of worship is abhorrent, except that sometimes the partisanship (both sides of the aisle) violates or risks violation of the moral values we hold so dear. Where is Batman?

This week's Torah portion screams at me. God provides the people of Israel with an opportunity for the most incredible of blessings. Israel is about to inherit the land of milk and honey; a land that will provide for their every want ... way more luscious than their basic needs. Having been enslaved for generations, they reject the blessings and turn on each other. They suffer horrific losses in a war that never should have happened and then find themselves again exiled from the land for another forty years. A new generation must rise; a generation born into freedom must come forth and teach us ... lead us into the blessing. To what was Israel enslaved? We suffered at the hands of power mongering, the exertion of control for the sake of control. Pharaoh feared losing control, sitting, as if he were a god, he slew the dignity and soul of every Israelite. Israel was also enslaved to its own lack of faith. Having been beaten for 400 years, Israel lived as if it somehow deserved the punishment Pharaoh eagerly dished out.

How different are we? We ceded power to elected officials who hold no accountability to the people who elected them. We allow them to keep us afraid and subdued. We join in their power mongering coming at each other's throats and in effect support the very people who don't want to hear from us or meet with us. We enslave ourselves to the rhetoric and have forgotten how to engage each other in civil, meaningful, and engaging ways. We used to look to our clergy for, at a minimum, the entry points into moral and ethical conversations. Yes, some are clearly partisan, instructing partisan voting from the pulpit. Most of us just want to be able to break the chains that hold ethical and moral mandates captive. We want to mold a generation free from the madness of hate that currently flows as if it were the very blood that keeps our bodies alive ... until it flows through the streets destroying the very lives we hold sacred. I have to wonder how the congressman feels about guns, now. Where is Batman?

My colleagues, Rabbis David Wolpe and Rick Jacobs, are in the press arguing for and against being political on the pulpit. They are both right. We should not deal with politics on the pulpit, but the matters of righteousness that have devolved to politics must ring from every pulpit in this nation. These should not be political matters, and as Pirke Avot teaches us, "If not now, when." Do we wait until we are exiled permanently from the "land" and from each other? Do we wait until we have destroyed so much about what we cherish in this country that we have no country left to cherish? In every instance, we must be Joshua and Caleb who admonished Israel to move into the blessings of freedom. We must reject the fear mongering of the other ten spies that caused the destruction of so many lives and the aimless wandering our people endured for generations to come. Where is Batman? I pray ... Shabbat Shalom.

There are some moments in time that stay with you no matter what. As "geeky" as this will sound, as a Rabbi, some of those most profound moments involve studying Torah. It was probably my third or fourth year of Rabbinical school, and I was leading a study of this week's Torah portion at my student congregation (Then known as Glen Manor Home For The Jewish Aged). As we got near the end of the portion, I read that after speaking badly about Moses, Miriam's skin immediately turned scaly and flaky. Somewhat expecting someone to regurgitate what I had just said, I asked, "What did Miriam do wrong?" As if already cued and ready to spew, one of my seniors shot back, "She was a girl! That's what she did!" As a budding third-year Rabbinical Student, I was not sure what to do with this outburst. I ventured a meek follow-up, "And?" "Well, God did not punish Aaron, did God? The Bible hates women!" At the same time that I took solace in knowing that God was not a woman hater, this was the first time that I ever really had to wrestle with the issue. The senior was right. The text says that Aaron and Miriam spoke badly about Moses, but only Miriam suffered punishment.

That was a watershed moment for me. As a rising third year student, I had the technical skills to lead a Torah conversation, but lacked the self-confidence in those skills to nuance text, to interpret text, to look beyond the already existent commentaries to which I had access. To read the vast majority of commentators, Miriam was solely responsible for the incident. Some try to argue that she was making a righteous claim against Moses. One sage (RASHI) proffers the argument that Miriam spoke because her name was mentioned first (even though the verb is a plural verb). In Midrash Tanchuma, we read that Miriam was upset with her brother because he had been ignoring his own wife, even as he served God. While there is certainly an important lesson to learn from this perspective, the commentator argues that God instructed Moses to ignore his wife and so, Miriam needed to mind her own business.

I even read one commentary arguing the point that Miriam deserved to be afflicted, because, as a woman, God held her to a higher standard for she had better judgment than did Aaron. Effectively, we expect this ugly behavior from men, but not from women. I remain unmoved by any of the above arguments validating God singling her out for punishment.

So, it was from that morning of Torah study, now, 20 years ago, that I learned that Torah's true value lay not in its literal reading, and not in even the voices of a select sampling of sage voices. Torah begins conversations. The ambiguities in text, and even more so, the morally challenging texts scream at us to read them with investigative and argumentative eyes. So, here is the gospel according to Marc (Rabbi Marc). I have no idea why only Miriam gets punished. I do know, however, that because of the problem raised in the text, I have been part of amazing conversations about gender discrimination and bias. The inequity of the text screams at us to debate its morality, and in every such engagement, our eyes open wider allowing us greater understanding and pathos in how we see, treat, care for, and respect each other. As the medieval sage Bachya ben Asher put it, the magic of Torah is not in what it says, but in what it says to us ... each of us and each time we pick it up to study. Join a text study somewhere, push the envelope of understanding. Make sure that you read the text with 2017 eyes, knowing that your 2016 reading has a vote but not a veto in what it can mean for your life today. Shabbat shalom.

You know the phrase from Einstein, "Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous." Well, "coincidently," this weekend American Jews have consecutive days of holidays which seemingly have nothing to do with each other, but have everything to do with each other. We commemorate Memorial Day, honoring all American Veterans who passed away having risked/given their lives for our nation. As soon as one holiday ends, we embark on the next. Shavuot (Christianity knows this as the "Pentecost") begins Tuesday evening. Shavuot is both the early summer harvest festival and the day that we acknowledge receiving Torah at Sinai. In honor of this holiday, we celebrate the Religious School graduation (Confirmation) of our teenagers. Every year, during the Shabbat before Shavuot, we begin a new Book in Torah: the book of Bamidbar (Numbers). In English, it is called Numbers because it revolves around counting people.

The confluence of these two holidays is a double edged sword. Unpacking all of the symbolism wrapped up in my head is best done in bullet points:

1. The Torah portion calls on Moses to take a census, counting every male of military age. The resultant number will exclude boys too young, men too old, and all women. The goal is not to draw a distinction between those who matter and those who do not. The ultimate goal of this census is to make sure we know the extent of our military strength and reserves, as we travel the wilderness towards freedom (the "Promised Land").

2. We celebrate the receipt of Torah (while part of the Exodus story) every year as we finish the initial count of our soldiers.

3. This year, we celebrate receiving Torah immediately after counting our soldiers, immediately after remembering all who died defending our country.

4. We complete this cycle, and then send our young adults out into the world, armed with Torah and tradition.

I don't know. Especially, in today's climate, this is all too real and screams to be examined. So, I know what fundamentalism does with these coincidences. If one follows the bouncing ball from point 1 through point 4 wearing blinders blocking anything from sight to the right or the left, it is hardly possible to see anything other than a call to arms and an aggrandizement of war. The purpose of scripture, these folks would argue, is to prepare one for battle. I see this nightmare play out in the fundamentalisms of every religious, philosophic, and economic group in the world.

On the other hand, Torah was never intended to be a static document. It is the "Tree of Life," not the tree of conquest, domination, oppression, or death. As if anticipating the abuse of text, the text itself reminds us that if we ever approach a city with the intent of waging war, we must first work hard to facilitate peace (Deuteronomy 20:10).

Another way (and I believe our tradition's intended way) of seeing this order is on a much higher ethical plain. True, the soldiers we create are soldiers of Torah, taking its message of peace and decency to the world. The weapon with which we arm them is the Torah, the source of enlightenment, love, and ultimately peace. We honor the deceased soldiers, we do not celebrate their death and certainly not their need to have served us in battle. While it is true that Memorial Day is a day of huge sales in the market, it is a day of great mourning that we have to continue adding names to the list of those who died in service.

Even while we acknowledge the equality of women in the "troops" today, Torah sends us a most urgent message. Mothers give birth to children; they do not seek to bury them. Perhaps this year, these days are more sacred than any other, and our message to these young adults must be made clear. One cannot claim that the intention of religion is to destroy life. In our new and enlightened world, our job during these days is to teach a very different lesson than the ones playing out on the international, national, and local stages. Our job is to use our faith as a conduit for understanding each other, appreciating each other, and for lovingly protecting each other ... all of the each others. Shabbat Shalom.

I am not completely sure why, but these days, I am stuck in football analogies. Perhaps it is because rookie camps are open and I am reminiscent of all that could have been � decades ago. That said, I remember a guy named Art Monk. For 14 years, Art was a receiver for the Washington Redskins. His city and teammates nicknamed him "Mr. Redskin.� He played two more years with the New York Jets and with the Philadelphia Eagles, but his Hall of Fame career was all about his years in Washington. A business decision seeking youth ended his career in D.C. He went elsewhere because he loved playing the game, even while his team moved on. His career achievements on the field, though, were not the measure of this man. He loved playing and did not get involved in contract disputes or drama. His teammates were his family, and by all accords, he made everyone around him better. But, he was forced to leave. Washington did not renew him. After one year, the Jets cut two Hall of Famers (Monk and Ronnie Lott) in the pursuit of youth. He played in only three games for the Eagles the next year.

We live in a world of forced relationships and unrelationships. Especially in the climate in which we find our world, football is, perhaps, the easiest (and least controversial) vehicle through which to teach this message. Monk was a man who loved the game and just wanted to play. The Redskins wanted him to play, so long as he fit into their game plan. When he no longer fit into their plan, they sent him packing. He was productive with the Jets and then less so with the Eagles, but each did the same to him after one year. He was forced out. Yes, it was probably time; he was getting old, and 16 years is a long career for a wide receiver. Still, he was forced out, having been wanted only so long as he could do something for the franchise. In today�s world, often the force is reversed. Free agency allows players to hold teams hostage for high ransoms. It is no longer about the game, and there is no loyalty to the brand or the locker room relationships. It comes down to dollar signs only, and the athlete�s focus on dollars often distracts him from performing at his highest level. While there are still fans who fill the seats and the game goes on, we do not hold the individual players in as high a regard as we used to.

This week, the Torah tells us the same about our relationships with our land and with each other. Seven years is a cycle. At the end of six, we have to take a step back and renew our relationships. If it is indentured servitude, then after seven years the debt cancels and people are free to pursue their own lives. In terms of our relationship with the land, Torah tells us that every seventh year is the land�s sabbatical; we are not to force the land to produce. It must lay fallow and regenerate naturally or it will no longer be fertile. Further, every Sabbath of sabbaticals (49 years), Torah recognizes a jubilee year. We cannot force people into poverty. We cannot force people to live disinherited from their family estate. Every jubilee year sees all property exchanges revert to its original tribal owner. When we impose force to gain advantage over another, we violate Torah.

No more important place for this conversation is in our intimate lives. We force ourselves into relationships that cannot be healthy, even while they look good on our business resume, our social resume, or appease someone else in our lives. How much of our daily dysfunction exists because of our involvement in relationships in which we do not want to be involved � but have to be? How much energy do we expend forcing our ways or ourselves on someone else? How much energy is sapped from us when we are on the receiving end? Torah demands that we take intentional time to rethink our relationships in order to reframe them (and our involvement) in the healthiest and most productive ways. Let�s learn to love and respect each other and our Earth, so that we will be able to share our lives lovingly and willingly for years to come. Shabbat Shalom.

I was an athlete when I was young. Of course, back in those long ago days, we knew next to nothing about the long term effect of getting one's "bell rung." Football helmet padding was only becoming sophisticated. We never heard of post concussion "protocols." Once the world stopped spinning before one's eyes, he was sent back into the game. When one's performance suffered after such an incident, coaches chalked it up to "fear of getting back on the horse" syndrome.

We now understand that getting one's "bell rung" is a concussion. We also know that multiple concussions lead to brain disease. Specifically, the brain disease is Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy. For generations, we knew that boxers suffered from a dementia called "dementia pugilistica" (boxer's dementia). We now understand that it is not just the repeated punches to the head, but we find the progressively degenerative disease impacting the lives of all athletes who take part in contact sports, members of the military, stunt performers in Hollywood, and others. Effectively, the brain begins to deteriorate at a pace faster than any organic decline. The impact of these repeated injuries essentially robs humans of meaningful lives.

Yes, the sports world has responded with better equipment and tighter protocols and rules. Yes, the game will continue, but, we pray, in a more safe environment (even as the athletes playing the game are bigger and providing even more impacting blows than ever before).

This week's Torah portion (Lev. 21:16-24) makes it clear that anyone with a disability is barred from serving in the priesthood. The text devotes eight verses to delineating the types of disqualifying defects. Assuredly, broken limbs and physical and spiritual deformities lead the list, but having "too long" eye brows also disqualifies a priest. Candidly, reading the list, I am not sure who is physically symmetrical and pure enough to serve ... in any capacity. One might argue that the sages wrote it this way to make bringing animals to the altar impossible. No priest qualified to offer it. If there is no appropriate priest then there can be no offering ... end of the sacrificial cult tradition.

However, we have a text in the Mishnah (Yoma 2:1-2) that tells the story of two young priests racing to the altar to serve. In an effort to gain the advantage, one pushed the other off the steps, causing the victim's leg to break. From that moment on, the victim's entire life changed as he was stripped of any right and authority to live his destiny as a Priest. With this injury the entire rules of Priestly service changed. To avoid any future injury and disqualification, young priests were assigned dates to serve, as opposed to vying to be the first one to the top. This new rule also ensured that those possessing less physical prowess had an equal chance to serve. So, while it is clear to me that the Torah text seeks to undo the sacrificial rituals, the ancient sages saw in the text much deeper admonitions. For starters the rabbis affirmed that one's physical stature was not the defining factor one's talent and spiritual capacity.

More to my earlier point, though, the sages argued that when our behaviors disqualify someone else from being able to fulfill his/her life destiny, some action has to be taken. We are not just speaking of illegal activity that needs to be reined in. Often the rules in place allow for the abuses. The Priests outlawed their previously accepted practice of racing to the top of the altar. While there are rules in sports to prevent injury (including the mandatory proper protective gear) many traumatic injuries happen from legal blocks and tackles. New rules keep coming out to protect athletes from injuries and re-injuries. However, these injuries, no different than with the Mishnaic priest, not only end people's careers but destroy their lives.

All the more, these paradigms speak to the way we seek advantage over each other in the real world. Even when we play by the rules, we hurt people. We need to be careful ... even within the rules of life's engagement. How much more damage do we cause, when we disregard the rules. Ultimately, as a kingdom of priests (mamlechet kohanim), not one of us has greater authority or purity to stand over another's offering to God or humanity. None of us qualifies to be "THE PRIEST" directing everyone else at the altar. Each of us has been injured and each of us is physically and spiritually asymmetrical. So, let's keep working to find better ways in which to care for each other. Shabbat Shalom.

I called my mother today. My mom is not your stereotypical Jewish mom. She lets me know that she is happy to hear from me. She rejoices that we can argue politics. She is as proud of her son the Rabbi and her daughter the lawyer as she was of her son the Doctor. So, for all of the anecdotes about Jewish moms, mine is pretty cool. That said, as we all talk about the foibles of "our Jewish moms," even when we complain about things that they say or do when asked the question, "So, who is your favorite person?" The most often heard answer? "Mom!"
This week, in what we call the "Holiness Code," we are told to hold our parents in awe. The text in Exodus and Deuteronomy, tells us to honor our father and our mother. Here it says, "Ish Imo v'aviv ti-ra-oo - Each person shall hold his mother and father in awe." Mom is first. Now, it is true that not everyone will translate this text the same way. The word, "ti-ra-oo" confuses us. Some will translate it as "fear." So, by this convention, the text would read, "Fear his Mom and his Dad."

Throughout Scripture, we read of "yirat Adonai." Many choose to read this as "fear of God." We call the High Holy Days (Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur) the "Yamim Nora-eem."Ti-ra-oo, yirat, and nora-eem are all different forms of the same word. Prefixes, suffixes, and vowel structures root in the way in which we use the word. Sages have debated for years over the meanings of this root word because it has a contextual ambiguity. Do we fear God or hold God in awe? Are the holy days the days of fear or the days of awe? How many times do we hear the words "fear of God." As a child, I know I heard it plenty ... every time I was in trouble someone wanted to put the fear of God into me.

Now, I am not a sage, but I have to believe that if the only reason we live faithful lives is that we are afraid not to do so, we have a problem. I see it all around me. Too many of us live more in fear than in celebration. Look at the violence all around us. Why do we lock our doors, stay in well-lit areas, fear the news of conflagration of hostility between nations, even second guess the motives of people who say that they love us? At the same time that we speak of a God of love, we live in a world of fear.

Perhaps this is the root of the problem. We have used the word fear so freely and so often that it has become commonplace in our society. We are ok being afraid. We are okay thinking about even love in terms of fear. We don't speak out because we are afraid. We then allow madness to perpetuate making us only more afraid. We don't break laws because we are afraid. We talk about punishment as a deterrent as opposed to rehabilitation. Would it not make better sense not to break laws because we respect them?

Then we speak about our parents and God and still feel comfortable in the context of scripture and prayer employing fear as a path to spirituality. Is it love for God or fear of God that makes one care for his neighbor? Is it because we are afraid of punishment or because we honor our parents that we are at home on time? Do I love mom because she is lovable or because I am afraid not to?

The problem with fear is that it is a horrific motivator, and it is of only temporal value. Once my grandma learned that lightning would not strike her dead if she ate a shrimp (non-kosher food), she no longer cared about matters of kashrut which had so strictly controlled her life. If we govern by fear, once one overcomes being afraid utter chaos rules. If instead, we think about our relationships in terms of respect and awe, we get a very different result.
Part of what works so well with my mom is that even while we disagree on so many things, the love that we share transcends them. We do not have to win the argument because we cherish "winning" the relationship. So, Torah reminds us "Be Holy, for I God, am holy." Holiness should be awe inspiring not fear mongering. We need to show up in relationships because we want to grow, not because we are afraid to be outside.

I know, "you may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one." It has to start somewhere. We all face demons. It is time not to cave into to them. Love because love is valuable. Be the example of one who engages in order to grow the world. Teach from your being, the blessing of living for blessings as opposed to avoiding the curses. That is where we can best find the path to holiness. Shabbat Shalom.

Sometimes I wonder why we work so hard to build bridges between people. You know, there are people with whom we are better off not associating. No, we don't like admitting this deep dark truth. We really want to believe that we can have a positive and close relationship with anyone, but we all have those people (some close and others remote) with whom we just want no contact. It may be that they do horrible things on the world stage. It may be that they have negatively and directly impacted our own lives. Each of us has people on this list. Still though, our daily liturgy reminds us that our religious tradition demands that we turn our enemy into our friend. We may want to avoid someone (or worse engage them in horrible ways), but our tradition does not allow us to do this. You will thus understand why the rhetoric and tenor of our current alienating conversations grieve me so. To take a stand on anything runs the risk of alienating people as our "skin" gets only thinner.

As you know, I read Torah through a lens that makes ancient text speak with a modern and relevant voice. Normally, this week presents Rabbis with a real conundrum. Tazria / Metzora focuses on skin afflictions. Tradition likes to call this affliction leprosy, and in commentary, includes every medical plague and malady. Many speak of the affliction allegorically and relate the affliction to spiritual impurity and evil speech.

Even while I cannot get around the idea that as we become more "thin skinned" (and hence more deeply afflicted), I find hope in the application of the precept. What happens after one becomes afflicted and perhaps contagious? According to the text, the High Priest inspects the afflicted areas and must decide whether or not the "metzorah (one bearing the disease)" must leave camp.

Here is the conundrum: All priests descend from Aaron. Our tradition says that one must strive to be like Aaron; loving peace and pursuing it; loving God's creatures bringing each closer to Torah.

It is easy to love peace, but pursuing it is another matter. Running after something requires a lot of effort and even more sagacious judgment. The priest's job is to bring people together; to get people past/through their own baggage; to build an inclusive community that nurtures and cares for each of its citizens. In fact, the late Rebbe (Menachem Schneerson) taught that even if one is afflicted with the skin disease, he is not considered a "metzorah" until the priest says so. It is not the disease that exiles one from camp; it is the word of the priest that does it. Given the over-all charge of the priest to build community, exiling an individual is antithetical to his sacred "call" in life.

See, the Priest never knows which happened first, since they both have to be in place, before it even comes to his attention. The Talmud teaches that Rabbis once debated "If the white patch preceded the white hair, it is impure; if the white hair preceded the white patch, it is pure; but what if there is doubt (as to which came first)? God declared, "It is pure." The entire Academy said: "It is impure." They went to ask the wisest of the sages, Rabbah bar Nachmeini. Without batting an eye, he said, "Pure, pure. (Bava Metzia 86a)." Since we never know for sure, removing all speculation and doubt as to a person's purity, the Priest declares him pure ... and he remains in camp.

Torah teaches us that we are a Mamlechet Kohanim (kingdom of priests). Each of us must respond the way in which Nachmeini responded. Even when we might believe that we have good reason to dismiss someone (a metzorah), we can't. We have to pledge to work harder in bringing peace between people and heal the affliction that separates us. Shabbat Shalom.

Every year, as we get to this week's Torah portion, I have to do a Yom Kippur type of self-assessment. Who am I and for what does "Marc" stand? This portion is uniquely devoted to a single theme. Rarely do we find a Biblical text, so tunnel focused on a single theme, and tradition tells us that there has to be more than meets the eyes. Each text yields a spectrum of controversy and conversation, and yet, each will, in its own way, bring us to the same ethical conclusions, whatever directions our ritual choices may lead us.

In one episode, Aaron's sons (Nadav and Avihu) brought an alien fire to the altar. They did wrong by God and hence had to pay the ultimate price; the fire leapt from the altar to consume them. The majority of commentators presume that the young men were either drunk or overly-arrogant. Torah, though, is the beginning of conversation, and no one commentary stands supreme over others. Throughout the ages, some of us look at figures like Rabbi Akiva who studied and taught Torah even after Rome criminalized Torah study. He died for defying Rome. In fact, as the legend goes, he taught and affirmed even to his last breath. Torah was his own "alien fire" and Roman law was the "altar" of authority.

In modernity, Martin Luther King, Jr. brought an alien fire to the altar. His "alien fire" was equal rights. The "altar" was the status of justice (or injustice) in America. The fire consumed his life. Rabbi Arthur Lelyveld left the comfort of his large Cleveland, Ohio congregation in the 60's to march for Civil Rights in the South. So beaten and bloodied was he from being attacked that doctors were not sure he would live. His congregation was split. Even while Judaism demands our involvement in justice work, he nearly sacrificed his career, as some members were aghast that he would have marched. For these giants of justice, the "altar" was itself the alien fire. However one interprets this text, ultimately, Torah demands that we pay attention to how we behave, how and what we bring to the altar, and how we must be sure that what we do honors that which is most righteous in the world. We survive or perish on the ways in which our integrity and love manifest through our behaviors.

Virtually the rest of this portion deals with ritual and dietary cleanliness. The text does not tell us why certain foods are an "abomination," only that God will be unhappy if we eat them. If we choose to only eat the "list appropriate" foods, we still have to slaughter the animal and prepare its meat in an exactly appropriate way ... or it does not matter what "good food" list it appears on, it is not kosher. What about animals not on either list? You have the animals that can be eaten and those that can't ... but if one is not on either list, then what? What if your "kosherly" prepared vegan seitan steak under a cream sauce looks like real beef and makes someone believe you violated the rules? What if it was a non-"kosher" meal? Does it matter what someone else thinks? Do we have the right to judge someone else who lives differently than we choose to live? Volumes of commentary exist on kashrut only verifying the levels of ambiguity that exist in a practice that stems from a Torah portion with hard and fast rules. Folks who think that Judaism is mostly legalistic do not know or understand Judaism.

Of course, Torah is an allegory. An entire week's portion devoted to ritual purity has to, itself, be an intriguing commentary on our relationship with God. While the text draws lots of lines in the sand as to what is and is not appropriate, the text begs so many more conversations and controversies. Each religious tradition has "hard and fast" scriptural rules modified by generational interpretation. The literal wording of text bears little value in the ultimate use of the text in a spiritual context, even while it is the springboard for every conversation.

The sages dedicated an entire Torah portion to our need to focus on ritual purity: both the external purity (what we bring to "God's priestly" altar) and internal purity (what we use to fuel our internal altar's fire). It matters far less which ritual level you choose than the ethic behind why you made the choice and how you live out the choice that you made. For me, the ultimate message to glean from this week's portion is that faith is not a matter of accident. It takes work. Love takes work. Peace takes work. Good health takes work. All the good things for which we live to enjoy take work. On Shabbat, we work to renew our spirit. It is good work to be blessed to do. Shabbat Shalom.

�Who is this Moses?� Pharaoh knew Moses. They grow up together as brothers, or at least as cousins. Remember, as the story goes, Moses was saved from death and placed in the river. Pharaoh�s daughter drew him from the river and raised him as her own. It was many years later that he learned that he was not part of the royal family or Egyptian people. Face it; there is no story without Moses. Like him or not, he is �The Guy!� Ok, who doesn�t like Moses? He is beloved by the whole Western religious world. Well, I raise the point because we are about to embark on celebrating Passover. Moses completed his task, and we are free � sort of.
As we sit at the Seder table, we will read a book (the Haggadah) that tells this story. Oddly, the traditional Haggadah never mentions Moses; it is as if he is unknown. So, without extra conversation, folks tell the entire story; minus the main character. The second problem with the story is that it ends reminding us that we are not yet free. �Next year in Jerusalem!� means that we still have work to do before we might claim to be free. The statement does not ask that we find ourselves half way around the world for Seder next year. Rather, it should compel us to make wherever we are a place of wholeness and peace; hence, Jerusalem.
The sages teach us that Moses is not part of the Seder because, as the leader, everyone relied on him or held him accountable for everything that happened. This gahering is not his Seder. It is our Seder, and this is not his story it is ours. Over the course of time, even the ritual changed. Maimonides changed the �Four Questions.� As Rabbi Sally Priesand accepted ordination as a Reform Rabbi, the feminist awakening then brought us Miriam�s cup.
In that vein, we continually add symbols to the Seder Plate to continue updating the story. The Torah�s three symbols of Passover are matzah, the bitter herb, and the lamb. Over generations, we added parsley, a second bitter herb, salt water, charoset (apple, wine, and nut mixture), and a roasted egg. Across the Jewish spectrum, these added symbols are there as if they Moses wrote them in Torah at the time of the Exodus. Over the course of the last thirty-plus years, parts of the Jewish world added more symbols, again updating the ritual so that it continues to speak in our age, not just in that of our ancestors. Susannah Heschel added an orange. �I placed an orange on our family's Seder plate. During the first part of the Seder, I ask everyone to take a segment of the orange, make the blessing over fruit, and eat it as a gesture of solidarity with Jewish lesbians and gay men, and others who are marginalized within the Jewish community (I mentioned widows in particular).�
Some add olives to address the broken relationships between Israelis and Palestinians. You may find tomatoes on the plate, speaking to the oppression of migrant farm workers. A rotten piece of lettuce illustrates that inner-city grocery stores often carry only spoiled produce. A potato chip instead of the boiled potato in the �karpas� space indicates that high-fat potato chips are cheaper and easier to find than fresh potatoes.
So many of us look at these �new� symbols and think that they violate the sacred Jewish heritage. I wonder what Maimonides� father said when he changed the ritual. Can you imagine the faces around the table the first time someone put an egg there or instructed someone to dip parsley in salt water? All change is difficult to swallow (pun intended), but it becomes the sacred norm as time passes and we continue repeating the ritual. Why do we continue to evolve our tradition? Torah tells us to. It is quite simple. This week�s portion begins with the word �Tzav,� the Command form of the Hebrew verb �To Command.� The portion contains a laundry list of commands from God, but what stands out is that the fire on the altar is never to go out and the food cooked sustains the growth of our leadership (priesthood). The Priests were in charge of sustaining and growing the spirit and sense of peoplehood for all Israel. It is not by simple coincidence that this command to continue the growth and support of our � growth and support happens every Shabbat before Passover. We call it �Shabbat Hagadol,� and traditionally, this is the only Shabbat requiring a sermon. The fire that never burns out is the fire of growth and evolution. This fire reminds us that our tradition is not to simply do all of the things we do and have done but to grow who we are by continuing to update what we do. My prayer is that whatever new we do this year compels us to do even more to make the prophetic dream come true: Next year may we sit at our seder tables all over the world in Jerusalem. Shabbat Shalom and Happy Passover.

I went to see a congregant and friend perform at a benefit concert last week. Several bands took the stage and played a set of several songs, raising money for disabled children in the area. This looked to be a very blue collar crowd, and yet the afternoon event raised over $22,000. Everyone there had a blast.

When my friend's band took the stage, the place went nuts. Joe coordinated it all, folks love his effort and his music. The band's first piece was one of my favorites: "Low Spark Of The High-Heeled Boys." There are as many theories for what the song means as there are critics, and its broad potential is part of its greatness. Ultimately, the song speaks about someone striving to achieve greatness in a corrupt system, wherein he has amazing potential and trusts the system, but lacks skills to deal with the difficult world. Whether the song speaks of drug addicts or musicians suffering under contracts with corrupt music labels, the pathos screams through the lyrics of the chorus:

The percentage you're paying is too high priced
While you're living beyond all your means
And the man in the suit has just bought a new car
From the profit he's made on your dreams
But today you just read that the man was shot dead
By a gun that didn't make any noise
But it wasn't the bullet that laid him to rest was
The low spark of high-heeled boys

We mortgage our future in pursuit of our dreams only to find that the corrupt system took advantage of us. The system at some point implodes, and everyone loses. The low spark is the depression that sets in even while we wear the appearance of glitz and glamour to keep up. We place value on one's appearance and not substance, and end up idolizing the corruption because it looks successful even while it breeds destruction. Steve Winwood and Traffic never made it to the charts in Britain (their homeland), but the song reached immortality in the USA. I wonder what that says about the two worlds?

We begin the Book of Leviticus this week. God calls to Moses and commands him to spread the word. If/when one brings a sacrificial offering to the altar, one should bring his/her finest. The text goes on to list the appropriate offerings: a large animal, large bird, small bird, or grain without yeast.

The Talmud (Talmud, Menachot 110a ) teaches us, "It is said of a large ox, 'A fire offering, a sweet savor'; of a small bird, 'A fire offering, a sweet savor'; and of a meal offering, 'A fire offering, a sweet savor.' This is to teach you that it is the same whether a person offers much or little, so long as he directs his heart to heaven." Further, the grain has to be yeast free, so that no feels that they have to falsely inflate their offering to make it "look more valuable." This is an offering from the heart, and each offering is of the same value ... a sweet savor unto God.

Now, $22,000 is a lot of money to raise in an afternoon. Yes, there are events attended by wealthy people that raise more, but the spirit of this day was at least on par (if not greater than) with these more posh events. There was no need for yeast to inflate the atmosphere. It was everything that one craves in a benefit event. The best part is that this community comes together annually for this event and everyone knows each other. The performers are at least as popular for the people that they are playing for as they are for the music they provide: a rock solid community (pun intended).

This provided the "sweet savor before God." I see the same in the story of Steve Winwood. He made it famous but never lost sight of all that was sacred, the sweet savor before God. As the Prophet told us, "Hold Fast To Your Dreams." Pursue them and don't sell your soul in that pursuit. Trust in yourself to overcome the obstacles in life and don't cave before them. Scripture tells us that God wants the gift of the heart. If one can afford the bull, bring the bull. If one can only afford the bird, bring it. If all one can afford is simple grain, it is as honorable as any other gift. It is the love and power of the spirit that changes the world, not the bravado of ego. Love yourself enough to be proud of yourself ... and the world changes. Shabbat Shalom!

Shabbat Shalom
with a Heart-Healthy dose of Torah -
Ki Tisa

This week's Torah portion includes one of the most dramatic episodes in all of scripture. Standing ato...p Mt. Sinai, Moses and God have a heated debate. The people built a Golden Calf. Moses spent over a month on the mountain with God. Israel began to lose faith. Angry, God threatened to destroy the entire nation and start over again with Moses. In response, Moses not only rebuked God for God's anger but made God capitulate from the Divine wrath that was to burn against the people. Ultimately, Moses makes it clear that if God breaks the promise to uphold and support Abraham's descendants, all would be lost. Moses demanded to be blotted out of this book if God did not repent. Moses' commitment to the people won the day, and God demonstrated appreciation for Moses' righteous leadership. God passed before Moses giving him a glimpse of the divine being. God then announces 13 attributes of divine mercy.

"Adonai, Adonai, benevolent God, Who is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger and abundant in loving-kindness and truth, preserving loving kindness for thousands, forgiving iniquity and rebellion and transgression."

These 13 Attributes of God's mercy are central to the Yom Kippur liturgy. On that day we seek to wipe the slate clean and start over. We atone and forgive, and commit to making every day a Yom Kippur. We commit to renewing our relationships every day. Ultimately, the message is that mercy is the path to God. Leadership must base itself in mercy and compassion if it roots in faith. If there was only strict justice without mercy, the Rabbis teach, no one would survive.

We define one's leadership effectiveness more on the atmosphere one creates than one's skill set in any given endeavor. To be effective, a leader must act in ways that bring people together. God's 13 "Attributes of Mercy" provide the framework around which one can fulfill this goal. So, I read once that this concept of righteous leadership helps define the difference between a movement and a mob. Torah gives us a glimpse of both this week and the glimpse may be unsettling. Mobs act with slave-like mentality; compassion is a word unheard in the conversation of a mob. Four 400 years, slavery was all that Israel knew. Even after Israel marches into freedom physically, intellectually and emotionally each individual only understood servitude. When they did not get their way, all hell broke loose. Even while Moses showed incredible deference to the people (to the point of taking God on face to face in their defense), it took forty years of wandering before a new generation took control; a generation that never knew bondage.

Over the course of this time, Moses crafted a movement. His compassionate leadership fostered the sharing of control and the welcome and training of new leaders. He empowered judges and elders; and priests. In fact, all of Israel becomes a "Mamlechet Kohanim - a Kingdom of priests." Like Aaron, we accept the command to seek peace and pursue it. They enacted laws protecting property rights and redressing injury. Women successfully asserted their claims to equality (the daughters of Zelophechad). People settled on land, grew communities and gave life to a tradition as diverse as the original tribal personalities. Movements hold together and flourish because of relationships, not dogma. Our tradition's success roots in the stereotypical joke that if there are three Jews, one hears twelve opinions (all of them with equal validity). Mobs tend to be monolithic: one is in or out by order of the demagogue in power; that's it.

We know what it takes to build a community. We know what it takes to help a community flourish. We know that mobs exist dogmatically destroying the sanctity of our world. We know that demagogues foster the passion for destruction. We must stand up for each other and never tolerate the return of our ancestral mob mentality. When confronted with mobs who threaten the sanctity of our relationships, we have to remember that each of us is the priest ordered to be compassionate in leadership and peace seeking. It is time for us to lead people back into the family. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org
Monmouth Reform Temple, 332 Hance Avenue
Tinton Falls, NJ 07724

Shabbat Shalom
with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
T'rumah

There was a time in our history when the sagest advice one could give the next generation was simply..., "Keep a bag packed and your passport always updated." When I hear people speak of these days, it seems so odd, almost terrifying. The phrase seems to admit that we are still only sojourning nomads in the world.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org
Monmouth Reform Temple, 332 Hance Avenue
Tinton Falls, NJ 07724

This week (February 20), one hundred twenty-two years ago, Frederick Douglass attended a gathering of the National Council of Women in Washington, D.C. At this meeting, he came to the platform for recognition. He received a standing ovation for his lifetime commitment to egalitarian rights. He then went home, and at the age of 77, he died of a heart attack. He was an amazing man. An orator, statesman, historian, passionate champion for equal rights for people regardless of race or gender, and even more passionate abolitionist, Douglass was a former slave who dedicated his life to the cause of freedom.

February is African-American history month. Our nation chose February, in part, because of Frederick Douglass. Now, I find it horrific that we have a month to study African American history because we do not include it as part of a normal American history curriculum. If Mr. Douglass' legacy really mattered to the whole country, we would re-write our textbooks so that "Minority Studies" became the fabric woven into the whole American story. Our narrowly focused look at American History through a primary lens of where White America comes from most certainly skews the way in which we read our Constitution, operate life in our communities, and, most difficultly, see ourselves in greater and lesser status in our inter-human relationships. We are ill prepared to live together.

Even while religious traditions argue that prophecy ended with each one's sacred texts, I am reminded of a favored quote from Einstein (you know I use it a lot), "Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous." This week, we read 21st-century prophecy from the Torah portion "Mishpatim."

Last week, we read of the epiphany at Sinai. Amidst the thunderous clouds and lightning strikes atop the mountain, God delivered the rules of freedom to the people. We cannot murder or steal, or invoke false witness. We cannot ignore our families, live in a state of jealousy over what neighbors have ... or over their relationships. If we fail in these undertakings, we destroy the fabric of society and risk losing the most precious gifts of freedom with which God just delivered to our people.

This week, we read about the rules of slavery and property ownership (including people). In the midst of African-American history month, we are reading about how one is to treat and compensate slaves. I pray that I am not the only one who, year after year, aches over this satire in timing. So, I dive back into tradition and have to remind myself that the purpose of Torah is to begin conversation, not to give us dogmatic rules. Last week we had to interpret what the "rules" compelled us to do with and for each other. This week, our calling brings more urgency. Slavery is wrong. Slavery is a crime against humanity and God. Ultimately, Torah screams at us to scream back, "We just experienced freedom from slavery and the miracle of redemption! We cannot do that to another!" Our human condition roots in our own lack of faith. We create hierarchies between people's stereotypes every day. Society teaches us that people matter more or less because of their race, religion, gender, origins, or orientations. I cannot relegate to coincidence that this week brings this Torah portion and Frederick Douglass' story into confluence; not with what is happening around us.

Prophetically, in the year 2017, Torah screams at us to take a look at what we are doing to each other. Just freed from slavery, we are oppressing each other. In our nation, a mere two hundred fifty years is but a watch in God's night. The one hundred fifty years a since our bloodiest battle against each other over (in the eyes of most historians), who has a right to own each other as property is a blink of God's eye. This history is, however, our eternity. Because it did not happen in our personal memory, we forget the evils of slavery and oppression. We have forgotten the ovens of Auschwitz. We have forgotten the so many who came to lands such as our own seeking refuge and liberty ... and life. Torah warns us about just how short our memory can be, and how destructive our lapses are in holding sacred everything we claim to hold dear ... including the dignity of the God to whom we all pray. The madness proliferating around us; the renewed diminution of human rights by those powerful enough to deny human dignity is appalling. Douglass taught us, "No man can put a chain about the ankle of his fellow man without at last finding the other end fastened about his own neck." The ills we seek to impose on each other come at the cost of our own liberties and freedoms. This is, always has been and always will be antithetical to the mandate of freedom, decency, and liberty that Torah demands from us and for which this Sabbath Day is the weekly reminder.

Wake up America! Light Shabbat candles. Take the day of God (in whichever your tradition) as a respite from the storm. Rethink the ego-driven need for power. Pray for the ability to hear and share ... and love beyond the narrowness that enslaves each of us to some form of dogmatic bigotry. I don't care where you pray, where you live, with whom you sleep, or what language you speak. Each of us comes from the same stuff and bleed when injured. Shabbat is upon us. Let's pay attention to how best honor each other. Shabbat Shalom!

This weekend, we welcome Danny Siegel to Monmouth Reform Temple. He is my Rabbi. He has not been ordained by any formal seminary, but so many of us cannot refer to him with any language other than to call him Rabbi Danny. Come join us! Check out our website for details!
Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Two weeks back, Monmouth Reform Temple extended my contract for five years. I am blessed to serve in this community. In a short two and a half years, we have accomplished some amazing things together. We welcomed 20 new students into our religious school this year. Our calendar is beyond full with a variety of educational, social, social action, worship, celebration, and all sorts of activities. I am blessed to serve here because people love our community and make the commitment to growing our Jewish capacity and faithful soul. For whatever I add to the mix, the work that people do and the love that they share wraps around each other. We are not all involved in everything, but everything that some do in one venue here empowers and adds value to everything else that everyone else does in our other arenas of activity. As I grow into this community, I am held and pushed by many to continue my own growth and the growth of our mission. With faithful partners in our lay leadership, our Cantor Gaby Clissold, and our Educator Stephanie Fields, we fulfill Torah's command to facilitate each other's spiritual journey.
These thoughts are not platitudes that I offer in thanks for the new contract; they are the very reason I sought the extension. Our faith tradition roots in our commitment to each other. One cannot be faithful simply by religiously walking through rituals. In fact, our Biblical Prophets routinely rail against people who jump through all of the ritual hoops, expecting to please a pagan God who delights in abject obedience. Rather, our charge is to make justice roll like a mighty stream; care for the widow the orphan and the stranger; redeem the oppressed; make peace where strife has reigned; and all the things that the prophets tell us is a "must do" to preserve a communal family. Most importantly we do this with and for each other.

This "command" manifests with this week's Torah portion. Freed from Egypt and saved from Pharaoh's pursuing chariots, we find ourselves at the foot of Mt. Sinai. God calls to the people and reminds them to cleanse themselves before God prepares to pass on the most sacred teachings. What follows is intriguing. God tried directly giving all the people the "rules" together, but they claimed God's voice is too tough to hear. God then has Moses go up the mountain to get them and bring them back. His function is to facilitate people creating a relationship with divinity.

While we make a big deal out of Moses as the leader, chieftain, and prophet, his real function was simply facilitating relationships. As Moshe Rabbaenu (Our Teacher Moses), his greatest legacy is not that he led us out of Egypt or across the wilderness. His greatest teaching legacy is that he taught us to help each other. Our job, in faith, is to help people find a pathway to faith that makes sense for them. As Moses learned, sometimes that pathway was in line with his own and sometimes quite divergent from it. His success is measured by how many people have found a way into faith and not by which pathway got the most numbers.

Our tradition absolutely affirms the veracity of this idea Midrash (Mekhilta d'Rashbi) reminds us that God gave the Torah in the wilderness; in a place owned by no one. Contrary to the popularly held beliefs of many modern religious traditions, no group or person has a stronger claim of ownership on Torah than anyone else in the world. Further, the first word of self-introduction from God to the people is not proper Hebrew, but an Egyptian derivative of the first person singular pronoun. The people, having lived in Egypt for so long, spoke the language of Egypt. Moses is an Egyptian name. Martin Buber argues that the word "Anochi" (with which the 10 Commandments begin) is Egyptian vernacular for the Hebrew "Ani." In his posthumously published work "Towards a Meaningful Life," the late Lubavitcher Rebbe affirmed these teachings, arguing that Torah is the possession of the whole world, how we use it to find God differs from each other, but no one has a superior claim on it.

So, to everyone fighting over who owns God's message, and who represents God most truthfully in this world, perhaps it is time for us to get over ourselves, appreciate in how many different languages Torah speaks, and start living the message of helping each other celebrate faith ... each of us ... our own faith ... in the very same God. It seems to me that this is the surest pathway to making this a Shabbat Shalom.

It is not uncommon that I write two or three pieces, throwing each away, before I figure out the exact message I want to convey, and how to convey it. This week: well, this is draft number five. So much happened this week. I am outraged over what is happening in Washington, not the least of which at a White House calling to dismantle our judiciary because it will not let our President defy the constitution. I am appalled that the Mississippi Assembly voted to reinstate firing squads and gas chambers. The list across America goes on; this was just the last two days. Accuse me of being political if you need, but have a conversation with me about it ... not shout at me ... or about me with someone else. It is specifically because we are not talking with each other that these things spiral out of control.

Our nation is in trouble, and the only saving grace I see is that people who would not have come together in common voice before are rethinking our estrangement from each other. Diverse people are flocking to each other's sides in droves.

Last Friday, hundreds of us joined in celebrating Juma with the Middletown Mosque and guarding their building during prayer. I stood with clergy and laity from across the spectrum. I met people who said that they had never been near a mosque but knew that this was the time to show those who are in need that we care.

Last week, I was invited to speak at the New Jersey Muslim Coalition's gathering in Paterson, NJ. My heart soared, as speakers from all walks of life spoke of the need to see each other as a friend, a sibling, a sacred partner walking with us through life. The Regional Director of the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR) spoke about the pain she felt not just in the hatred expressed by our government towards Muslims, but also towards Jews, Homosexuals, Hispanics, and African Americans. Ministers spoke. Another Rabbinic colleague joined me. Imams and a Sheik spoke. Many people spoke, sharing the same unifying voice.

This week, Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, Reconstructionist, and Renewal Rabbis gathered for a weekend-long symposium on justice and righteousness, and then all walked together (male and female Rabbis) through the streets of New York to continue the conversation on immigration bans.

These are but a handful of thousands of gatherings happening across this great country. Some gather dozens of people, and some gather thousands. This collision of love and respect for each other is the foundation of faith and the messianic vision of peace for which this nation is supposed to stand. If we do not have the faith and courage to stand up boldly, we will lose, and our lives will be forever compromised.

It happens that this week's Torah portion teaches this exact lesson. Pharaoh gave in to Moses, Aaron, and God and let Israel go free after the tenth plague. His heart hardened, though. He gathered his armies and chased Israel to the shores of the sea. His intent was to kill many and carry the rest back into slavery. Trapped between Egypt's army of chariots and drowning in the sea, all seemed lost. Giving into Pharaoh meant certain death. They took a leap of faith and went into the sea, and the water parted. Had the people not had the courage and faith to stand up and make a difference, we would not be here writing or reading this statement, today. For so many who are gathering together, this is the first time they have engaged someone who they used to see as "the other" amongst their "normal" world. 12 diverse tribes and many Egyptians and "others" walked into the water together. I can't read this and not have hope. Shabbat shalom.

Thirty-six times. Thirty-six times, the Torah admonishes us to care for the stranger, because we know the ways of the Stranger. We were, after all, strangers in Egypt. We were strangers who then became slaves. God heard our cries from slavery's bitter impact upon our ancestors and sent Moses to bring them into freedom. This week's Torah reading brings us the story of our first steps out of slavery in Egypt and into a relationship with God.

This week begins African American History week. We face a stark reminder of our own country's struggle with slavery and freedom. Many would argue that the Exodus story will bear fruit only when religious freedom and respect happen for all people. Likewise the same must be said for the battle to end slavery in America. Bigotry remains a force in our world. Religious intolerance and racism still separate souls. King wrote that segregated souls never meet in God ... and then, there is the matter of refugees.

So, it is time to pray, but we have to be careful about what we seek in prayer. Last week, I heard an amplified voice at the annual anti-abortion "March for Life" in DC say that he was praying. He prayed for all who did not share his faith, for they were outside of God. He prayed that gay people would find God. He prayed that the church (no not God, but the church) would show the world power. He did not say these words softly, and the teenagers I was with left that area afraid. I had to remind them that God's Prophet said, "Not by might and not by power, but by spirit alone shall the world know peace." I have no idea what religion the rally speaker thought he represented, but it was not any of God's.

So, for what are you praying? Are we praying for each other's well-being or that we win the argument? Are we praying to subdue each other or to meaningfully engage and learn to embrace each other?

This week, we are supposed to focus on a freedom promised but not yet fulfilled in both our religious lives (Torah) and our secular lives (this month's designation as African American Month). Do our prayers open relationships or further shackle each other in the chains of our own inability to see past our own rhetoric.

Why must we retell the story of slavery and the Exodus? We must retell the story for the same reason that we need African American History month. Think about it. We interrupt our study of history for these special lessons because we do not include these special lessons in our own history. Our normative history and social studies textbooks and lesson plans do not include the dignity of the people to which these stories belong. These life stories, the histories of African Americans, Hispanic Americans, Asian Americans, Disabled Americans and LBGTQ Americans are taught alongside White European History, as American History then we will have learned the lesson of God. On that day, retelling the stories of slavery are part of a bigger context ... the context that we made it to the mountaintop and experienced the real walk of freedom. In Exodus, we walk free only to be pursued by Pharaoh into the sea. In America, we passed laws of freedom and equality even while the roots of bigotry and racism run rampant.

It is time for us to pray. It is time for us to pray loud enough that people will hear God's call to remember that we are all made in the same divine image. The first human in the Bible was male and female - transgender and without race, and before there was national citizen or religion. I did not write that; it is in the Bible. That we all spiritually trace our lineage to the same original creation should serve as a mandate that if we demean another, we have demeaned our creator. We created the rest of the things that separate us. One cannot pray in any religion and then declare another human being expendable. It is time to pray for each other's love and respect, for if we do any less, then all the laws and biblical mandates are meaningless. The Exodus then becomes nothing more than the journey from our slavery to our enslavement of others. It is time to pray with our beings and not just our mouths. Let's engage and pray for peace. Shabbat Shalom.

I can't count the number of people who feel the need to keep telling me how non-religious they are. Can you imagine the number of times a year I hear the phrase, "I don't believe in God"? I certainly am not God's agent, but I spend a lot of time trying to help people get past this obstacle and find faith. I have no idea what God is, and our tradition teaches that to describe or define God is blasphemy (concretizes God into our own boxes). I am 100% sure, however, that there is something a whole lot more powerful that somehow keeps the universe and all life within it continuing to function. So, you know my mantra, "If you set an alarm clock and go to sleep, you believe something else is going to make sure tomorrow happens." At a minimum, this line makes people think. On the other hand, there are folks out there who deeply "believe" that God directed them to set the alarm clock ... God directs every move. Of these people, I ask why they look before stepping into the street. If God wants them safe (or not), then there will (or will not) be a bus to hit them crossing the street. It is God's will. These folks think I am crazy.
Somewhere in between these two spectrums lie most people who, at some level, believe, but are not sure what to believe in. Of course, scripture and tradition provide us a great many insights and pathways to faith, but this week's portion brings the conversation to a head.
Moses and God are speaking. "I am God (Y-H-V-H). I made Myself seen to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, by the name of El Sha-dai, but by My name, Y-H-V-H, I did not make Myself known to them." Yet, these are the very people we revere as the "Patriarchs" of faith. Each experienced an epiphany with God only through dreams and visions.
Torah commentators wonder why God would bring up the ancestors to Moses. Some argue that God rebukes Moses. Effectively, according to these scholars, God is saying, "These older guys had faith. They didn't question me as you do."
The Talmud purports to give us the continuation of the conversation, and leads us into a potentially different understanding of text: "I regret the loss of those who have passed away and are no longer found. Many times I revealed Myself to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; they did not question My ways, nor did they say to me, 'What is Your name?' You, on the other hand, asked from the start, "What is Your name?" and now you are saying to Me, 'You have not saved Your people!'." Medieval scholar Rashi continues, "You questioned My ways; unlike Abraham, to whom I said, 'Isaac shall be considered your seed,' and then I said to him, 'Raise him up to Me as an offering' -- and still, he did not question Me!"
While the Patriarchs believed without question, Moses keeps challenging God. However, there is the rest of the story. While we refer to the patriarchs as our ancestors, we speak of Moses as our teacher. "Avraham Avinu (Abraham our ancestor)." Moshe Rabbaenu (Moses our teacher). We honor one while we learn from the other. Our Jewish tradition has always maintained that the partnership with God is open and transparent. I may not know what God is, but I know that I can never come closer to whatever God is if I don't engage in honest and sometimes difficult dialogue.
Faith is about struggling with and engaging God. Faith helps us grow and learn ... and better serve. Faith helps us pray in meaningful ways. Kierkegaard argued, "The function of prayer is not to influence God, but rather to change the nature of the one who prays." People meet in God through a commitment to upholding each other's dignity. May our prayers cause us to engage each other, push each other, and use our prayer to God to help each other become more whole. It cannot and will not happen because we simply believe. Shabbat Shalom.

About 26.5 years ago, I learned that my father had passed away. My sister heard from a cousin and called me in Jerusalem. I was a first year Rabbinical student, having just closed my Arkansas law practice and embarked on a brand new life journey. My father and I had conflict. He experienced conflict with all of his children. He spoke of loving us, but had, in our minds, awkward ways of showing it. He died not having spoken to any of us for over five years. By the time I got the news, he had been buried weeks before. I had moved on. I was perfectly fine (as were my siblings) to forget that he existed. The call came, and the �shock-therapy� began.

Posthumously, we have reconciled. Dad's Bar Mitzvah picture stands on my desk and a photo of him holding mom overlooks this space. Our conversations are sometimes still difficult, but they are no longer deal breaking and no longer emotionally threatening. They are thought provoking. It took Dad being gone for many years before I felt that we could hear each other. Has my father changed? Who knows, but I know I have. I cannot undo the years of pain that either of us experienced. I have only tomorrow.

Our Torah portion concludes the Book of Genesis. We read of Jacob�s final days and the blessings he bestowed upon his children and grandchildren. We read of Joseph�s journey to bury his father and the return trip, as he stops at the pit into which his brother�s had thrown him. Joseph has had a lot with which to deal.

Knowing that he was his father�s favorite, he had never reached out (even with all of his power and status from Egypt) to let his father know he was alive. Having committed to leaving his family and life behind, he had to confront his brothers. Not knowing that they stood before the brother they betrayed, they appeared for grain because of the famine in his homeland. Joseph had to confront himself and determine what purpose or goal revenge might make real. In the end, Joseph looked into the pit and realized that the past was the past and could not continue to hold sway over tomorrow.

Had his brothers changed? He did not know. He had changed. There could be no undoing of the dreams of superiority, the �favorite of Dad� status, or the hate and enmity it bred in his brothers. Like the brothers, who returned from burying the father whose lifetime journeyed through only challenging relationships, Joseph had to make a choice: Joseph had only tomorrow.

How many of us hold grudges, spending energy on forgetting the people against whom we hold them? Even in committing to not speaking with a family member or �former� friend, every time their name gets mentioned, a piece of us gets pulled back into the darkness. We wait for the apology or explanation; for that person to grovel for our acceptance. We often cannot or will not see anything that we did as contributing to the rancor that separated us from each other.

God knows we are not perfect. Jacob, our namesake patriarch (Israel) never had a functional relationship in his life. Joseph had to decide whether to follow in his father�s footsteps or bring life back to his family. Knowing how his story plays out, in this respect, we understand that he chose wisely � we have each other. I chose wisely, I am � and my father is, at peace. Life is too short to spend it distancing ourselves from each other and holding on to yesterday�s pain. It only causes more pain. Where we open our hearts � really open our hearts, heaven and earth move and we are restored. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org
Monmouth Reform Temple, 332 Hance Avenue
Tinton Falls, NJ 07724

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Vayigash

To get involved or not to get involved ... that is the question? Have you seen the videos where people will stage fights (physical or verbal) over and over again in order to see who might get involved to help? One person is always the aggressor, seemingly brutalizing the other. These scenes often leave us with some sad indictment on humanity, as we watch people run from the conflict. Occasionally, someone will step up and stand up for the one being abused. The people who stand up make me want to cheer; they help restore my faith. I just pray more people would stand up, because I see fewer simulations and an alarmingly increasing number of actual attacks. Just this week, someone (s) desecrated my seminary in Cincinnati with swastikas. It is really close to home ... too close to even think about ignoring. Public response is hopeful and helpful, but none-the-less, hate is emboldened. People sit and passively listen/watch as horrible things are done/said that hurt others. Parts of this generation need to be reminded that we are a society built on respect.

While I am not sure how helpful this next thought will be, I know that however bad it may seem, now, this problem is not new. An often overlooked piece of this week's Torah portion reminds us that we have experienced by-standers (people who watch or passively enable) for thousands of years. As Joseph sits with his brothers, not yet having revealed his true identity to them, he asks how their father is. Now, I understand how Joseph might want revenge on his brothers for having sold him into slavery, but ten times they refer to their father as Joseph's "servant."

Allowing his brothers to demean his father is unwarranted and shameful. The sages point out (Pirkei d'Rabbi Eliezer, ch. 39) that even while Joseph overcomes tremendous challenges to find himself primed to save the world, he allowed his father to be demeaned and did nothing to stop it. Yes, as a child, Joseph dreamed that dream: this moment resulted from that prophetic dream. He was haughty and arrogant then, and never realized that that prophecy was a warning. Joseph was filled with himself then, and despite the many "humility growing" experiences he endured, he never learned. The text points out that Joseph only lived to be 110. Judaism has a tradition of celebrating a righteous person with the thought, "May you live to be 120 (Moses' age). Joseph was a great guy but only made it to 110. The sages point out that his failure to stop the diminution of his father cost him one year for each instance.

Long ago, Torah taught us that to stand by and allow another to commit an act of emotional or physical violence on another costs the bystander, as well. Joseph not only lost years, but his arrogance ultimately caused the downfall of Egypt. Power mongers win battles but suffer horrific defeats in wars. As every Egyptian sold himself into slavery just to get his grain back, the prized "Dream Interpreter" suffered the blame.

Recently, I was part of a coalition that brought the Pledge to stand up for each other to Trenton, NJ, where the entire State Senate and assembly signed and adopted it (individually and as a collective body). The Pledge reads, "While interacting with members of my own faith, or ethnic, or gender community, or with others, if I hear hateful comments from anyone about members of any other community, I pledge to stand up for the other and speak up to challenge bigotry in any form." In a society built on respect, affirming this pledge is a no-brainer. I encourage everyone reading this to go to www.standupfortheother.org and sign the pledge. I would love to be able to proffer the groundswell of support for this pledge to every state government, and then the federal government, as well.

More than sign the pledge, I urge you to act on it. Whether we sit in the lunchroom, the boardroom, the bus, or the theater ... or anywhere we interact with others, we cannot stand idly by while our neighbor bleeds. If one of us suffers an assault while people simply watch, it emboldens the next act. If we want the madness to end, then we have to be vigilantes in letting people know that they matter and that the horrific behaviors are not to be tolerated. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org
Monmouth Reform Temple, 332 Hance Avenue
Tinton Falls, NJ 07724

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Vayishlach

Ill and near his death, the Great Rabbi Zusia's students came to his side to find him crying. In loving earnest for their teacher, they inquired why he was crying. He replied that he was concerned. "I am about to meet God, how God will God judge my life." "Rabbi! You are as great a teacher as Moses! You are as wise as Solomon! You are as great a leader as was Deborah!" Zusia looked at them, "It does not matter how I stand up compared to Moses, Solomon, or Deborah. God will not judge me by their lives. God will want to know if I have been true to the best that Zusia knows to be."

Our patriarch Jacob had to learn this lesson the hard way. He spent a lot of years trying to be like his older brother, Esau. Yes, they are twins, but Esau was the elder. Jacob came out, though, clutching Esau's heel; trying to become the first born. Jacob cheated his brother out of the birthright so that he could usurp the role of the eldest. Later, he deceived his father and cheated his brother out of the blessing; again to push his brother's rights aside. Esau had four wives. Jacob ended up with four wives. So long as Jacob focused on trying to supplant his brother, his life filled with strife. Alienated from his family, deceived by his father in law, and fought over by his wives, Jacob struggles to find value and meaning in life.

This week, he struggles with himself. Jacob wrestles with God, and in the process sustains an injury. He came to realize his need to regroup and rethink his direction. When he left home, Jacob doubted that God existed ... for him. This week, our patriarch struggles mightily with God and finds faith. He named the site "Peniel." This was the place that he met God. Jacob returned his brother's inheritance through the gifts he sent ahead of his own encounter with his brother. He blessed his brother with love and honor, affirming the proper order of birth honor due Esau. Jacob said, "I have seen your face, which is like seeing the face of an angel, and you have accepted me." Jacob is a new Jacob. Jacob faces adversity head on and speaks with integrity. Jacob learned that he has to account for being Jacob. Jacob becomes Israel.

How many of us live our lives vicariously through someone else? How many of us long to walk in someone else's shoes? So many of us spend more time trying to be like someone else, that we forget who we are. God created each of us to be unique; we cannot ever fit comfortably into someone else's spiritual, cultural, intellectual, or emotional DNA. We can never replicate another, and trying to do so is one of the greatest blasphemies and transgressions. Every time we expend energy trying to be like someone else, we diminish the value of the "self" that God created uniquely for each of us.

To live; to fully appreciate the blessing of being, I must fully appreciate the blessing of being me. I cannot grow, I cannot celebrate, I cannot be, if I have no intimate relationship with who I am. Shabbat is a time to renew and restore; to rethink and refocus. Shabbat is a time to set aside the struggle to compete with our neighbors. It is our time to focus on wrestling with the best that each of us can become for ourselves. Shabbat is a time to make ourselves more secure, more engaged, and more whole. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Vayera

Okay. Reading is just plain dangerous. The "Forward" news journal contains a story about the Jewish roots of the music from the Swedish group "ABBA." Now, many of us always sensed the connection, and the article brought out ideas beyond which I had ever heard, but it got me thinking. Looking at the quartet in the 1970's - 80's, "they didn't look Jewish." And I think about my wife Lori's story. She is blonde with blue eyes and can trace her Jewish lineage on both sides of her family many ... many generations. She lost count of the number of times people ask her when she converted.

In reading this week's Torah portion, I stopped and reflected on something I have asked and taught for many years ... in a different context. I have been blessed to have an alternative career in consulting and training. I facilitate and lead training in leadership, visioning, and diversity awareness. The first time that I conducted a diversity workshop, it was as part of an eight-week workshop that Reverend Leo Woodberry and I designed for the Florence, SC Chamber of Commerce membership. Each week saw us deal with diversity/racism in a different facet of life. One week it was about religion. I commented (in front of a multi-ethnic group of 80), Racism is so systemic that humans gave God a race. I shared my concern ... as a non-Christian ... for the many times I walked into Black churches and saw a white Jesus displayed. At best, Jesus was Semitic (if not Black). Why? Scripture tells us where he comes from and his ancestry.

SO, in reading about Abraham sitting in his tent this week (about to meet God and the angels), it dawned on me that he is from Mesopotamia. Mesopotamia is Persian. Persia is somewhere between Asia, Semitic Middle East, and Africa. Abraham (assuming historicity) was not white. I now had to go back and rethink the whole biblical lineage thing. Yes, I realize that these are stories and not histories (or herstories ... to be punfully correct), but how many people do we know who put their entire stock and trade into using their literal reading of the Bible as absolute inerrant truth? It seems that a racist undercurrent developed through the biblical lineages. Noah had three sons. One of them, Ham, embarrassed his father and got cursed. We can talk about who might be responsible for the altercation another time, but because Ham became the progenitor of the African world, White Biblicists through history have used this story to point out that being Black (African) is a curse.

Here is my problem: If Ham is Black, then Shem and Japheth had to also be Black. As Biblical tradition has it, Noah was from Mesopotamia ... and was not white. So, they may or may not have been Black, but they were not White, and they all came from the same lineage. Whatever nations they "fathered;" the differences between them is not biological, and hence, not racial.

Given the way in which we are talking about each other in today's toxic atmosphere, I think it is important to remember how we rewrote the Bible to reflect the values we wanted to impose on it ... and then force upon everyone else. I am a man of devout faith, but my faith rests in God and not in human words that get be manipulated over time. For all in our racial majority here, let's take a step back and rethink the whole notion that the Bible tells us that we are #1. We have simply taken figures without race (including God), given them our race, and then imposed that belief on everyone else. Funny (sardonically) every major religion participates in giving its characters race and culture, based on its own predominant race and culture. I have to wonder: when the Psalmist tells us that God never rests or sleeps (Psalm 121:4), is it because of the madness we keep trying to impose on God and by which we try to bind God? I have trouble sleeping over just the machinations of my own community! God must have really broad shoulders. Seriously, let's get over ourselves and realize that the ultimate message of everybody's Scripture is that we come from the very same stuff and need to respect that in each other. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Sukkot

"Old Blue Eyes (Frank Sinatra)," sang prophetic words in his "September Song:"

"Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few
September, November
And these few precious days I'll spend with you
These precious days I'll spend with you"

During this fall season, we look at the earth and our days spending time with it ... in it are dwindling. As the earth begins to go to sleep for the winter, we cherish each day of sun and warmth, hoping to wear our summer shorts or sandals just one more time before packing them away.

It is easy to get together for outdoors programming. We like meeting at the beach, the parks, or even at outdoor cafes. We thrive on the sunshine, especially when we can share it with people who we enjoy.

Once the winter sets in, we have to be more intentional in our celebrations. We have to find ways around being stuck looking at the same four walls of a room, over and over again.

This is the magic around the holiday of Sukkot. As the earth begins to go to sleep, we celebrate the last harvest of the year ... and pray for Spring. In the meantime, we faithfully take care of each other and commit to holding each other through the freeze ... into the thaw. Sukkot reminds us that we have to welcome guests, that we have to celebrate renewal, that we have to live hopefully, and that until Spring happens, we still have to keep each other fed and warm.

On this Shabbat in the midst of the holiday, take an extra walk outside. Go eat a meal outdoors (if you are near one, then eat in a Sukkah). When you go back inside, make some calls and plan a few events with friends ... for December or January. Make plans now to celebrate then. Commit to bringing people together for fun amongst yourselves and for service work to help keep those in need fed and warm ... and loved.

Shabbat Shalom.
Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Ha-azinu

The Holy days are now behind us. We spent full days in prayer and a full ten days trying to figure out how to turn the errors in judgment from last year into successful engagements for the year to come. We spent time concentrating on the blessings we bring and experience with others in ways that help us make them grow and spread to others in the coming year. We apologized and exonerated; we pledged to investigate ou...r souls; we committed ourselves to better serving and involving ourselves in our communities. The goal of the holy days was to make heaven and earth touch.

Just days after the last shofar blast of the season, as we reach the penultimate Torah portion in the cycle, we recall the end of Moses' farewell address. He sings his final words and begins the song reminding us of the power that comes when heaven and earth touch. "Listen, O heavens, and I will speak! Let the earth hear the words of my mouth! My lesson will drip like rain; my word will flow like dew; like storm winds on vegetation and like raindrops on grass. (Deut 32:1-2)" The heavens and the earth will stand in attention, side by side, as God speaks and recalls that the heavens are to pour forth the waters to sustain the earth; and the earth, in absorbing the gift of the rains will bring forth the vegetation to feed all life.

There is no escaping the truth that heaven and earth ... and all life on earth are interconnected. What happens to one of us has an impact on all of us. If the rains stop, the earth experiences drought. If one of us takes ill, all who depend on us go without. On Yom Kippur, we read (from slightly earlier in Deuteronomy) that the covenant of faith is universal. It is beyond nobody's reach. It exists for all time and for all people.

I think it is time to respect that men and women are equal, that all races share the same dignity, that irrespective of gender orientation or choice, love is a universal and inalienable family value, that war begets only more violence in retaliation. The problems that plague this world cannot be solved with the same mindsets ... often the same minds that perpetuate them. If we meant what we said on Yom Kippur, that the world must change, then we must be the agents of change. The heavens and the earth stand aligned with us ... as the psalmist says, the Earth is God's as is all that exists on it. It is time to listen to the heavens and the earth speak, and let the simpatico that exists between them foster a new simpatico between us. On that day, God will be one an God's name shall be one ... and we will be one. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Nitzavim

Atem nitzavim ... You are all standing here this day, that you may enter the covenant of Adonai, your God, and God's oath, which your God is making with you this day. But not only with you am I making this covenant and this oath, but with those standing here with us today before the Lord, our God, and [also] with those who are not here with us, this day. (Deut 29:9-14)" Elsewhere in Torah (Numbers 15:14-16), "Any st...ranger living among you, or among your descendants, will also make a burnt offering, and appeasing fragrance to God: just as you act so must the assembly. There shall be only one law for you and the settler among you. This law shall bind your descendants: before God, you and the settler alike. There is to be one law only, and one statute for you and the stranger that lives among you." Effectively, strangers are bound by and entitled to the ways of our laws, and we must accept them as part of our communities.

Say what you want, but Torah is relevant. The Bible is the most read book in history. People have employed its teaching to govern their lives, justify their faith, challenge their faith, start new religions, save lives, and start wars. Like it or not, from the above text of this week's portion (Nitzavim) and the companion text from Numbers, we know that Torah was intended to begin diverse conversations with people who understood that we share this covenant. The late Lubavitcher Rebbe wrote that the Torah belonged to the whole world. The differences between us exist because of how we read it, interpret it, and use it. Torah makes it clear, though, that as we interact with each other, we are one people ... whatever our labels. There exists no higher or lower tradition; we all share in the very same covenant.

We prepare to start the Holy Days this weekend. I pray that we remember that our prayers for healing are for the whole world; they exist for everyone, for everyone has a share in this covenant. For the world to heal, for the broken shards of light to return to heal and re-illumine the vessel, we have to dedicate ourselves to each other. Without each other; we are only disparate separated islands in space. Ani v'ata, neshaneh et ha-olam - You and I, we can change the world. I pray for a healing, renewing, restoring, and most blessed season of prayer. May it begin tonight. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Ki Tavo

As we get ready for the High Holy Days, Jews around the world prepare to spend a lot of time in the synagogue; more time than any other time in the year. Jews who do not belong to a synagogue find the need to be in one on these days. They are called the �Days of Awe,� but for so many, they are the days of guilt and dread. There is something about these days that compel us to confess and to turn � turn from our callousness and complacency and return to the path of righteousness.
This week�s Torah portion sets the tone. This week, we read about the rebukes due us from God, if we fail to do what God expects us to do. From this text (and many like it) we learn the phrase, �the fear of God.�
WAIT! STOP! Why are we always beating ourselves up and feeling guilty? We are not perfect. We are not expected to be perfect. Our innate imperfection is why we have atonement prayers and rituals that help clean the slate allowing us new beginnings. In this week�s text, we find a truth that we too often ignore or dismiss. We earned the rebuke because �because you did not serve your God, with joy and with gladness of heart, when you had everything.� Certainly, one can read this to mean that in our �good times,� we gave no credit to God. Therefore, God is upset. The Talmud gives us a different take on the text. Suffer when we fail to realize how much we have for which to be joyful. We get so stuck in seeing the difficult and negative that we forget our many blessings. When we fail to celebrate blessings, we lose them (or at least lose touch with their power).
For the upcoming holy days, we need to focus on changing and turning from our transgressive behaviors. We also, and of equal importance, need to celebrate the many places in which we feel blessed and in which we return these blessings. Yes, part of our atonement must be for not celebrating enough.
Think about the lives you touch every day; their worlds would be diminished without you. Heaven and Earth touch when we enter each other�s lives, and yet, too often we take extraordinarily impactful exchanges for granted. So caught up in ourselves, we often judge people�s value not on the heart with which they give, but by the way their piece fits into our predisposed puzzle. We don�t serve with enough joy to appreciate the blessings that stand right before our eyes. In turn, we also temper our own joy of service, feeling diminished when someone doesn�t appreciate our best gifts. Where we bring only our diminished selves into the work of service, there is no joy and no service with celebration.
This holy day season is a time for change. If we appreciated each other more (and appreciated ourselves more), we would spend less energy transgressing each other. If we felt better about ourselves, we would feel freer to give of ourselves, not basing our own worth on someone else�s narrow vision. Five times this Shabbat: thank someone for something that you have not appropriately acknowledged. Five times this Shabbat: do something for someone because you feel it is right, even if they don�t express appreciation. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Re'eh

Deuteronomy 15:4 "However, there will be no needy among you, for the Lord will surely bless you in the land the Lord, your God, is giving you for an inheritance to possess."

Deuteronomy 15:11 "There will never cease to be needy within the land. Therefore, I command you, saying, you shall surely open your hand to your brother, to your poor one, and to your needy one in your land."

Seven verses apart, we read "No needy people" and "never cease to be needy." No, I don't think that the Torah is schizophrenic. I do believe that their inclusion is intentional, as is their proximity to each other. The statements are not incompatible. If we look at the second one first, we read that "need" will exist throughout our lands. The second is that there shall never be needy amongst us.

This week's commentary is quite simple. If we pay attention, we see the multitudes suffering without safety, security, love, shelter, sustenance, and any hope for restoration all over the place. Homelessness and hunger; fear and degradation; there are so many people who ache. Until the day that the Messianic Age becomes real, this is our reality. That said, if we read 15:4 as a prophecy of the Messianic Age, then we must care for everyone in "need" who comes into our presence in a way that restores them from their place of need. See, this concept of Messianic redemption does not happen to us; it happens because of us. Each of the major religions absolutely agree on how redemption works. The world cannot experience this ultimate blessing unless people faithfully participate in changing our daily news from horror to hope.

Who are these people in need? We all are; each one of us. We may not suffer at near the same level as do others, but even the great Sufis still need affirmation. Each of us needs something from one another. If we can pay attention to the longing look in another's eyes, all the more so, we will see the emptiness on the plate in his lap, the pained look of fear on his face, and the tattering of his shelterless body.

There will be no needy amongst us, every day that we pay attention. There will be unfathomable need in the world around us until we do the work of entering each other's lives. We know this is true. The worldwide relief efforts stemming from natural and war based catastrophes tells us that we innately understand our capacity to make lives whole. Why, then, do we wait for the catastrophe to rally to each other's side? Let's be more proactive and let's change the world. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Shabbat Shalom
with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah -
Eikev

Ok. Show of hands time. How many of you think that introducing yourself to others as "religious" would seem awkward? Heck, as a Rabbi, I get the looks all the time. If I tell people that I pray regularly, they look at me as if to say, "Oh, you're one of THOSE!" I'm not one of "THOSE," whatever "THOSE" are. I do pray regularly, in fact, I cannot imagine getting through most of what I do on a regular basis without prayer. I do not, however, believe that prayer is the act of putting God in charge. Whatever God is, I think that there are forces at work in the universe that are beyond my comprehension. Thus, the question of prayer has nothing to do with changing God's mind or path. Prayer is, however, the act of clearing out the stuff that clouds our ability to pay attention. We cannot appreciate or participate in miracles if we are not paying attention.
A high school classmate recently recounted an episode in his life. Driving late at night, he heard a faint sound. He thought it was a cry for help. He kept driving until he thought about it and decided to turn around and take a look. As he retraced his journey, he heard it again. He stopped. In the darkness, he saw an overturned truck and a man's arm wedged between the window and a tree. Calling the Rescue Squad, he saved the man's life. How many passed by that same scene, heard the same faint sounds, dismissed them and kept driving? Tradition teaches that prayer has much more to do with how we live and how we participate in our community's life than any words we might utter in or out of a sanctuary setting. Prayer is the act of paying attention. Words of prayer are only valuable if they help us refocus. The words of prayer ... the activity of saying words of prayer is meaningless unless it causes us greater awareness and moves us to action.
That said, this week's Torah portion begins with Moses' admonition to the people to pay attention. The literal text reads, "On the heel of your understanding/acceptance of God's teachings..." Commentators struggle because the word "heel" seems out of place. Most translations will render the word "Because," because it makes the text much easier. That said, for as long as the Torah has been, this text has troubled commentators.
Here is what I do know. Every time we embark on study, we say a prayer that calls on us to immerse in Torah; in the need to pay attention. The values we glean from our heritage transcend the moments we spend in front of a book. The verbal prayer reminds us that study is not just what we do in front of the book. Rather it is the act of being prayerful, paying attention through the course of every step we take. "Every step we take..." Hmm, so Torah says that we earn love and respect on the "heels" of understanding. So, our commitment to Torah and prayer should be so complete that it binds to the very fiber of our being. Prayer is not found in just the the words from our mouths, the holy days that we observe, or the religious rituals we perform. According to the late Lubavitcher Rebbe Schneerson, "it (must) permeate us entirely, so that also our heel-the lowest and the least sensitive part of the person-'hearkens to these laws, observes them and does them.' Indeed, this "lowly" and "spiritually insensitive" part of our life is the foundation of our relationship with God, in the same way that the heel is the base upon which the entire body stands and moves."
Imagine how different we might behave if we saw EVERYTHING we did as an act and function of prayer. Shabbat Shalom.

Here is the real value of Torah: if you want to see how the real world works, look at what our ancestors wrote about daily living, and compare it to the "Torah" you are writing as you walk through life. The human experience has not changed a lot in thousands of years. We are hopefully changing the human condition to make life more livable and enjoyable for more people, but the experience of living ... the psychology/sociology of living is relatively unchanged. I first began to understand scriptures role in helping us understand this reality as a Chaplain at was then Glen Manor Home For The Jewish Aged, in Cincinnati, Ohio.

I was a rabbinical student, and, in study, as we got to the story of Sarah giving birth at 90. I looked around the library at all of our ladies there. Wryly, I smiled and asked, "Ok, which one of you will be like Sarah?" They blushed and giggled, but I went on, "No, I didn't mean like that (I now had their attention). Which one of us is ready for the next adventure of living?" This was an odd question to ask in a nursing home, but it prompted a wonderful conversation and a new project. They thought it would be helpful to create a blessing for entering a nursing home. My first thought was, "Who wants to celebrate that?" The conversation convinced me. It is precisely because of that stigma that comes with this move that demands a blessing ... a blessing to remind new residents and their families that each day is an opportunity to live anew. "Praised is God, Ruler of Eternity, who sanctifies us through life experience, loving relationships, the blessing of memory, and the opportunity to take each new breath, see each new experience, touch new hands, hold new hearts, and love as if brand newly ... each day we wake."

This week, Torah brings us the Command to listen (Shema), the instruction manual telling us how and when to pay attention (V'ahavta), and a version of the 10 Commandments. Before we get to any of these great texts, though, we read Moses' prayer to God, "You, O God, have begun to show Your servant Your greatness. (3:24)" Wait, Moses is 120. What does he mean that God has just "begun" to show divine greatness to Moses? Moses was God's faithful servant and the greatest of the prophets. God gave The Torah to Moses. Still, after 120 years, Moses sees that his relationship with God is brand new.

Every day is the first day of the rest of your life. This is an old somewhat campy colloquialism, but a most true one. People are not dying of cancer. They are living with cancer until they die. People are not abandoned, they are lonely ... having every next day to find restored hope. Given the status of the world, I cannot escape the mantra of which I write and speak so often, "Your biography is not your destiny." Nothing that happened controls the adventures yet to happen. There is however, one additional component necessary for us to take to heart: If a biography of loss is to change; if hope is to restore, then we have to believe in miracles. For Moses, that miracle was God letting him know that even while he was not going to enter the land of Israel, he would walk with God the rest of his days. For each of us, that miracle is the energy that we offer each other to help cure and restore; celebrate and commemorate the challenges and success in life. We were born to create and experience miracles ... each other.

No matter what we have experienced, no matter where we are in life, each of us has the power to heal and bring healing. This constant renewal is the miracle of life; the miracle for which we were created. Shabbat shalom.

This weekend is Tisha B'Av. On the 9th Day of Av, horrific things have happened to Jews. Both the first and second Temples in Jerusalem crumbled on this date. The Crusades began on this date. Jews suffered expulsion from England and Spain on this date. NAZI Germany announced its final solution on this date. On this date, the AMIA building (the Jewish community center in Buenos Aires, Argentina) experienced an act of terror, killing and injuring about 400 people. It is a horrific date.
This weekend is Tisha B'Av. On the 9th Day of Av, the sages teach us that the Messianic Age will become real.
We live in a world of extremes, and our quest is to find some sense of wholeness in its midst. The world rhetoric does not seem to help us much, as we are polarizing from each other.
Almost, as perfectly timed, we begin a new book of Torah this week: Deuteronomy. The book contains Moses' lengthy farewell address and a retelling of our story. Moses will recount everything from creation through his present ... facing Israel standing on the cusp of entering the land of Israel. Some parts of the story will change: perspective has a way of doing that. The essence of his conversation with the people, though, revolves around their nationhood. They are disparate tribes. Each tribe will have its own land to settle. Each tribe inherited a different blessing from the original patriarch Jacob. Still and all, though, each tribe descends from that same Patriarch making everyone first cousins (albeit now many times removed).
40 years in the wilderness. They faced trial after trial. They put up the camp and tore down the camp. After all that, Moses felt it his top priority to remind them that they are one family who suffer together, fight together, celebrate together, govern together, and worship God together. So long as they remember that they are in this together, they can endure anything.
This is the message of Tisha B'Av. The history of the day is horrible, but we have the power to rethink how that history speaks to our future. Businesses, friendships, and families split over the need to live in the events of the past. IF yesterday's fight is our tomorrow's conversation, while yesterday's celebrations remain in the past, we are doomed to failure. We cannot help what has happened, and our past is not our destiny. Maimonides taught that even while the destruction of Jerusalem and its inhabitants was mournful, ultimately, it propelled us into the next evolution of our destiny. Being a light to the nations cannot work unless we live amongst the nations. Ultimately, the destruction of the animal sacrifice altar gave way to the altar of loyalty and faith that is our nefesh and neshama ... our spirit and soul. In retelling our story, Moses reminds us that whatever happened yesterday, we are about to walk into a whole new venture.
We are about to enter Israel, a land flowing with milk and honey. We are about to start life all over again in a new land with new resources. We have a choice. We can choose to dwell on all of the nightmares of the past. We could, however, also choose to take our next steps into a new opportunity. We, as a people have always looked at the disasters planned for us, and relished that they exist in history books while we keep writing new history. "U'v'charta b'chayim, therefore choose life." When we stop seeing ourselves as vessels in which to store our historical pain, we can transform into a vessel from which we draw healing. When we can all commit to this choice, we will experience the Messiah and the celebration of renewal and opportunity. What hurt me yesterday cannot hurt me anew, unless I let it. Today is my opportunity to shine.
"Ani ma-amin b'emunah shlaemah biviyat hamashiach--with perfect faith, I believe that the Messianic Age will come." Stop living in the past. Let go of the grudges that hold you back. Let go of the prejudices that cloud your step into the future. Join me in celebrating today and tomorrow ... and each day anew, thereafter. With all the ugliness out there, we cannot let it continue to dictate the infection that festers in our spirit. Rabbi Karen Kedar once wrote a tribute to a dear friend who had passed away. "Hold tight to your soul and join me in the waltz of God." Shabbat Shalom.

We walk in a world teeming with zealous based violence. Sadly, it sometimes seems as if zealotry is winning the day. In the midst of the terrorism, the politics, and the seemingly free license people now take in demeaning each other; we get the story of Pinchas. Our weekly Torah portion ends with a story that ends up spanning the ending and beginning of two weeks' portions. Israel is losing its way and fraternizing with the enemy. A plague has hit the people. Moses and the elders are meeting and grieving, trying to figure out how to help and solve the problem. In walks Pinchas. He doesn't like the fact that Israelites are cavorting with enemy. He watches as an Israeli Chieftain brings a Midianite woman into camp, and he picks up his spear and impales the couple in his rage. "Zealous for God," Pinchas took it upon himself to say that fraternizing with the enemy is a capital offense. Now, please note that Judaism demands that we are to turn our enemy into our friend. Moses was there, as were the elders, and none of them resorted to violence. Pinchas resorted to violence.

As a result of the act, God rewards Pinchas with a blessing. He becomes the High Priest and receives the eternal blessing of peace! Interestingly, the rabbis throughout history have real problems with this text. They ask, "Why should we reward zealotry that destroys lives?" Zealotry and extremism races through and plagues every civilization in every age, and ours seems to suffer mightily in its wake. Religious and political zealotry/extremism provides the roots for most of the violence making headlines today. As destructive as extremism is, how can our Torah reward Pinchas for his violence?

I think we often read the text too simplistically. What Pinchas receives is not really a reward. Yes, he is given the priesthood, but with it, comes the responsibility for living up to his grandfather's teaching. Aaron (the first High Priest) taught that we were to pursue peace. Pinchas may have been the Priest, but tradition teaches that the people were unimpressed and held him in very low regard. The Jerusalem Talmud states that Pinchas' deed did not meet with the approval of Moses and the elders. One Sage argues that Pinchas would have been excommunicated had not God intervened, declaring that the eternal covenant of the priesthood and peace rested on him. The sages argue that this was not a reward, it was an antidote! The only way God could turn Pinchas, and those who might follow him from wrath is to empower them ... enforce upon them, the blessing of leadership and peace. In the Mishneh Torah, Maimonides argues that one must avoid extremes. The antidote for one extreme (zealotry) is the opposite extreme (peace). In the balance between the two, Pinchas will gain perspective.

The extremist language of the political (not just in America) and uber-religious world serve to diminish our capacity to honor each other's dignity, especially in matters over which we disagree. This phenomenon is not new, and our tradition has a response: we are prisoners of hope. For all of the narrow-minded politicians and the zealots who paint God into their own narrow superstitious boxes, Torah has an answer: Hope and peace. Now I understand that this is no longer the 1960's and "flower power" has run its course, but in all seriousness, Maimonides is correct. If we want to end the madness; we will need to grow our commitment to peace. If we want to combat the zealotry that serves only to destroy society, we have to respond, with equal force, with peace. I am not suggesting an easy solution. The rhetoric of disdain and hate did not grow overnight. No, this will take an investment by each of us in the cause of restoring relationships and bringing peace. We see it happening in communities across our world where people respond to violence with vigils. We see communities rejecting the calls for hate and replacing them with commitments for care and concern. We saw a church forgive one who slaughtered its pastor and membership. We see, every day, the stories of reconciliation that make us want to cry. We see it in the graciousness with which we address our neighbors and the consideration for others when we drive. We do not have to accept that the way we run divisive elections or the way in which zealots demand to have their way are our new norms. Each of us has the power to match force with force: the force of engaging peace for every act of aggression. If we simply watch and shake our heads, if we walk away afraid, if we do anything other than stand up to the hate, we will succumb to it ... and we all know - love is a whole lot more powerful. Shabbat Shalom.

I struggled mightily to write something meaningful last week. I was devastated over the repeated nightmarish violence that raged across the country. The finger-pointing and politicizing of the all-too-real horrific statistics of targeted populations served only to polarize our communities further from any sense of peace. The impact of racial animus and fear, the impact of the violent anti-police response, and the way in which lives became politically manipulated fodder simply overwhelmed me. With all that I have written, to then have to wrestle with the spiritual and physical violence of Korach's rebellion ... well, I started and deleted a host of attempts to find a nechemtah (calm, uplifting message). I couldn't. Perhaps my saving grace was the need to prepare for a lot of teaching at Kutz (our movement's national youth leadership camp) for this week. Of course, I could completely deny the demon; my theme is "Justice: How Do We Watch Our Neighbors Bleed?"

By the time I began to formulate thoughts to teach, Shabbat had come, and I had to find a way to renew: we completed reading Korach's story for the cycle. As I began looking at this week's portion, I realized once again that the rabbis artificially imposed textual divisions separating the weekly portions of Torah. So, this week we read about the "Parah Adumah - Red Heifer." According to Torah, we have to kill a red heifer and burn it all to ash. We then take the ashes and place them outside of the cemetery so that all who visit can "purify" themselves by dousing themselves in the ashes. Now, there are 613 mitzvot (things to do or not do) in Torah. Some make perfect sense. Some can be twisted to make rational sense. The "red heifer" is the one mitzvah that the sages agree makes no practical sense beyond the discipline of simple obedience. At the same time, we cherish that our tradition has never operated on blind faith. So, it is of little surprise that there is no record of the enactment of this mitzvah. What the rabbis do teach is that there are no parts of Torah that exist by accident. Perhaps the real purpose of the "Red Heifer" is to remind us that it is a mitzvah to affirm that there are things beyond what we understand. We need to know that we do not know everything and that sometimes, even Torah is a mystery.

While this thesis seems to fly in the face of a religious tradition that prides itself on being rational and real-world relevant, we have to acknowledge that it is precisely the acceptance of mystery that makes life make sense. We walk sightless among miracles and take so much for granted. We feel the need to find answers even to the most unfathomable questions. In the face of beauty, we are skeptical. In the face of challenges, we are dismissive. We succumb to default negatives way too often. We lost touch with the concept of mystery, the very concept that drove Einstein past the atom, Galileo past an Earth-centered universe, which caused Moses to stop in wonder to look at a shrub on fire that did not burn, and which allows those of us who suffer tragic losses to renew and celebrate living again. This sense of mystery and wonder allows children to enjoy the box in which a gift came, almost as much as the gift itself. This sense of mystery gives us the desire to build futures with each other and to dream big dreams. Torah can only make sense outside of the realms of the rational and concrete. Each generation rewrites Torah as it reads it with relevant eyes. The moment that we say "the Torah says," we strip the text of its intended purpose ... the mitzvah of (paraphrasing Rav Kook) making the old words new and the contexts holy.

These days, we are stuck. The news is tragic, and hope seems distant. As awkward as it may sound for a liberal rabbi to say, I that it is time to give faith a chance. I see the ugliness with which we talk about our police, our candidates, our neighbors, and our neighbors' children. How many "God worshipping" people are depicting candidates and the "other" on any social debate in ways that no sense of God would approve? Folks, we are so separated from each other that there is no longer room in our hearts for mystery and wonder. Ugly speech is so deeply rooted around us that it impacts how we address (or spiritually undress) each other on a daily basis. In whatever ways in which we think of our connections with divinity ... traditional or non-traditional ... we know that when we find ourselves unable to rely on each other, our world collapses. We cannot live in a world where we have to battle constantly the "us versus them" just to survive. This country deserves better from each of us, irrespective of who you are supporting. Our children and grandchildren deserve to inherit a better world order than the one we currently forge. Take a vow, right now, let's stop. Let's take a long term sabbatical from the need or desire to defame each other. We will get a lot more accomplished together, and it will be a long and extended Shabbat Shalom.

There comes a time when one has to take a step back and assess the path he travels. We really do try to walk a moderate and linear path from episode �a� to episode �b� along life�s journey. We walk through our daily existences and pray to make it to bedtime unscathed and prepared for the next day. Life happens, but sometimes there is too much stimulus pulling at us in different directions that we have no idea whether or not we are still on task. Too often, even as we try our best not to veer from this norm, we get caught up in the groundswell of things around us and do not even see how far from �norm� we have traveled. Detours are normal; often there are obstacles on the road that we need to avoid. Some detours end up providing us with incredible stories; other overwhelming challenges. When avoiding the obstacles becomes the new �norm,� we are in trouble. When it is the new �norm� for society, we are � all � in trouble. Well, I fear that we are all headed for trouble.
Despite the many dark times throughout history, we undauntedly remain prisoners of hope. Tradition reminds us that in the face of every blessing we affirm life, and in the face of every challenge, we find a way to choose life. No outside influence can take control of our personal sense of �shalom,� unless we let it.
Face it; we live amongst people who allow themselves to devolve toxically. For a host of reasons, they forgot to see the bigger picture. They are stuck in their personal struggles and, of course, we know that misery loves company. This toxicity fuels the ugliness that we see play out in the news; the murders, the hateful politics, the racism: all of it. With each act of hate, even the most hopeful of us must take a sobering step back, and when we pick sides and buy into the rhetoric of partisan politics, we find ourselves taking horrible detours from the path of moderation without even realizing how far we strayed. We see this breakdown in the couple who stopped communicating effectively and one day find that they live with a total stranger. We see this antipathy with the religious zealot who gets so caught up in his own dogma that he alienates other of God�s children. We saw this with the California pastor who argued that the real tragedy of Orlando was that the shooter did not kill more gay people. We find this toxicity in the organization so stuck in �this is the way we have always done it,� that they close their doors clinging fast to how wrong the rest of the world is. We find it in the victim of abuse who continues to cycle back into abusive relationships.
It is time for us to take a proactive step back. We have to look at ourselves and each other and determine what is really at stake. Why would God want to kill people of different religions, colors, orientations, or citizenships? We read sacred scriptures reminding us that we are inter-related, and then let others teach us that some are more so than others. We profess to love a national constitution that determines love, marriage, opportunity, and equality to be inalienable rights, and then tirelessly work to alienate people other than ourselves from these rights. How do we, as people of faith, support this ugliness? Whatever one believes about religion, sexuality, national origin, or a host of �hot button� topics, how do we justify hurting each other in an effort to serve a loving God? The news challenges one�s ability to believe. An intentional step back could help us realize how we have let toxic people and their propaganda control our lives, our thoughts, and our decisions. We need a step back to look at each other and realize that we are not Republicans or Democrats; we are not Jews, Christians, or Muslims; we are not male or female, gay or straight, resident or alien. We are children of the very same God and the madness that separates us; that finds us alienated from each other results from our toxic fears, not God�s love.
This week we learn that Moses married a Cushite woman. We know that Aaron and Miriam (his siblings) could not bring themselves to celebrate his finding love. Their racism brandished hate against their brother. God punished them for this hate, sending a pretty clear message: our religious traditions do not allow for that behavior. Those who hate are themselves cast out and afflicted. It�s time we took an intentional step back to look at each other. We have so much more to share and grow than our fears will let us admit, and yet, if we do not figure it out, we will become lepers as did Miriam, and silently affirm the ugliness as our family falls apart, as did Aaron. And, like Moses, we will be left alone and without each other; without anyone. I want us to choose life � with and for each other. I want us to remember that we share this world, and while I cannot tell you what God is, I have to believe that sharing it lovingly is part of the divine plan. Put down the emotional and spiritual weapons we point at each other. Put aside the need to win the war of ego and aggression. We do not ever have to agree; we do have to dignify each other even and especially when we disagree. I am tired and weary of praying for peace. We need to do something to engage differently. From the little-known group The Youngbloods, �Come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody get together � time to love one another right now.� Shabbat Shalom.

One of the weird memories I have of my Bar Mitzvah celebration is the strange coincidence (or I thought it was a coincidence) that I received 8 Cross pen and pencil sets. Cross pens are good pens. I have learned since that there are a slew of high end pens (who would have known), but I was in awe of the number of folks who gave me virtually the same gift. I still have several of them. The first one I opened was clearly a "WOW!" moment. The second followed and then the rest. I most certainly was in less of a state of awe with each successive pen set. They were nice. One was sterling silver. At the wise age of 13, I knew that I was not going to use them for a while. I packed them up, put them away, and promptly forgot about them. Yes, I wrote appropriate thank-you notes for the gifts. They may have been the same, but each gifting person received an individualized note. It was not until I opened my law office and found the box in which I had stored them that I really began to appreciate the totality of the gift. As I looked at each pen, I realized that the gifters did not buy them in bulk and divide them so that each had a gift for me. Each person, individually, sought to bring a gift that he/she thought was meaningful. Maybe they thought I was going to end up being a writer. Maybe someone told them that a pen was a traditional gift. I do not know the motivation for which gift they brought, though I realized that each lovingly and intentionally wanted to share something with me. In that sense, each was a unique gift.

This week's Torah portion details (and I mean details) gifts that the princes from each tribe brought to the Tabernacle for its dedication. Each Prince brought the exact same gifts. (There is no record of advance notice.) "One silver plate whose weight was 130 shekels, one silver basin of 70 shekels, according to the shekel of the sanctuary, both of them full of fine flour mixed with oil for a grain offering; one golden dish of 10 shekels, full of incense; one bull from the herd, one ram, one male lamb a year old, for a burnt offering; one male goat for a sin offering; and for the sacrifice of peace offerings, two oxen, five rams, five male goats, and five male lambs a year old." For each of the 12 princes, this is the exact description of the gift he brought. Still, though, each individually shared his offering with the priests of the Tabernacle who received each, as the most unique gift from the most thoughtful gifter.

Each of us is unique. Even when we shop at the same stores, work the same job titles, ride the same bus, eat and recreate at the same places ... or die in the same outrageous massacre. What once shocked our conscience to the core has become alarmingly too commonplace. Over the last few years, though, the tragedy of these killings has become so commonplace that we are becoming alarmingly numbed to the news. We dedicate a lot of energy placing political blame or gaining political capital over each event. This debate fills the headlines, but we quickly forget the names and situations of the lives robbed from the earth. We reduce them to numbers and while the killer's name and terrorist affiliations own the headlines, the shattered lives are left ignored. 49 innocent people lost their lives in the Pulse bar in Orlando. More than 50 more will bear the physical scars of bullet injuries for the rest of their days. Innocent people were slaughtered in Tel Aviv. Gun violence in my state capital (Trenton) is spiking. Chicago is a gang war zone. We throw around the numbers of people killed by gun violence ... but what about their names? What about their family trauma? We debate the politics, while families are preparing or recovering from funerals that took their loved ones and often their too short life savings.

It will not be until we return to the intrinsic belief that each person brings unique gifts to living, and that without their unique gifts, all of our world cannot be whole, that we will find the power to change the conversation ... and change the world. Take a moment. Look up the names of those slaughtered in Tel Aviv and Orlando last week. With the all too many headlines of violence, look past the headlines for the names of victims and reach out to their families. We do this for national disasters. People leave their homes to help in hurricane relief. We need to leave our own comfort to help families who just experienced their own private 9/11, as the shooting forever shattered their world. We were born to create miracles for each other. As we pray for people to come to this epiphany, we need to generate these miracles for the too, too many who experience the devastation of this violence. In this way, we can bring some piece of heaven and restoration into the lives walking through hell. Shabbat Shalom.

We are starting a new book of the Torah this week. We embark on reading the book of Numbers. In Hebrew, the name of the book is �Bamidbar� (In the wilderness), because the Hebrew titles are based on the first significant word of the book. In English, each book receives a title based on its general theme. So, this book deals a lot with counting the census. Hence, the book is called �Numbers.� So, we begin by counting the people. Well, we count some of the people. The census counts men of military age. Yes, sadly, it seems that only men count. This text presents a really timely conundrum, for whatever one�s politics, we witnessed history this week, as a woman presumptively won the nomination to represent one of our two major political parties in the Presidential election. As we read the Torah text calling on us to set up the exclusively male military for our people, we will potentially be choosing to have a woman serve as �Commander in Chief.�

Theologians spent hundreds of generations training us to believe that the Bible was male dominant, and that the male dominance is �God�s will.� We know of current religious sects � even whole denominations, who fashion their dogma to hold women as second class citizens. In a few cases (including western religions) women are considered �chattel,� and subject to the will and whim of their husbands. Many even blame Eve for the existence of death (ignoring that, even if the Eden story is true, she also brought, love, children, values, and much more, too).

The potential of a woman leading a nation is not new, but it is �news� because of the way in which we have seen �Good Ole Boy� networks work hard to close ranks and keep women paid less than men in the work force, bodily objectified in the media, and held back from religious and political leadership. Clearly Golda Meir, Margaret Thatcher, Benazir Bhutto, Park Geun Hye, Angela Merkel, and others have broken the glass ceiling in their nations, though not without struggles.

Even so, men have run the military, no differently than we read in this week�s portion. �It is a man�s world.� In meeting with more fundamentalistic colleagues over the years, I have �enjoyed� baiting this conversation. Inevitably, they point out that the language of the Bible even reminds us that God is the �Father.� They, of course, hate when I demonstrate feminine names for God in scripture (Hebrew is malleable that way), but more concerning is their ignorance of the text that tells us that men and women filled leadership roles � and that the women in the Bible often did so more effectively. Devorah is the most successful general. Yael and Esther demonstrated incredible courage. Like her or not, Delilah out maneuvered Sampson. To the point of this commentary, though, while we begin the book counting the men, we will conclude the book in a few months with the stories of Zelophechad�s daughters (he died without sons). On behalf of these young ladies all rules of inheritance change. Who gets to own property, represent the family name, and hold status in the tribe becomes egalitarian. Commentaries exist claiming that men marrying them would have to take their family name to keep Zelophecahd�s legacy alive.

Closely read, one can argue that the biblical text actually intends to demonstrate the egalitarianism of creation. As we read history, we cannot deny the reality that men have physically over powered women in the world. The purpose of religion and faith cannot have value if it simply affirms and perpetuates the injustice. It has to lead us to see beyond the sordid pursuit of power. For me, that this book begins with a male census, and concludes with a much broader message of who counts and matters is itself a message compelling our own spiritual growth. We being life in a world rooted in ego and power, but faith is supposed to lift us to greater truths. All politics aside, and specifically, however one chooses to vote, I pray that we can appreciate the opportunity to break through some of the barriers that hold us back from respecting each other � on equal footing, for that is how God created us. Shabbat Shalom.

I found God in the oddest of ways. For many, the path to faith appears via an epiphanic moment of some great or devastating event in life. I cannot count the number of times I have heard people share their witness, "I hit bottom and did not know where else to turn. I opened my heart to God." I have heard, "I could only explain the miracle by accepting that God intervened." For so many, faith comes on the heels of the storm ... or the rainbow. For so many others, they accept or reject God because they were taught to. "Mom and Dad took me to prayer, so I grew up praying." Or, "Mom and Dad never did anything, so it was not important." Still others reject God simply because they either get so mad at the God in whom they do not believe that they pretend God does not exist, or reject God since God is indefinable. So many people accept or reject God based on his or her personal experience, as if that is definitive of all possible interactions with divinity. His/her personal experience makes God absolutely real or absolutely false ... for all people. People mock (or far worse) each other over their divergent theologies. The "personal God" experience, rather than affirming the breadth of God for all of us appreciating each other's experience only serves to diminish God. These people lock God in their own personal protective boxes.

I was one who rejected God because I could not touch God. I kept hearing people talk about all that God demands, and many of those people made God look schizophrenic. God's demands seemed to contradict each other depending on who was telling me what God commanded. "God demands that you accept Christ." "God demands that you reject that there has been a Messiah." God demands that marriage is only between a man and a woman." "God demands that we seek love and pursue love ... and respect all equally in love." "God chooses some people over other people." "God loves all people equally, for everything that breathes is God's child." I will not even get into the connotations offered and problems started if we dare argue that everything thing that breathes being God's equal child would include jellyfish. So, for years, I sat out of religion, believed that science controlled all, and defiantly argued that man invented God.

I first found God through Albert Einstein. He argued that we have a choice to make. We can live as if everything is a miracle; or as if nothing is. If everything is a miracle, than even the fact that we disagree on all this stuff is, itself, part of the miracle. It is miraculous that we can all be right. This was a scientist talking about miracles. A major door opened for me. What I figured out was that "truth" was only the best answer we could fathom with our limited tool boxes, and that "truth" would evolve as we grew our experiences and allowed ourselves the freedom to look beyond the fences we build around our theologies. I get it. Each of us needs something different upon which to rest or grow our faith. Martin Buber affirmed this reality in delineating his concept of "I and Thou." No one can do your "I and Thou" with divinity, but you.

Then, many years ago, I read a verse from this week's Torah portion, "I, Adonai, am your God who brought you out from the land of the Egyptians to be their slaves no more, who broke the bars of your yoke and made you walk erect. (Lev. 26:13)" We were freed from Egypt so that we could walk, unyoked, erect, and with our head held high. I love this imagery. But then, I thought about all the "religious" people who try to force others to put back on the yoke of servitude to their brand of God. I was not freed, just so that I would have to enslave myself to someone else's version of God. In this epiphany, I came to understand that faith is about doing the best that we can to live life in a way that respected everyone else's way of life. Who am I to tell someone who to love? Who am I to tell someone that they pray in the wrong direction or ineffective body position? What I see is that there a whole lot of amazing and wonderful people who "do God" in wonderfully diverse ways. I think that in this big mix is where I find God ... celebrating the incredible diversity that somehow finds its way to join in one heartbeat. Shabbat Shalom.

Ok. here is my confession, I hate war. I think that I am in really good company in hating war. I wish that the whole world agreed with me, but, alas, it does not. Many will argue that war is inevitable. Many argue that war is actually good for the economy and for population control. I would think that there must be better ways in which to heal an economy, but no one has asked for my thoughts on this. What I do know is, and stand unwaveringly with the late Winston Churchill, "War is hell." The way nations and gangs wage war makes them unwinnable. The other side may surrender, but only after each side and suffered devastating losses. If war is a must, we learn from the ancient East (SUN TZU), "The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting." Yes, our nation was created by war, but that does not mean I have to feel good that it took such horrific violence to obtain freedom.

All that said: old men create wars, we send our youth out to fight them. While I am anti-war, I respect each person who puts his/her life on the line to serve our country. I may not agree with the cause, but honoring those who are so committed (especially since it is an all-volunteer military now) is a must. When they return from fighting, I wish we did more to care for them. Soldiers come home broken physically and emotionally. If they are not suffering from a physical injury, they are still experiencing "Post Traumatic Stress." We train them to go to war, but do not prepare them to come home ... or home for their return.

This is Memorial Day weekend, and we need to take a break from the sales and the cookouts to pay homage and offer thanks for those who died fighting for the sanctity and honor of our nation and for the freedoms we too often take for granted. Again, I absolutely believe that we have fought ... even created some unwarranted wars recently, but the fact remains that we honor those who believed that they were doing what was just and right on our behalf.

As I prepared this week's Torah portion, I could not help but remain focused on Memorial Day. As I kept trying to refocus on Torah, it hit me why I was having such a problem. This week's portion covers a host of rules about property ownership and use. We read about the sabbatical year when we have to leave the land untouched that it might renew over the year. When I read the text that told us how we were going to eat during the year when nothing grew, light bulbs went off in my head. According to text, during the sixth year, one should gather enough for three years. One must harvest for the existing year, the year when nothing grows, and also for the year when the foods ripen (after the Sabbatical year, the trees do not automatically have ripe fruits). Built into Torah is long range planning for sustaining life. We will not be without food, even while we cannot grow food. When it comes to life, we plan ahead.

So, why can't we plan ahead for our soldiers who we hope and pray will return? Why can't we create better medical, psychiatric, and recreational care? In light of the Torah portion, we really cannot justify creating risk without apriori creating the remedy. Each one of us can volunteer time at the VA or other such agencies. Each one of us can do something to help our veterans return to whole lives. Torah commands us to ensure a three-year food source in the harvest. Pirke Avot (the ethical texts of our tradition) tells us that there is no value to physical sustenance without emotional and spiritual "bread," and the same is true in reverse. If Torah commands us to remember that food for the body must be preplanned, then so must the sustenance of the soul and spirit.

It is Memorial Day weekend. Shop if you must. Socialize and enjoy each other. Spend time remembering those who died fighting for freedom. Let's spend some extra time thinking about how to take care of the soldiers who fought and did not die ... let's help them live. Shabbat Shalom.

A Hebrew School teacher was speaking to his class. "This week, our thoughts turn from the mundane to the sacred. This week's Torah portion is Kedoshim (Holiness) and, hence, we call this week's text the "Holiness Code." It teems with the ethical and moral values that should inform our standard of conduct walking through this world."

A student blurted out, "WAIT! I thought that the whole Torah was "holy," and that we were supposed to strive to be holy (and not mundane) every day. What gives?"

The teacher gave a wry smile and replied, "Moshe, you are right. Every day is an appropriate time to pursue holiness, but this week, we learn to do even more. Tied into this week is the greatest of all moral values."

Moshe's brow furrowed, "But this week, a large portion of the text talks about weird things like prohibited sex, following idols, and cross-breeding livestock." Exasperated, he continued, "Yes, there is another set of ten commandments, as well, but there are no lessons here ... just a laundry list of dos and don'ts."

After he finished, the teacher again smiled, "No my dear student. This list does not designate the things to do and not do. This text provides a partial list of the things that people tell people to do and not do. These are all the things that make us decide to like people or dislike people. These do not define holiness. This line defines holiness: 'When a stranger resides with you in your land, you shall not wrong him. The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens. You shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I, Adonai, am your God.' (Leviticus 19:33-34) The lists you refer to are all the things that make us feel like strangers living amongst each other."

Ultimately, the most important teaching in Torah is to remember to love the stranger. How might one come to this conclusion? This command appears 46 times in the Torah; that is why. We know the plight of the stranger. We know what it means to be left out. We know what it means to be oppressed.

No, I am not speaking as a Jew, though certainly Anti-Semitism is on the rise. I am speaking as a member of the human race. Dr. Terrence Roberts (one of the Little Rock Nine) reminds us that there is no biological difference between folks of differing colors, except the differing colors.

Even within any one of our ethnicities, our appearances are hardly uniform. There is one race ... human. For the record, this is my response to every application that asks for race. Somehow, the one thing that really does unify each of us is the source of our greatest dysfunction. If we cannot see ourselves as sharing this commonality of being human, how can we possibly expect to appreciate, as a gift, the diverse opportunities for celebrating life and love that each of us brings to the table?

We have estranged ourselves from each other. People are so afraid of everything we do not understand that, as a society, we feel the need to categorize everyone into divergent splintered groups. Torah commands us to remember that we are all strangers, we have all been oppressed, and we have all been alienated from each other. Someone has to "stop the bleeding," and this week's portion reminds us of all the ways in which we have separated from each other. Then, at least twice in this chapter alone, reminds us to love the stranger and to remember that he is as our own: an equally divinely created and endowed human ... no different than any of us. The ways in which we see the world do not separate us, only the ways in which we determine the value of each other's vision. Love the stranger as you are supposed to love yourself. Shabbat Shalom.

Passover is coming to a close for the year. I always look forward to the holiday: family shows up; friends gather; we get to honor old traditions even as we continue to create new ones. I cannot honestly say that I miss bread, though, after Friday at sundown, I must say I will not miss matzah (too much). My real joy in the holiday happens because of the conversations that we get to have. We can talk about freedom all year, but we do not. We can talk about redemption all year, but we do not. This week, stemming from the service around the Seder table, we spawn a host of conversations that should compel us to think a little more deeply about the blessings we experience ... and the same ones that others do not. Sometimes, though, we get so caught up in the freedom vs. oppression conversation that even in religious based conversations, we forget to celebrate that the concept of freedom exists.
Imagine a world wherein everyone feels beholden to serve a master. We find this paradigm used in describing primitive cultures in both the ancient and modern world. Even in the Book of Job, the characters express the need to feed God, lest God throw a tantrum if not satiated every morning. We see glimpses of this paradigm throughout religious tradition. Somehow, a worldwide culture exists proclaiming that God is to be feared. Disasters happen because God is upset. People suffer because God is upset. Conversely, we only succeed because God singled us out for success. The most egregious of these statements comes after a hurricane, when someone (whose house survived) proclaims, "God protected me from the hurricane!" Every house around is destroyed, because God only liked the person speaking. We hear this stuff all the time, and we reject it even as we hear it. Just this week, in my old home state of Kentucky, the new Governor struck funding for disability assistance from the budget, proclaiming that non-profits function best without government influence (meaning money). This same week, he approved an $18 million tax abatement for a "non-profit" religious theme park. Another southern legislator promised to bring her gun to the bathroom in case a transgender person walked in. God deserves special tax benefits that we refuse to disabled Americans. Somehow, though, the paradigm for blaming or acclaiming God for everything that happens persists. People espousing these beliefs behave as if they are enslaved to God.
What I love about Passover is that the story of freedom demands that we discuss our partnership with God in any act of redemption. By extension, knowing that the Bible is an allegory, we understand that disasters happen, but "God was not in the fire," God was in the response to the fire. Hurricanes and earthquakes happen, but we decide how, if, and when to respond. Freedom is real, and it is a blessing that we create and provide for each other. I do not know how God works in the world (though I absolutely believe we yoke power from this presence), but I do know that if we do not act, God cannot.
Where are the headlines about how God's empowerment led people to open free medical clinics or restore lives shattered by illness or disaster? Houses of worship have not helped, as the rules and restrictions for who can and cannot attend, speak more to organizational budgets and theological control, than they do providing faithful sanctuaries and conduits for enlightenment. We have demeaned the conversation about faith so far that going to church, synagogue, the mosque, or any meeting place of faith into a chore as opposed to an honor. When I tell people I am a Rabbi, or even that I am religious, the conversation immediately takes on a very weird yoke. I volunteer to help in a school, and immediately people are wary of why a "Rabbi" wants to have influence in/over a school.
As we conclude the Passover holiday, we need to commit ourselves to restoring the celebration of freedom, the celebration of the empowerment that faith can bring all of the community, not just those who try to wield power over even God. Redemption will come when faith leads us to take care of each other, honor each other and secure each other's sense of shalom. Until then, I fear that we will continue to face the horrible rhetoric of which we daily read, we will continue to hope and pray that the voice of God becomes more Godly, and will continue (I pray) to help each other see the need to open our hearts to more wholesome engagements.

I am staring at a text that affirms the priesthood and its relationship with a loving God. The Tabernacle stands open and ready for business. The priests prepared the altar for the initial sacrifice. The community prepares to celebrate the "Grand Opening" of God's place. The priests cook the meat and splatter the blood all over the altar while the people sing and revel in the messy celebration. In the midst of all this, two "rogue" priests die. The fire from the altar consumes their souls but does not burn their bodies. They brought a divergent offering to the altar; one not prescribed by the altar's ultimate host, God.

Some argue that they died because it was an offering other than that which God wanted. Others maintain that they must have been drunk and in approaching the altar inebriated, they committed the ultimate of blasphemes. Torah commentators are obsessed with harshly judging Nadav and Avihu (the young priests who perished). The text does not give us their motivation. As to the whole matter, all I can say is that, over the last two thousand years, we have experienced profound relationships with God, and not once have we lined the altar with the blood, fat, and meat of an animal. Ultimately, the disagreement did not keep the sacrifice ... or reinstate the sacrifice. Nor, did it keep us from God.

Our great sage Maimonides, in the Guide for the Perplexed, regards the sacrifices as a concession to a new and evolving nation, an attempt to make change happen at an appropriate speed (so as not to alienate people). He suggested the sacrifice as a gradually weaning away from ancient pagan idolatry. If the concept of sacrificing had value, it was to teach us (allegorically) that we find righteousness in regularly bringing our most exceptional selves to the altar of engagement with God and with each other.

Maybe, Nadav and Avihu felt that this cult worship experience was blasphemous? Maybe their alien fire sought to protest the introduction of pagan idolatry to a people who had just left Egypt, freed from the slavery to Pharaoh and to Pharaoh's ritual offering to false gods. I have posited that, sometimes, bringing the "alien fire" costs us our lives, but that the "alien fire" was a more righteous fire than the one currently in vogue. Martin Luther King, Rabbi Akiva, Jesus, and a litany of others lost their lives bringing fire to the altar that "bucked" the pervasive order. We are blessed in the change that they brought.

When I read this text, though, I struggle to get past the entire chapter devoted to detailing the pomp and circumstance of the ritual that begins with a mass slaughter of animals, the spraying, displaying, and burning of their parts, and the party atmosphere that follows. More so, I struggle that the death of two of Aaron's sons, who are themselves "High Priests," gets two verses and no details. For me, this is one of those places where the text screams to be read and reread. I don't think we have done that. Too often, we blindly accept the literal text, giving no critical thought to the real messages the author intended, conveyed through stylistic devices. More problematic is the truth that once we read what someone else has to say about a text, it becomes our "gospel" because it is easier just to adopt that understanding and not invest ourselves in finding our own.

We have to think for ourselves. Sometimes we find ourselves in thoughts completely outside of the accepted norms. Yes, this can be dangerous territory, but imagine a world where Moses, Jesus, Mohammad, Einstein, King all simply accepted the status quo. We never have to agree on matters to both grow from a meaningful conversation about them. SO much needs to evolve in life. The more time and distance we put between us, the less chance there is of any positive change occurring ... ever. Let's get past our prejudices and our complacency ... let's talk. Shabbat Shalom.

As I sat down to prepare for Shabbat, I took stock of some very cool things: 1. A dear friend and family member are both successfully recovering from this week cancer surgery; 2. A terrific young lady celebrates her Bat Mitzvah tonight and tomorrow; 3. Our Sisterhood and Men's Club get to celebrate their dedication and leadership in our congregational family with a special Shabbat Service; 4. I get to see my daughter dance her solo in competition (the only time I will get to see it this season); 5. Even as we prepare to acknowledge my late first wife's ninth yahrtzeit this week (on Purim), our family celebrates lots of good news (more on this later) and a lot of love; 6. I have Lori; and 7. I have dedicated partners in progressive change in our lay leadership, our professional staff, and in my partner Cantor Gaby Clissold. At our Passover Seder, we have the song that seems never to end, "Dayaenu." Literally, it means it would be enough; we recount miracle after miracle with which God blesses us, acknowledging that anyone of them should affirm our faith. How amazing it is that we experience them all! My litany of blessings this week is a lot to take in, and each piece would be enough to say, "Dayaenu," yet, I have it all.

I open the Torah. This week we open a new book; Leviticus. This week's portion recounts the litany of different sacrificial offerings about which God instructs Israel. They are not mandatory, but if one does bring offerings, specific rules govern the ritual. Some of these offerings are rooted in atonement and others are part of giving thanks for blessings. All of them, though, culminate in a pleasing odor to God. Getting past the smell of the animals awaiting slaughter (or that of the process of animal slaughter), I look at the instructions allegorically: the goal is to do that which pleases God ... that which makes the world a better place. For a moment, I smiled, feeling really good about the way in which my week of blessings synchronized with the ultimate message of the text.

The moment shattered, though, as I leaped back into the real world and read the news. I vowed always make every effort not to be political in my teaching or preaching, but there are times that one person's politics is another person's matter of righteousness. As I look at the debacle we currently call a presidential election; I cannot call what is happening politics; certainly not in the sense of the Democratic Republic based values upon which our founders forged this nation's ethics. I will not go into the details; they play themselves out for all of us every day. I want to address simply the tenor and atmosphere in which we "campaign" to move our nation into tomorrow.

Whatever one thinks of the candidates' potential, I am downright afraid of candidates asking rally-goers to raise their right hands affirming allegiance, affirming the appropriateness of violence against people exercising their First Amendment Rights, advocating the destruction of entire families of criminals, advocating the bombing of entire communities, affirming racial, religious, and gender discrimination ... all as part of campaign platforms. There are enough economic issues up for debate, that to ignore them in favor of fear mongering is ... is un-American, and certainly a violation of every faith tradition for which our nation's Constitution guarantees protection.

So, I look at the amazing blessings in my life and have to believe that each of the candidates running for office has to experience similar miracles in their lives. Why the focus on celebrating these blessings carries less weight in their agendas than does the search for personal power at all costs to all others is one of the absolute saddest of realizations. We have lost perspective. If I truly appreciate my family, how can I want to do anything to hurt someone else's? If I truly appreciate my freedoms (to pray or not (as my faith would command), to seek education and opportunity and to speak openly), how could I do anything to destroy someone else's ... especially since our founding documents call these rights "Inalienable?" I am tired of these folks telling me how righteous they are while they ignore everything about liberty that I hold as sacred. The Kotzker Rebbe taught, "I do not want followers who are righteous, rather I wantfollowers who are too busy doing good (and appreciating the good) that they won't have time to do bad." If we want that of our followers, shouldn't we expect the same or better from our leaders? Shouldn't all of our efforts aim at creating pleasantness before God, and for our community? Shabbat Shalom?

On the seventh day, God finished the work of creation. God checked it over and determined it was good. Then, God rested. It's amazing how many folks go right from God's working on the sixth day to taking a break on the seventh. In ignoring everything in between, they leave creation unfinished. They also create a horrible paradigm for a work ethic. When the bell rings, and it's "quitting time," we really should not just drop what we are doing and walk away. We have to complete whatever task in which we are in process, and then at some point, we need to check it to make sure our work was good. Think of all the product recalls of which we hear. Most happen because someone(s) did not pay attention to the design and manufacturing process. The world would be in lots of trouble, if one day, we got a recall notice on some part of a slipshod act of creation! Imagine that climate change was really part of a design defect, and not due to our carbon footprint. Seriously, In checking over the work each day and then the cumulative project, we can properly infer that the story intended to demonstrate the evolution of order from chaos.

This week, as we bring the Book of Exodus to a close, we finish the building of the Tabernacle. Emphasizing the right way to do things, the Torah portion begins with an accounting of all of the goods and work that went into building the place where the tribes would gather to worship God. "Pekudae;" the name of the portion literally means "accounting. The sages take stock of the entire project of creating the tabernacle. They count the value of the materials. They consider the detail of all the individual pieces of the projects: the priestly robes, the curtains covering the inner-sanctuary, the woodwork, the placement of jewels and precious metals, etc.. Most importantly, the book cannot end until they revisit the mission that brought them to build the Tabernacle. As per the story, in this creation, we morphed from a tribal nomadic people relying on the shaman who went out of camp to speak with God into a people with whom God dwells. The Tabernacle is in the middle of camp, and all the tribes camp around it. People come to the altar with offerings to the priests for God to accept right there and then, as opposed to offering them remotely and vicariously through Moses. No different than the Genesis creation story speaks of the world's intentional evolution, this story tells us how we begin becoming more personally intimate with all things God.

The "accounting" piece of the story is huge, for in revisiting the entire process, we can see that this evolution is intentional. Torah tells us that God wants us to be more personally and even intimately involved in the practice of faith. Faith is not something we do by accident. Faith requires investment and investiture. We learn to trust; we learn to believe; we learn to serve. In our real world, faith takes on many forms and modalities. Not knowing how to define God, I believe that we experience divinity when our souls touch; when we find ourselves able to rely on each other and the processes of nature without ongoing a priori proofs. Still, though, if we do not keep evolving our faith, we stagnate. In as much as creation starts over each week, and we rebuild the Tabernacle at every stop on the journey, our faith has to be examined and re-evaluated on a regular basis. As we grow on our journey, our faith must also evolve.

I am so tired of people telling me that God "spoke." Whatever God is, I have to believe that God speaks; present and future tense. As sure as we are that we are paying attention each day, we need to take a step back and take an accounting of our cumulative experiences to see if what we thought we knew comports with the experiences that we share. It will be in these moments of reflection that we find ourselves truly in prayer. Prayer is the act of reviewing and evolving our faith. The world can never progress if we remain vigilant in living in yesterday's faith. Not everything changes but some things have to. Let's meet in this place of prayer; the place where we assess the blessings we have shared and the barriers that have separated us; the place where we move closer to each other heart to heart and soul to soul; the place where heaven touches earth. We continue the act of creation, the act of moving closer to divinity, and the act of engaging each other every time we intentionally step back to look at our work to account for how much of it is good and how much of it needs to become good. On the day we figure this one out, God will be one, we will be one, and our world will be whole. Shabbat Shalom.

Spending over a week in Israel has been exciting. The daily headlines teem with news from every spectrum of life. "News" is huge here; Israelis are news junkies ... can't get enough. Many of my recent trips here have been tied to Rabbinical Missions ... usually including some form of activism on matters of peace and/or pluralism. This trip began with our annual convention, and in usual fashion, we made headlines. ...In the span of three days, this group created and experienced lots of "news." Our leadership met with the Prime Minister, who assured us of his commitment to pluralism. He has since begun moving away from this commitment and will meet with the Ultra-Orthodox parties (presumably to modify his stance) on Sunday. We (Reform Jews) got called out by an Ultra-Orthodox MK for being mentally ill, 15 Members of Knesset met with us the next day to apologize for the slur. The following morning, we held a front page covered intergender worship service at the egalitarian part of the wall the following day. The Chief Rabbi made the next news when he called us idolators on the front page of most every Israeli newspaper. Were it that this was just an Israel problem, some might dismiss it as an anomaly, but the need to smear "the other" happens all over, and seems to be the rule for American politics. One has to love the love!

I am told that when my late brother David was a toddler, he was always in trouble. Mom and Dad had t...o be vigilant to keep him from doing real harm to himself, the house, the dog, etc. Lore has it that he had to be reprimanded so often, that it became part of his identity. He was playing outdoors one day and a neighbor asked him what his name was. Without missing a beat, I am told that he looked at the man and enthusiastically he said, �No David!�
We all have many names, and we like hearing them interspersed throughout conversations. We want to be sure that people know who we are, and at the same time, accept many names based on the way in which people interact with us. Somehow we value our self-worth based on these names. What if we had no �names� and no ability to label values in speech?
Looking at this week�s portion, I had to acknowledge that nowhere in the text is Torah�s central figure ever acknowledged. Moses is not referred to by name through this entire text. With the exception of Deuteronomy (where he is the narrator), this is the only time since his birth story that Moses does not appear in a weekly text. Our sages struggle to determine how Moses could be left out of an entire week�s text. My struggle revolves around the idea that many can�t see that he is very much present.
The portion does begin �You shall command.� The character of God is addressing someone, and in context, that someone is Moses. As does the late Lubavitcher Rebbe, I would assert that using the definitive singular �you� is even more personal and engaging than other texts where we read, �God said to Moses, tell the people �� This is not a third person narrative, but a first and second person exchange. We are not reading a third hand report about what God said; we read the words as they come out of �God�s� mouth. Perhaps the intimacy of this conversation keeps us from needing the reference about with whom God is speaking.
Perhaps there is an important side message, as well. Despite his name�s not appearing in this text, tradition affirms a Mosaic authorship of this text. We have great impact on people�s lives, even where our name may or may not be attached to the text, project, or title. We live in a world where people need to get �credit� for what we do. We embellish our own involvement in matters to increase the credit and credibility we receive. We forget that the reward is in the result of the doing. We forget that impacting lives is the main focus of our work, and success can never be measured by what is written on the paper holding our resumes.
The problem roots in our own insecurities. We feel validated only when someone else validates us. We feel challenged often only when someone else catches us misbehaving. We feel affirmed only after someone extols the virtues of our efforts. We often feel that something we did had little meaning because there was no one there to report on it and witness it. We do not look into the eyes of the people with whom we interact; we do not take time to internalize the concern or appreciation in their eyes. We wait until we see a third hand report surface, telling the story of what we did before we feel concerned or affirmed. Our names are labels, they are not our identities. �No David� was not my brother; it was my parent�s response to his predilection for causing trouble. Ultimately though, it was the very curiosity that got him into trouble that led him to become the pro-active and brilliant surgeon, loving parent and husband and friend who we loved. Had �No David� not been the sum total of who he was, the world would have missed out on a great many blessings.
In the same sense, if Moses is only valuable when his name is being used; if we can only feel his presence in the story when we read his name, we have missed the value of Moses in the breadth of Torah. Faith exists when we can affirm our value, and each other�s value, without the accolades or reminders; when we can understand where we err, even when no one calls us on it. Faith rests in that place where we experience the blessings and the need for healing in life, not just where someone tells us about them. I guess that this phenomenon holds true for God, as well; not the God of the story in Torah, but the source of creative and sustaining engagement in our real world. Faith rests when we feel and experience a connection with divinity, even where God is not specifically mentioned.
There are those who discount faith, unless God � or a specific name for God is used in formulated verbal prayer. I struggle to believe that God needs to be called by name to be present. I look to our Torah portion and appreciate that God never had to say, �Moses, pay attention; Moses, I am talking to you; or Moses, you know you are wonderful.� In this text, the intimacy of the conversation is the blessing; the intimacy of the conversation; is the greatest of examples for how we should see ourselves; and the intimacy of the conversation � devoid of and unlimited by labels and accolades is where we find ourselves open to experience each other�s miracles. Shabbat Shalom.

The mystics teach that at the time of creation, "God" created two worlds. Torah teaches that God "spread out the Heavens and established the Earth." Of course, there is a poetic symmetry to the phrase, because they are mirror worlds. The Greek philosopher Plato argued that the earth was the reflection of the reality existent in only the heavens. The universe is a lot more "vast" than the confines of the geometrically finite Earth. My take, the Earth is the "Cliff's Notes" version of the unquantifiable Heaven.

No differently than a baby connects and depends on the stability of its mother's health, so too, our earth's existence depends on the state of the cosmos. The baby, while in utero, is never physically connected to mom. It exists and matures inside mom via the fluids and nutrients that pass and exchange through mom's womb. At birth, the baby and its food filter (placenta) leave the womb. Our newborn now exists and grows on its own. Despite the reality that babies each float in its mother's womb, our tradition would never describe mom's role as the source of food for emerging life, nor the fetus as a separate, unrelated entity from its mother.

So, too, our earth formed from the flow of the universe. It existed in the universe's womb, formulating and maturing through the process of its birth. Scripture tells us that it was not a definable life until God finished the work of creation and separated the child from its embryonic home. I posit that the seven days of creation mirror the seven months of gestation to the point where a child is viable outside the womb. In the same light, Torah speaks of a 40-year journey from slavery to freedom; 40 is roughly the number of weeks bringing a baby to full term and to a place where the infant begins moving body parts with intention.

Somehow, the infant never fully separates from its mother; an intangible bond keeps them tied forever. In the same sense, while the earth spins on its own axis, one could never claim it is not absolutely tied to the forces of the heavens from which it spawned. We debate to which behaviors, appearances, health, and idiosyncratic tendencies are a result of nature or nurture. It seems evident that the answer is, "Yes." We are bound to our genomes; our DNA. We are equally influenced by the ways in which our surroundings influence our life choices. Along the way, we bear the responsibility to stand on our own, yet never lose touch with the people and the places from where we came. There are aspects of who we are and how we lie that tie us spiritually and physically to our roots. The relationships between the Earth and the Heavens created this paradigmatic rule upon which all life exists and evolves. My eyes and receding hairline link me to my father. Looking at his Bar Mitzvah picture, he is even more indistinguishable from my son.

Our Torah portion tells us to build a sanctuary for God, so that God may dwell amongst us. God tells us to remember, through the tangible (the sanctuary), the unbreakable bond that ties us to our creative parent. Relying again on the parent-child relationship to understand the context of this command, I know that no matter where I find my feet, my identity is always tied to my spiritual and genetic roots. So, where is this sanctuary that God commands Israel to build? If it were only one place in the world, God could have only limited relationships and even smaller sphere of influence. The Tabernacle in the wilderness, the Temple in Jerusalem and temples around the world, the churches, mosques, ashrams, meeting houses, and all other structures are only symbolic reminders of our obligation to ensure the sanctity of sanctuaries in which God can dwell. Philo, the leader of the ancient Alexandrian Jewish community taught that we are the sanctuaries God commanded to build. Our souls are the altars upon which we passionately offer every act of justice, righteousness, contrition, thanksgiving, and love. We are the sanctuaries of which God spoke, and at the level in which this impacts each of us, it is not tied to religion, culture, gender, race, or even age. Our hearts feel the impact of the spiritual embrace and rejection from people of all walks of life. To own that God dwells amongst us, we need to understand that we are the vessels through which God acts and speaks. God is amongst us, when we acknowledge that there exists divinity in each of us ... anything short, anything that makes us think that it vests in some and not others is not faith, it is at best superstition, and at worst fanaticism. We honor our parents when we honor the love they shared with us. We honor God the same way. Shabbat Shalom.

I vividly remember the gripe sessions I used to have with friends in school. We would complain about... all sorts of things, and often, more for the sake of complaining than to seek any resolution. Most often, we complained about our parents. We all had "horrible" parents. They made rules that made no sense. They failed to understand our firm "grasp" on "reality." They grew up in the "Dark Ages," what did they know? "I'll never need to know algebra when I grow up, why do I have to pass the class, if it will never be useful?"

Then I began growing up, got married, and ... became a parent. My father has been gone for 26 years, but he keeps getting smarter, every day. So, now, I have a sign that reads, "TEENAGERS! MOVE OUT WHILE YOU STILL KNOW EVERYTHING!" One of the greatest lessons I have learned (or am still learning) is that one often does not understand rules, until one has the experience to understand the rules. There is a reason that we need to pay attention and learn to accept responsibility. Some of the rules made sense, but we never paid enough attention to understand how fundamentally sound the rules were. Why we had to do homework should have been obvious, and it was, for those who paid attention. Some of the rules still make no sense. I chalk these up to my continued failure to understand, or better, perhaps some were just my parents' idiosyncrasies playing through. My job was to appreciate my parents enough to accept that some of the things they demanded of me, while making no sense, I needed to heed, just because I appreciated everything else that they did for me and with me.

Welcome to Torah. Most often, the "name" of the Torah portion comes from the first significant word in the text, irrespective of whether or not the "name" speaks to the content/theme of the week's portion. This week, the portion's name "Mishpatim" does both. This week, having just received the "10 Commandments," Moses and God continue with a litany of property rules and regulations (which include rules about slave ownership). The word "Mishpatim" means (in this context) laws or judgments. This week's portion contains over 50 of these rules. Ultimately, there are 613 such rules (Mitzvot) in Torah. Helping us make sense of our tradition, tradition teaches us to divide the 613 mitzvot into three categories.

The problem we face in looking to the text for instruction is that some of the rules make perfect sense (Mishpatim), but many others do not seem to have any rational relevance. Mishpatim are the rules that cause us to respect each other's property. Some of the ones that do not make sense at first do after we experience them (Aedut). An "Aed" is a witness. Ritual immersion seems to make no sense, until one does so and senses the symbolism of spiritual cleaning that comes with physical cleaning. Other of these rules may never seem rational (Chukkim). Whatever reasons we have created for wrestling with "kosher," there is no rational explanation for it in Torah.

If we think about these separations, while the above explanations can help make sense for ritual practice,I do not believe they help us spiritually. Other parts of our tradition teaches that there are no large and small mitzvoth. To separate the mitzvoth serves to divest us from our own obligation to wrestle with tradition. As I see it, each of the 613 requires a certain amount of faith. Even the ones that seem easy, only seem easy, because of someone else's experience. I take for granted that speed limits exist. They only exist, though, because people drove too fast and created hazardous situations for people around them. I have faith that the dynamic is real and that the rule works, or that I have enough faith and courage to work for change when it does not. The truth is that we are all people of faith. We are all "Aedim," witnesses, and we learn from each other. Everything we do requires a leap of faith to accept that what we observe can make sense. Handing in tests or work assignments; getting behind the wheel of a car; expressing affection to another human; or believing that each of us has the right to be happy: each requires us to have faith in something beyond what we can understand and quantify. Still, though, so many demean the value of faith, and even more demean the value of each other's faith.

Ani ma-amin b'emunah shlaemah - I believe with perfect faith that each of us has a valuable gift to share and each of us has the capacity to learn from each other. In fact, all 613 mitzvot point us in the direction of paying more attention to each other, as we make sense out of living as a community. Where the rules don't always seem to make sense, perhaps these are our opportunities to grow our world. Some rules are handed to us; some we have to create to build bridges between us. Sit down and study with someone; learn to make sense out of the non-sense. This is not about religion. It is about faith. I believe with perfect faith that if we witness each other living faithfully, we can change the world. Shabbat Shalom.

"I am Adonai, your God ... you shall have no other gods before Me." These are the first of the "10 Comma...ndments." Some versions/traditions would argue that these are two separate statements, and depending on the conversation; I might often be inclined to agree. The neat thing about the Exodus 20 list is that there are not really "ten;" there can be ten, or as many as nineteen. Torah is absolutely flexible. That said, "I am Adonai, your God ... you shall have no other gods before Me."

"Aeli, Aeli ... My God, My God, May these things never end: The sand and the sea; the rustle of the water; the lightning in the sky; and each human prayer." This is a most wonderful piece written by a heroic Hannah Senesh. Senesh volunteered to paratroop behind axis lines to facilitate freeing Jews from the Shoah, German soldiers discovered her and executed her in 1944. Amidst the ugliness of the war, she found miracles through which to seek redemption.
I have to believe that Hannah was thinking of the events of this week's Torah portion as she hoped for the nightmare of NAZI Germany to be over and for goodness to prevail. Her dream sort of came true, even though she did not live to see it happen. Staring in the face of a Hitler led regime that shunned hope for any other than his master nation/race, Hannah spoke the words that ultimately address the hope for a Messianic Age. The sands and the seas, in their purity are symbolic of the beauty of nature. Still, though, battleships use the seas to transport weapons aimed in order to destroy civilizations.

I walk on the sea shore and let the sand pass between my toes, and yet, the shores of this world's seas have borne witness to many of the bloodiest battles in history. The glistening sand turned red; stained with the blood of young people whose future ended with the flash of a gun, the blast of an artillery shell, or the light refracting blade of a bayonet. The lightning over the horizon that provides the most beautiful of nighttime light shows became the symbol of the Schutzstaffel (THE NAZI SS); the highly trained echelon of storm troopers who destroyed families, homes, villages and nations. All of these symbols of the most beautiful aspects of nature were compromised by people wanting to lord themselves over other people. The things we thought most beautiful turned against us.

The one beautiful aspect of life that could never be compromised is our prayer. Each of us, whatever befalls us, still controls the rush and stillness in our souls. Prayer has nothing to do with the ritual or practice of religion, and while "religion" has always been manipulated for the sake of political power, what happens inside each one of us is sacred. It is this ability to pray that affords us the strength and courage to overcome the most horrific of obstacles, as we journey, at least spiritually into freedom. It is the power of prayer that allows us to survive; that pushes us to make our survival meaningful. It is the power of prayer that makes power mongers afraid, because it is the power of prayer that leads us to join with others who also yearn for freedom and peace, to make our prayer come true. Against all odds, it is prayer that changes the course of history, that overthrows oppression, and that lights the path to freedom.

Abraham Joshua Heschel taught us that prayer has to undercut the status quo, opening our soul's eyes to a better answer than what our human eyes have yet seen. This is not the prayer of a ritual service, unless one gets lost in praying, moving more deeply into one's own spirit than any words on a prayer book or songs in a hymnal can reach. When we pray, we reach past words and yoke the power of creation and restoration. As we emerge from this prayer, we bring this empowerment forward, and we find ourselves once again able to assert, "In the beginning, God created light."

Prayer was foundational in the American movement for Civil Rights. It remains foundational as we struggle to move the spirit that demanded legal change into our hearts motivating moral change. We have new laws, but not new hearts. We have protected classes, but alienated people. Were this a first in history, our failures would be devastating, but we know that time and again, groups calling themselves the elite before God have tried to rid the world of all others and in each case they failed.

This week, we read one of the oldest stories of spiritual and moral redemption. Freed from slavery in Egypt, Israel marches forth. Pursued by the oppressors to the shores of the sea, it was not the power of Moses' verbal prayer that opened the sea. Rather, it was the leap of faith that Israel took ... into the shore waters, that made them part. Miracles happen because we pray, not because we recite prayers. In prayer, we restore nature's beauty. In prayer, we end our own captivity. In prayer, we rebuild our communities and our world.

Pray this week, that we restore beauty to ways in which we converse. Pray that we find ourselves able to look into each other's eyes, and seeing God stare back, that we learn to embrace ... even those we do not understand. We were strangers in the land of Egypt. We know the plight of strangers. Pray this week to rid ourselves of the barriers that keep us estranged from one another. As our hearts open; as our soul's eyes take focus, the waters that held us back will part, opening our path back to each other. The shore that stood threatened to be again stained with the blood of slaughtered nations will continue to glisten and invite us to shore in its warmth. The lightning will return to the heavens and reign in the skies. On that day, that we find our prayer for restoration fulfilled, we will all come to know the oneness of our creation and the love with which we are formed. Shabbat Shalom.

Life matters. I think this may be one universal truth upon which the whole world can agree. Life matters. I... wish I could extend the sentence to argue, �ALL life matters.� I pray for the day when I can argue, �ALL life matters EQUALLY.� Alas, at this point in our existence, all I can say is, �Life matters.�
Several years ago, a congregant accosted his Rabbi about how meaningless prayer was in his life. �You have us read a prayer about God bringing peace to the earth. There is no peace on earth!� The Rabbi responded, �This is why it is a prayer and not an affirmation. You are correct; the world is not at peace. How about joining in our prayer to make it happen?� He quickly responded, �People have been saying these prayers for thousands of years, it ain�t working! If there is a God, He hasn�t cared to listen.� The saddened Rabbi thought for a moment and then offered, �Certainly God listened. God heard your cry against injustice; that is why you are here. God cannot do what we will not do. Saying the words of peace, but not doing the work of peace will never bring us peace. You�re aflame with the passion to get rid of the violence � come, let�s work.�
This story always reminds me of a great book title. The book is okay, but the title is amazing: �There Is No Messiah, And You�re It!� The work is not going to be done unless we do the work; if we do the work, the world changes. This is a simple enough formula, so why is it that the world does not change? We have lots of people doing lots of good work, yet it seems as though the news gets worse day after day. Why is it that we cannot seem to make headway on the path to reconciliation with each other?
This weekend begins the annual commemoration of Martin Luther King, Jr. Each year, our nation sets aside special days to honor special Americans. Dr. King�s day falls on the weekend, and his birthday is actually Friday. It happens that Dr. King touched many lives and was influenced by many, as well. One of his most spiritually influential friends was Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. These modern day prophets learned from each other, marched together, and took on racism and the Vietnam War, together. Jointly, they and others opened our eyes and our hearts to see each other�s dignity with greater clarity and with a sense of radical amazement � the epiphanic �wow� that happens when one realizes he is walking amongst miracles � each one of us. They taught us that fear and hate serve only to exile us further from each other. Fear and hate drive us to �circle our wagons� and defend them with violence, if necessary. When stuck in �fear� mode, we fail to see that our �wagons� are actually built just like everyone else�s wagons. Our wagons may look different, they may carry different loads, but they are made from the same stuff.
Why is it that we cannot seem to make headway on the path to reconciliation with each other? We spend more time afraid of affirming each other than healing the breach between us and pushing each other forward. In this week�s Torah portion, the final plague strikes Egypt. Why did it take ten plagues to force Egypt to let Israel go free from slavery? Why did no one stand up to Pharaoh before? We know from history that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. We also know that most people follow even the worst ideologies when they live in a place of privilege or are too afraid to speak up. Egypt�s failure to speak up and stand up to Pharaoh devastated the entire nation. Our story teaches us that our enslavement came because Pharaoh was too afraid at how many Israelites lived in his land. That fear drove an entire nation to do horrific things to their neighbors. One horrific �leader� ultimately caused blight on the animals and the land, illness, and then ultimately the death of the first born in every home and every field. Even as Israel celebrates this day as the day that slavery ended, no one can look past the destruction of an entire civilization because of fear and bigotry. Certainly, this phenomenon replicates throughout history. This was the Inquisition and the Crusades before it. This was the Shoah (Holocaust) and the arrest and interment of Asian Americans in the United States during World War II. This is the story of Black America. This story replicates because humanity has not yet figured out how to experience the blessing of being � for all of us.
Why is it that we cannot seem to make headway on the path to reconciliation with each other? We have not yet learned how to listen to voices of our prophets, biblical and modern: �Amongst each other, we walk among miracles.� The confluence of the King Holiday, the birthdays of these two great men, and the warning provided us in our reading of Torah ought to teach us that world will not heal so long as we accept the status quo. The world is changing and the protection of �privilege� that falsely secures so many is eroding. The day will come soon, when even those who have known power will be only a fraction of a large and diverse society. It is too late then to first open our eyes and our souls to the blessing every person brings to the communal table. I pray that we take the first steps this weekend.
To that end, join us at Monmouth Reform Temple tonight. The choir of Pilgrim Baptist Church will join ours in leading our Sabbath worship. My dear friend Pastor Terrence Porter will help lead our Sabbath Worship. My brother in spirit, Dr. Everett McCorvey (Chair of the Opera Department of the University of Kentucky, Conductor of the National Chorale, and founder of the American Spiritual Ensemble) will preach and join our Cantor in singing. What a night it will be. Services are at 7pm and a dessert fellowship will follow. Shabbat Shalom.

At our religious school assembly for the week, our Cantor spoke about out-of-sync calendars. We are r...eading about the beginning of the Exodus in the Torah cycle, even while the holiday of Passover is months away. Our Torah cycle calendar is not in synch with our holiday calendar. I added that our secular calendar shows that we are in the first month of a new year, but that happened several months ago on our Jewish calendar which by the way, technically begins in the Spring with the month of Nissan. Each of us has multiple new years in our lives, and holidays for one are different than holidays for another. We need to be mindful that time is not static, and that in some piece of our lives, each day is a cause for commemoration. The stories teach lessons that are of value every day, not just on specific days.

As we bring the book of Genesis to a close, we also end our secular year. The stories of creation should help us appreciate that which our daily news strives to obscure. We are one people sharing one heart ... equally sharing this one heart. The end of the book horrifically resembles the end of this year. We are exiled and at war with each other.

Joseph�s dreams and his ability to read dreams take center stage in this week�s Torah portion, as we watch these talents ascend him to power. He was able to help an entire nation imagine both the wonders of luxurious excess and also the depths of famine � and prepare them for both. Joseph�s ability to see past the immediate time and circumstance allowed him to prepare Egypt to live responsibly through the years of plenty and survive the years of drought. Egypt emerged from the 14 years whole and still prepared to grow the empire. No one else understood Pharaoh�s dreams. No one else could comprehend the signs and symbols of feast and famine.
�Imagine there is no end to the grains we will grow for seven years. How could we store them and preserve them, so as to not waste our future?� �Imagine that from the wealthiest to the poorest, we all had to ration our grains so that all Egypt survives.� �Imagine that our prayers over these next fourteen years galvanize in concern for each other�s well-being. We know that if one of us is out of grain, we are all starving.� What did Egypt do? Pharaoh took the grain in years of plenty, and then made people sell themselves into slavery just to get back a portion of their own grain. The rest of the Biblical Egypt story is horrific.
35 years ago, a music icon died after being shot by a disgruntled fan. John Lennon�s death was the tragic on so many levels, not least of which was the loss to the music world and the world�s peace movement. Lennon�s hallmark song is �Imagine.� People love it as it calls on us to dream of a day when we will live in peace. Some people loathe the song, as the lyrics seem to call for an end to all of the institutions (religion, government, etc.) that help us find meaning in life. In truth, many in both camps have missed the crux of his intentions. He did not advocate ending religion; he advocated ending the ways in which we use religion to separate us. He advocated (much as did John Locke) that government should serve to coalesce the people not segregate them from each other (nor from the rest of the world). His plea was also not passive. �You may say I�m a dreamer.� �I hope someday you will join us.� He is not affirming being a dreamer; he asks not to be dismissed as just a dreamer. He asks that people join (not a passive act) in the cause of making peace real. He never shied from acknowledging the racial diversity in his own home or the religious diversity in his musical world. He even wrote a Christmas song. Lennon spoke no differently than did the Biblical prophets, throw down the weapons you have used to exile yourself from your neighbors, and remember that it is not by might or power, but by spirit that we can live in peace.
Joseph was an odd bird. He never fit in with his family but found his calling on the world�s center stage. John Lennon was an introvert who stayed personally insular even when living in the spotlight and sharing his innermost dreams through his music. Joseph did not have any friends and received credit for much of the disruption that plagued his family (to the point that his brothers wanted to kill him). Even at the height of his fame, he lived alone with his wife and sons sequestered from the world. John Lennon� story is not very different. His childhood was rocky, and his relationships were strained. We now know that the Beatles held together for as long as they did because John somewhat marginalized himself to his new wife and drug habit. Joseph emerged from his plight as he rediscovers his brothers and his father. Lennon was just beginning to re-emerge from seclusion as his meditative anti-war/anti-violence messages took hold in the public eye. Then he was shot. His lasting effect on music is undeniably legendary. His lasting effect on �Peace� � well, his message and his death have done nothing for gun control. As to Joseph, well, the Book of Exodus begins, �Then arose a Pharaoh, who knew not Joseph.�
History has witnessed lots of dreamers come and go. Joseph was right, we needed to stand together to prepare for and survive the famine. Lennon was right, we need to join together and be active in turning from weapons and war. Somehow, though, we historically dismiss both of them as simple dreamers who obviously did not understand the real world.
What if we paid attention to what both taught us, and gave them the credit they deserved? How different would Egypt have been if they really did protect each other? How different would our world be if we realized that faith matters more than creating a hierarchy of God�s favorite religions? How different would we live, if we did turn in our weapons for plows and our bombs for grains? Oddly, many religiously argue that Joseph was the fourth Patriarch, and yet, they ignore his call for unity as they walk outside of church and into the real world. Many have deified the Beatles, forgetting their commitment to peace. Their revolution was against war.
I pray that we find ways to give new ears to the messages we have heard and yet ignored for millennia � and for decades. I pray that we remember that everything that changes the world begins with someone�s dream, and that we find ways to honor and dignify dreams rather than relegate them to the world of pure fantasy. �EEM TIRTZU AEN ZOH AGGADAH � if you really want it, it is not just a dream.� Theodore Herzl spoke those words in envisioning a Jewish homeland. If we really want peace, want it enough to join together in its cause; none ever has to again be afraid. You may say I�m a dreamer, but I am not the only one. I hope someday you will join us � and the world will be one.� �On that day, God will be one and God�s name will be one.� Shabbat Shalom.

�What�s love got to do with it?� This is the famous And he wailed. Jacob sees his sons returning from their work in the field. There is a somberness about them. They are carrying something. "Wait, Joseph is not with them! Where is my favorite son? Where is my Joseph? What happened to him? What have you done?" Jacob's sons present their father with the bloody tunic; the very tunic he had so lovingly gifted to Joseph ... his favorite son. And, Jacob wailed. Even the brothers who created the conspiracy to get rid of their brother and hide it from their father were awestruck by their father's grief. For some of the family entourage, these are the mournful tears of a man needing to be held and consoled. For some, these tears are the just desserts for a man who chose favorites from amongst his children. For Joseph's brothers, these had to be tears of incredible sadness ... their sadness. If it were any of them, would their father of cried so? Did he truly love Joseph so much more ... so exclusively? Had they no place in their father's heart? Dad never inquired as to their safety. They hated their brother and believed that getting rid of him would return them to their father's favor. Instead, Jacob, refused consolation and pledged to go to his grave in mourning for his favorite son.

And he wailed. An inner city father watches as police cars pull up to the front of his Georgia home. They are carrying something. "Wait, Joseph is not with them! Where is my favorite son? Where is my Joseph? What happened to him? What have you done?" Joseph Terry Brown was gunned down. There have been an ungodly number of "Josephs" shot in this country this year. For Joseph Brown, it was only one of two major incidents that day. Every victim of the 355 mass shootings in this country ... this year ... left family mourning their loss. Everyone had a loved one at home who heard the news and wailed.

The people gathered around Jacob to try and console him. Gatherings around the country form after each shooting, trying to console each other. Jacob could not be consoled, and the presumed violence done to his son will continue to plague him until the day that he learns that Joseph is still alive. Joseph Brown's family will never experience that relief. Why was the Biblical Joseph to be killed? He was a dreamer. Yes, his dreams aggrandized himself, but in truth, each of his dreams came true. He dreamt that his brothers would bow before him. We will read that in fact they do. His ability to dream and interpret dreams may have saved an entire civilization, but to his jealous brothers, his dreams warranted death. Joseph Brown dreamt of living in a loving relationship with a woman and her children from a previous marriage. His dream cost him his life, as a jealous ex-husband shot the whole family in their home. We will spend several weeks each year telling the story of the Biblical Joseph. Joseph Brown's story got swept away in the wake of an even larger tragedy that day in San Bernardino, California.

355 mass shootings in America this year, so far. That equals more than one a day. The victims' only crimes were wanting to live freely in America. Were we to read about this in other nations, we would be screaming that they were godless people. We would put traveling sanctions for anyone planning on going there. We would be screaming about human rights violations. No, what are we doing? Well, those who are losing loved ones to the violence are screaming in pain. They are wailing. The rest of us are walking in prayer vigils, talking about how horrible the violence is, and then going back to our lives.

We are taught that prayer is only valuable if it moves the one praying to act. To say words of prayer and then move on to the next item on an agenda is not prayer, in fact, it may be blasphemy. IF we pray for and dream of a world at peace, then we need to prepare ourselves to make it so. One cannot make peace with more weapons. One cannot make peace with fear in his heart. IF we want to make peace then we have to realize that if we know that more Torah yields more peace, then more arms must yield more violence. How can we dream of and pray for a messianic day, at the very same time we load our guns prepare for battle? You cannot "WIN" the messianic age, we must earn the peace that it promises. Joseph's dreams saved Egypt. It certainly was uncomfortable for the Egyptians, but in giving up their grain surpluses, they were fed for years when nothing grew. Joseph Brown's dreams ended on December 2, 2015.

What is our role and obligation in this mess? Are we destined to simply sit and pray ... or mourn when it gets too close to home? What is unique about the Biblical Joseph is that he made things happen. He faced the unimaginable and in each setting rose to the top by being proactive in the cause of fulfilling his dreams. I dream of days when the violence will be over. I dream of the day when we will turn our weapons into instruments of creation; when we win the battle of working for peace as opposed to the one we live now, defending ourselves from the next act of violence. Laws need to change. Hearts need to change. We need to learn to love loving and not live fearing. As we read Torah each week, we feel the successes and failures of our ancestors as they play out in the stories. We know, from thousands of years of tradition, that when faced with the choice between living and dying, loving and fearing, growing or shrinking, we must always choose life. Turn the time we spend fearing and grieving into time spent speaking and writing; changing the conversation that fosters the madness into the conversation that heals our spirits. Write city hall, call the Statehouse, visit Congress and make sure you are heard in a meaningful
way. Shabbat Shalom.

�What�s love got to do with it?� This is the famous question Tina Turner asked in her hit song from... the 80�s. I never liked the song, and it had nothing to do with Tina or the song itself. I am of the generation stuck on Jackie DeShannon�s �What the World Needs Now is Love Sweet Love.� We will ignore the awkward �Love Story� interlude of �Love means never having to say you're sorry.�

In a couple of weeks, Lori and I will celebrate five years of marriage. I am blessed that she is in my life. At the same time, I work to figure out what it means to celebrate now my second, fifth wedding anniversary. Cindy has been gone going on eight years; we had just hit 23 years before she passed. So, as blessed as I am with Lori, there is a part of each anniversary that makes me walk through a d�j� vu moment, or as we learned from the movie "The Matrix," a glitch in the matrix. Of course, each day is different, but the concept of marking time-based watershed moments is a little schizophrenic. As weird as this sounds, it is as if I have been born now, three times. It was with some amusement that I read a random commentary on Torah that affirmed that in fact, I have been.

In discussing the Isaac story, Torah teaches, "Isaac was forty years old when he took Rebecca ... as a wife." (25:20) A Midrash written by 16th Century Rabbi Menachem Azariah DeFano taught, "For three years, from the Binding of Isaac at age 37 to his marriage at age 40, Isaac was in the Garden of Eden." Entrance to the Garden is thought to be reserved for the dead. There is a host of commentaries on what it means that Isaac died and then experienced resurrection. We know that tradition uses this three year period as preparation for Isaac's rebirth. The late Lubavitcher Rebbe Menachem Schneerson reminded us, "The Zohar refers to marriage as a person's second birth: first, the soul enters into the body and assumes a physical existence, then, at a later point in life, it further "descends" into the physical state by marrying."

The idea that the soul "descends" further into the physical state upon marriage is not a pejorative statement. When one marries, one becomes more deeply entrenched in the physical world. We become bound by the needs of providing for family needs. We spend more and more time/energy/focus fulfilling tangible needs with less left for the pursuit of the spiritual embrace of divinity. We have to be intentional in fashioning a commitment to spiritual engagements and growth no differently than small children have to experience growing past their obsession with toys. At some point, to live successfully, one must accept the responsibilities of his/her education and growth, even while weaning away from childhood.

I often have to remind myself that we are born to create miracles. We are divinely created beings whose purpose is to repair the brokenness in our world. We are born to create holiness in the world while often horrifically distracted. The idea that Isaac spent three years in the Garden of Eden allowed him to "reboot" his spiritual system, allowing him to enter into his marriage with Rebekah primed to stay focused on holiness. Our real world does not work this way. Even while we prepare to enter into new relationships, we are stuck, struggling to keep our physical world afloat. On the one hand, this notion of rebirth in marriage is arduous. Not only have we been struggling to grow our lives, but upon marriage, we have to jump into taking on the burden of growing two plus lives, and not stepping on each other as we do it. When we are single, it does not matter whether the toilet seat stays up or down. You understand, I am sure.

However, this rebirth gives one a second chance on refocusing one's life. I was not the same person after marrying Cindy than I was before. I learned a lot about compassion, about sharing, about celebrating the opportunity to be responsible for and with people I love. Five years ago, I was blessed with the opportunity to renew, again. I am again, a person with different vision since marrying Lori, than I was single, married to Cindy, or widowed after her death. This renewal does not invalidate any piece of my previous incarnations. Rather, it validates the power of faith. When merging lives, our world view grows. Where we pay attention, we learn how to celebrate better that which we already believed sacred and how to rethink ideals that we took for granted, or to which we held tightly when we should have let go. Look, though, at all of the experience we have from which to draw, even while being "born again." Thus, marriage should be synergistic. We should be able to bring our own authentic selves into this renewal of marriage and create something a whole lot more powerful than any of us are by ourselves.

Similarly, the braided candle for Havdalah reminds us that we bring more light ... more powerful energy, when we merge wicks into one flame. So, I have been born three times over the course of my life. Each has pushed me to grow and learn, struggle and resolve, and to share blessings that only multiply as I grow and as we grow together. Modeh anee lefancekha. I give thanks, everyday, God, for these opportunities for renewal, and for the partnerships in which I have been blessed to share. I will try to grow up a third time, and with faith, do and be better with my life partners. Shabbat Shalom.

As we read through scripture, we always have to be aware that translations are tricky. I have written at length about the need to remember that Hebrew is not an exact language. Without vowels and sentence structure, we can read the text in multiple ways. When we read the English, the translator chose the "only possible reading" for us. Most of the time, the value of this reality is that it keeps the text from being stagnant; it holds lots of possible readings and meanings. There are occasions, however, that we do not know how to translate words. We can translate most through context and word relationships the Hebrew has to other ancient languages. In the first Genesis Creation story, when we get to day five, God "creates" "T'ninim." We have no idea what the word means. If one looks at English translations, one would find "dinosaurs," "Leviathan," "crocodiles," "sea monsters," "whales," and a host of other "creature type" attempts to translate the word. Some translators are honest and simply translate the word similarly to the way I did above.

We find another such word in this week's Torah portion. After the destruction of Sodom and just before the "test" of which we read on Rosh Hashanah, Abraham and the Philistine King Abimelech make a pact between them. Abraham then seals the deal by planting an "Aeshel." We, again, have no idea what it is. Translations give us "tamarisk," "strip of land," "special tree," or simply the translation of the Hebrew word. The Hebrew word consists of three letters: Aleph, Shin, and Lamed. As I was trying to figure out what this word meant, I read a commentary that had a little Rabbinic fun with it (of course this says a lot about what "fun" means in our context). He broke the word apart and posited that Abraham planted a place where one could eat (achilah beginning with aleph), drink (sh'tiyah beginning with the shin), and accompaniment (levayah beginning with the lamed). He planted a Hotel. The commentary focused on the last piece: accompaniment. The argument was that Abraham was such a devotee of peace and love that each morning, after he served his guests, he would accompany them part way on their journey. He wanted to ensure their safety, that they had food and drink, and were headed in the proper direction.

I could not look past the notion of "planted." We build buildings. We build objects. We plant life. We plant with the expectation of growth. The city of Sodom was just destroyed. Abraham does not build shelter; he sits amongst the planted trees of nature and plants ... whatever he plants. The idea that he planted a hotel that brought people together in meaningful relationships has to be juxtaposed to the buildings of Sodom and the callousness of Sodomites that were simply swept away. Where we feel rooted with each other, everything that follows flourishes. Think about it. Have you ever walked into a restaurant and felt alienated because the people there simply walked through the walls of the building? How about the times that a server takes an active interest in you/your party? Remember the show "CHEERS?" It was not just a bar, it was the "beit knesset (meeting house)" for people whose lives revolved around each other. This is what we mean when we talk about planting roots in a community. Life has meaning because of the people with whom we share our time. We do not, or should not, simply exist standing next to each other. Being rooted next to each other, we feed from the same natural resources. We cross pollinate, adding sustaining nutrition to each other's spirit. If we poison someone's well (figuratively or physically) we drink from those waters. If the atmosphere is untenable for some, it erodes the support for all of our roots.

We have an obligation to appreciate each other's rootedness. We have an opportunity to share in each other's blessings. We have only a limited span of years in which to fill our lives with meaning and value. It is time to plant our roots with each other, committing to caring for the spiritual, physical, and ecological environment that will concurrently sustain us all. Shabbat Shalom.

I met a homeless man the other day. I was delivering our synagogue food collection to a food pantry/homeless shelter. We spoke briefly after the truck was unloaded. I asked him his story. He used to be in management for a business that went bankrupt. He lost his house and eventually, his family. He had another offer, but could not cope with the way his career had derailed. "I hit bottom." I asked him how he found his way to the shelter to seek help. "Someone told Abraham that journeys were leaps of faith." Ok, I know this story. Abraham had it all. Abraham had money and family. Abraham had servants. Still, God called Abraham and he left his comfortable land and went on a journey. I was not sure of his connection with the story. Abraham was a wealthy man who voluntarily left it all when he heard God's call. He had a lot to lose if it did not turn out well. Abraham took a leap of faith. But this man? He had already lost everything. What was his risk? "Deciding that life had to have meaning was my leap of faith."

In that instant, I saw Abraham standing right in front of me. We make lots of presumptions about Biblical characters. Beyond the debate of whether or not they actually existed, we take the snippets that we get about their life stories, and build lengthy biographies. What if Abraham had all the material goods any one could think to want, but lacked any depth in his soul? The Torah is relatively silent about the first 75 years of his life. We are told that he is born, and that his father takes him traveling. The sages felt the need to fill in the years with stories of spiritual heroism. He sustains himself in a cave until he is three years old to avoid being killed by the evil King Nimrod. He smashes his father's idols awakening his father to the hypocrisy of idolatry. He walks through a fiery furnace unscathed. Sages created all of these stories to justify how, or better, why, he merited God's call. Why did he have to be a hero in order to hear God?

Standing with this man at the shelter, I found affirmation in a teaching I hold dear, "God speaks to all people; some of us listen." Torah did not include any stories of Abraham's youth intentionally. Abraham lived a mundane existence. He amassed wealth, but had nothing of spiritual value to show for his years. I imagine that he struggled to find meaning in life, and when he truly learned that all of his possessions provided him with little or no enlightenment, he searched for something more. He did not leave his fortunes behind. His wealth was not the problem. His simply lacked any reason to be excited about appreciating the miracle of being. Standing with this man at the shelter, I came to grips with something new, "We can all be heroes." It takes faith to not only admit that you are stuck, but then to take the first steps on the journey to find faith. We cannot prove that any next moment is going to happen, and yet, we forge through life fully faithful that there is some reason for doing so. It takes a lot of faith to admit that even when you have everything money can buy, without faith, none of it matters. Abraham's leap of faith was no different than that of the man with whom I conversed.

Perhaps this is why people pursue power; they have not yet learned that having more stuff, money, or power does not translate into experiencing greater value in life. This is not to say that resources to do the things we want to do has no value, but every day we read about people who, despite having more than we can imagine having still crave more. Wars exist because there are people who never feel that they "have" enough.

We have to learn to see living as an opportunity for blessing. God tells Abraham, go on this journey. You will be blessed by others on the way. This man at the shelter has experienced each of these blessings on his path to recovery. In pursuing their own faith journeys they brought blessings to others with whom they shared their stories. Most of us are not as financially well endowed as Abraham, nor caught in the depths of rebuilding a ruined life as is my new friend. Somewhere in between, each of us are wrestling with our own faith journeys. We know, though, blessings exist and simply wait for our acknowledgment. However Abraham heard the call, it took a voice to wake him to this epiphany. For my friend, it was a priest who held him in hope. We have such amazing power for inspiration. Who will hold us? Who will we be blessed to hold? Shabbat Shalom.

Noakh ish tzaddik, Tamim b'dorotov. Noah was a righteous man, perfect in his generation. Noah built an ark because God warned that the flood was coming. Noah put his family on the ark and, in an orderly fashion, brought two of each animal (7 sets of each kosher animal) onto the ark, saving them from the promised flood waters. The rain came and came ... and came. For 40 days and nights the rain fell. The waters overflowed the banks and filled the valleys. By the time the rain ceased to fall, the earth was covered in water, passed the highest of mountain peaks. Presumably the fish of the sea survived, but all other life on earth perished. Noah was a righteous man, perfect in his generation.

Noah never asked about anyone else. Noah did not even ask to save his grandfather Methuselah. Noah never asked about the innocent animals. Noah took care of Noah. Noah was a righteous man ... perfect in a generation that merited the flood for their behaviors that served only to destroy humanity. At least until he got drunk after emerging from the ark, Noah never offered a word of remorse or regret.

Maybe he got drunk, not knowing what to do with his grief over a world destroyed. Certainly, the innocent animals died for no reason other than that they were not the first two of their species in line. Perhaps, he got drunk unable to cope with having to live amidst all of the rotting bloated corpses of everything that drowned, and now lay on the open ground since the water had receded. Perhaps he just got drunk because even as a drunk, he was still the best his generation had to offer. Either way, Noah inherits a world where death is larger than life and where growth of anything alive happens only in the shadow of the rot and decay of human and animal flesh.

We have spent thousands of years manipulating the stories presented in Torah to teach relevant moral lessons. Each generation has read some different nuance into the text, using it to solve some sociological problem it faced. This elasticity is built into scripture. The ability to manipulate the text serves the purpose of having a text ... it begins conversation.
History is a completely different animal. Yes, history is always seen through the eyes of the historian. When, however, we start revising history to twist the truth so that it comports with a politically or sociologically manipulative agenda, we damage the foundations of society. When we become so politically motivated that we have to win a debate, even at the cost of truth, we destroy a piece of the world. When, like Noah, we show concern only for our own immediate and tangible network, at the expense of all other life, the world may not be worth inheriting.

Over the ages, we have seen politicians and military leaders trying to rewrite history. The American Civil War had nothing to do with slavery. The Confederate Flag has never been a hate symbol. September 11 happened because the Supreme Court was liberal. Now we read that Jews have no history on the Temple Mount. We read about a young boy "executed" by Israelis after he stabbed a Jewish child just for being Jewish. We then see a picture of him in an Israeli hospital ... very much alive, being medically treated by the very people he vowed to destroy. What is maddening is that people believe the nonsense.

Buying into revisionist history destroys the world because it causes us to behave in ways that history should teach us are only destructive. Scripture is malleable, history is real. Yes, there will always be nuanced readings of history, but we cannot try and pretend that things that happened did not or that people who existed did not. I do not know whether there was a Moses or not. I absolutely know that there is a nation rooted in the foundations of Judaism that lived and thrived in Jerusalem with a religious life focused on the temple that stood atop that area where the two great mosques of Islam now stand. I know, absolutely that in the 1967 War, when Israel reclaimed the area of Old Jerusalem that includes the retaining wall and Temple Mount, the Rabbis refused to let the Military destroy the mosques because it was now shared holy ground.

Our Temple and their Mosques shared the same holy ground. Of what purpose could rewriting this history serve, except to alienate people from each other, a clear violation of everything that Jews and Muslims hold sacred. My colleagues have declared this to be "Solidarity Shabbat." As Jews are being randomly attacked with knives, we have to hold sacred the lives forever altered by hate: the lives of the victims and their families and the lives of the perpetrators who gave in to the message of hate. Solidarity cannot be a matter of holding tight to one victim over another. My prayer for solidarity is for the Godliness ... "Allah-ness" that should help us appreciate each other and the blessings that we can share with each other will see us past the distractions that make us lose focus on each other's holiness.

However one chooses to read the Noah story, he failed at being humane. One cannot know what would have happened if he only said, "God, please ... no, there has to be a better way." We cannot fail. This week, show solidarity with each person with whom we share the same creator. It is time for the voice of unity to sing loudly that this is not my world or your world. Every time we try to change that truth, it becomes a world that welcomes neither of us. We are each made in the very same image of God; a child of the same miraculous phenomenon of birth. I have no hope for the future if I have no ability to love you today. Shabbat Shalom.

"Where have all the flowers gone." For a host of reasons, I hate loving this song: especially at this time of year. I look forward to loving this song, when it will no longer speak to me. This song is about the cycle of life and death. Our life cycles are a normal part of living, but this song speaks about anything but a normal life cycle. The moment we come into being, we know that our time on earth is finite. This song reminds us that this already finite time keeps being cut short as hopes are dashed, as violence perpetuates ... as hopes are dashed. The flowers get picked by young girls who marry young men. The young men go off to war to die, be buried and replenish the soil that promotes flowers.

We have just experienced the Jewish New Year. We are renewing our calendar cycle. We are moving from Summer into Fall, with the expectations that we will continue from Fall into Winter to Spring and then back to Summer. Changes in seasons bring changes in the demeanor of both the weather and the earth that endures or celebrates the weather changes. We get hurricanes and we get flowers. The change in seasons brings joy and hope. The cycle continues over and over again each year. This is why I find myself unable to look at each New Year and not hear this song playing over and over in my head.

Just a short period into this New Year, we completed a monumental march for justice. We walked 1000 miles to call attention to the violence we still have to endure in this world. We marched against the spiritual violence of discrimination and degradation. We marched against the physical violence that takes precious life from our earth. Whether it is the police officer shot or having shot, the wars across the world, or the reality that in the secular year of 2015, Americans have witnessed 295 mass shootings (4 or more people injured or killed) in 280 days; 45 of those have happened in our schools. We have not experienced more than 8 days in a row this year, without a mass shooting. These numbers do not include the broader picture: 30,000 more victims in almost 40,000 gun incidents this year. Dating back to 2004, over 400,000 people have died by firearms on American soil. This horrifying statistic shows that we have lost more people to gun violence in this country than we lost to all of the Vietnam War ... multiplied by three ... and in less years than it took to fight the one war that happened. Our horrific reality is that it is safer to send our children into military war than to school or the store. These acts of violence do not even touch the injuries/deaths caused by our abuse of nature or power, or our neglect of folks around us who perish in our lack of concern for health care, housing, and hunger..

This week we read about the creation of the world. We just celebrated it weeks ago, and now we are studying all of the possible intentions behind the act of creation. After each act, God felt that what God had done was good. The only act over which God equivocates is the creation of humanity. Still, though, God gives us dominion over the earth and entrusts us with stewardship over everything that God created. It is time for a check in with truth. Our biography is not our destiny, and tomorrow, we have the power to change the entire world. Enough people die naturally, as we are supposed to die, to replenish the fields of flowers for our young girls to pick. In some parts of our tradition, we believe that our purpose is to actually finish the act of creation. God fashioned the piece of art but needs us to finish and polish the rough edges. A new archeological find demonstrates that our "human" origins are 10 million years old. Over the course of 10 million years, I fear that instead of polishing we are chipping away at the surface. Instead of fine sandpaper, we expect sledgehammers to do the job. We have breached our covenant of stewardship. Still though, there are the voices that remind us of our higher selves; who help us lift from the nightmares of violence to remember the teaching of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, "Just to be is a blessing. Just to live is holy." So I defy the vision my eyes see in the news, and still, every year celebrate the hope to make real the vision of my soul. "We shall overcome." "We will beat our swords into ploughshares and spears into pruning hooks." "None shall be afraid."

Where have all the young men gone? I pray that the young men who grow to love and appreciate these young girls picking flowers as they mature, live long enough to celebrate their love ... in safety and in peace. Shabbat Shalom.

It is rare that I find myself reading things I wrote years back and find myself nodding my head as though I read and /or spoke them for the first time in this Torah cycle. I wrote this commentary several years ago. With the gamut of emotional experiences that have pulled at me this year, I find myself needing to remember that we all have the necessity to sing or own song. We need to take our own soulful inventories and write our own Torah. Please bear with me, as I share this piece this week; it is cathartic for me. I pray that this New Year sees us in good health ... and in good voice ...

Anybody remember Barry Manilow? He wrote the songs to make the whole world sing, well ... he sang the song, but, actually, a guy named Bruce Johnston wrote it. I think of Barry (and by extension, Bruce) every year when we get to this part of the Torah. The very final command in Torah happens in this week's portion. It is the command to each person to write his/her own Torah. God tells Moses, "Now therefore write this song and teach it to the people of Israel. Put it in their mouths, that this song may be My witness as to the people of Israel." The "song" is the Torah; all of it. Some may argue that God was referring only to this piece of the text, it is not our tradition to isolate pieces of text for transcribing - scribes copy the text, the whole text, and nothing but the text.

As you have read here many times, the literal Torah is the least valuable use of Torah. Perhaps the sages really intended that each person should own a full parchment Torah, but I think that would be too simplistic. It might be nice if every home had its own Torah scroll, but too many sit on the shelves gathering dust; kind of like my Rabbinic Thesis (written in 1995 and never opened since). We own lots of books, but that does not mean that we use them.

I want to believe that the command for us to each write our own Torah is far more personalized. Unlike Bruce and Barry, I am not interested in writing a song for the whole world to be able to sing ... my life song. I want to write a song that is unique to me, for me to sing; for me to live out. It is not that I do not want to share, but when it comes right down to it, I cannot imagine describing my life by someone else's song. Roberta Flack found it most uncomfortable to sit and listen to a performer "kill her softly" as he sang as if he knew her whole life story, looking past her ... as if she were not even there (see the song "Killing Me Softly"). We need to own our own story, and we are rightfully uncomfortable when people know more about us than we know about ourselves. When this happens, we have to think deeply about how much we are or are not paying attention to our own lives.

Herein is the crux of Torah's final command, as I see it. The text is not really telling us to copy the Torah; it is telling us to be intentional about writing our own song and our own book. We are supposed to be intentional about telling our story and living our lives in such a way that anyone who might chance through our pages will take away something of value for having engaged us. In doing so, we have to spend a great deal of time and energy in introspection, in prayer, in reflection ... in the work of self-awareness. This process sounds easy, but too many of us do not have the time, energy, or patience to do this work, and we spend our lives trying to mimic someone else's song.

It is never a crime to learn from each other. It is a gift we give each other, to help people move to better places in their lives. When we emulate some behavior or demonstrate some blessing that adds missing pieces back into their own unique puzzle, their world changes. My good friend Steve Dropkin once told me that if a musician hears a song he really likes and wishes he wrote it, he should be patient for he will actually do so. I never understood what he meant until I started paying attention to the heavy influence some musicians had on other musician's work. Of course, Abraham Joshua Heschel taught us that music was the prayer of the soul, and there are songs that strike me at the core of my soul, every time I hear them. We all have those songs that grip our hearts - there is nothing more exhilarating or more emotional than to hear a song and find yourself crying in the middle of it. The blessing of being adds meaningful chapters to one's own Torah. This is an incredible gift. When that gift comes from our interaction with each other, we bring understanding and healing to the world.

At this time of year, tradition calls on us to perform a "kheshbon ha nefesh - an inventory of the soul." Tradition calls on us to crawl inside ourselves and investigate what makes us tick. We need to read the book pages already published and see if they tell the story of our own lives ... the way we want to be remembered. It is time to celebrate the blessings and heal the breeches. With Torah's final command, we bridge the distance between heaven and earth. As we prepare to finish reading this Torah cycle and immediately being the next, we note that the final word of Torah is Yisrael; the last letter is a lamed. The first word of the Torah is Bereishit; the first letter is baet. Together, the lamed and baet spell "lev - heart." It is with a full heart that we do our introspection. It is with a full heart that we give our best to each other. May we have more and more heart to give as we continue to grow in spirit. Shabbat Shalom.

We were all there. We were there when the covenant sealed between God and humanity. The text tells us that we were there � all of us � everyone who came before and all who would come after. That moment bound all of us to God and God to us. It was l�olam � forever. Our tradition teaches us that this was a sacred moment. Everyone from the reaches of all eternity, stood at the foot of Mt. Sinai in awe and proclaimed before God, �Na-aseh v�nishmah - All that we perceive, we will do.� It is a magical explanation describing and defining our interrelationship and interconnectedness.
Then, we were all there again. We were there when a different covenant sealed. We were there � all of us � everyone who came before us and all who will come after. That moment bound us all. It, too, was l�olam � forever. We stood at the foot of the Towers and in horror cried, �We cannot believe what we perceive, and we do not know what to do.� Everyone who was there, and everyone who was not there � all of our disparate souls merged in those moments.
14 years ago, we witnessed the unthinkable and unbelievable. We had become jadedly accustomed to reading and hearing about wars and atrocities in other parts of the world. We could see photos and films of war-ravaged parts of the world. It could never happen here! It had happened here. IT happened at Pearl Harbor. It had happened here, all of the wars of the old West, the wars of rebellion. The wars that pit brother against brother on our battlefields � they all happened here. They were door to door battles that tore up schools, churches, playgrounds, and families. Still, the shock we experienced on September 11, 2001, was life altering and, for at least most of America, completely off the charts and unexpected.
The posturing began. The late Jerry Falwell and his cohort Pat Robertson seemed to know it was coming. They stood in front of a shocked nation and blamed Americans for removing God�s protective cloak from our country � and for the attack. Media gave them airtime, even as the real drama continued to unfold. The real heroes continued to risk their own lives to save lives, retrieve bodies and body parts. They worked to diminish continued risk to the rest of the area and the rest of America.
Were we really at Sinai? Do we remember our covenant? The covenant did not allow for the ugliness and vitriol that we experience with folks with whom we disagree. The covenant called on us to love God and all that God created; to respect each other�s dignity; to remember that we all come from the very same stuff. The sages tell us that this covenant should lead us to bridge the gaps that keep us exiled from each other.
Were we really together on 9/11? As defining a moment as it is for so many of us, we have an entire generation who never experienced life before that day. The attack is as distant as Pearl Harbor, Gettysburg, or the Boston Tea Party. We don�t, or better, can�t remember that which we never experienced. We cannot feel what eyewitnesses felt when our closest relationship to an event is a news clipping or textbook.
Still though, the covenant still changed the world. The attack on 9/11 changed the world. Whether or not we experienced the event, our world is dramatically different than it ever was. Because we share this world and are dependent on each other for the preservation of all life on it, we de facto acknowledge this mutual covenant. We are blessed with the tools to do amazing things, and we have to use them for blessing. It is this very covenant that saw us through the disaster of 9/11. With all of the craziness and ugliness spewed by the terrorists and the radicals here, most of us found ways to care for each other and help hold and restore each other. We are strong today and not diminished because we know that we matter to each other. Whatever we believe about the three letter word �GOD,� those of us who pay attention accept without reservation, that we are bound in this together. Quite literally, and with intention I say that we are the phoenix that arose from the ashes. I approach this Shabbat affirming our covenant and affirming our connection. While the trauma is very real, so are the connections that we have shared, grown, and nurtured ever since. We are blessed to have a tradition that commands us to pay attention and to always choose blessings. Shabbat Shalom.

I have been an activist all of my adult life. Some will call me a flaming liberal. Oddly many others think that I am too traditional. For those who know me, this you will find humorous. People once accused me of being an Orthodox Rabbi trying to force Liberal Jews to become Orthodox. I may certainly lean liberal in these days, but in other generations, my answers and soap box issues might lean to the right. In the end, I am one person who tries to think beyond myself and concentrate on caring for the needs of others around me. I am not always "in touch," but today is a day that screams off of the pages of history to me.

I have dedicated a great deal of time, love, risk, and energy to the cause of equality in this country and in Israel. I have had amazing teachers and colleagues who have helped me see beyond that which I was capable of seeing before our engagement. While I know how blessed I am to have shared in these experiences, it is mornings like this that a piece of me wishes that I could hide in ignorance.

52 years ago today, thousands of people descended on Washington to hear one the most remembered speeches in history. Dr. Martin Luther King gave his "Dream" speech. It is one of the most remembered and misused speeches in history. Dr. King's dream was not about racial equality. Dr. King spoke about the barriers that keep us from recognizing the dignity and sanctity of life. Just before he gave that speech, Rabbi Joachim Prinz spoke. Rabbi Prinz spoke about God's mandate for righteous equality. He made it clear that this was not a problem for Black America; this was a problem for all America. Our tradition teaches that when one is oppressed, none are free. We also know that the perpetrator and the victim are both victims of hate. That day, Prinz emphasized that the problem in this country was not rooted in the injustices committed upon minorities. The problem was that so many who witnessed those injustices and who intrinsically knew they was wrong said nothing about it. "[B]igotry and hatred are not the most urgent problem. The most urgent, the most disgraceful, the most shameful and the most tragic problem is silence." When we walk by and see each other in trauma, it is one problem not to understand the problem. It is a far greater sin to see the trauma, understand it and still let it happen.

Torah commands us to come to each other's aid. This week, we are reminded that if we see our neighbor's animal in trauma, we must stop and help. Torah does not make this an optional request. All the more so, where our neighbors are in trauma, we must respond; this, too, is not optional. This teaching is not unique to Judaism; it is foundational in every faith tradition of which I have studied. Still, though, we have seen such an increase in violence, in discrimination, in religious manipulation ... in all of the things that drive wedges between neighbors. We foster communal responses to trauma that are intolerable to maintain. Even while we know that gun violence is greater in this country than anywhere else in the world, people still want more guns in the streets. The racial divide, the gender-based discrimination, the maltreatment of our senior populations are all the subject of legislation that falls on deaf ears in a world now hell bent on personal gain and power.

I am amazed at how many "anti-gay marriage" politicians changed their minds once someone in their family came out as gay. I am saddened at how many "anti-Obama-care" politicians changed their votes when they had a relative who, though hard working, could not get insurance coverage due to a pre-existing condition. I was horrified that it took racially motivated slaughter to make politicians see the danger of the "Confederate Flag." While we celebrate their enlightenment, it only more deeply proves how deeply our leadership lacks empathy.

If it does not touch our homes, too many of us can hear or read about nightmares in the news, and then go about our business without another thought. This is why there are protests and marches. How unfortunate it is that we have not learned how to care for each other, without needing to have trauma smack us in the face. My dream is that we will not be silent. My dream is that the vast majority of us who feel each other's pain will act and not watch. We cannot remain silent and expect the world to change holistically on its own accord. There are lots of good people in this country. We just need to do more to exemplify this goodness to help change people's hearts, and in turn change the way in which we respond to each other. We are responsible for caring for each other. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Shoftim

by Rabbi Marc Kline

My late father used to say, "The road to Hell was paved with the best of intentions." There are times we want to do something huge, but the way in which we go about doing it creates more problems than it solves. Comically, I always think of the kids in the kitchen making "Mother's Day Breakfast." They call mom to breakfast, and she walks in to see the disaster zone that used to be called her kitchen. Tragically, I think of the Good Samaritan, who stops to help someone in seeming trouble on the side of the road, only to get mugged in a set-up. With the best of intentions, sometimes things go all wrong.

For hundreds of years, our nation has experienced a battle for equality between those who are privileged and those who are outside of the privilege. One is privileged when living so oriented to one's own way of life / religion / gender / etc. that they have no ability to see the plight of those outside of that "norm." When we speak of "White Privilege," "Christian Privilege," " Male Privilege," or any other "privilege," we speak of a majority population lacking experience or insight to see how one takes one's rights for granted. Privilege does not presume that people are bad, only that they are ignorant beyond their own experiences in the world. They may mean well, they may dedicate their lives to caring for people, but the plight of the "other" is outside of their frame of reference until someone or something helps expand their vision.

Hundreds of years have passed as Americans worked to mold this country into a "Just Society." Despite these great efforts, we are still fighting, and the most often cited mandate for this fight happens in this week's Torah portion.

"Tzedek, tzedek, tirdoff:" one of the most famous lines from all scripture. Unfortunately, it is also one of the most misunderstood lines in all of scripture. We commonly translate the text as, "Justice, Justice, You must pursue (it)." Justice is the rule of law. The scales of justice hang in every courthouse in the country. Justice is really nothing more than the best answer we have for any given legal situation, at any given point in time. Justice allowed slave ownership. The highest "Court of Justice" in the land affirmed it on a number of occasions ... until it did not. Then, a new standard of "Justice" was imposed. We are not seeking justice; we have it. With the best of intentions, we have fought a system of inequality arguing that the law needs to change. Laws change every day. There is a host of laws supporting equality. People had to fight and suffer for the enactment of these laws. After the laws changed, hearts did not, and the fight and suffering that went into bringing about change, the best of intentions, failed. They have, however, served to incite animosity and degradation as people who always believed themselves to be good people felt slapped in the face with lawsuits and protests. Their response was as painful. What needs to change is the heart. What we need is righteousness, the better definition of "Tzedek." We must pursue righteousness (the best moral answer available to us). Sometimes, following the law may be "just," but it is not righteous. Torah teaches us that an eye for an eye will serve only to leave us all blind. Dr. King taught that if we want to end the cycle of degradation that breeds hate, the only answer is love. We must example the attitude we seek to establish. Our own tradition teaches that there is nothing more sacred than turning an enemy into a friend. Angry protests have never accomplished the creation of relationships between opposing parties.

Monday, August 17, I joined in the N.A.A.C.P. Journey for Justice; an amazing event on so many levels. As many conversations as we shared, we kept returning to the topic of the laws affirmed by government and our purveyor of justice (the courts) still allowed for discrimination and disparate treatment of minorities and women. As we walked across the Georgia countryside, we became more focused on pursuing righteousness, holding our nation's leaders to a higher standard than the law. We marched to remind America that the Constitution of this land declared the rights to equality in opportunity and security are "inalienable." While the law is more egalitarian than it used to be, our system of justice still has a long way to go before we begin to govern in righteousness. My 19.5 miles calling our nation's attention to more righteous answers did not change the world, but our voices over 860 miles can. We just have to be willing to engage people who want to engage us ... and commit to growing from the experience.
Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Re'eh

by Rabbi Marc Kline

S�ren Kierkegaard said, "It is very dangerous to go into eternity with possibilities which one has oneself prevented from becoming realities. A possibility is a hint from God. One must follow it." We are our own worst enemies, as we hold ourselves back. It is only with vision that we can thrive, and yet there are many who dream ... but then ignore their own dreams (and everyone else's), passing them off as pure folly. We know from our tradition, "Eem teertzoo, aen zoh agadah - If you really want something, it is not simply a dream." Without the ability to see past the obstacles that stand in the way of fulfilling our dreams, we have nothing.

"Re'eh, Anokhi notaen lifnaekhem hayom brakha v'klalah - Behold, I set before you today a blessing and a curse." Our Torah portion begins with words of vision. God has set before the people a vision of the blessings and the curses available to them. The text instructs us to associate choosing the "blessing" with a life of progress and joy. With the "curse," we experience a form of death that keeps us depressed and afraid of every next moment we exist. We have to choose which makes the best sense. In every case, we are instructed to choose life. This dichotomy sounds really simple, but we know reality is never simple. There are few, if any, who would argue that they intentionally want the curse. We all want the blessings; the fruits of prosperity and joy. So many want to do what is right but end up hurt anyway.

The first command of this portion is to "SEE!" The text seems to take for granted that we have the capacity not only to see but then to distinguish in what we see-- the blessings from the curses. We all witness the same news and events in the daily life of the world, and yet we find ourselves at odds over how we interpret their impact on life. One person saw spoiled milk while another saw sour cream. Some saw a threat to Benjamin Franklin's life when the lightning bolt hit his kite. Ben saw the ability to focus and harness electricity. More recently, for Supremacist factions of "White America," Martin Luther King, Jr. was an existential threat to their preferred way of life. For an oppressed minority population, he opened the gateway to equality.

Over the course of the last 15 years, every major denomination in this country ran surveys and developed a "Pew Report" from the responses. Many have wept and grieved over the death of religion in America. Many others find hope because people responded and gave us valuable information as to what tradition is missing for the next generations. Spirituality has lost no ground in this country. Many people argue that Americans are more in search of meaningful spiritual engagement than ever before. We have to understand that they are just not finding it in traditional houses of worship which have not themselves evolved. The prophet Jeremiah spoke words from God intended to change hearts and minds. The people of his day jailed him for being insane. Even in losing people we love, we get to celebrate that they touch our lives.

The difference between the blessing or the curse is not God made; we make it. When we choose to see the negative in any situation and in each other, we cannot expect to feel blessed. When we lack the ability to celebrate each other's vision, especially when their eye sees things that we cannot, we bring the curse upon each other. We have the ability to see past ourselves, to see our way into fulfilling the dreams that we know could change our world. What keeps us from this blessing, and locked in the curse, is that we lack faith to believe that we have this power and this gift. All that happens to us is neither a blessing nor a curse, until we decide what to do with it.

Whatever the hardship we can find blessings, and in even the most joyous of circumstance, if we really want, we can find agonizing pain. "Oo-v'khartah b'khayeem - therefore choose life."

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Eikev

by Rabbi Marc Kline

Growing up in Las Vegas, many of my youthful memories are tied to the "stars" who made the city. Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr, Elvis, Frank Sinatra, Barbara Streisand, and the list goes on. My father was an OB/GYN, and took care of many of the showgirls. They came in already made up to go to work, and I worked in Dad's office until it became clear to him that I was too old (from the perspective of my hormonal development) to be an effective employee (I was 14). As I said, we somehow framed conversations about everyday life in terms of celebrities ... and vice versa.

One of the most memorable descriptions came from my now late brother David. As a teenager, he was obsessed with Olivia Newton John ... pre-"Grease." To tell you something about David, he loved her because ... "If white bread could sing, it would sound like Olivia Newton John." I was just out visiting my mom and, of course, conversations became reminiscences. Olivia is currently performing in Vegas, and we could not miss the opportunity to share in this memory.

In preparing for this Shabbat, I could not get this thought out of my head ... especially after reading, "Man does not live by bread alone." Given my relatively new found disdain for processed white bread, the metaphor of a bread debate took over my thoughts. How could we possibly survive on bread alone, when there is such diversity in the bread world? We know that bread is a basic staple, but in even the finest of breads, most of the basic food groups beyond carbohydrates are sorely lacking. Each slice of bread needs to be paired with proteins, fats, vegetables, etc. to make for not only a tasty meal, but one which can truly sustain our growth and celebration of life. The variations of Rye, Wheat, Grain, Gluten Free, and yes ... even White breads have to teach us something about the world in which we live.

Thus it is in our world--we need variety. We need something past ourselves to make life whole. We need each other and the incredibly varied gifts that we each bring to the table. Each of us has life, but life cannot have ultimate meaning without the blessings that come from our mutual engagement. We were born to create miracles, and however important bread is as a food staple, life cannot flourish until we bring our miracles into each other's lives.

The news outside is depressing. The radicalism stemming from all religious labels defies all reason and denies everything holy. "Man cannot live by bread alone." In this day, we are not even allowing people the basic bread of life, never mind finding ways in which to help them flourish. From people starving and homeless in war torn parts of the world, to the people starving and homeless in our streets here at home; not only are we not helping them thrive, we are often barely helping to sustain even the basics of life ... even while we take for granted our meals and snacks each day.

It is no crime to be wealthy. This is not intended for guilt. Many of us do a lot to help out, but there is something wrong when the number of agencies that dole out food in even a small community fills multiple pages. We need to do more to help people NOT be in need, to help them not only have bread but be able to put what they want and need on their own bread.

It is time for us to move past food drives to end hunger, because they do not. We need to grow people and give them the tools and incentives to make their own way ... so that they can share the miracles they were created to share. Let's dedicate some time and energy in our schools, in our shelters, and throughout our communities to help make sure that no one has to survive on bread alone. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Va-et'chanan

by Rabbi Marc Kline

I turned 55 this week. I am blessed every day, even while now, as a waiter put it that night, I am now, "Double nickels." At 55, I qualify to live in "Senior" living communities without needing to rely on Lori to get me in. At 55, I qualify for discounts when dining, shopping, seeking entertainment or education, and traveling. I can get into senior centers as a customer and not just as a volunteer. Even car insurance costs go down now! I even read once that turning 55 means never having to again be accused of being a child (but that really only applies to women ... men are perennial little boys).

It was with a great deal of joy that I got to celebrate this birthday with my mother; in the town where I grew up. Traveling home with Lori and Rachel for a few days allowed us to help mom with projects in her home, at the same time that it gave us some "downtime" together. All was good, until I read the news.

The stabbing of 6 people at an LBGT parade in Israel is a nightmare. That it was perpetrated by ultra-orthodox Jews makes it even worse. The amount of terrorism that happens at the hands of extremists is not exclusive to all of the people to whom we point fingers. The cartoon character Pogo once asserted, "We have met the enemy, and he is us."

Yes, folks, Jews can be terrorists, too. We spend lots of time pointing our fingers at everyone else and somehow whitewash away what happens amongst our own. The number of stories of Jewish based violence continues to grow, even as we spend more and more energy on holding the rest of the world accountable.

My Jewish faith does not let me act this way. That the people perpetrating this violence call themselves Jews makes it ever more incumbent on me to call them out for the atrocities they not only commit, but also passively or actively support. This madness does not originate solely due to mental illness, unless religious fervor is mental illness. This affirmation transcends Judaism and holds true for all extremist takes on religion.

Hate and extremism exist because sacred scriptures are mangled to promote behaviors that they could never support. No book is read in a vacuum; we read books in their entirety. "Proof texting" out pieces of stories for commentary affords a double edged sword. The process can give us the most profound of insights, while leading us, at the same time, down the darkest of paths.

The practice of religion should lead one into a higher place in spirit than we would find lost in our basic animal instincts. Religion should help us makes spiritual sense out of the madness that exists because of the animal in each of us. Extremists bastardize this pursuit of value; twisting tradition to allow them to behave as the basest of animals. What happens at the hands of extremism is "pack" mentality, as the "alpha" leaders direct their minions to destroy any force of nature that gets in the way of their pursuit for or maintenance of personal power.

The only power that religion is supposed to give us is the power to overcome our animal in the pursuit of a more healthy / holistic approach to engaging the piece of divinity in everything that stems from the same "Creative Force." Any act that destroys another piece of God roots not in faith but in fear; not in reason, but in fear; not in love, but in fear. Fear leads us to the basest of behaviors in which there can be no healing salvation.

It is time for all people of every faith to emulate a "Creative Force" that created all of us ... equally. I do not know how we can pray to God for peace, for healing, for strength, or for faith, and stay silent in the face of the ugliness that calls itself religion. Specifically, Jews have to stop pretending that terrorism is something that only other extremists do.

My greatest prayer on this birthday week is that next by the time my next birthday rolls around, we have moved forward in ending the madness that pulls us apart. I pray that we learn to engage each other in ways that helps us grow the world and not destroy it. I pray that we open our eyes to the blessings available to all who engage in love and in joy, that birthdays become only one day of 365 that see us celebrating that we are here ... together.

This week, we read the words, "Shema Yisrael - Pay attention people of faith." The words that follow call on us to love our Creator with all of our hearts, all of our minds, and all of our spirit. Religion should teach us that the only appropriate way in which to understand this text is this, "Love God by loving all that God created." Anything short is blasphemy. Shabbat Shalom.
Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
D'varim

by Rabbi Marc Kline

I can remember my Bar Mitzvah as though it was yesterday. It was the last day I set foot in a sanctuary as a minor. I came back a few times as a budding adult, but found the experience lacking in impact. As I entered law school, I tried investing myself in my roots and sought counsel from the Conservadox Rabbi who sent me on a spiritual goose-chase that ended up leading to only more disenfranchisement. He kept telling me to remember the joy of my Bar Mitzvah, and the only joy I remember was being done with it. Was it worth the time and frustration? Honestly, I did not remember for years ... and even after my epiphany warranting my career change, I only have one tiny positive piece of the year's process on which to hold dearly.

I do remember that the Torah portion for this Shabbat marks the 42nd anniversary of an event that brought joy into the hearts of those present and a great deal of relief to those who tried teaching me something. Of course, now I am a Rabbi, and the Rabbi and Cantor who presided over my ceremony left the Synagogue to sell real estate in the community (true story).

As I read this week's portion, I cannot help but think about how much more the process could have meant, had I taken it seriously. The Rabbi and Cantor were not much help here, but my last minute tutor was. Dr. Graziani was a mensch. I have no idea what happened to him, but he started my rabbinic library. He tutored me for the last month after the Cantor had given up on me. Yes, I got through it ... he must have been an amazingly patient man. He bought me three Jewish books. For some unknown reason (and I do not ascribe it to any premonition), I never got rid of those books through my several moves. I never figured out how much I appreciated his efforts until many years later ... too many years to be able to find him to tell him so.

So, I read this week's portion. Moses is beginning to retell the story of the Torah, as his personal ethical will (albeit a little lengthy and bitter). He is leaving instructions to the people; instructions that root in the lessons learned over the thousands of years of humanity. Even as he recounts the difficult pieces of Israel's journey, he reminds them that God is supporting them (fighting alongside them) each step of the way. Throughout the Torah, we read of God's promises of "protectzia" and still find the people often confused and in "faith denial."

Moses begins his oration by reminding Israel that they do not appreciate the incredible blessings of salvation, redemption, or protection emanating from God. They do not appreciate the blessings of community that they share with each other. According to Moses, they lack hope. They lack direction. They lack accountability. Saying that Moses is frustrated with the people is an understatement. The people are frustrated, as well. On the one hand, they are a rabble bent on rebellion. They are skeptical and fearful for their future. This fear frustrates Moses. On the other hand, they have never done the "freedom" thing before. They have no idea what it means to be free. They do not have the tools or experience to begin to know how to appreciate either Moses or God.

We live in this "Catch 22" world. I have been the disgruntled rabble, not knowing or understanding the rules/restrictions imposed on my life and not appreciating the blessings around me every day. We have all been there ... even if only because that is the definition of being a teenager (but this phenomenon is not unique to teens). We did not have the tools to know better, and those who taught us and cared for us showed amazing love and resilience in not dismembering us somewhere along the way.

I have also been the patient and resilient caretaker, teacher, parent, mentor. My patience has, as did Moses', and I have succeeded and failed over the course of time. Sometimes I feel the appreciation and sometimes I don't, and sometimes it has nothing to do with whether I am or am not. We live in our perceptions. The only real difference that separates those of us with patience from those of us who are disgruntled is having enough experience to understand that folks do try to do the best that they can.

Whatever Moses' experience, our tradition has come to appreciate his story and the teachings it breeds to the point that he is "Moshe Rabbaenu - our teacher Moses." We appreciate him now, even while we did not back "in the day." Our job is to pay the gift of his love and patience forward (even knowing that sometimes we will stumble, it is still our obligation).

We need to do a better job of appreciating each other; helping each other to be more appreciative. Some of us have broader life experiences than do others. People do not always respond to us as we would hope that they would, but we need always to respond to our best levels of kindness and compassion. I am blessed that there are people who taught me this lesson by the way in which they engaged me. I just wish that I learned it years before I did.

Dr. Graziani ... in whatever dimension you exist, I guess you held this door open for me, exhibiting uber-patience and compassion with me all the way. I hope I can pay this gift forward. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Matot-Mas'ei

by Rabbi Marc Kline

Once a river flows, it can never return. Once we step towards each other, we can never go back. Once the day is past, it can never be lived again. We can bring the water back, but it will be different water. We can leave each other, but can never deny that we met. We can return to any space in life, but we can never relive any moment.

The story of Torah ends this week. For thousands of years, it has ended every time the Book of Numbers comes to a close. Yes, we have the next book, Deuteronomy, but it is a retelling of the story. Israel stands at the Jordan. The tribes crossing over stand poised ready to go. The tribes not crossing are building their communities, so that they may later cross and help their brothers establish homes. Moses knows his fate. Joshua is ready to take charge. We read this story over and over and over again, and yet, somehow each time we read it, life hands us experiences that make us read it with new eyes. The major difference at play between last year's reading of this text and this year's reading is simply that the year that has passed.

Who would have believed that the year 5775 would pay witness to such sociological upheaval? Wherever one stands on the political and sociological changes that we have experienced, one thing that brings the whole world into concert is the realization that there is no going back. Once Einstein announced that E= MC squared, there is no going back to life before an awareness of atomic energy. Everyone is shaking his/her head in acknowledgment. At the same time, a large number of folks not only yearn for the past but try their best to live by the rules of the past ... now.

Even if the law changed to put the Virginia Battle Flag (a.k.a the "Confederate flag) back on top of the South Carolina Statehouse, it can never be seen with the same eyes that saw it before it came down. The conversation and controversy made it a different flag. Now that marriage is a universally guaranteed right between any two consenting adults, were the law to change again, we could never go back to an old status quo. Even now, our President has announced a negotiated nuclear arms agreement with Iran. There are already people lining up to condemn it or support it, and yet it has no final form (assuming it ratifies) and knowing how its terms may or may not affect the related societies is, at best, an exercise in prophecy. Who would have ever guessed that Saudi Arabia and Israel would partner on anything political?

The world will continue to change, whether we like it or not ... and, as we have seen, there is often no way for even the best prognosticators to predict how it may play out. Still, though, we spend a lot of energy trying to recreate and preserve the past, creating other unforeseen conflicts that add to our challenges. We see this play out in all the Torah we read after this week's Torah portion.

The story comes to a close, yet Moses will spend the entire next book retelling the story ... and changing large pieces of it, as he goes on. Will it be his philosophical/spiritual agenda to change the conversation or his faulty memory that alter the Deuteronomy version of stories from the way they appeared in the rest of the text? Intentionally or accidently, Moses rewrites the Torah. Having read it, though, we immediately call into question his inability or willingness to accept the evolution of tradition. His farewell address would be even more powerful if he spent it sharing prophecy for our future benefit, and less so in justifying the past.

Prophetically, the final words of each book of Torah are not written in the scroll. As we conclude each book, we recite, "Khazak khazak, v'nitkhazaek - Strength strength, lets us be strong." We remind ourselves to be strong and resolute as we move into the next book and cycle of reading. Most every prayer that we say, we say before performing or involving ourselves in the object over which we have prayed. Even the blessing after eating is really a blessing preceding using the nourishment we just ingested, to do good work in the world. Given this reality, for what are we praying with the words "Khazak khazak?" Perhaps it is to be resolute moving forward; committed to seeing the next texts with new eyes, even if the words have not changed.

It is so easy to live in yesterday ... to accommodate ourselves to what we have known. Even where yesterday was difficult, we somehow make what we have known comfortable. Where we experienced blessings in the past, we cannot rest on those moments. We must use them to build an even more blessed tomorrow. It takes a lot of effort to step into that brave new world. It requires strength to walk into the unknown and take ownership of each new step and each new adventure. This strength roots in the faith that growth is going to happen whether we are on board or not, and it makes a whole lot more sense to own the process as it is happening. For some, the book that follows calls into question Moses' faith. For others, it reminds us that despite having met God, face to face, Moses is still human and suffers from the same insecurities as do we all.

Tomorrow is going to happen, and it is going to look potentially nothing like today or yesterday. Khazak, khazak, v'nitkhazaek. Let's be strong and resolute as we celebrate both today and tomorrow. Shabbat Shalom.
Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Pinchas

by Rabbi Marc Kline

The last few months bore witness to dramatic changes in the way in which Americans relate to each other. I am not sure how many hearts have changed, but the ways in which we express our hearts certainly has. Whether we are talking about the flag, marriage, health care, Iran, Israel/Palestine, racism or sexism, the rhetoric has reached new levels of polarization. I do not believe that this is because people feel differently. Rather, the changes in law and circumstance brought the debate out into the public, and we know that changing the law does nothing to change the heart of those enforcing it or living under it.

I remember the day that my parents first told me that an African American 5th-grade friend would not be coming back to my house. I have ever since wondered why it matters that people look and believe differently from one another. I left synagogue after my Bar Mitzvah because the Rabbi spoke only of a God who favored some but not all. Growing up in Las Vegas, we experienced greater social latitude than many did in other communities. We still endured our annual week long race riot that brought people to blows who were otherwise "friends" the other 358 days a year. I did not understand the "picking of sides" between people just because of skin color. I went to college in New Orleans at Tulane University. To my delight, this fun and amazingly gifted African-American classmate asked me to escort her to her Sorority formal. The people attending ostracized us that night. And I heard about that night over the course of four years of college. Going to law school in Little Rock, Arkansas, I shared classroom space with active KKK members who did not appreciate my being Jewish ... and less appreciated my tenure with an otherwise all minority law firm as clerk/paralegal and then attorney (involved in all of the firm's civil rights litigation).

Perhaps these experiences helped propel me into a new career. I had a successful law practice but did not feel I was accomplishing a whole lot. Upon ordination, I accepted the pulpit offered to me in Florence, SC. My mentors (and most dear friends) were Fred Reese (District United Methodist Minister), Burt Wilson (retired Baptist Minister), and Leo Woodberry (back then A.M.E. Pastor). These three gentlemen taught me more about serving a community than any other influence in my life. My first "clergy friend" was Timothea Lewis (Lutheran Pastor), and I was shocked to realize how much flak she experienced as a woman in the pulpit. I co-edited an Israeli/Palestinian cookbook with Gabe Batarsi to the chagrin of even many amongst my own congregation. Religious labels mattered not between us, and religious dogma allowed each of us our personal expression of our respective relationships with divinity. Each of us was devoutly faithful, and each of us respected that each other was, as well. Race did not matter between us. The rest of the community was not so sure about any of us.

Our work to bring down the "flag," bring together disparate races and religions, and normalize the community conversation about diverse cultures caused a stir. Fast forward a couple of decades. After over a decade of similarly dedicated diversity and relationship building justice work in Lexington, KY, I now serve in a congregation led by Sally Priesand (the first woman to be ordained Rabbi in American history).

With all this and more, I experienced shock when I first sat down to seriously study this week's Torah portion 25 years ago. I was na�ve (even as a lawyer with civil rights experience). I was na�ve entering rabbinical school. I read of Tzelophechad's daughters and really thought it odd that woman did not have the same rights as did men. In class, it became evident that some of our professors experienced less joy in having women in seminary than did others. As I read this text, I thought to myself, "Wait, it's here in Torah! Men and Women have equal rights ... in the realm of greatest importance ... inheritance."

Over the course of now 25 years, I have learned that people pick and choose what they want from the Bible. Especially for those who believe that God wrote the Bible, I am dumbstruck how God can speak of equality in the Bible, and yet people who hold the Bible up as the absolute word of God refuse to honor it. Women and men are not afforded equal status in almost any part of the world. By extension, the Biblical command to be kind to the widows, orphans, and strangers gets ignored any time we turn our backs on the needy amongst us. By further extension, we seem to ignore the places in the text that command us to treat the stranger amongst us as an equal member of our family.

Where in any of this is there room for sexism, racism, religious discrimination ... or the vociferously espoused "right" to ignore the law to which I have sworn an oath to uphold, because I don't like it? Even while we venerate the daughter's of Tzelophechad for pushing and gaining their rights to inherit from their father's estate, we have to ask, "Why, in the thousands of years since, are we still demeaning each other over the very gender, color, or DNA with which God created us ... each of us?" Shabbat Shalom.
Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Chukat

by Rabbi Marc Kline

Laws are meant to serve the best interests of society, and when they fail to do so, they have to change. These last few weeks has brought witness to a world of change. Even out of devastation can emerge the blessings needed for a more healthy ... more holy tomorrow.

The shootings in Charleston rocked this country. The racial violence we have witnessed finally boiled over to a point where everyone paid attention. Communities all over this country finally rallied en masse, bringing often segregated lives into each other's arms. Rallies and vigils gave people the forum to affirm the words we all believe ... the words of love and engagement ... but which most have never lived in any meaningful way. The demonstrations of love, of sympathy, of empathy that filled village squares and parks, sent a resounding message to the elected officials of our country, "It is time for change." The "Stars and Bars" flags are coming down throughout the south. The true history of this symbol of hate (a message unknown to even most Southerners) comes to light, and the symbol that oppressed people for so long is finally moving into history. The legacy of the flag that separated us for so many years will now, we pray, be the symbol whose demise returned us from our exile from each other.

Yesterday, we witnessed another banner change in America, as the Supreme Court ensured that we would now stay counted amongst the ranks of nations that make sure their populations have access to health care. It may be time to perfect the plan, but the threat of losing health care does not loom over the heads of our economically challenged anymore.

Today, in one of the most monumental and greatly anticipated moments in history, The Supreme Court affirmed that marriage is a family value for all people. We no longer have to speak of marriage vs. gay marriage! We affirm that the right to marry the partner we love is an inalienable right protected and guaranteed by the highest court in our land. Just yesterday, a lower court affirmed that love did not root in a curable disease. We were born to love, created to love and are only fulfilled in life when we are free to love the person who is our heart's desire. Any attempt to state otherwise is a fraud upon the people. For all who argued that this opinion would destroy marriage, I suspect that they are still married to whom they want to be. The disdain they showed against people who only want to marry the one whom they love failed to help or heal any piece of our society. Our truth, today, is simple, love is a more powerful driving force than is hate. The driving force of the institution of marriage is love ... we now get to express it and live it in even more ways.

The sequence of events makes taking this week's opening lines literally, increasingly difficult. This week, God gives Moses the "law of the Red Heifer," a khok olam ... a law for all time. The beginning of Chapter 19 of Numbers details the ritual of sacrificing and burning to ash, the red heifer. The ashes are then to be placed outside of the camp so that anyone who comes near a corpse could ritually cleanse himself in the ashes of the burned cow. We do not burn heifers anymore. Some say that we do not because there is no "Temple," while others argue that there is no pure red heifer.

Several years back, one was born in Texas, but the Rabbis rejected it. We do still observe the ethic behind the ritual. We need intentional reminders to return from grief and move back into our lives of blessing. We need separation in time. We have followed the teaching of Rav Kook, who taught us that the old must be made new and the new must be made holy. We still need the separation, and now, we do it for and with each other.

Laws are made in time vacuums. Often, though, we find ourselves closing doors we do not even know are open, by making plans and rules without context. "ALL TIME" is a long time. The world continues to evolve, and circumstances continue to change. What made perfect sense today will have very little to do with tomorrow's reality. Freely, we make these "eternal" rules, "close" the door on opportunities we cannot even imagine, and enslave tomorrow to our today prejudices, insecurities, and ignorance.

We cannot know today, that in which we will find enlightenment tomorrow. The ignorance that blinds us today cannot continue to hold us hostage as our eyes begin to open to greater universal truths. When humanity legislates, we do so in the most shortsighted of ways, for, in truth, that is the best we can do. At the same time, we are commanded to be holy. Holiness calls us to grow in vision, to admit our errors and celebrate our blessings. The laws we create will become archaic, and often unbearable. One eternal law that does stand the test of time is this, "We were born to create miracles for each other; let's renew this commitment and bring holiness into each other's lives. We are called to invest our hearts in each other and together build the world that is into the one for which we pray."

I cannot know what will happen tomorrow. I can know that the pain still searing through the bodies of survivors left behind can find some solace in knowing that the world listened. The world is listening and responding. The world ... you and I and everyone else must continue to listen and respond, and bring our hearts closer together in blessing. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Sh'lach L'cha

by Rabbi Marc Kline

A colleague recently reminded me of a text from Pirke Avot (3:7). "One who walks along a road and studies, and interrupts his studying to say, "How beautiful is this tree!", "How beautiful is this plowed field!"---the Torah regards it as if he had forfeited his life." When I first learned this text, I hated it. It made no sense that one who appreciated the blessings of nature should be punished. I then thought about the subtlety of the text. Reading or studying the unfolding continuous story of creation and community building involves appreciating the beauty around us. The act of study includes hearing the cries of those in need and the cheers of those in celebration. The key word in the text is "Interrupt." One who sees the beauty of nature as being separate from the ongoing study and appreciation of the blessings and miracles that abound around us ... has blasphemed.

In studying this text, I had to remind myself that truth is found in the subtleties of any situation. We all see and hear the same messages, and yet, we internalize very different messages ... each of us. We really do not pay attention to that which we observe. We react to stimulus but often do not think much before doing so, and even less afterwards. We have automatic responses that are often the depth of the attention given to any situation. How often do we pass by people and say, "Hello! How are you!" not caring to hear the answer? When confronted later, we have all sorts of excuses for not having listened ... the excuses that only somehow seem to dig a deeper hole.

Welcome to this week's Torah portion. This story is a classic case of what happens when we fail to pay attention the first time. Israel finds itself on the border of the "Promised Land: The Land of Milk and Honey!" Before entering the land, Moses wanted to know what was ahead. He assembled the princes from each of the twelve tribes and bade them to scout the land and report back. God had already told Moses to go on in, but not knowing what lay ahead, Moses wanted to ensure proper entry into the land. The scouts went in and got scared (or at least 10 of the 12 did). They found fruit larger and more luscious than any they had seen in the fleshpots of Egypt. While they saw no people, they assumed that giants must live there for fruit to be so big.
Afraid of the unknown, they returned imploring Moses to turn back. The people sided with the ten who were afraid and ignored Moses, Joshua, and Caleb, who had faith to move forward. The truth? The people who lived their lives as slaves were not ready to inherit the blessings of this fruitful land. They were not bad people; they were just not ready. Forcing them in might have been painful and foreboding. God recognized that these folks were not yet ready and made them wait a generation before coming back. They were not deprived of their family, their community, or of the manna from heaven. They were to live out their days in the only world in which they could be free: the no-frills wilderness.

Immediately after making this decision, God assured the people that they would return, and started preparing them with instructions about what life in the land would be like in the future. There was no punishment doled out there. I remember my Bar Mitzvah tutor got me Jewish books. It was "a waste of a gift" and they immediately found great use to help keep my stereo speakers off the ground. Many years later, after wandering through the wilderness putting an angry childhood behind me, I re-found those books. What I was not able to appreciate at 13, proved to be mind and attitude altering at 30. This week's story reminds us that sometimes we are not yet ready to appreciate gifts. We may not be mean or bad people. We just need more experience, more time for reflection and growth, more time to chase away the demons that hold us back from celebration.

Had Israel accepted this truth and understood that God still cared fort them, the story would allow us to live happily ever after. They did not. Their reaction was knee-jerk and rooted in a lack of faith and also in insecurity. They stormed the borders to take Canaan by force and suffered devastating losses at the hands of a people that they otherwise would not have even confronted. The casualties were horrific, and rather than live out full lives with family and friends, in the wilderness, they perished in their own arrogance.

Ok, the above is certainly a different take than most people give to this portion, but I struggle to see it otherwise. Not getting the prize up front is not a punishment. We hold heirlooms until children are able to appreciate them. We make sure that accidentally trashing it or losing it out of a youthful lack of concern for its valued status does not happen. No gift was taken from us; we were just not ready to appreciate the gift, and it was withheld/safeguarded until we were.

Our response was the interruption. Asserting that we could change the rules of nature and force our will upon even God; this was the cause for Israel's anguish. They lifted their eyes not to see living examples of the subject of their study, They lifted their eyes to prove God wrong. Symbolically speaking, this text makes it clear that the blessing of appreciation comes organically and not artificially. This is the problem with so many interpersonal relationships. We are all guilty. We hear and react. We do not "hear" and process what we hear in any context. As a result, we live in conflict with each other; often for no other reason than that we fail to take a step back to process each other as part of our ongoing relationships. This is not a behavioral anomaly. It is, unfortunately the major obstacle that keeps us from living with each other in peace. Not every conversation is to be understood in the moment. Sometimes we are not prepared to appropriately hear what someone who deeply cares tells us ... yet.

If we give it time, we all can grow. Where we choose to rush into the reaction we all fail in caring for the world. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
B'haalot'cha

by Rabbi Marc Kline

Anointing Priests is sacred work. Torah spends a lot of time talking about how the priests are set aside from the rest of the people in order to maintain their "holy and pure" status. God commands them to shave their heads and their bodies to distinguish them from the wider population. They must wear special clothing and eat special foods. This week, we learn that the Levite clan is to be the living exemplar of holiness and purity; a beacon of light for this people Israel ... the people set apart from all others as God's "chosen."

Ok, and now for the rest of the story. Even as Torah goes to great length to separate the Levites from all others, we face several conundrums internal and external to the text.

1. This week, the Torah designates all Levites as priests in charge of the sacrificial rituals. Other parts of Torah give this power to only a subset of Levites (the Kohathites). In still other Torah texts, only a subset of the Kohathites hold the special priestly status: Aaronides or Kohanim. Moses is a Levite and a Kohathite and God bars him from the Tabernacle for being Aaron's brother and not his offspring. Within the Book of Numbers, all three stories co-exist. This week, we talk about the unique status of the entire Levite clan. We will read of the Korach rebellion that separates first the Kohathites from the rest of the Levites, and then only Aaron's lineage and descendants from even the rest of his sub-clan.

2. There is a class of people set aside for service to God, who live by a very different set of rules. The Nazirites (also detailed in this Book of Numbers) are not allowed to cut/shave their head. In fact, the shaved head is a sign that the Nazirite (one set aside for special service to God) is in a state of impurity, having come in contact with a corpse. So two conflicting rules for what it means to be set aside for service to God. Interestingly, one inherits the Priestly status while one must choose to be a Nazir.

I cannot ignore that all of these divergent stories of "God's anointed" exist in this one Book of Numbers. Maybe the book's purpose is not to count the census of people (as it is so labeled). Perhaps it portends to help us count the variety of ways in which Torah affirms one's ability to serve in holiness.

3. Torah tells the story of a people freed from captivity. Egypt enslaved Israel for up to 400 years. The purpose of the Exodus was to let Israel cast off the ways of the heathen/pagan Egyptian culture so that they would commune with God in freedom. Repeatedly, Torah admonishes us to leave the ways of the Egyptians behind. The whole matter of the Golden Calf earned God's wrath because the people did not have enough faith to let go of Egyptian religious practice of animal/idol worship. Time and time again, Moses reminds Israel to be a holy and distinct people; distinct from the unholy Egyptians and other pagan nations. To adopt their ways is to return to Egypt. So, why is this week's text devoted to fashioning the rules that make the Israelite priesthood look, act, and dress no differently than did the Egyptian priests?

Egyptian priests shaved their bodies and heads. They ran the sacrificial altar rituals in special clothes (also white linen). They lived by unique rules, passed their status from parent to child, and served as the conduit between people and God. Egyptian priests were also circumcised. "Hamavdil baen kodesh l'chol." Our liturgy demands that we separate the sacred from the mundane (some will even translate this as the dichotomy of sacred and profane). How are we to be a sacred people when the holy commands received by Moses make us behave no differently than the Egyptians?

At the time of the Torah's redaction, we already know that there is a large segment of the people who found all aspects of altar sacrifice and worship to be corrupt. The Rabbinic movement (Pharisees) completely separated from the corrupt practice. What if the redacting sages offered the biting political satire that "holy rituals and purification rites (including appearance and grooming)" have nothing to do with the connection experienced between our souls and divinity? It simply does not matter what we look like, what we do, or who we choose to emulate: Egypt or anyone else.

Holiness is not a function of the trappings of ritual. The Prophets scream against empty ritual, each reminding Israel that finding God involves more than filling out behavioral checklists. See Isaiah 1, Psalm 50:12 -13, Amos 5:22-25, Jeremiah 7:22, I Samuel 15:22-23, Hosea 6:6, or Micah 6:6-8 (a posthumous "thank you" to Rabbi Gunther Plaut for this). The Prophets teach us that it is not by might or power (not by the demonstration of deeds) but by spirit (the soul turned to holiness) that we embrace the divine. "Clean hands and a pure heart allow us to commune with the Divine (Psalm 24:3-4). If "showing up" at the altar is not enough, nor then does following a checklist of rituals make one more holy than others who do not.

Torah is not random or inconsistent. Torah was not intended to be read in snippets or sound bites. Torah consistently tells us that there is no "one" standard superior to all others. Ritual can help one experience a deeper connection with God, but it takes the intention of the heart to make that connection real. Yes, I think we all do need to show up together more often, but I think we need to do so with the intention of sharing more than space in the sanctuary or social hall. We need more folks who rally around the Torah's universal ethical messages: we need more Torah people. Every time we make Torah speak in ways that alienate us from each other, we diminish our tradition. Shabbat Shalom.

Every day we have to confront the struggle between the value of what we do and the value of what we believe. I am a big believer in the idea that paying attention matters, and so reading provides us an opportunity to see how people live this duality of belief and behavior. Doing so should help us figure out the rules of our own struggle. This is the purpose of Torah: to help us play out this "struggle" using the paradigms, successes and failures depicted in the book's stories as our guides. By extension, we share scholarly and personal commentaries on any given piece of text in a way to help in this conversation. The sages help us keep the conversation relevant in our own days, and not just in a biblical / antiquity based context. Sometimes, though, I find that the commentaries do more to muddy the waters than help us clarify even our own relationship with the text and tradition. Sometimes, you don't realize you are stuck in the mud until you are chest deep and frustrated.

So, I was reading a series of commentaries on this week's Torah portion. I appreciate that a seemingly benign phrase can have spiritual value. As the mundane text unpacked yielding spiritual epiphanies, I relished in a tradition that every day affirms the truth that one does not find "magic" in the text, but in what we do with the text. I was excited to dive in and learn of the spiritual truths being handed to me. To at least three different commentaries, I found myself enthusiastically agreeing with the direction I perceived the sage was taking readers, until ... the other shoe dropped. I hate when that happens; I feel almost duped and betrayed, as I had to do a "spiritual 180" to travel back to the place I strayed. I should have known better, but obviously missed the change in direction in my growing enthusiasm. I found that I had trouble separating myself from being upset each time it happened this week with the Torah portion.

In the commentaries with which I struggled, each focused on the first words of the Torah portion, "Lift up the head." In context, we are speaking about the census, and "Lift the heads" means, count each one. This text is always tied to the week after Shavuot (Feast of Weeks) when we symbolically claim that Moses received the Torah at Sinai. These same words begin the text of the week prior to Shavuot. I first had to acknowledge that the idea of "lifting heads" is used Biblically in so many different contexts (decapitation, hanging, consolation, celebration, epiphany, etc.). Usually, it literally speaks to some context of enlightenment or new awareness. So, as the sages argued that each head counts, they also argued that lifting each head helped people see the errors in their ways. REALLY? WE "BEGIN" WITH RUBBING EACH OTHER'S NOSE IN TRANSGRESSION? This is where I started shaking my head. Why does religion spend so much time focusing on our "sinful ways?" In the Christian confessional one has to acknowledge his own sinfulness "BEFORE" God's grace can be felt (even while it is always being shared). On Yom Kippur, the holiest day of renewal, we "CANNOT" get to the renewal part ... or even the blessing part until after we have spent a day trashing our behaviors, condemning ourselves for all of our unethical thoughts and actions, and berated ourselves for a myriad of transgressions listed in a book ... some of which we cannot even define, never mind plead guilty for transgressing? Every religion has their confessionals, and each one begins with guilt. Yet, every psychological study I have read demands that in a conversation involving some need to repair a behavioral breach, one must start with redemption and not condemnation. If one is to fix one's behavior, one has to know why he/she matters, first. All such conversations should begin with a statement of the "transgressor's" value and capability first. Otherwise, it becomes that much harder for one to hear and internalize the problem without creating even greater conflict. I have often wondered about religion's predilection with the negative and with guilt. Guilt is a horrible motivator.

So, I was disturbed that the imagery of lifting one's head devolved into the idea that one must first acknowledge his transgression before being able to focus on God. One must have a mind cleansing mantra before reaching the benefits of enlightening and healing meditation. In the same sense, I believe that one must first be able to see the beauty of divinity's involvement in this world in order to comprehend the value of healing the breaches that interrupt the sanctity of the relationships we too often take for granted. This is the difference between, "Johnny, you better tell Susie you're sorry," and "Johnny, your friendship with Susie is precious, you are good for each other, how can we heal what has come between you?" As to the many religious forms of confession, I ask people, "What did you accomplish?" The most often heard response was, "I said I was sorry." If the conversation ended there, we would hope to be okay, but it does not. "Are you sorry?" "Well, yeah, but (insert name) never apologized back, so I am still upset," or "I read all the words of the prayer, and I am not sure what I apologized for," or "I was told that I had to be sorry." The story began well, but the commentary makes us shake our heads.

I wish there was a way for us to have the vision to see how any given situation would play out "in futuro." Were it that we could tangibly walk through a situation to see how it would play out given this choice of handling it versus an alternative method of doing so. Were it that we could evaluate the value of our decisions first, and then act in accordance with our best outcome. Here is one place where religion may be counterproductive, even while faith is the finest of healing agents. Marching through a proscribed ritual of atonement may make us more religious, but given the process of the ritual, it may not help. One has to believe in faith that the atonement matters and that the people with whom we seek atonement matter ... and that we matter to them for the process to matter. In the moment of any failure, no one is focusing on the value of the relationship first. Why do our heads need to be lifted? We need to see each other first. We need to remember why we are blessed with each other first. Too many of us ... me included, do it the way religion teaches us to do it, and yet there is more pain shared in this world than we can fathom. Perhaps it is time to let faith govern. I have faith that we really do matter to each other. With that blessing firmly ensconced in my head, now I have a lot of work to do.
Shabbat Shalom.

Yesterday, my wife and I spent the day texting in only Beatles song titles. It was cute, and I had to struggle to remember enough titles to make coherent (or almost coherent) messages. I marveled at just how many songs the "Fab Four" gave us. They spoke to so many themes and wrote in so many different musical genres ... it is no wonder that they had and have the incredible multi-generational following that keep them in vogue. Teenagers know the Beatles. Generation "X" and "Y" folks flock to tribute shows. In the Beatles music, one may find the only place in which every generation can musically agree. They may not agree which was the "Best Album," "Best Song," "Best Movie," or "Best Beatle," but they agree that the Beatles "Rock." For years, I felt disaffected by their music ... or what I readily recalled of it. When Lori and I married, a dear friend, Barrie Bingham, gave us tickets to "RAIN" (an amazing tribute concert). I was excited because Lori was excited, and because there was a piece or two that I remembered enjoying. The concert was such that we were on our feet dancing and singing the entire event. Ok, I remembered. When the same show came to our new community a few months ago, I not only demanded that we get tickets, but we brought friends to share in the experience. Transformation complete ... memory banks restored. Now ... I am a born again Beatlemaniac.

As I sat down to open my work on the fourth book of the Torah (Numbers), I received my last text of the day from my bride. I did not get past the first verse of this week's Torah portion before getting lost in the above internal dialog and reminiscence. "God spoke to Moses in the wilderness of Sinai." We just finished the Book of Leviticus; we already know where we are. Why does Torah need to specify that God gives Torah in the wilderness. Ok, it is crazy, but "The Word," "In My Life," and "Here, There, and Everywhere" somehow merged into Torah commentary. From Leviticus, we are taught, "You shall be holy for I God am holy." Throughout religious tradition, we remind ourselves that Israel (people of faith) are chosen ... "In God's life God loves us more." Torah is given in the wilderness so that no one person or clan can claim it. In a posthumously published work ("Towards a Meaningful Life"), the late Lubavitcher Rebbe Menachem Schneerson argued for the universality of humanity, claiming that the Torah is the possession of the entire world. What separates us, he argued is the way in which we live its teachings. He further taught that "here, there, and everywhere" God's love is manifest. In Song of Songs (Solomon), we read of the lurid and intimate love affair between God and Israel. On Shabbat, we welcome the Sabbath Bride, as we symbolically participate in the marriage of God's grace and the spirit of humanity each week. On Yom Kippur, we affirm this teaching. Near the end of Moses' farewell address and his days on earth, he tells us that the truth (Torah) is close at hand. It is not so far from any of us that someone has to bring it to us from the heavens above or far across the seas. We each hold it close in our heart, even while each of us sees the text with differing eyes and cultural prejudices.

While giving into the musical muse, it struck me how truly timeless this Torah is, and how relevantly interconnected its teachings are with our real world lives. I am not a "Bible thumper," and I outrightly reject the notion that the Bible speaks with any one voice. Every time I open the text, though, I become more and more convinced that it does not matter which version of scripture one uses, they all teach the same thing. The violence that exists in all of our texts should shock us. The thought that we should get so caught up in our own search for power that we would be willing to kill each other to gain it should make us ill. Anyone of us who has someone we love should understand the searing pain that would deluge us if someone else ripped that person from us. The sages who passed down these traditions relied on our humanity. Pirke Avot teaches us that in a world where no one is behaving human, we must be human. One day (the Day or age of Messiah) we will figure out that the ultimate message of faith roots in love and respect. Our traditions teach this truth. Our music and literatures preach this truth. This truth reveals itself in every setting where people embrace each other. Still, though, we somehow find a way to ignore every stimulus prodding us to love, as we push ourselves to power.

God spoke to Moses in the wilderness, not in the CEO's office, not in the Pastor's study or in any one denomination of faith, and certainly not in the walls of the houses of any government. God speaks in the wilderness, amongst us, as we engage each other. "With a Little Help From My Friends," "It's time for a Revolution:" we need to "Come Together" and know "All You Need is Love." Dr. King taught us that hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do this. We also know that the experience of love cannot begin with legislation; it cannot begin with a court ruling. Rabbi Heschel taught us that this love roots in Torah and that it begins with the inter-human experience. Torah transmits in the wilderness, from person to person, and for our mutual success, we need more Torah people, not more Torah commentary or Torah books.
Shabbat Shalom.

It was 25 years ago that I closed my law office in Little Rock, Arkansas. I was moving to Jerusalem for my first year as a Rabbinical Student, and everything was moving at a whirlwind pace. I had given away cases that were worth millions and cases that were strictly pro-bono, but it all happened so quickly, that many folks speculated all sorts of things about "Why I was running to Israel ... seemingly without notice or warning." I was not under indictment. I was not in any ethical or legal trouble. In fact, I was Vice-chair of the American Bar Association Committee on Corporate Counsel (young lawyers division). I had a blossoming practice. I was doing well and had a nice corner office in a tall mostly glass building. All seemed professionally good in my world, until the day I stopped to ask myself to assess my own priorities.

I had to spend a lot of time reflecting on why I made this life and career altering choice. Of course most people I meet ask the question, "What made me make the switch?" I have a few standard answers, all of which are true ... but they were never really satisfying for me. I can blame "Whitewater;" the scandal involving the top brass of the Rose Law Firm, the most prestigious firm in Arkansas. I cannot say that I found God, for I am, to this day not sure how to begin defining an ineffable intangible being presumed to be the source of ... everything. I did find faith, and I glibly tell folks that I am still practicing law, but for a higher class but lower paying client ... God. I even remark that I am committed (to service) or should be committed (to an institution). Clearly, there is a piece of me still stuck in the practice of law, even while I spend my regular 182.7 hours of a work week with the most unorthodox frame of mind. I still affirm having left the practice, but I have not been as effective in figuring out the real reason I left. In reading this week's portion, I may have solved a part of the conundrum.

This week, Torah admonishes us to observe the Sabbatical and Jubilee years. The Sabbatical (in Hebrew Sh'mitah) sees us letting the land grow fallow for a year. It is not to be worked so that it has an opportunity to renew. In the same vein, any indentured servants are to be freed and set up with resources such that they can sustain themselves. On the Jubilee year (Yovael - every 50th year), all debt is cancelled, all lands alienated from the tribal ownership are returned, and the financial world experiences the first concept of the "reset" or "reboot" in history. Of course, both the Sh'mitah and Yovael are predicated on the conceptualization of a Sabbath day established to renew and recharge the spiritual batteries every week. Essentially, the Rabbis teach us that we have to intentionally step back and assess what the world around us looks like. Where things are not in order, we have an obligation to put them in order. Every week, every seven years, and every "golden anniversary:" each provides an opportunity to start over. As I reflect on my career change, I realize that while I was certainly financially successful, I lacked spiritual fulfillment. Now, had I realized this back then I might have been able to do both, but I was so distracted by the ugliness associated with the practice of law in that city, at that time, that I could not see past the dread of each day.

I loved the work I did at Temple. Rabbi Gene Levy, my Rabbi, gave me lots of room to grow and learn ... and serve. I realized that what I was doing there made a lot more sense than what I was doing in my law office. Oddly, if you include the time I worked at the firm where I started, it was as I began my seventh year of practice ... the Sabbatical year, that I realized I needed a change. It is only now, as I look back, though, that I see the confluence of time and the decision. I needed more; my soul told me I needed more.

Ok, the idea of a Sabbatical begins with our need to renew our agriculture. At the same time, though, we acknowledge that Torah is the "Tree of Life." The agricultural metaphor runs through our lives. Each of us farms and harvests relationships with ourselves and with each other. If we don't take time to renew and rethink our relationships with things, people, and our life situations we all lose. I see so many people who are miserable in their careers and relationships. We get stuck, unable to renew, to seek change that will help heal the ache in our spirit. I am blessed that I had the support system to help me make room for this growth. In turn, I hope that I have been that support system for others. We really are all in this together. Let's help each other grow and blossom. Shabbat Shalom.

Perhaps the line that appears most often in the Torah reads, "God said to Moses, Speak to the people ..." It was Moses' job to teach people. To transmit the teaching from God to the people and back, and to create and foster meaningful relationships with the community ... these are Moses' tasks, whether or not he feels compelled to oblige.

We first meet Moses as he was adjuring the guards not to oppress the people. He takes Pharaoh to task (under God's orders) for not freeing Israel. This week, he is instructed to ... instruct the priests on how to maintain their purity so as not to desecrate God. These instructions did not include anything about the task of the priest, but only the admonition to not become impure. If I am in Aaron's shoes, this is harsh and it stings a little. Now, Moses is a priest. He is a Levite, and the entire tribe of Levi are priests. His brother, however, gets to be the High Priest (Kohain), while the rest of Levi are second class priests (priest "wannabes"). So, we have a second class priest telling the first class priest how to be a first class priest.

I am accustomed to watching the second string Quarterback (football) instruct the first stringer on what he sees happening on the field. From the sidelines and form the booth upstairs, there are better vantage points from which to see the game play out. However, there is a whole lot more at stake with offerings at the altar than there is playing for a touchdown, but a take away from both is that one does not have to be out front to know the material well enough to run the show.

Still though, we default to wanting the person in charge to handle our problem, ignoring the reality that the support team often knows more than the person in charge. Moses was the teacher; we literally call him "Moshe Rabbaenu." Second string quarterbacks make great coaches because they not only know what is happening all over the game, and because they are not the star, they have a healthy dose of humility.

So, I was speaking with a young man who was trying to tell all of his classmates that he was a better tennis player than each of them was. The bantering went back and forth until I took the young man aside and said that true greatness shows itself, but does not speak of itself. If he was that good, he would prove it with his racquet. Talking about how good he is serves only to drive people away.

I know the advice is true, but how often are we compelled to tell people what we can do, because we fear in our heart that no one is paying attention? We are insecure people, and even while we read the words of Torah that we are made in God's image, too many of us fear that we are actually not living up to that seemingly unfair and high standard. At the same time, we read in the Mishnah, Pirke Avot, "If I am not for myself, who will be for me?" Some part of our tradition demands that we do stand up for ourselves. So insecurity is wrong ... and so is uber-humility. Perhaps Torah is instructing us that truth lies somewhere in between, and that desecration comes when we fall on either side of righteous self awareness so that we speak too much or too little of ourselves.

Moses had to tell his older brother not to desecrate God. He had to walk a fine line to do this. Lording himself over his all-star priest brother would have yielded a disastrous relationship. Holding back, saying nothing would have risked desecration of God. God pushes him to speak to his brother, but in the same admonition, Moses is reminded by God to be careful of the way in which he does so.

We walk a fine line when we try to instruct each other, and the correct answer in how to help is never rooted in who really knows more or who is the one out front. God did not instruct Aaron; God had Moses do it. They were brothers and friends. They trusted each other and could have the difficult conversation between them. We cannot always find ourselves in this type of a relationship when called on to teach another, but we must know that being an effective teacher requires a lot of love and respect from the teacher to the student, to earn the trust of the student ... especially when the student is larger in life than is the teacher.

Perhaps Socrates said it the best. He taught students by reflecting their answers back to them, relying on their own sense of right and wrong to guide them in hearing from the mouth of another, the words that they just said. The best way to teach is to trust our students enough to hold them and guide them as they continue growing, honoring them and gaining their trust along the way. AMEN! Let it be so! Shabbat Shalom.

It is hard to be creative, having to write about th I was speaking to my mom who was telling me of her last Dr's. visit. She had a pretty clean bill of health for a woman who has been through a great many challenges in life. I know the many challenges that she faces. Still, though, I always get to hear about the luncheons she attends, the classes she takes, and the excitement at the thought of her next visit with my sisters or me. I was speaking to her as I was leaving a hospital after a visiting a couple whose babies are facing real challenges trying to acculturate to life outside of the womb. The parents lovingly hold each other and engage the nurses in appreciation. There is incredible joy in their voices as they speak of their twins, even while I know that life still hangs in the balance. I was on my way to check on a dear friend who was bed ridden, waiting for some life resolution. We all knew that his earthly demise was near, yet his spirit stayed strong. He kept telling me how beautiful the spring is here at the shore, wanting updates on our Shabbat morning study group so that he did not miss the study highlights. I stand in awe of the tenacity of folks who face challenges head on and never give up seeking and engaging opportunities for blessings and celebration in between the ongoing recurring painful episodes that seem overwhelming.

I know the old saying that God never gives us more than we can handle. I have had my moments of exemplary strength in times of crisis. Still, though, some days I am afraid of my own shadow. I know that I am not alone in this experience. I know that many of us find ourselves walking through both the world of strength and the world of intense fear and pain. I know that we are strongest when strenuously tested. Still, though, I see people who never feel that they can measure up. I work with teens who self-mutilate. Suicide and acts of terror to others seem to proliferate. The news shares details of the nightmarish "personal interest" stories as if they were as common as sharing brownie recipes. There is horrific pain in this world, but it has become so common-place that we grow numb to the news of pain. I look at the lives that lay in ruin and try to figure out why, for some, intense trials bring out the best in us while for others they leave us devastated.

There is a stark difference in the world view of those who stand and face trauma in one way versus those who run to hide: wounded and afraid. The difference lies in how much one experiences love. I am not speaking just in terms of erotic or even filial love. Rather, I am speaking of self-love and respect that keeps us keenly aware that we have value, and the fight is worth fighting as much as the love is worth sharing. When we are emotionally secure, we can face anything.

Often, though, we need each other to experience this love. It is so easy to get lost in our own pain. There are certainly people who have an innate sense of inner security, but most of us need those who love us to remind us that we have value. Without these arms that hold us, we struggle to maintain some perspective as to trials large and small and lose all perspective as to the value of blessings in our life.

So, I read this week's Torah portion that focuses on dealing with a tzara-at; a mystical affliction that destroys lives, communities, and even the physical structures in which afflicted people live. Unfortunately, traditional translations render this word "leprosy," but those who speak Yiddish know that the word "tzuris" (same word) means "gnawing at you problems." Rabbis have used this metaphor to speak out against AIDS, evil speech (lashon harah), and a host of social and medical maladies. In each case, we put an emphasis on the afflicted one, and what he/she may have done to find himself/herself stuck in the affliction. Most people who suffer did nothing to "deserve" their affliction. Decreeing that God punishes people this way belies every notion of a loving and benevolent "Divine Parent." Many have used this text as a metaphor for the hurricane that no one caused, but which left communities devastated in its wake. There is not a lot out there that yields "feel good" messages from this portion.

In reading through, I got to the part where the High Priest has to travel around the outskirts of town to inspect all afflicted/infected folks. They had to be thrown from camp until they healed. The High Priest made the call as to when someone could come back if ever. I always found this a little pretentious, and a door opening for abuse of power. As I spoke about this portion with our temple religious school, it hit me that we are a kingdom of High Priests. The Torah teaches that the whole world of faith is a "mamlekhet kohanim - a nation of High Priests." Each of us has the authority and obligation to hold each other's life in the balance. Where people are so afflicted that they withdraw or are thrown from society, we each have the priestly power to leave them exiled or bring them back. "Kol Yisrael aravim zeh b'zeh - all faithful folks are responsible for each other." Where people cannot see past their pain, how much of their tzara-at stems from the fact that we cannot see past their pain, either? The priest had to go to the people afflicted, and not wait for them to come back. Without the priest's permission, they can never come back.

We possess incredible power to change lives in this world. Most of what we do is complain about the people we do not want to help heal, or worse still, in shunning them, we only increase their exile and their affliction. In 1965, Burt Bacharach wrote the song, "What The World Needs Now?" the answer he provided: "Love sweet love." It has been 50 years since the song topped the charts. Is it time that we pay attention?

It is hard to be creative, having to write about the same portion two weeks in a row; especially when that means three or four different sermonic ideas on the same text. Last week, we read Parashat Shemini. We are doing it again this week. We are in the midst of a holiday based calendar correction which warrants this rarely needed repetition. So, there are two weeks of Kosher, two weeks of Nadav and Avihu and alien fire, and two weeks of finishing the anointment of priests. UGH!

I met with a Bat Mitzvah student yesterday. I tried explaining why we read the same words over and over again every year. The Torah does not change, but what we see in it changes. She asked why that happened, and I was able to respond that we have new experiences to bring to the study of text each year. I asked if she still thought her favorite 5 year old heroes were the best things on earth. She looked at me and laughed, "Of course not!" She nodded that she understood. It was in that moment that I realized that even while I teach the need to revisit the text with new eyes each time we read it; I am not always as good about doing this. I sometimes get stuck in having found some really neat (often off beat) moral in text, and it becomes my single take away from the text for years to come.

I do not keep a ritual level of kashrut. I don't eat pork, and while I admit to tasting my wife's shrimp on occasion, I do not eat shell fish. I have always stayed away from these foods because in times of attacks on Jews, those who weren't killed were forced to do things that were demeaning and degrading. I have read many stories where these actions including making Jews eat things that (if strictly kosher) they would never eat. Please note that I am sure that Freud would have argued that of all the things I could have picked, the obsession with food says something about my inner longing to have been a Jewish mother.

I committed to rethinking the issue, if only for the exercise of being intentional in my study. So, I reread the rules of kashrut. Ok. I still refuse to believe that God cares what we eat. IF God cares about our eating meat, I cannot see it making sense that it's okay to slaughter some defenseless animals and not others. Perhaps we should not be eating any meat at all, but I am faithfully sure that if God is personally interactive, then God cares a lot more about the "kosher" that comes out of our mouths than about what goes in. I took a look at the requirements that Torah gives us that helps us determine which animals are fit and those which are not. This is not really new to me, for I have always believed that the pig is a symbol of deception. An animal has to have a cloven hoof and chew its cud. The pig is the ONLY animal that looks kosher, but is not because of its internal structure. I often teach this as a way of helping our children understand human nature. Often people are seen doing the right things or who seem to have "it" all together. A book cannot be judged by its cover.

I decided to look at the fish. A fish has to have fins and scales. Shellfish are out, as are many fish species. Complicating the matter are those who have scales when young, but who lose them as they age (sturgeon and swordfish). I was always willing to accept that sometimes the sole answer for rules one does not understand is the need to know that we are disciplined enough to make decisions. We often tell our children to do something even if they don't understand why. They will grow from the experience. This, however, has always felt like a copout answer. So, I had to think about the purpose of fins and scales. Fins help propel fish. The speed at which it works is less important than that it works ... and that it allows them to move in so many different directions turning in every angle their spine allows. Fish do not stagnate. They do not get stuck ... unless caught. Shell fish are not nearly as mobile. The scales on a fish protect the fish's physical integrity. Scales provide a fish with the security to move without fear of injury or damage.

My faith works the same way. If I stagnate, or if I put limitations on my ability to move freely in faith, then it becomes more superstition than faith. Faith has to be rooted in the freedom to experience life. At the same time, I am grounded in core beliefs that protect me; the scales represent the soul's integrity.

Again, I find that I struggle to believe that this is a literal mandate about what to eat or not, but I absolutely believe that Torah was never intended to be read literally. Using the metaphor of physical sustenance (food for the body), Torah calls on us to wrestle with sustaining our spirit. If we get stuck we lose vision and insight; we have to keep moving in our faith and study. If we lose sight of our core values we wander aimlessly. If we lose a sense of being grounded, we also have no ability to have an epiphany that might help us grow or evolve our sense of truth as we garner more experience and more data from living more days. Perhaps next year, I will work on why the bird's opposable talon makes a huge difference ... or maybe it simply teaches us that firmer grips and greater stability help us make more sense of the world. For me, I marvel in how even the seeming minutia offers profound opportunities for learning. Nothing has to be devoid of spiritual value. Take some time and look past the things you think you know. You never know how cool an epiphany can be.
Shabbat Shalom.

My Rabbi gave me some great advice before I left the practice of law to head off to Rabbinical school. Rabbi Gene Levy told me to remember the following: 1. If I don't ask myself every day, "What am I doing here?" I do not belong. 2. Hebrew Union College (the Rabbinical seminary) is a means to an end. I knew that I loved this man and respected his wisdom, so I took the leap of faith, closed my practice and moved to Jerusalem to begin my studies. Gene has been right on every count.

Each day I have to remind myself why I made this choice. Some days, the reminder comes from the midst of dramatic frustration or painful engagement. I remember that I chose this work to make a difference and help bring an end to frustration in the world. Other days, the reminder comes from the most incredible blessings. I have to take a step back and give thanks that I get to do what I do, and that I find myself in the position of experiencing miracles. Some days bring both experiences. At either end of the spectrum or anywhere in between, I have to remember that I have to be intentional in waking up each day and in re-engaging. There is no way to take any of this for granted and still be able to come back for more.

Perhaps the greatest piece of this advice was the reminder to keep the seminary experience in perspective. Gene told me that the classroom experience was important, but one's ability to engage the heart and soul of great teachers would have a greater say in the type of Rabbi I would become. He was correct; the classroom afforded me many opportunities to learn, but my passion came from the time spent with some wonderful souls. Several of my now deceased professors stand out in these memories. Rabbi Chanan Brichto, zt"l, was as dear a friend and engaging a mentor as a man could have. Dr. Gene Mihaly, zt"l, welcomed us into his home and taught class, and then taught us to love our tradition. Dr. David Weisberg zt"l and Dr. Alvin Reines zt"l pushed us to expand the boundaries of Torah to keep it from stagnating.

This week is the yahrtzeit for my thesis advisor Dr. Ellis Rivkin. Ellis was one of the most unique individuals I was ever blessed to know. I sought him out because he was my Rabbi's advisor and friend, as well. Ellis was not a Rabbi, by ordination, but is more responsible for my rabbinate than any individual other than my late wife Cindy who blessed me with her permission to go on this journey. At 91, this amazing man had spent years garnering disciples, developing rabbis who learned to look at history through lenses that focused on process and not dates; relationships and not events. Take time to read "The Shaping of Jewish History," "The Hidden Revolution, "What Crucified Jesus," or any of a host of his work. You will never look at history the same way again. He epitomized the definition of the word mensch, the most righteous of individuals, and his unconditional acceptance and love for his students was unparalleled at the seminary. From the hours he spent helping me to focus on the task of writing my Rabbinical thesis to the Totalitarianism class final exam he administered over a gourmet Chinese dinner, I grew to love this man's soul and stand in awe of his diverse insight. He predicted Perestroika, he taught me to understand the equal dignity of all faith traditions, and he made sure that I understood that being a Rabbi was a call to love our tradition and people first and a paying profession second. This relationship was meant to be. Ellis was Gene Levy's advisor, as well.

This week, Torah introduces us to the concept of kosher. Kosher means appropriate. This is not a matter of hygiene or health. This is a matter of discipline, and it has been the source of incredible angst and argumentation not only within our tradition, but between ours and other traditions. What I know, is that this text demands that we pay attention. An animal's place on or off the list speaks to its relative value in the lives of humanity. There are abundant commentaries arguing that the call to pay attention to what goes in our mouths merely begins a conversation that focuses a whole lot more on the appropriateness of what comes out of our mouths. Every time I teach this message, I find myself back at that final exam dinner at the Blue Gibbon, a Cincinnati restaurant I have enjoyed many times since. Rabbi Jim Egolf and I asked Ellis why such a nice dinner in place of an exam. His response was simple. The greatest value of food was that it gave us the strength to do great work. If we could really enjoy what we ate and with whom we ate it, then we would use its energy to bless those around us. This has been, for at least this rabbi, the single most important lesson ever learned about kosher. Pay attention to what you eat - it should not be accidental (regardless of the literal list), for the atmosphere and substance of the meal will determine the appropriateness of how we behave after it is over. And, pertinent to the class, if we can truly appreciate the gift of the meal and the atmosphere, we will, true to all human values, want to ensure that others get to enjoy the same blessings moving forward. It is only when we take for granted what and how we eat, that we can ignore another's need for blessing and think we can demean their lives to a checklist of basic needs which we then often ignore. Kosher was not about what we eat; it spoke to the intention with which we eat, with whom we eat, and the conversation/relationships that thrive because we are together while we eat.

Ellis demanded that we serve first, love first, and learn first, anything short of this demeans the blessing with which we have been granted in getting to do what we do and enjoy what we enjoy. There is no more profound understanding of kosher - of appropriateness - than the lessons this wonderful man taught by the way in which he lived. Shabbat Shalom.

As a teenager, I thought I was bulletproof. I played ball with reckless abandon, and did not reserve this for only games that mattered; it was a way of life. My mom loves telling the story of the day the gym called her to tell her that her son had broken his ankle. I was playing pick-up basketball with my brother. She asked the caller, "which son?" The response was simply, "Both." I drove to the basket and injured both of us. The list of injuries I have sustained is long, and you think at some point, I would wise up. Since turning 50, I have significantly added to the list ... though only one injury even has a story almost worth telling.
My wife, Lori, calls it "Y chromosome disease." All men have it. It is our fate: men to do stupid things with our bodies. For all of us, it takes a lot of effort for us not to default to our "God given" deficiencies (somewhat tongue in cheek guys ... ladies, I know you are nodding your heads).

Some parts of our lives are absolutely beyond our control. This concept of fate is only a piece of the puzzle, for we also always have the ability to choose how we respond to that which we cannot control. We do have the ability to choose better self care; we can choose to pay more attention; we can choose to be more aware and more sensitive. A famous "truism" reminds us that if we don't like what is happening, we should work to change it. If we can't change it, then we need to change the way in which we approach it. Ultimately, we have the power to choose our desired personal destiny. The value of education is to help us learn how to make better decisions. The value of experience helps us frame these decisions in ways that make sense. Every day, we are blessed with this opportunity. Every day, we are confronted with this challenge. How we internalize the blessing and address the challenge will determine the relative direction of our destiny and the values of our lives.

There is, however, still more. The value of Torah is that it creates conversations. You know I believe that. You also know that I believe that the Torah, written without vowels and sentence structure can say all sorts of things when the reader organizes the text vocally. We each have the power to write a completely different text than the one our neighbors write, even while we all begin at the same starting point ... the consonantal structures.

Between 1400 and 1000 years ago, a group of sages tried to create a standardized text for the purpose of ceremonial uniformity. They knew that the static text should not change the ability to manipulate it and wrestle with its potential meanings, but wanted to create a standard. They put vowels, punctuation, and musical notation to the text. If you open a Jewish Bible, you will see their work on every word, line, and page of text. They did something more, though. In these additions, they hid their own textual commentaries. In so doing, they set in stone that every time the text is read in ceremony, it is read in a way that emphasizes and de-emphasizes pieces of the story line.

We know that spoken or sung texts give us a whole lot more emotional and intellectual opportunity than words simply written on a page. How we vocalize a text often provides it with meaning that the text, by itself, might not convey. So, the musical notes added to text motivate us towards specific understandings. This phenomenon is part of this week's Torah story. One of the notes is called a "Shalshelet," and in some sense of onomatopoeia, it is a note that extends the pronunciation of the word longer than would happen normally in reading it. This note happens in only four places in Torah (three in Genesis and one here). Many scholars have noted that its unique and rare use calls attention to specific themes in the text ... including some that only become evident because of the way in which these specific words elongate and play out when chanted.

I have also read several pieces that focus on the psychology of this week's story line to help in understanding. This week, Moses formally anoints his brother and his brother's children as priests. He does the sacrifice on the altar that begins the ceremony ... the last sacrifice he will ever perform at the altar. He will no longer be the singular shaman for the people, and will share power ... perhaps even cede power to his brother. This musical note appears in the text at the moment of the fire on the altar's passing of leadership. The text does not speak about Moses' anxiety, but the musical vocalization gives us a sense of anxiety. Is he prepared emotionally to let go? From this many scholars argue that we have to be intentional about our choice making. I agree, but that point is already well made.

The unique lesson tied to each of the four uses of this note transcends the self. Moses (and in Genesis Lot, Joseph, and Eliezer) are all at pivotal points in their stories, when this shalshelet note happens in text. For Moses, his ability to turn over the reins of leadership ultimately has little to do with him and everything to do with the people. The whole world is going to change, and, by that one act, we will move from a people based in the prophetic sharing with God into a world of ritually based worship. Moses' conundrum may be about his ego and loss of self esteem, but I do not think so. I think he is worried that he now has the task of keeping prophecy alive, even while all of our time and behaviors are directed to and at the altar.

We each control our own destiny, until someone changes it for us. Each of us has to be willing to give up a piece of ourselves and change our destiny when we see that the needs and well being of the rest of society would make our insular selves irrelevant or counterproductive to our society. Sometimes, it means making sure that society, even in moving in a new direction, never loses its grounding. We are at a crossroads in the faith world. We have let politics, ego, and power become the ritual of our religions. The names/labels of each of our religions are used in the most unholy of ways, as people destroy each other's loves ... under the guise of religion. No wonder so many people are walking away, and in doing so, abdicate the label and all it purports to stand for to the most fanatical of uses.

The shalshelet is a warning to us. Even as we walk through the ritual in our lives, we cannot let go of the prophetic call to justice, righteousness, mercy, compassion, love, and peace. Even as we see people usurp our religious labels for their own hateful purposes, we have to reclaim our traditions, and once again find ourselves standing before the altar of loyalty and faith to each other and to the dignity with which God created each of us. Go back to Church, to Temple, to the Mosque. Go back and claim your rightful and righteous inheritance. Go back and reclaim your traditions from the fanatics who abuse it. Go back and let's join in the prayer for peace.
Shabbat Shalom
Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

The other day, I read an article about song lyrics gone wrong. The classic misreading is of Iron Butterfly's "Ina Gadda Davida," which is actually "In the garden of Eden." Go figure. The article I read pointed to hundreds of other songs that have been abused ... I even found a few that I had always gotten wrong. One has to ask how the phenomenon happens. Is it that the vocalist was not clear? Perhaps the listener was not paying attention? What we do know is this: it happens.

Every time I look at this week's Torah portion, I am reminded of the many times we not only mishear something, but then build a world around defending it as true. After all, the official title of the song is now "Ina Gadda Davida." Why this week? This week is all about sacrifices. The whole world takes for granted that all Jews sacrifice (or at least sacrificed) animals on an altar. I was welcoming a Christian Day school to our temple the day before Passover, a few years back. I asked the Principal where to begin. She said that I should confirm whether or not she correctly instructed the school on what was going to happen in our sanctuary that night. I was confused. I asked her what she told them. "I told them that at sundown, you were going to march a lamb or goat down this center aisle and then place it on that altar to sacrifice it to God for Passover." Dumbfounded, I retorted, "You're kidding, right?" She was not.

Ok, I admit that at one point in our history, our worship revolved around the offerings at the altar in Jerusalem. I know that there is an absolute legacy of a ritual sacrifice that took place at the altar, and that a priestly class oversaw the process. I also know that a close reading of the Hebrew calls into question whether the sacrificial practice was supposed to be what it was.

The text reads "Ki yakriv mikem korban ..." Most folks translate this as "When one amongst you brings a sacrifice ..." The text does not offer a command to sacrifice here; the language is conditional. Some will read the "ki" as "If," further making it clear that the offerings are not necessarily what "God" had in mind.

I think that there is a play on words here. Yakriv and korban are from the same root (koof-resh-bet), and the reference is clear that we are referring to bringing something/someone closer to God. I guess, on a literal level, if animals go to heaven, then this is one way to get them there quickly. Again, though, I don't think that this is what "God" had in mind.

We know that the practical practice of the sacrifice was to feed the priests and the poor. It was only for some really bad transgression that the whole animal was wasted. We know that the text tells us that the smoke from the offering was a pleasing odor to God. We also know that if God's behavior to us is rooted in sensual and culinary satisfaction or disdain, then everything we teach about God's grace, God's love, God's justice has no value. The Jewish bible is filled, though, with the command to care for the widow the orphan, and the stranger. The text reminds us that there is one standard for the entire community, without discrimination. Most fervently, it reads, "Justice justice, you must pursue it."

So, I do not believe that we come closer to good because we feed God, or because we smell nice. I do not think that burning flesh on an altar was God's choice. Certainly there are lots of substitutions for the animal if one cannot afford it. Even flour can be brought, if that is what the family can afford. There are textual references that lead us to believe that the sacrificial cult was a way of accommodating an existent ritual practice with a new meaning. "Ki" ... If you are going to sacrifice, do it for God, and not for the pagan idols.

So what is it that brings us closer to God in the practice? Perhaps the idea is that you come close to God not by what else you bring, but by bringing yourself. It takes intentionality to drop what one is doing, gathering the offering and then waiting in line at the altar. "Ki" ... If one is to bring something, make sure that it is brought with the heart of giving, contrition, or thanksgiving. It is the motivation that separates an altar offering of a piece of meat on a grill from the korban that brings us closer to God.

We don't do burnt offerings any more, there is no altar waiting to bring a pleasing odor to God. Our traditions have evolved passed the transitory sacrificial cult and the Third Temple cannot be a walled structure in one place of the world. The prophet Jeremiah said, "for I (God) have not talked with your ancestors about matters of sacrifices the day I delivered them from Egypt......"

Bottom line: whatever you bring to whichever altar you bring it, make sure that your heart is in the right place in bringing it. One's heart and your intentionality are the most valuable offerings on can bring anywhere, and anything less is ... less. We pretend that what we feel like doing is all that is required of us. Making up the rules is no different than making up the words to a song misheard. The artist bristles when his work is misunderstood and perverted. In the same sense, in however God interacts here, the reaction has to be the same when we pervert the justice with which we are supposed to take care of each other and of the world around us.
Shabbat Shalom
Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

"R-E-S-P-E-C-T!" Aretha, the Queen Mother of Soul, taught us how to spell the most important word in interpersonal relationships. When one understands the true meaning of the word "Respect," one has the power to change the world. So, let's look at the word. According to Merriam-Webster, "Respect" has several definitions, and each would lend to this song, a very different message. The song's key phrases are, "I'm about to give you all of my money, and all I'm askin' in return, honey, is to give me my profits, when you get home ... Ooh, your kisses, Sweeter than honey, and guess what, so is my money."

One definition of "respect" reads, "An act of giving particular attention." "Respect my money, I deserve to be treated well." Were it that this was her intention, the song would teach us that we are supposed to treat rich people well because they have money. I hardly think that this is what she intended.

More in keeping with what we traditionally think of in using the word respect, the dictionary offers, "To hold something or someone in high regard or esteem." Whatever the rest of the song, "everyone" knows that this is a breakout song for a woman to tell a man, "I can take care of myself! Respect me for that!" Women have stood behind this classic, and one cannot think of Aretha and not think of this song ... or think of it and not hear her soulful voice beating it out.

There is only one problem with this phenomenon; the song was written and sung first by Otis Redding. He wrote the song to talk about a man who worked hard all day to provide for his family, only to be treated horribly by the wife he supported and to whom he catered. In his case, "respect" was a plea for dignity and recognition. "High regard and esteem" were not even close possible realities, given the text of the song.

Not only is the word "respect" ambiguous, but the purpose and impact of the song focused on that word is, as well. Hearing the song from the troubled soul of Otis Redding's disrespected husband's voice makes it a completely different song than hearing it from the triumphant and "in your face" boldness of a liberated Aretha Franklin.

In much the same way, Torah is ambiguous. We read texts in and out of their original context, and in doing so, we each walk away with our own unique truths. Three religions stem from one single text, each taking its teachings in very different directions, each claiming it to be the "true" context. Bahya Be Asher wrote, "The scroll of the Torah is written without vowels, so you can read it variously. Without vowels, the consonants bear many meanings and splinter into sparks. That is why the Torah scroll must not be vowelized. ... Without vowels, you can understand it in countless, wondrous ways." Perhaps then, the purpose of Scripture was to yield many profound understandings. The very same words read through the mouths of a Jesuit Priest, a Baptist Minister, and Imam or a Rabbi, will have little if any bearing on the intended messages of the other voices reading them. Each version roots in the text's truth.

With all this in mind, I read this week's Torah portion. We finish Exodus this week, and with it, finish building the Mishkan. The Alcalay Dictionary is considered to be one of the premier Hebrew - English Dictionaries. The word "Mishkan" ranges in translation from dwelling, to sanctuary, to grave. This Torah portion speaks of the Mishkan as the place where God will dwell amongst the people. Other pieces of text refer not to the "Mishkan," but to the "Mishkanot" of the people. If Mishkan means sanctuary or temple/tabernacle, then "Mishkanot Yisrael" would be the "TEMPLES/TABERNACLES" of Israel (plural), not just the homes of the people. In the Book of Numbers, Bilaam will go to curse Israel, but, looking out over the people, will bless their Mishkanot. What did he see that day? People's homes or the multitude of faith traditions encamped together?

In a debate with a colleague this week, the relative definition of Israel volleyed back and forth. He argued for the position that Judaism and Israel were identical and inseparable. My position was that the term Israel means God wrestling / faith, and that Judaism is a subset of that people of faith. One word: "Israel." From the mouths of two passionate Rabbis: two very different meanings.

The people of Israel in the Bible dispersed to the winds with the destruction of the Northern Kingdom. Judaea is the remnant identifiable people of Israel, but not knowing to where the northern folks dispersed, keeps us from ever arguing that only we exist. This phenomenon was a known quantity at the time the Bible became Jewish canon. Those in charge included Ezekiel's prophecy that one day (Messianic Age) the sticks he held in one hand representing Judah would reunite with the sticks in the other hand that represented the rest of Israel who found their way back home. For this Rabbi, devout in his Jewish faith, there is a clear message of hope tied into these texts and which is driven home by this week's text. The Mishkanot Yisrael are each sanctuaries of holiness, and each flows from the paradigm of the one that brought all folks together, the building of which culminates in this week's reading. Each of our homes ... every home in the world ... with folks from all different traditions of wrestling with God in faith ... is a sanctuary of holiness. I pray for the day when we return from our exile from each other, and we can get past the politics of names and the dogma that separates us from respecting each other. I pray that we return to that moment when whoever looks at this world can praise the beauty of each of our mishkanot.
Shabbat Shalom
Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Have you ever had one of those moments when you must take a deep breath and exclaim in exasperation, "God, I don't get it (or worse ... adding all sorts of expletives)?" Even the most devout of acclaimed atheists have these moments; they just don't use the word "God." As I grew up studying history, I ran into many of these moments. Vicariously, I ached, as I read the stories of those whose lives ripped at the seams because of war, oppression, and the forces of nature gone awry. It took many years for me to figure out that there existed a direct correlation between the severity of the trials people face, and the decibel level of their cries that there must not be a God.

Religion teaches that in times of crisis, one should find solace in the love of the Creator. There is a sardonic line that Jews point to: "The world says that we are God's chosen people. God ... choose someone else next time!"

Certainly, we are not the only people in history who have so deeply suffered that we have to question the purpose, role, even the existence of a God. Having had the blessing/challenge of counseling with survivors of the Shoah (Holocaust), the September 11th terror attacks, bombings in Israel, and myriads of less public and deeply personal trauma, I came to understand that it was not that people lacked faith. They were incredibly angry at the God in whom they professed not to believe. Despite their words of resolution and resignation, they still made it through each day, and showed up for their scheduled conversations. The trauma put a fence around their faith, it didn't destroy it. People in trauma are often just too traumatized to be able to access faith, and default to the answer ... it does not exist. And still ... they keep showing up.

Eight years ago, on the holiday of Purim, my first wife died of a heart attack. I do not know if my training helped me through maintaining a connection with faith, or whether my faith helped me maintain an awareness of my training. I do know that even in the hardest moments, often dispassionately (and admittedly often awkwardly), I found myself able to pull things back together. I never questioned why God did this to me, though, I still sometimes get sucked in to asking why God did it to Cindy. It is in these moments that I realize my own failures in faith. God does not do these things, or at least, no God I can believe in does these things. As scripture teaches, the Prophet Elijah was fleeing for his life, having been zealous representing "God's righteousness."

Then a powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before God, but God was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but God was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but God was not in the fire. After the fire came the kol d'mama ... the still small voice." God asked, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" When Elijah answered that he was being zealous for God, God responded that he should go back to from where he came and get back to work.

We pin a lot of blame on God. In blaming God, we stifle ourselves and somehow forget that we are still alive and presented with opportunities for blessing every day. God is not in the fire.

This week's Torah portion teaches this same lesson from a slightly different perspective. Using the character of "God" as the metaphor for pre-determination, Moses and God argue over the golden calf. God is angry and threatens to destroy the people Israel. In one of the great soliloquies of Biblical literature (Exodus 32:11 et. seq), Moses implores to God's face, excoriating God for freeing Israel from Egypt only to kill everyone in the wilderness. He goes further to ask how God could be distrustful, promising to make of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob a great nation and then destroying them to start over with Moses. Moses changes God's mind. Standing up for what is right ... reminding God of the blessing of integrity and faith ... this is what saved Israel.

In our High Holy Day liturgy, we read that everything that will happen for the next year is pre-determined on Yom Kippur. The prayer then goes on to tell us that we have the power to change any such decree if we only pay attention. The message of the day is not to fear the potential decree of destitution, but to be in awe of the potential that life brings us each day. In every engagement with life, we have the potential to find blessing.
So, it snowed on Purim ... the country is covered in snow. Every year, on Cindy's yahrtzeit, it snows. Sometimes on the secular date and sometimes on the Hebrew date; you can bet that it will snow. Snow was important to her ... for a host of reasons-- it was very important. It snows every year on at least one of these dates. She has not left this world, nor has anyone we love who has passed on physically ... however they left us, we still hold them, and we hold onto the Source from where they came. I am reminded that we are connected with forces way beyond what we can fathom, never mind, explain. The confluence of the Torah portion, the holiday, the yahrtzeit, and the many pieces of our tradition that come to mind on this day; each reminds me that God is not in the earthquake or the fire.

Whatever God is, it is in a faith beyond what I know or can begin to explain and that helps me appreciate the power of divinity in which we all share. It allows us to love the intangible. It allows us to move past the moments of "I don't get it." It allows us to restore ourselves and seek blessings, even in the midst of the greatest of challenges. The fire symbolizes the spiritual challenges that we face. The fire does not consume our spirit any more than it consumed the bush that first called to Moses at the beginning of his quest for righteousness. He had to move past his fear of the fire to experience the blessing.

Chaka Khan may or may not have been speaking about the pursuit of God's embrace, but as I heard this song this morning, it was the only message I could take, "Through the fire, to the limit, to the wall, just to be with you, I'd gladly risk it all. Through the fire, through whatever, come what may, for a chance at loving you; I'd take it all the way ... right down to the wire, even through the fire." God was not in the fire.

With it all, I know that the blessing of life and the opportunities that it affords me are absolutely tied to the lives who touch mine, and to the forces describable only as divine that bring us together.
Shabbat Shalom
Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

What would happen if you were not here? This is an odd question, but ... have you ever wondered wha...t the world would be like if you were not here? Jimmy Stewart starred in a movie with this theme. "It's A Wonderful Life" is, and always will be, one of my favorite movies. It gets dug out and dusted off every year for the winter holidays. Jimmy's character was having a really tough time. On the verge of doing something drastic, he met an angel in waiting (Clarence) who helped him see how intimately he shared blessings with so many people. The world would not have been kind, had this person not existed. I do love that movie.

I thought about it as I read this week's Torah portion. Moses' name does not appear ... at all ... in this week's reading. I had to ask, ok, we know that Moses is there (even if not mentioned), but what is different about this portion? Big deal? I read the text over and over, thinking that it was a boring to read an entire portion dedicated to the adornment of the priesthood. A colleague even suggested that this was a difficult portion from which to pull a relevant and meaningful commentary.

It hit me that I was thinking too hard. The fact is that Moses is gone, and we spend the entire portion making a fuss over the priest. With Moses, we get a conversation about our behavior, our strengths and weaknesses, and a game plan for Godliness. Without Moses, we feed the ego of a single class of the population, giving them the finest of clothing and jewelry, and a desk layered in pure gold. Even most commentators write about the grandeur of Aaron and his children in their role as priest. It is opulent and excessive.

Elsewhere in the Torah we are told that we are all priests; we are a mamlekhet kohanim ... a kingdom of priests. Aaron's family may be serving us at the altar, but they are not grander than the rest of us ... Torah says so. Oddly, this week's portion is the only one in which there is no reference to Moses (except in Deuteronomy, which is Moses' final discourse... he is speaking). Without Moses, we became focused on the grandeur of a few, forgetting that each of us shares in equal dignity. Moses' role was to transmit the rules of engagement with God. In his absence, we launch into a discussion aggrandizing the separation, ego and adornment of a privileged class.

Our tradition calls Moses, "Moshe Rabbaenu - Moses, our teacher." Specifically, our tradition rejected the notion that there was a privileged priesthood, and the position of Rabbi is not, in any way, intended to reflect the role of the priest. Every adult in a congregation can do everything that a Rabbi does (except weddings, which are governed by state law). Most commentators somehow overlook this reality, every time they write about how unique Aaron and his children are amongst us. In some parts of the text, they are set apart, in so many others ...and in the evolved Rabbinic tradition, we are all equal.

How many of us have moments when we lose focus on this core value of equality and spend a lot of energy separating people by assessing relative values to one or the other? In truth, this is our normal way of doing things. This is the root of racism, imperialism, corruption of power, and ... every societal ill of which we read about through history. I am, in no way, suggesting that Communism, Socialism, or a universal "Kumbaya" is the appropriate answer. I am saying that as we walk through our lives, we need to spend more energy on affirming each other than cowering from perceived power, abdicating our rights to empowerment, or abusing our perceived power at the expense of another. Where we pay attention (i.e. when symbolically Moses is present), we do a much better job of caring for ourselves, our communities, and our world. When we live without guidance and without intention, we effectively go into exile from each other and get lost in our own dogma and own designs. Torah tells us in every situation we face the choice between the blessing and the curse ... the life of value, or the death rooted in dissolution. Torah demands, "U'v'kharta bakhayeem ... therefore, choose life."
Shabbat Shalom.

Religion A couple has their daughter and her fianc� over for dinner. After a pleasant evening, the "kids" left. As mom and dad were cleaning up, the man said, "What a nice man!" Mom looked at him in exasperation, "Really, you asked him how he was going to support our daughter and he has no job! What is so nice about him?" Still smiling, Dad said, "He is a man of faith. He said that God would provide for him and our daughter. HE THINKS I AM GOD! What a nice man!"

In our day, way too many people expect to be taken care of. People utter prayers for well-being, expecting that somehow, God will uniquely choose that individual to answer his/her prayers. Now, don't get me wrong; I absolutely believe in the power of prayer. I don't, however, think that God answers prayers because you pray. Prayer is heartfelt introspection, and prayer is answered when we grow in vision and commitment. There is power around us to help us be more than we ever thought that we could be, but it is not until we pay attention to our ability to use it that it matters. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel taught that the purpose of prayer is to help us subvert our complacency and move us to spiritual awareness. If we emerge from our time of prayer the same person who entered into it, then we have not prayed. It is impossible to pray and not see ways in which we can do more, be more, and live more intentionally.

Every day, we walk sightless amongst folks who do heroic things. Some of these acts changed lives, some saved lives, some saved life's dignity, some simply made someone else's day a whole lot better. Every day, we walk sightless past opportunities to join the ranks of these heroes. Absorbed in our own challenges, our own activities, and our own ... ; we fail to look past our own experience to see opportunities to change some piece of someone's world or bring some peace into the world. When we pay attention to what happens around us, we give ourselves the chance to move from being "blind" and "complacent" to being appreciative and engaged. This is the power of prayer, it allows us to see and seize the opportunity to be heroic.

As Lori and I watched the first "Captain America" movie again this week, I transformed from movie enjoyer to rabbi focusing on sermons that jumped off the screen at me. One theme that kept hitting me over and over was this idea that we have the opportunity to change someone's entire world view just by the way in which we behave. Men languished without hope in the prison created by the parody of Nazi Germany called "Hydra," until Captain Steve Rogers showed up, freed them and empowered them to take on the entire "Hydran" army. They became heroes. Steve was himself transformed from a short scrawny weakling into a hero who found his path to heroism just by paying attention to the news of a friend "Bucky" in need. He had no idea the amount of good he could do in the world, simply because he paid attention.

So, where is God? This week's Torah portion instructs us that God told Moses, "Make for Me a sanctuary, and I will dwell amidst them. (Ex. 25:8)"Rabbi Yeshaya Halevi Horowitz (16th Century) wrote that the text does not say that God will dwell within the structure. Rather, God says, "... and I will dwell amongst/amidst/with them." 1600 years prior, a guy named Philo led the ancient Alexandrian Jewish community and taught that the temple was merely the representation of the Logos ... God's presence in our midst. Where and how? Torah teaches that we are each made of the divine image. This presence is the very power that, if garnered in prayer, transforms us from bystanders to heroic doers. "Pray as if everything depends on God, but work as if everything depends on you." A great many authors have been credited with authoring this statement, but it is ancient and eastern, and is the foundation of faith. Prayer is the act of focusing on the needs of the world, while the work is the answer to the prayer. They are inseparable and absolutely dependent on us. In accepting the yoke and privilege of service ... heroism, we affirm that divinity is, in fact, amongst us.

Religion has been lying to us for thousands of years, and the results have polarized the world. On the one hand, it provides amazing and life affirming opportunities for growth. On the other hand, it rips the world apart at the seams. The entirety of this conundrum comes from this week's Torah portion.

Ok, maybe that was a little over dramatic, but one need only look at this week's text to see the blessings and curses that religion allow us to share with each other. There are two main foci I draw from this text:

1) Jethro is Moses' father-in-law, and because the portion begins with a vignette about him, the portion is named "Yitro" (Jethro in English). Jethro is a Midianite sheikh; a foreign chieftan (a.k.a. clergy of a different religion). Upon hearing of the wonders that Israel experienced with God (the Exodus), through Moses' leadership, he brought Moses' wife and children to the encampment and meet him. Moses had left them at home when he left Midian to free Israel from Pharaoh. So thrilled was "dad," that he praised God, brought an offering to God, celebrated his family, and then set about giving Moses "fatherly" advice on how to best take care of the judicial disputes between members of the tribes. Quite clearly from the text, Jethro thinks he has a great son-in-law whose work is so important that "dad" wants to keep him from burning out. Also, quite clearly, Moses had no problem having his non-Israelite foreign ... other religion priest ... making an offering on the Israelite altar. The only acknowledgment Jethro and Moses made was how wonderful God is, and they did it with the very same prayer at the same altar. Yes, two different religions ... an interfaith family ... one common prayer. What a beautiful statement, and, yet, how many wars have we fought to prove that we really do not share in God ... God loves only one group and not the other. How many lines have we drawn around our own traditions that serve to keep people away from us?

2)Near the end of this portion, Moses receives the Ten Commandments atop Mt. Sinai. Well, actually he really does not. He gets the "Ha-aseret Hadibrot" which literally translates as "The ten things that were said." There is a huge difference between a command and an ethical instruction or guiding thought. Every time I find myself in a conversation on this text, I am reminded of the bumper sticker that reads, "God wrote the King James Bible, don't be confused with that Hebrew translation." I cannot begin to count the number of people who argue with me, holding fast to the notion that it does not matter what the Hebrew says ... "These are God's Ten Commandments!" In truth, it is a list of ten ideas that are incredibly important to communal life.

The Torah has a total of 613 of these statements. Some of them are redundant, and some are contradictory of others on the list. There is no hierarchy in our tradition. There is no minor mitzvah or major mitzvah; they are all important. The list of ten we get from Exodus 20 are symbolic of all 613 because each speaks to a different way in which we are supposed to honor the source of creation and each piece of creation. We are not to abuse each other's rights to life, liberty, and property ... and yes, the framers of our nation used this text as a foundation for deciding what it meant to be an American. Life is sacred. Personal time and space is sacred. Relationships are sacred. These are universal and inalienable, and yet, different religions have pursued crusades, filed lawsuits and waged wars to exclude all others from the blessing and protection of these ethical precepts, or to impose their own narrow rendering of the text on everyone around them.

This portion instructs us on how to love and engage each other in a way that honors each of our faiths. It should remind us that the love for our family is shared in God, even under different labels. The text should lead us to understand each other's rights and dignities in holistic ways. The bottom line, faith sustains relationships, and we know that relationships sustain the world. How is it that we turned these incredible messages into tools of destruction where some are welcomed and other are not; where we treat a very rich text as our personal mandate to wield power over others? It is time for a reset. It is time to remember that we share this world ... and this text and its teachings with so many others ... equally. Quite literally, It is time for Shabbat, as respite from the world's madness: a chance to taste the blessings available to all in the world. God, I pray to be faithful, and I hope being religious does not get in the way.

I have to wonder what it would be like to stand on the shore of the sea and have it split open wide before me. To watch the fish come to the brink of the water, and as if hitting the side of the aquarium tank ... they abruptly turn and change course. Imagine the ground, dry to the foot, despite having been covered with water for the many millennia. We know the text that tells us of Israel going into the sea, up to their noses, on dry ground. We scratch our heads and wonder how this might have come to be. It's all nice, but something is missing.

According to the text, Moses is praying to God. The people are whining before Moses. Pharaoh is trying to get past God and attack Moses. The Midrash tells of a guy named Nachshon who, in an act of blind faith, dives in causing the waters to part. It's all nice, but something is missing.

I play this tape over and over in my head. Every worship service tells this story, as we read Mi Chamocha (liturgy that includes this Biblical story) and remind ourselves of the miracle at the sea. The prayer concludes with the phrase "Tzur Yisrael ... Rock of all who are faithful." What a testament to faith! It's all nice, but something is missing.

So, last week I was in Israel, and I was traveling the hot spots in the country. Standing at the Gaza border, we spoke with a resident of the Kibbutz Nativ Haasarah. This kibbutz used to be located in the Sinai, but when Israel and Egypt made peace, Israel ceded the Sinai back to Egypt and the Kibbutz could either become Egyptian or could move to within Israel's borders. It chose to move, and the parents of the man we were with relocated with the other kibbutz families. They made one request that was for security that they were safely within the borders and not have to face the threat of relocation again.

The kibbutz was named in memory of "the ten" (haasarah) who died in a helicopter crash in the 1967 War. So, standing on the shore (the border) of a kibbutz that formed in memory of the soldiers who fell for the cause of freedom, which itself had to be relocated in the cause of freedom, now on the border of Gaza, worried about its freedom. I sensed a theme developing.

I had to wonder why these folks tolerated daily (sometimes hourly) shelling from Gaza. This was a very familiar discomfort, as I used to get all worked up over the pioneers who moved west.Despite the fear of being ambushed, people overcame their fear. They settled the west despite their fears ... or maybe even in spite of their fear, because there was something more valuable at stake.

We now know that a tunnel was dug from Gaza City to the hot houses of the Kibbutz. I am brave, but this goes beyond bravery. This is insanity, and yet, my world experience is very different than that of the folks here. I have never had to fight for the very basic freedom to live. I have nothing invested in my freedoms, beyond the lessons taught me by generations a little closer in time to the wars that were waged to gain, ensure, and protect the freedoms that I take for granted.

The man we were speaking with lived in fear, but he was not going to abandon his family's dream of living freely in Israel. This was a powerful epiphany for me, as I think about the people over here who attack our government ... who only have the right to attack our government because we jealously guard and protect the rights of each individual. I love the tax evasion movement who argue that the income tax violates the 16th Amendment to our Constitution. I remarked to one of the movement leaders that if everyone joined his movement ... if he was right, then the country that gives him the right to protest would fail and he would be taxed even more by the chaos that followed. We take so much for granted.

Israel stands at the shores of the sea. They are faced with the very real fear of Pharaoh's attack. They looked to the water and feared drowning. Two million slaves with nothing to live for gave up. All Moses did was scream at God to do something. Whether it was Nachshon as the midrash teaches, or whomever it was, our tradition is clear that someone who was also very afraid, had the courage to stick his/her toe in the water ... and it opened wide. You know, we are all afraid, but some of us live past our fear and do amazing things, anyway. Who is Nachshon? Each of us has the capacity to change the world. Most of us take the important things in the world for granted ... until we lose them. I wonder how different the world would be if each of us could stand in front of the water with the understanding that it was within our power to part the sea. That is what is missing.

Wednesdays provide me with a unique opportunity to frame my thoughts on the weekly Torah portion. I get to speak with our Religious School students and share an idea or two that can be gleaned from the text. This week, as I was preparing for events surrounding Dr. King's birthday, I had to also wrestle with the plagues brought upon Egypt. At the same time, we are struggling with the acts of terror In France and the nightmarish butchery perpetrated by ISIS and Boko Haram. Of course, what screams loudest from this portion are the plagues that begin to fall upon Egypt, as Pharaoh refuses to heed the call to free Israel from bondage and servitude.

I am just not sure how much destruction one can endure and still be positive. It is with some serendipity (if there really is such a thing) that I am currently reading Viktor Frankl's "Man's Search For Meaning." He chronicled his tenure as an inmate at Auschwitz, and as a neurologist, he learned that one's outlook to the future had a lot to say about his chances of survival. At one point he described a horrific and obstacle-filled march into the fields for work, and reflected on a conversation in which one inmate expressed the hope that his wife was having an easier time. He proclaimed that the ultimate joy and hope for survivability was love. "The salvation of man is through love and in love." If there ever was a time that I needed to read those words ... even from a twisted point of reference (Auschwitz), now is that time.

I have always struggled with the storyline depicting all of Egypt suffering at the hands of an arrogant and vindictive Pharaoh. He made the edict to enslave all Israel, it wasn't made for him. Further, as the plagues began to descend upon Egypt, Pharaoh became even more deeply rooted in the decision not to free Israel. The people suffered.

What did the average Egyptian do to warrant universal suffering from the plagues? On the one hand, we know all too well, that the deeds of a leader impact the whole organization. When war is declared, each one of us is a combatant in the eyes of the enemy. So, Egypt suffered. That would be all well and neatly packaged, except that next week, we will watch as Moses tells Pharaoh that even while Pharaoh will not want Israel to go, the Egyptian people will come before Moses to demand it. Yes, this is a nuanced text, but this is the first time in the discourse with Pharaoh, that Moses refers to the will of the Egyptians. They suffered, yet Moses knew that the Egyptians would rise up. In the end, Moses and God rely on the Egyptians to make the decision to force the expulsion of Israel from servitude: it was within their power to make this change happen. Of course, we have to ask, "If they had that power all along, why did they not use it sooner?"

A lesson that screams off of the page is really quite simple, and Elie Wiesel put it best, "The opposite of love is not hate, it is indifference." Most Egyptians did not love or hate Israel. They did not read of the slavery in the newspaper, and there were no political pundits exposing the nightmare on the television. Yet, how could one exist in the area, and not see what was happening? The people saw, and did nothing ... nothing ... until it affected their world. They were indifferent until it affected them. When they lost water to drink, when their bodies were covered in boils, when it became too dark to see, and then ... when their first born died. Slavery was not a crime, until they had to pay a price for it. People just didn't care.

Similarly, as I watched the videos taken of nearby residents being forced to tour Auschwitz after the war, I was shocked to see people who lived on the other side of the fence claiming to have no idea it was happening ... with genuine looks of horror on their faces. They had no idea, but how could they have no idea? We knew in the United States ... how could they not know? God heard the cries of the Israelite slaves of Egypt. How could Egypt have not known? The plagues happened because no one wanted to get involved. The devastation Europe experienced happened because no one wanted to get involved. Elie Wiesel taught us, "We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented." We have to care enough to feel for our neighbor .... Feel and care enough to get involved.

Martin Buber related the story of how Rabbi Moshe Lev learned all about love from two drunks in a bar. One drunk said to the other, "Do you love me?" The other answered, "Of course." The first asked again, "Do you really love me?" The second responded, "Yes, I really love you." Then the first said, "If you really loved me you would know what I need and what ails me. But, you don't know what I need or what ails me." The second sat silently. Moshe Lev learned, "To love your neighbor is to know what he needs."

Today, France is no longer silent. ISIS just had its first battle with US troops and withdrew. Boko Haram just completed yet its next massacre. We need to do more. The fact that these horrors are not in our back yard cannot allow us to be indifferent. Left unchecked, they will be in our back yard. This is not a slam on Islam or a blanket support for Judaism. This is a call for righteousness, the very same righteousness that bring so many Jews, Muslims, Christians ... all people of faith to the altar of love.

Frankl was right. It really is all about loving and being in love. To love one has to care ... care deeply ... so deeply that the plight of one we love is our plight. The truth be told, what threatens part of the world threatens all of the world. Terrorism is not something that happens only somewhere else, and those who suffer are someone's children no different to their parents than the children we hold in our hearts and our hands.

Let's start paying more attention to what our neighbors need ... let's show each other some love.

This week, we begin a new book of the Torah. In Hebrew the name of the book is "Shemot (names)," for the book begins, "These are the names (of the folks who went to Egypt)." The English title of the book is "Exodus," because the book revolves thematically around the story of the Exodus from Egypt. In Hebrew and in English, the story line is the same. Still though, differing traditions title the book differently. Further, the Hebrew/Jewish tradition subdivides the book into 11 weekly portions (each portion then subdivided again into 7 pieces), while the English/ Christian tradition divides the book into 40 chapters. Again, the text remains the same, either way. So, what is the big deal?

Well, these are just two very simple examples as to how our respective traditions differ in how we use the same book. The value in this understanding helps us figure a lot out about each other. We do not read or use this book the same way, and one of the most difficult conundrums that inter-religious conversations have to overcome is the realization that even while we read the same book, sharing our respective perspectives make us sound as if we are comparing apples to oranges.

The way in which text is ordered and divided helps the reader understand the text's purpose and emphasis ... in the eyes of the respective traditions. In the English version, the chapters separate packaged texts ... no differently than in any book that we read ... a chapter is a standalone themed text. This week's Torah portion spans from Exodus 1:1 to 6:1. Next week begins with Exodus 6:2. Quite obviously, the chapter verse divisions hold no value in the Jewish cycle of reading, so that even while 6:1 begins the story line of Chapter 6 in one system, it is the concluding thought in another. In fact the seven sub-divisions of this week's portion are 1:1 -1:17; 1:18 - 2:10; 2:11 - 2:25; 3:1 - 3:15; 3:16 - 4:17; 4:18 - 4:31; and 5:1 - 6:1. While there is some similarity in the reading, the breaks package the stories with different emphases than the chapter/verse system yields.

For my last few years, I was blessed with an opportunity to study the revised Common Lectionary (Christian Bible study) with ministers who were close friends. The conversation was amazing and rich, but we always had one problem to overcome. I was always challenged to find out why the texts were pulled as they were ... seemingly out of context ... for me. But they were perfectly at home with the textual divisions.

In this vein, I had the opportunity to spend a morning this week with a dear friend, as he addressed a gathering of Rabbis on "Inter-religious" conversation. A colleague asked him why he insisted on the term "inter-religious" and not interfaith. I had to smile to myself, as we had had just that conversation over breakfast just an hour earlier. I often teach that faith is the focus of what we believe, and religion is the way in which we demonstrate our faith. So, I thought it funny that despite the fact that my friend's main thesis dealt with Jewish/Catholic relationships, this should be one of the first questions asked. Even before an answer could formulate, the rabbi who asked the question went further. He wanted to know how people of one religion could possibly judge the validity of someone else's religion. After all, "we each believe something different."

What made me smile was that his question made some difficult presumptions. He presumed that we really do believe differently; that faith is nuanced ... that we pray to different Gods. Herein is the greatest obstacle we face to peace and salvation in this world. This week, the Torah unfolds for us Moses' encounter at the bush that burned but was not consumed. Moses hears God speak to him from the bush, and when Moses inquires as to who God is, the response in Hebrew, "Ehyeh asher ehyeh." Many translate this to read, "I am what I am." There are many in our own tradition who will decide that God is revealing a proper name, as we will see the tetragrammaton (Yod Hey Vav Hey) also appear in this text. The reality is that both are simply forms of the verb "To Be." God is instructing Moses to simply acknowledge the existence of divinity.

Still, though, despite the rest of Torah teaching us that there is one standard for everyone, Israel and non-Israel, despite that Christianity and Islam both root themselves in the Biblical tradition, and despite that even Jews misread this text to claim a sense of superiority, the text is clear. Before there was Judaism, before there was Christianity, Islam, or anything else, God ... was. Christian text and Muslim text specifically teach that the reward of God is for the righteous. Subsequent people have read religious specificity into these texts, but even in their different structure and organization, they all teach the very same lesson. Faith is universal, as are the foundational statements of the faith of each of our traditions.

We have segregated ourselves from each other, using our respective perversions of religious exclusivism to justify the hierarchy we propose. Then, deciding that our religion makes our faith more valuable than anyone else's, we resort to violence to prove we are right. People purporting to represent entire religious traditions use violence in each generation to try and prove the unprovable ... in fact, our religious foundations do not celebrate segregation from each other, but rather, the best that each other brings to the table. This violence is not faith: it is fear.

I pray that we become secure enough in our faiths to understand that even if our prayer is in a different language; even while we use our same texts in very unique ways ... I pray that we come to know that divinity ... is. I pray that we grow to see that this same source of divinity exists in and for each of us, and that in affirming our own religion, we get past the notion that finding our own spiritual home is somehow an offensive rejection of each other's tradition and faith. We may dance to different music, but we stand on the very same dance floor before God.

Have you ever been so afraid that you will say almost anything to free yourself of fear�s grip? You know, the classic moment when, even if caught red handed, you try to convince your accuser (and perhaps yourself) that the facts are not as they seem. This is a classic Sherlock Holmes attempt to disprove what to everyone around you seems to be the obvious � only in your case, you really are guilty. I remember sneaking candy once as a young child. I had a bunch of tootsie rolls rolled up in my shirt. I was a five year old fullback �wanna be,� as I went barreling through the hallway on the way to my bedroom. My father stopped me, concerned that I was doubled over � fearing that I was in pain or distress. Well, after he stopped me, I was in distress. He saw the candy and looked at me with those deep accusing eyes. Summoning all of the wisdom and innocence available to a trapped five year old, I exclaimed, �How did that get there?� I do not remember much after that, except that it was a favorite story told to embarrass me, and that I was in a heap of trouble. If only knew then, what I know now!

There are a few texts from Torah that could have proven essential to my defense, and one of them happens in this week�s Torah portion. Way back in Genesis, When God tells Abraham that he and Sarah will have a child (Isaac), Sarah laughs at the prospect of Abraham fathering a child. When asked why she laughed, God told a white lie, responding that Sarah laughed at the prospects of her ability to have a child. This lie preserved the peace of Abraham�s house. This week, after Jacob dies, Joseph�s brothers find themselves fearing that Joseph will now (since Dad is gone) take his vengeance out against them. He had seemingly looked past what they did to him when they were young, and now he had an opportunity to take revenge. After burying their father, they schemed and �They sent word urgently to Joseph, saying:[Your father said]'So shall you say to Joseph: Forgive, I pray you now, the trespass of your brothers, and their sin; for they did evil to you.' And now, we pray you, forgive the trespass of the servants of the God of your father." And Joseph wept when they spoke to him...� (50:16-18)� (Jacob did not, in fact, say this, for he did not suspect Joseph of revenge.)

Said Rabbi I'laah in the name of Rabbi Eleazar ben Rabbi Simeon, �So great is peace that white lies are allowed.� God can tell them to preserve the marital relationship. Joseph�s brothers can lie to save their lives. (Talmud, Yevamot 65b; Rashi)

Really? So I could have told my father that my lie was ok; I was, after all, just trying to save my hide and his blood pressure! You know, keep peace in the house. I just do not think that the real world works this way. How do we teach that honesty is the best policy � sometimes?

Here is where I think that �proof texting� gets us in trouble. Lying is never good; it may seem necessary � even helpful in the short term, but it cannot ever be a good thing long term. Built into our system of faith is the process of atonement � literally an opportunity to create an �at-one-ment� with each other. We are obligated to work with each other to heal breaches and to build relationships. Relationships have to be rooted in trust, and where we start from the premise that there are lies that we are allowed to tell each other � we are in trouble. Now, that does mean that we dare not care for each other�s feelings, but if we have to overtly lie to each other, there is an insecurity that controls our relationships and our destinies. This is also not to say that we need to remember to filter what needs to be said and what needs to be kept to ourselves. We certainly are under no obligation to share everything that we think.

There are times that our tradition makes one take a step back to think. Without further commentary, the blanket statement that justifies lying for the sake of peace sets us up for disastrous relationships. Where is the line that separates the harmless white lie that keeps peace from the lie that challenges all future integrity?

Yes, Joseph did not hold the lie against his brothers, but the following verses tell us that their need to lie grieved him deeply. He was already not bent on seeking revenge, though the lie might have changed his mind. No, our path is through teshuvah � returning to each other and through the sometimes very tough work of healing relationships. Each healed breach returns the world from some piece of its brokenness, and avoiding this necessary work would be no different than if one forced the wrong piece of a puzzle into place and called it a day. The picture cannot be whole, so long as the pieces are not in place. Our lives and the spiritual health of the world are no different. We have to protect each other�s dignity remember that even if true, some things don�t need to be said � and where we err, we need to own the error and the appropriate response. We have to seek and give forgiveness to each other and to ourselves. We have to be honest and compassionate for what we hold each other accountable. The world cannot heal until we can be secure within ourselves and within our communities. There is no more effective path to security than through the commitment to be trustworthy and having the ability to trust. Let�s take care of each other better this year. Shabbat Shalom.

"Dreams are free." These words are part of a framed print in my office. They serve as a reminder not to get so lost in what happens around us today that we cannot look forward to tomorrow.

Twenty five years ago, I embarked on a journey that was rooted in a dream. In the summer of 1990, I closed my law practice in Arkansas, and moved my family to Jerusalem. While pursuing this new dream of joining the rabbinate, I never could have dreamt of the many things I would have witnessed, experienced, celebrated, and grieved. I do remember second guessing myself once in the process--on the eve of my departure.

At that time my rabbi, Gene Levy, gave me his innermost blessing and advice. I was awaiting a pearl of wisdom that could stand with me and see me through, but what I got was, "If you don't ask yourself daily, 'what the hell am I doing here,' then you don't belong." I was shocked. I never dreamt that on the eve of embarking on this life changing journey, that I would hear words so seemingly mundane, as an innermost blessing.I also never dreamt that the words would prove so prophetic. With all the challenges and celebrations that we encounter in clergy, we really do have to appreciate why we do what we do. Some days, the reminder is the extra hug we get after touching someone's lives. Other days, it is the painful reminder that the challenges that cause us pain are not the sum total of what we do or who we are. Gene's blessing for me has, in fact, seen me through now almost a quarter century of learning, of service, of challenge, of blessing ... of living.

Tonight, he and Rabbi Daniel Freelander will co-install me as rabbi in what will be only my third congregation since ordination. This is year 20 since that date, and that's a long time to have served only two congregations before. I have been blessed with incredible opportunity at Beth Israel Congregation in Florence, South Carolina, and at Temple Adath Israel in Lexington, Kentucky. Now, I hope for the same longevity and increased blessing with Monmouth Reform Temple, in Tinton Falls, New Jersey. I have been here for five months, and this is late for an installation, but it has given us an opportunity to get to know each other, establish relationships with each other, and to begin to dream with each other. Dreams are free.

Dreams ... are free, and they are also free of boundaries. There are times that we dream of the most amazing experiences, the most impactful solutions to dire problems, or of calm and peaceful co-existence with the diverse forces that make the world a wonderland of miracles. At other times, we wake from nightmares shaking over imagined trauma that felt real enough to cause us pain. Dreams have no boundaries.

Sometimes, our dreams lead us to do things that heal the world and other times pursuing dreams causes us to destroy it. Most often, as we begin the journey down the path of fulfilling our dreams, we really cannot know which will be the result. World leaders rise and fall because of their heartfelt beliefs that the dream that pushed them to pursue power was a good answer for their community and for the world. They may not realize the magnitude of impact that the journey might have on society positive or negative.

Moses, Jesus, and Mohammad never intended to create new religious orders; they merely sought to see people fulfill their dreams of being better people with a greater understanding of and relationship with divinity. I am equally convinced that even those who sought to destroy the world as we know it, believed in their hearts, that they had answers that were better for humanity than what existed at that time. Dreams are free and have no boundaries.

We learn of the healing and destructive powers of dreaming in this week's (and the next two weeks') Torah portion. Joseph has a series of dreams, and each encounter he has after them is absolutely colored by both his own perceptions of their meaning and by the perceptions of those hearing his dream and interpretations. Some feel compelled to love what he dreams while others feel that his dreams shook the foundations of the earth. In the end, thousands of years after the story is written, we still debate whether his part in the events foretold in his dreams saved Egypt or condemned it and Israel both. Did he secure food for all of Egypt, or in hoarding Egypt's grains and caring for his family, was he the cause of the 400 years of servitude that brought the plagues and so much hardship on his people and on the people who adopted him.

One of the things for which we must pay attention and learn from Joseph: in each of his dream situations (dreaming or interpreting), each revolved around his own power and status. Either he dreamt he was better than all others, or exacted promises of personal reward for helping people understand their own dreams. Like Joseph, we all have egos and self interest ranks high on our agendas for life's goals and objectives.

Last night I saw a wonderful production of Camelot. In contrast to Joseph, King Arthur had a dream of a Utopian society. His dream was so selfless that it cost him his heart and ultimately his soul and his dream.

There has to be a place somewhere in between where our dreams must force us to hear the dreams of those with whose lives we share. A place where our needs and theirs find symbiosis, and where the result of merging dreams and life journeys create a synergy that helps to heal the world and not just promote the dreamer or the cause.

This is the prayer I utter each day as I remember my rabbi's words. I never dreamt that they could have such a profound impact on my life. Every day, I have to be intentional in service to my family, to my community, and to myself. I know that there are days that I am more and less successful in this charge, but I do dream for the day when we can all meet this challenge and caring for ourselves and for each other, the world will become whole. The next leg of my journey begins tonight. I pray that I pay attention.

People hear me teach that the Torah is rooted in relevance. Our job as the readers is to figure out how to fill in the blanks left in the text back then, with words, ideas, and lessons that teach us important lessons, today. Written thousands of years ago, the document exists in a way that demands a rewriting in each generation. As Heschel put it, "We are a people in who the past endures." We read and re-read the text each year hoping that the new insight we gain will help us to bring closer a time when the world makes more sense. The sages teach that in the days of Messiah, we will no longer need the Torah, as we will have found a way to co-exist with each other in peace. Until that time, we acknowledge that the world is still messy, and that we have a lot of work to do. We use each week's text as a way of bringing the past and the present into conversation, so that we can gain a sense of continuity in tradition.

This reality could not be more poignantly demonstrated than in this week's Torah portion. In one short week, we face corrupt business practices (Jacob and Laban), dishonesty in trust relationships (Jacob, his wives and their father), rape (Dinah), and murder (Simeon and Levi). In sardonic irony, one has to scratch the head and wonder why this is one of the most well known and most spiritually engaging texts in the Torah. My take away, this year, is that with all of the horrific happenings, in the end, the actions of two people change the face of the world. Jacob wrestles with God and finds, even in his injury, the blessing of faith, and the realization of his responsibility to and for the world ... he becomes Israel (literally - the God wrestler). Esau forgives his brother (and embraces him), and in doing so, demonstrates an amazing appreciation for faith and restoration.

In not one, but in several cities across this country, white police officers have killed unarmed people of color, including children. Certainly there is dispute as to whether or not the officer felt justified, but these cases just reek. In Ferguson, MO, the district attorney protected the officer by giving the grand jury law that had already been declared unconstitutional, as the current law for deciding a police officer's criminal liability in a shooting. In New York, an unarmed Black man is choked to death by a White police officer, and there are no ramifications, other than chastisement offered the choreographers of the unfortunately timed Rockefeller Christmas tree lighting featuring the song, "White Christmas."

In response, across the country, protests (some of them horribly violent) against the presumptive racial profiling by the respective officers and the system's failure to hold them liable are blocking parades, shopping malls, office complexes, major traffic arteries, and interrupting any normal flow of life in big cities.

At the same time, our most beloved icons are falling from grace. There was no more beloved father figure than Bill Cosby, who, if the allegations are true, has a horrific dark side. The wholesome image of the NFL is gruesomely bludgeoned by the several very public abuse situations that have now opened the door for many others to come forward. We now "openly" know that (according to ESPN) 21 of 32 NFL teams have at least one player with a domestic violence or sexual assault charge on his record, and according to Fivethirtyeight.com, domestic violence accounts for 48 percent of arrests for violent crimes among players, compared to the estimated 21 percent nationally.

Where is there hope? No differently than the violence (physical and emotional) that exists in this week's Torah portion, the news in our face has to make one weak. Here is my prayer and my prophecy: This nation needs to wrestle with God. I did not say obey God, and I did not say bludgeon each other with God. We need to each wrestle with the Source of our own humanity and moral composure. Lots of people are screaming about what God wants. A pastor has spoken nationally that killing Gay people will please God and save America. Who in God's grace thinks that he represents God's love and grace (or even God's thoughts on homosexuality for that matter)? I am so tired of being told what God wants and does not want. We need to wrestle with God, and in doing so, we need to be prepared to be injured, just as Jacob's hip was wrenched.

I know we will find that if we are serious in this struggle we will find all sorts of things that we have espoused to be true, relied on as truth, that just do not exist ... and it should and will wrench our soul and maybe shake us to the core. We need to struggle to make sense of the dichotomy we have created of a loving source of creation that creates all sorts of miraculous life ... who then wants to destroy it in hate.

After wrestling with God, we need a national day of forgiveness. If Esau could look past his the many times his brother broke faith and cheated, we have to get past the many places where we have failed each other and "reboot" the system. The atmosphere in this country is growing in toxicity and we run the risk of tearing apart the fabric of a great society that has been built on the promise of justice. I am not playing politics here; I am saying that the system is running amuck, and the protests ... today blocking Times Square will shut this country down at best, and spark the revolution or next civil war, at worst. I do not care what color, gender, sexual orientation, or national origin one is. We come from the same source of creation, and right at his moment, our inability to appreciate this equally shared unique blessing puts the entire enterprise in jeopardy. We are at the River Jabbok America.

Here is a throwback to my youth. One of the great modern jazz/adult alternative albums ever produced was "Twin Sons Of Different Mothers," by Tim Weisberg and the late Dan Fogelberg. Tim is an amazing rock fusion flautist. Dan was a folksinger. The album spawned only one chart topping hit (great album, though): "The Power of Gold." First, my disclaimer ... I have no reason to believe they were thinking anything biblical when writing/performing this piece. That said, the first verse of the song screamed at me last night, as I was listening to music, preparing to write something meaningful ( I always hope) for Shabbat.

"The story is told of the Power of gold
And its lure on the unsuspecting
It glitters and shines It badgers and blinds
And constantly needs protecting.
Balance the cost of the soul you lost
With the dreams you lightly sold Are you under
The power of gold?"

Hearing those words, I thought about the rivalry between the twins Jacob and Esau. One of the most famous stories in the Bible tells us of the time that Jacob bought the birthright from his older twin brother Esau for only a bowl of vegetable soup. Esau sold his birthright, and Jacob sold his soul ... the power of gold. Ok, so Jacob pulled one over on his brother, big deal! It was, after all, Esau who was famished ... so famished that he was willing to give up his future fortunes. The gold meant nothing to him. He did not give up the blessing, he went out doing his father's bidding to get that blessing (which Jacob also stole ... with mom's help).

Tradition casts off Esau for being a ruddy man of the field. Esau is simple, the text is clear to paint him in that light. In his simplicity, even while he decided that the money was meaningless, he ultimately honored his father in working to seek the blessing. At least on the simple reading, Esau is the son of faith But--Esau marries two Hittite women (and later a daughter of Ishmael), he raises an army against his brother, and the nuances of his story lead the sages to see him as the progenitor of Rome ... the empire that destroyed the Temple and tried to destroy everything Israel.

Jacob is revered as the patriarch. His name "Israel (one who God wrestles)" is literally synonymous with the word "faith." Our Messianic hopes revolve around the universal sense that Israel is about all faiths and that the world, in faith (even through different lenses) is at peace. Yet, we see a man who steals and cheats - a man more beholden to his mother than his father, a man who has no respect for tradition ... and he is the patriarch.

Torah, is never simple, and we are taught that it never provides answers. Rather, it spawns conversations, and specifically does not lock a reader into a hard and fast dogma (in spite of what some commentators seem to think).

Jacob's journey is far more instructive to us, than is Esau's. Jacob's biography teaches us to grow, while there is no reporting that Esau's character did anything of the sort. The Biblical goal is not to lead us to perfection; it is to help us figure out faith ... to give us tools through which we can engage the world in ways of peace.

Stories of Jacob show that he never figured it all out. Each of his stories leaves him morally lacking in the eyes of readership ... except for the one where he will eventually wrestle with the angel (stay tuned). At that moment he will become Israel. Israel is not a name of perfection; it is a designation of one who struggles ... with faith.

Jacob is the patriarch because, even while he never gets it right, his life mirrors the real world. It is not our goal in life to be perfect. Pirke Avot teaches us that it is not on our shoulders to complete the task of healing the world, but we are required to work towards that goal. Our job is to grow; to take the best of the generation before us, and make it better for ours and for the next. Jacob taught us to struggle to grow in faith.

Every day, we put intentional effort to make better sense out of the real world. We face challenges that we can ignore and from which we can walk away, or we can engage them to seek resolve. Some of these challenges are to overcome hardship while some of them are to find ways to better appreciate the blessings that fill our lives. In studying we learn from the past and learn to plan for tomorrow. In the midrashic work of Genesis Rabbah (circa 450 c.e.), the sages even teach that Jacob studied Torah in the yeshiva (house of study) run by Noah's son, Shem (the timeline does work out). Esau did not.

Two brothers, identical starting points, but one chooses to grow and one does not. Committing to study is committing to grow ... that is my prayer.

There is a poem that reminds us that, when looking at someone's biography, their life is valued not by the dates of its beginning or end, but by all that the dash between the dates represents. The dates of birth and death define the parameters of the lens through which we view life, but speak very little to its value. In truth, one who lives a short time can have a profound effect on the world, while one who languishes for years may have very little. Still though, we speak of life in terms of its length and default to arguing that one who lives many years lived a "full life," while one who died young was somehow cheated (or cheated us).

I recall a story of the sage Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi who prayed to see how justice in the world unfolded. So the prophet Elijah took him on a journey, in the hopes of helping the sage understand. In the evening, they came to the hut of a poor couple. All they had was one cow. Still, they accepted the guests with wonderful hospitality. During the night, Rabbi Yehoshua saw that Elijah prayed that the cow should die. "How could you do this to these wonderful people?

Before he could even get the questions all out of his mouth, they found themselves at a community of simple working people. Upon seeing the two distinguished travelers, the townspeople treated them with great honor and couldn't do enough for them. Before parting, Elijah blessed the people and then said to them, "May God bless you that you have only one leader." In the next town they came to, people were mean and unkind. Before parting, Elijah said to the townspeople, "May it be the will of God that all of you be leaders!"

At this point, the Rabbi couldn't restrain himself and had to question the prophet, "Everything you did so far does not make any sense, what am I supposed to learn? How come you were cruel to the poor couple? They were so good to us, yet you prayed that their cow should die!" Elijah replied, "I knew that the woman was to pass away that night. Therefore I prayed to God to take the cow instead!"

"Why were you unkind to the nice people by wishing them to have only one leader; while you blessed the people of the other community that they should all be leaders?" Rabbi Yehoshua persisted. "You are making a mistake," answered Elijah. "Wishing the townspeople to have one leader is a blessing, while wishing that all others be leaders is truly a curse! A community who has one leader will prosper and flourish while a community where everyone is a leader will continuously quarrel and fight."

This week's Torah portion begins with the words "The life of Sarah was 100 years, and 20 years, and 7 years." The sages spend a lot of energy making sense of why the text doesn't simply say that she lived 127 years. Because none of our lives are that simple. To only do the math of the years between the dates offers us little insight, but looking more deeply into what happened during those years provides us with a way to assess the ultimate value of living.

However we want to interpret the break-up of her years, the text tells us that life goes on in stages; that there are times when our lives change course; and times when those changes make us start counting "new time," all over again. More importantly, even while we can trace someone's biography, we cannot always know that what we think is obvious ever is. We suffer accusations from people often because of their baggage as much as anything we do or have done. We gain admiration from people, often clueless of what we did to deserve it.

At best, we can only guess at what motivates people around us. Focusing predominantly on how their actions affect us, we fail to see how those same actions affect them. When we are so focused on our own perceptions, we lose the ability to see the value of someone's life as it passes through stages.

Sarah goes from being one hundred and twenty and seven, to 127, and all of her life amalgamates into one brief biographical footnote. Her life was filled with adventures that kept her vibrant and alive, even through the difficult episodes the text depicts. The "dash between her dates" exists ... and it seems meaningless. We think we know a lot about people with whom we are close; we think we can fill in the biography of the dash. WE may be able to share what we experienced happening, but only if we truly open ourselves to each other can we ever know the full "what" or "why" ... the value of what we perceived or failed to perceive.

Not one of us is simply the simple sum of the years we live. In truth, for each of us, there are more than three watershed moments in life ... there may be three in one day ... events that completely change the way in which we see the world. We destroy each other's dignity when we are presumptuous enough to believe that we know the value of someone else's life, and that we can sum up their life experience with our own words and ideas,. Rather, we must learn to learn from each other, to remember how important it is that we let people tell their own stories no differently than we wish to tell our own. There is an intimacy that grows in this heartfelt respect and assurance of each other's dignity. This intimacy is what brings us to share in holiness, and helps us to use our empathy to heal the world.

As much as I always thought that I would be a Dentist growing up, I hated going to the Dentist. I knew I was not going to get good news, and however many times I brushed the last two days before the appointment, it did not change the outcome. There are some things that one just cannot mask. Of course, as spotty as my oral hygiene was back then, it did not help that I had an oral surgeon named "Youngblood," and an Orthodontist named "Maul." I guess I really knew the what was going to happen before sitting in the chair. Part of me kept waiting for either dentist to live up to their name ... on me!

Mom knew that on the days I had to go see these guys, I was not going to be much company. I had too much on my mind. We would travel forever (or at least what seemed to be forever) to the office in dead silence. I either ignored her through my preoccupation or blew up at her, in fear of having to be accountable.

The Docs were nice guys (as best as I remember), but my struggle had everything to do with my fears of non-compliance, and the test of my integrity, as I had to own up to my relative progress (or lack thereof) in making the braces worthwhile. In fact, someone once reminded me that if I really insisted on getting my braces off quickly, all I had to do was stop brushing my teeth and they would fall off ... with the teeth.

We all struggle facing reality. When obstacles to wholeness present in our lives, we can become experts of avoidance, doing everything we can to avoid having to deal with and through those obstacles. Often we become ostriches, putting our heads in the sand, somehow believing that if we can't see the problem, or it can't see us, that it will just go away.

Rabbi Bill Lefler is known to comment, "If you put your head in the sand, you have no idea who is trying to kick you in the rear or when it will happen." We can pretend all we want, but the problem only magnifies as we ignore it. Whether it is the medical condition we were too afraid to get diagnosed, the problems in a relationship that we fail to accept, the assignment from work or school that we put off until the last moment in fear of its difficulty, or wars that begin because festering arguments are allowed to blow up out of proportion. Where good people stand by and do nothing in the face of a challenge, the challenge wins, and often the results of our inaction are devastating.

Meet Abraham. Last week, we literally met one of the main figures in the Biblical narrative. He is the patriarch of patriarchs. We give him credit for being the first person to stand with God. God blessed him with two sons, and promised him that they would be the patriarchs of great nations. We watched him argue with God over the people in Sodom and Gomorrah, putting his fingers in God's (virtual) face, telling God that God was unjust in his condemnation of everyone in both cities. He is a good man.

This week, God presents him with an ultimate test. "Take your son, your only son, the one you love, and go to a place I will show you ... and make of him a sacrificial offering on the altar you will build there." Abraham was to take the only son from his first wife--the one who was supposed to become a father of a great nation-- Isaac, and burn him as a sacrifice ... a pleasing odor to God.

Abraham, Isaac, and two servants travelled for three days in silence before getting to the appropriate place. Abraham wanted to please God ...get the rewards for being obedient, but ... it would cost him his son. In blind and silent obeisance, he prepared to do just that. Had the voice of God not screamed at him in the very last second, the Bible would look very different; there would be no Israel, no Judaism, no Christianity, and no Islam (for the Quran tells the same story about Ishmael - the other son).

I had Dr. Maul (and mom) to pull me (kicking and screaming) through the braces episode. Many of us have trusted confidents to hold us and help us in our most desperate times. More of us may have these resources, but are too afraid or stuck to reach out for them. These people are like Abraham. He had three days to ask God, "Why? What about your promise? Certainly, it is not blind obedience you seek? Help me ask the right questions?" I think God wanted him to say, "No!" God gave him three days in which to do so ... and probably was in sheer disbelief up until the last moment, that Abraham would actually kill his son without asking a question.

In God's disillusionment with Abraham's failure, God never speaks to him again in the Torah. Four fifths of the Torah is about a guy name Moses who questions God all of the time ... and is the only one who got to know God panim el panim - face to face.

I feel for Abraham. I have been stuck and afraid ... and in sheer disbelief of what is happening around me, completely unaware that I had the power to stop it and right it ... rewrite it. Raise your hand if you have been there. Some of us were helped out. Some of us were pushed through it. Some of us never found a way out of the madness.

We read the stories of the patriarchs and matriarchs to help us make sense out of living. Each has incredible tools, and each suffers from devastating setbacks. Knowing how deep people can go into this world of loss and depression, we have an obligation to do for the "Abrahams" what the Biblical God did not even do for him: Offer meaningful care, don't stop at the first, "no," but be persistent (not a nag) in letting people know that you care. Their future ... and our future is at stake. Sitting by waiting for someone to see the light is itself a transgression.

"Tzedek, tzedek, tirdoff." Deuteronomy is explicit; we pursue righteousness, not wait for it. Take stock of those who are in need around you.

Shabbat Shalom ... may it be for so many more than it ever has been.
Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

Halloween is a time for all children in America to live Biblically. This Shabbat coincides with the pagan holiday of Halloween. Now, truth be told, I am not sure how many Jews are going to be in synagogue tonight. It's really ok. We are supposed to be involved in our communal life, and we are supposed to celebrate with our neighbors. I get it. Most poignant is the timing of Halloween this year, because its coincidence with this Torah portion gives us, as Paul Harvey used to say, "The rest of the story." God tells Abram (not yet Abraham), "leave your home, go on a journey, and go seek blessings." Tonight, our children will embark on this biblical journey to leave their homes and go on journeys in search of blessings (candy). That is the easy part.

Abram left his home and took his wife Sarai (not yet Sarah) and went on an incredible journey that brought about the western world of faith. The journey was fraught with as much peril as it was filled with blessing. The rest of the instruction from God took this into account, "Those who bless you I (God) will bless, and those who curse you I (God) will curse." These are pretty much the rules for the festivities tonight. "Trick or treat" really means that if I (trick or treater) don't get candy, I (trick or treater) will potentially wreak some havoc on your life (house, yard, car, etc). And, people fight this holiday as being anti-biblical!?!

Seriously, this analogy helps us see how the "Command to journey" plays out in even the most unlikely places in our lives. Every day, we awake and go on this journey. Where we pay attention to our daily tasks and our daily relationships, we bring home our wages, bonuses, and "warm fuzzies" that allow us to count the day as successfully lived. Where we fail to pay attention ... we bring home alienation. Sounds simple, no? Well, yes, but too simple.

Certainly more than anyone else, we bless and curse ourselves in the most amazing and most heinous ways. We make the choices that bring us closer to warmth and the choices that leave our world cold. We do this in responding to our own behaviors in our choices as to how to respond to others. For Halloween, a candy failure really is no excuse to destroy someone's property. For our external world, someone's bad behavior towards us does not have to merit an equally or more invective escalating response. Internally, our failure to accomplish one goal does not necessitate beating ourselves up or demeaning our own self-esteem causing the next failures.

I do not believe that "Lekh l'kha" - "get up and go" is simply a command for a young man to leave his home, knowing that God's safety net follows him. The command to go and be a blessing is statement of consequences; the most severe of which play out in the ways in which we treat ourselves, present ourselves, appreciate ourselves, and care for ourselves. We are the example to everyone else: the one who presents that paradigm for how we want to be treated. If we behave in a manner that brings warmth, we tell people that warmth matters. Where we are abusive or neglectful of ourselves, we open the door for people to expect that we believe these behaviors are appropriate.

For every journey that we take with our feet, our soul either leads the way blazing the trail or follows, picking up the pieces afterward. Too often, we look to the fortunes in our lives and judge our relative success or failure by how we believe we are seen in the eyes of the other folks around us. What are our obligations to ourselves along the footsteps of these journeys? "those who bless you" ... what about whether or not we include ourselves in the word "those?" Pirke Avot (mishnah) teaches, "If I am not for myself, who will be for me?" The Biblical text really should not be read as, "Those who bless you will be blessed." Rather, the text should read, "As you are a blessing, people will bless you."

In the real world? Well, Halloween is a fun holiday in America. What can be bad about sharing sweet gifts with each other? What can be bad? Well, the town in which I live (and really most towns now), has a curfew tonight. Trick or treating ends early in the evening ... by law, and all but the private party festivities are over. Why? Because of the destruction and havoc people have wrought on this night. We cause the blessings and the curses.

As to why I am okay that Jews can have fun tonight? There is a real world, and when we wake, it is still Shabbat, and we all have lots of opportunities to celebrate the day we call a prelude to the messianic world to come. Go gather candy and share blessings, join us in the morning to be thankful for this and more. In between, let's find a way to make the rest of the night blessed, as well.

"Why are there so many songs about rainbows, and what's on the other side?" I love the Muppets. "Rainbow Connection" is a classic song that speaks of hope and love ... and all the good things that we cherish in life. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it is about cherishing life. On Rosh Hashanah, we read about the shape of the shofar and its connection to the shape of the rainbow ... and most shofrot (plural) even have patterns that look as if they are patterned after the "rungs" of the rainbow's colors. The blast of the shofar is a wakeup call reminding us ... on the birthday of creation, to celebrate that we exist. In fact, a vast majority of the baby nurseries I have seen incorporate the rainbow into the d�cor. It is a wonderful symbol and a spectacle that makes one look at it in awe. I have never seen someone not get at least a little excited when viewing the rainbow. Whether one believes in the pot of gold on the other side, does not matter. The smile that seeing the rainbow evokes is itself a gift.

Yet, we would not have that gift, but for the destruction of the world. God brings on the flood, and for whatever reason, feels that the punishment overstepped the magnitude of the crime committed. God sends a rainbow as a sign that God will never destroy the earth in anger, again. Really? A rainbow is the best apology God can offer? I understand that Torah is an allegory, and that the God of the Torah is a character in the story, but despite all of the celebrations that revolve around rainbows and the promise not to destroy the world in anger, I find this very unsettling. How can I feel strengthened in faith, by looking at a rainbow, and be okay that it is a sign that God won't throw a temper tantrum again?

As with every story in Torah, I have to believe that the "story line" that spawned the conversation is of little relative value. I also know that every mythology of the ancient world has a flood story. That means that there probably was a flood, but that presents a problem. The Bible says that Noah and his ark of people and animals were the "only survivors" of the flood. An ancient Gaelic flood story (Cessair) argues that there were 50 survivors of the flood that ended all life on earth. The Sumerians have Ziusudra, the Babylonians have Gilgamesh, the Greeks have two floods that destroyed the world the flood during the reign of Ogyges, and the flood of Deucalion when he and his wife threw stones over their shoulders to repopulate the earth. Of note, there are whole groups who climbed mountains to escape this flood. Many Asian, Indian, and African cultures have an oral tradition of flood myths, as well. Isn't it amazing how all these different people are the only survivors in each of their own flood stories?

Face it, we watch lands flood all over the earth in our own day. If God promised not to flood the earth in anger, it was not explicit that there would be no more floods, only that they would not be brought on by God's wrath. Ok, I feel better. The area in which I live was destroyed in the floods following Hurricane Sandy. Louisiana and Mississippi faced destruction because of Katrina. I am relieved to know that God was not angry even though the floods destroyed lives.

The rainbow is not about the flood or the storms that brought the floods. We now know waters recede and lands dry. The rainbow reminds us that even in the midst of pain, there is hope. The rainbow reminds us ... even as we are treading water, there is dry land somewhere. The rainbow reminds us to have hope that there is an "after the storm." The rainbow is inclusive of all color and for all people. The neatest thing is that you don't even need a rainstorm ... or a flood, to see a rainbow. One refracts off the water in the pond, in the street, off of our windows ... in the sparkle of an engagement ring, and even from the drool of a coddled and hugged infant.

So, why the flood story? My take is that if even in the darkest moments we can know that light exists, perhaps we will see how brilliant it is in the rest of our lives, as well. One of the difficult characteristics that we humans exhibit (way too often) is that it takes a crisis to open our eyes to the real blessings that confront us and attach to us daily. Certainly the flood stories are not reminders to us that if we act badly, we will die in floods, unless God breaches promises. I wonder if the people screaming that we did something to deserve Sandy, Katrina, and the other natural disasters that we have endured ever thought about the Biblical promise that God would never do this again? My sense of truth is that the world happens, our job is to help God help us get through it and celebrate it. Somewhere, over the rainbow, we find the lovers, the dreamers, and, I pray, you and me.

This Shabbat, we once again begin reading the story of humanity. Scholars debate the first words of Torah. "Braeshit bara Elohim, et ha shamayim v'et ha-aretz ." Some will translate this to read, "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth." Others will read it, "In the beginning of God's creating the heavens and the earth." Amidst the many other translations (remember Hebrew has no vowels and no sentence structure), perhaps my favorite would render, "As God began creating these heavens and this earth..." Some call this the beginning of creation of all things, others of this world, others refer to this as the beginning of our story (hence, my opening sentence). Others argue that the Torah begins with the second letter of the alphabet to show that there were previous creations (other worlds or the miraculous building blocks that had to pre-exist the creation of this world). Many will argue that the symbolic language of creation exists to create the debate as to how and when the world was created. There are studies comparing the different creation stories that exist in Genesis (there are at least four in the first six chapters) arguing that they support or debunk the veracity of the others. Volumes upon volumes have been written on the truth about creation. My response? Who cares?

OK, from a purely scientific approach to the conundrum, if we learn how the universe forms, we can perhaps predict its mutation and eventual termination. Even for the folks who believe that this is all in God's providence, the science can help speak to how "God's will" unfolds over time. I get it. I don't expect (barring a cataclysmic disaster or invasion from another planet) that the world as I know it, is going to end in my lifetime (or for a while after that). So, I have to look at all the energy being spent on trying to prove or disprove the Bible's story of creation as being pretty much blasphemous, in the face of our religious mandates to serve (and even save) humanity. The Creation Museum, the rebuilding of Noah's Ark, the archaeological expeditions bent on proving or disproving the Bible ... I don't get it. None of that speaks to the way in which we interact in ways to make lives better. If they found the actual ark, if they found the actual Garden of Eden, if someone could prove that one of the creation stories actually happened, it would not change my faith. I could be no more religious with these proofs than I am without them. Hinging my entire faith on these stories would be superstition, not faith.

Faith comes from our experiences in the world. Faith comes from feeling divinity manifest in every breath one takes, and the relationships one shares, and the things that pass us by every day that should make us stop and say - as Jacob is purported to have said - "Wow, God was in this place, and I, I did not know it!" As we recycle the Torah tradition, we need to look at the Bible with eyes tuned on gleaning the text for its ethical underpinnings.

We walk sightless among miracles, and the opportunity to create miracles. The religious world's obsession with how and when (and why) the world began serves only to distract us from the pursuit of the miraculous so readily available to us and which screams for our attention. Faith demands intentional engagement with the world. My tradition (Pirke Avot) teaches that someone so immersed in scriptural study that they divest from an understanding of the real world has brought a blemish to the Torah. Maimonides even argues that such a person will end up stealing from other people. We have an obligation to share our lives with each other, and when we withhold our portion or make sharing that portion contingent on getting our way, we blaspheme. The unfortunate truth is that in the fundamentalisms of religions all over the world, this is what happens. These people may be the most "religious" but they carry the least amount of faith and spirituality. The message that they preach is that the only truth that exists is theirs. Yet, we wonder why so many people are running from religion ... not divinity, just religion.

The Biblical authors knew this, though. The same ones who edited the beginning part edited the later texts. It is one book. We read later on, that, Job ran around trying on all different "religions," trying to make sense out of God. He has long soliloquies about how powerful God is, how arbitrary and capricious God is ... how evil and thoughtless God is. Finally, in exasperation, the authors depict God calling from the midst of the whirlwinds, "Where were you when I created the world? What makes you think that you know how this stuff works?"

So, our challenge this year is to study for the purpose of doing and serving, not for the purpose of knowing. We can't know, and if we wait to serve until after we know ... the world will fail. We have the opportunity, in every interaction, to choose life. Works for me!

What a great morning! It was the first day of Sukkot, and it is my first Sukkot in my new community. Certainly, there is some anxiety as we plan for new things. It was a leap of faith. We decided to try a sunrise Sukkot service. Morning services are nice (and traditional), but in our real world, people cannot take off from work or school to attend services for festivals. Still though, most communities insist on celebrating the festivals at 9:00 or 10:00 in the morning services. What never ceases to amaze me is that the congregation then gets upset when the only people who attend are retired. Last year in Lexington, and now this year in Tinton Falls, we gathered to welcome the sun come up on the first day of the festival. About thirty people gathered in our Sukkah, to join us. We sang, we read Torah, and we did that which was most Jewish ... we ate. We did what our tradition has done for thousands of years, albeit in a manner in that took into account the "real world" in which our congregants live.
I often quote Rabbi Avraham Kook, in arguing that even while we have an obligation to hold fast to thousands of years of tradition, we also have an obligation to make that tradition relevant and to make the new things and situations that we confront and make them holy. So, they probably did not use LED lights or electric hot pots 2000 years ago ... they probably had not ever heard of a bagel never mind vegetable cream cheese, but we do know that they gathered for the holidays. We honored tradition, even in a new sort of way.
This is my dilemma, though, people look at the old traditions and argue that they are outdated and must be discarded. In so doing, they discard the people who hold those traditions dear. If we cling too tightly to the traditions of old, then we run the risk of becoming stale and alienating all who search for a relevant spiritual experience. In terms of a ritual life, if people cannot find compelling reasons to invest their spirit, they walk away.
In truth, though, this is really not just about a ritual life ... this dilemma faces us in our everyday lives. When I get to study with our Bar and Bat Mitzvah students, I tell them that over the course of the next year (12 to 13) everything they "know" about living will change. Their taste buds, their bodies, their favorite clothes, the way that they pick their friends and their involvements all change. It happens again as they go to High school, and then when they enter the real world. These changes do not happen in a vacuum, and the structure of school and family helps keep us on a somewhat progressive even keel as we experience the roller coaster ride of adolescence. When we leave the nest, we get propelled into this whirlwind of transition as the ground rules all change. First starting off on one's own is tough, and maintaining focus on movement forward is challenging. Some people look for "home based" anchors by which to keep grounded, while others more freely test the waters of life "out there." Either extreme leads us nowhere.
We have to allow ourselves room to grow, knowing that the "way we have always done things" cannot allow us access to the evolving future. We also have to hold on to our own sense of identity or our new experiences have no continuum on which to join. A dear friend and colleague, often says that when people resist change in their lives, remind them that they just bought a new car for a reason.
The need for adaptability and keeping one eyes on tomorrow provides us basic survival skills and, at the very same time, the skill and understanding necessary to forge a meaningful transition into the future. This is called prophetic living, and this understanding of prophecy is not about predicting the future, it is about creating it. The prophet possesses a vision of what is necessary for the world to heal and then lives and shares that message. We are all called upon to live with prophetic vision, and this holiday of Sukkot reminds us that when we achieve the goal of living prophetically, we bring nearer the day when the Messianic Age becomes real. It will not happen by accident. It will not happen by perfecting the practice of a lifestyle that keeps us locked in yesterday. It cannot happen if we impose change that works for me, at the cost of you. The Messianic Age, which is to manifest during the holiday of Sukkot, is absolutely dependent on our ability to see what is and clearly envision what needs to be. It is time to remember that old and new are both holy. Pray for peace. Pray for healing. Pray for a love and respect that returns us from our exiles from each other. Pray in ways that make us modify our behaviors in ways that will bring answer to our prayer. In this way, we make the dream of eternal peace real.
Shabbat Shalom.

Over the last three weeks I have devoted time each day to posting (on Facebook) three things for which I am grateful. It is part of a self-imposed 30 day challenge. I have written about teachers, friends, my family, greek yogurt, my dog, nature, and a host of other things. Some are the things that changed my life, while others are thing...s that made my day. Yes, there are sermons hidden in each post, and I guess that this may be the first thing on tomorrow's post: that posting has opened my eyes to lots of sermon fodder. I have made sure that each is upbeat ... even yesterday's added-on piece (day 21a).

I have gotten a lot of great feedback on subjects of which I wrote, and I have seen several of my Facebook friends replicate the exercise with their own lists. This is all wonderful. Yesterday, though, I received a personal note from someone who expressed angst and concerns over the exercise. "With all of the news, and with the reminder of what happened on 9/11 just a decade plus ago, how can you write about how good the world is? Your world may be, but ... have you no sense of compassion for those of us who are aching?"

I certainly was taken aback. As I thought and reflected, my first response was to be appreciative that this person actually read my posts. I was also appreciative that this person wrote me to share deeply held concerns. Ultimately, though, I knew that I had to respond to the expressed angst. SO, as I looked at this Week's Torah portion, I saw what I have normally seen as a fairly mundane text in a new way.

The Bikkurim (Deuteronomy 26:2) --the first fruit offerings are written in a fairly straightforward way. My take has always been that, even in a world where there are no pilgrimage holidays any more, one is always commanded to give and do his/her best ... first.

Maimonides argued that we should always do a little more for others than we do for ourselves because gifts should always elevate both the giver and receiver. "Everything that is for the sake of God should be of the best and most beautiful. When one builds a house of prayer, it should be more beautiful than their own dwelling. When one feeds the hungry, they should be fed of the best and sweetest from the table. When one clothes the naked, they should be clothed with the finest of clothes. Whenever one designates something for a holy purpose, it should be the finest possessions that are sanctified; as it is written (Leviticus 3:16), 'The choicest to God.'"

The late Lubavitcher Rebbe added something absolutely prophetic: "The rule, 'the choicest to God,' applies in all areas of life. In devoting the 'first-ripened fruits' of one's life to God, a person, in effect, is saying: 'Here lies the focus of my existence. Quantitatively, this may represent but a small part of what I am and have; but the purpose of everything else I do and possess is to enable this percentile of spirit to rise above my matter-clogged life.''

While we are not allowed to in anyway ignore our own needs, we have to remember that our first obligation is to maintain each other's dignity. Tzedakah comes first.

My best response to the person who wrote me is that for all the reasons he wrote ... I had to accept this challenge and post every day. I am not oblivious to the horrific news. I had not forgotten what happened on 9/11. I read about ISIS with horror every day. The growing anti-semitism that seems to be on the rise is alarming. The rise of gangs in America, the reality that the neighborhood I just moved from has been the scene of some horrific violence, the worry over where our homeless will go during the winter for shelter ... these things are very real and occupy a whole lot of my time and energy, and I work hard to heal what little piece of the problem that I can.

If I do not stop to offer my choicest fruits--the pieces by which I want to be defined on a regular basis--then I will get lost. That I start each day with this posting sets the tone for my day, and for the day of those who read them early ... and may mean I have to continue ... if even just for me.

We are all on journeys of faith, hoping to find ways to focus on celebrating life ... and ways through we can express our celebration. None of this denies the real world. None of this calls on me to ignore the real world. All of this absolutely helps me to maintain the hope and the energy necessary to stay the course ... grow the commitment to work on changing the world that is today into the world for which I pray.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

"I pledge allegiance to the flag, of the United States of America." This was one of the first pieces of text I was ever asked to memorize. I learned it when I was really young, long before I even knew what it meant. As an adult, I can recite this pledge and can debate its relativity and relevance in my daily life, but as a child, they were sounds strung together for which I received praise when recited correctly. Don't get me wrong, I love my country and am blessed to live here, but I have a nagging dilemma with which I have to deal: how and when did the "string of sounds" become an overt vow of allegiance? Given the way in which the words of this pledge get mangled by many who really never paid attention to begin with, we really do have an obligation to think intentionally about what we affirm/pledge as we recite these words and teach the same to those who come after us.

No, this is not the beginning of a pro-American rally (though I would love to have this conversation with many who forget that the rights that they abuse in defaming this country and its leadership would not exist but for this country and its leadership - like them or not). As I read through this week's Torah portion, among all of the sexual based transgressions, are small, almost innocuous, zingers of mitzvot (precepts). There are more mitzvot in this portion than any other, and their order is just so random. Stuck in the middle, almost as a casual afterthought, are three verses about vows. In chapter 23:22-24, we get an adjuration that vows must be kept, that one should not make vows one does not intend to keep, and that God frowns upon violating these precepts. In context, one can claim that they are specifically speaking to financial matters, but throughout the Torah, these statements about the seriousness of vows applies across the board.

My question is simple, why doesn't the text just tell us not to make vows? We are forgetful people; if we just don't make any vows then we have nothing to worry about, right? We spend so much time on Yom Kippur (and hopefully on a far more regular basis) atoning for broken vows. Why don't the commands teach us, "Just say No?" That would be just too easy, and really antithetical to everything that we hold sacred.

We want to be able to make promises to each other and fulfill them. We want to be able to count on each other for more than the passing greeting. We do not want to be so afraid of failure that we do not engage. We all know people who have been burned in relationships, who then ruin future relationships waiting to be burned ... unwilling to trust a potential sacred partner. Torah draws emphasis to the importance of vows simply by devoting these three verses to the same command ... told three different ways. The repetition of Torah's commands on vows that we find throughout the book reminds us that this notion of honoring commitments applies to every piece of our existence. Whether we are discussing the business of business, relationships, sacred choices, care for the Earth, or care for ourselves, we need to be intentional in making our sacred commitments ... and even more intentional in fulfilling them. We cannot whimsically make promises ... people count on our integrity. A vow is a vow ... is a vow. To whomever we pledge our integrity, we need to remember that we have just engaged in a sacred relationship rooted in trust.

This brings me back to the Pledge of Allegiance. Every day that these words utter forth from our mouths, they are no different than the vows of love we make to our family. Torah gives us paradigms that help guide our choices and behaviors. While not religious men, the founding parents of this country intentionally looked to our traditions because it called on followers to pledge ... make vows to uphold the dignity of each other's beliefs.

So many folks ask why the ancient words are relevant in the real world. Well, I live in a country built on the sanctity of pledges and vows. I just wish folks paid more attention to what they said, as they recited those words: the political ugliness that fills our news and which recruits our unconditional support just would not happen. If there is a place in the world where we should celebrate each other's faith, this country is it.

We are less than two months away from national and local elections. The rhetoric is already ramping up, and the attacks leave any form of decency in the dust. Torah teaches us that when we choose blessings, we choose life. When we choose to hurt others, it is as if we destroy the world. As Jews we are about to enter the holiest of season, we will find ourselves compelled to live in two worlds: a world focused on healing and at the same time, a world focused on destroying. It is time that faith set the example rather than serve as the compromised fodder.

Folks, let's celebrate life, and each other. The vow we all learned, pledging allegiance to the sacred protections upon which this government roots, is and should be a vow we live to keep, grow, and secure for all of us, not just those to whom we want to include ... and not just for those who coddle our vote.

I love studying with 12 and 13 year olds, as they prepare for Bar/Bat Mitzvah. Their minds are beginning to expand, and if you hook them into a topic they like, the stuff they come up with is amazing. I was speaking with one young man about heroes. He said that a hero was someone who did great things. I asked him if there were lots of heroes in the world, and he just looked at me. I asked him if he was a hero. He quizzically looked at me, again. I smiled, and asked if he had ever done anything really good. He smiled and started going on about how he helped at home, helped at school, took care of his little brother, and made good grades. I said, "So, are you a hero?" He looked at me, and without missing a beat, he said, "No. Heroes are special people."

I am not sure where we lost the notion that each of us is a special person. Torah tells us that people of faith are a "Goy kadosh - a holy people." We also read that people of faith are a "Mamlekhet kohanim - a kingdom of priests." Who are people of faith? Everyone. As we are about to enter the land of Israel, Moses tells the people that the Covenant of Faith is made with all people standing there and all people who are not standing there. In short: everyone. We are all special. I explained this to the young man, and I asked him a $64,000 question (which means that if he gets it right he has my permission to ask anyone for $64,000), "Ok, you are special. That makes you a hero. What does being a hero mean?" He thought for a moment and replied, "I have to do heroic things?" I could see in his eyes that his list of "good deeds" took on a whole new light ... and he was not thrilled with the new light. Anticipating his next thought, I offered, "Yes, that means that all the good things that you have done, you were supposed to have done them. Being good means doing the things you are supposed to do. Heroes are the people who make a life out of acting that way." With a quick retort, he said, "Ok, I am good, but heroes are great." "You are," I said. "But heroes are famous!" "Not all famous people are heroes."

This really is such a simple concept that gets so easily forgotten. We demean our own value while we aggrandize the celebrity. We equate fame with value and in doing so; set both us and others up for horrible failure. A famous person is not necessarily a good one, and there are great people who live behind other people's shadows every day. The true measure of someone is how they behave, not whether or not they are famous for how they behave.

This week, Torah gives us a relatively veiled look at this truth. The portion begins, "You shall appoint judges and guardians for yourselves at your gates." Most translations will gloss over the last word and render it as cities or settlements. The text does not say "Eerekha or y'shuvkha - your cities or your settlements." Rather the term used in Torah is "sh'arekha - your gates." The presumption of most translators is that since the judges sat at the city gates to hold court, the Torah must be alluding to the gates ... of the city. A wealth of commentary maintains that Torah is not written by accident. Ambiguities exist either on purpose or a result of linguistics. The author/editor could have used a term other than gates, or completed the sentence, "the gates of your city."

Our tradition makes clear that the role of the judge requires him/her not be unbiased and be of great moral and ethical character. Judges are special people, for folks entrust to them large problems for resolution. This week's portion may tell us more about their qualifications. A Khasidic teaching tells us that the orifices of our body through which information enters and leaves are themselves gates of judgment. The eyes, ears, and nostrils and mouth take in and let be known a host of data through which we make decisions on how to judge the world. The impact of this teaching would make this Torah text an additional piece of the judges' job description.

One writer argued that this week's portion taught that a human body is the gate of judgment, and therefore not a place where they sit. As they interact with people, their own senses provide data through which they judge others. Since Judges are "gates of judgment" the gate of judgment travels with him/her throughout every aspect of living. One then has to live by the same ethical standard through which one practices his/her calling. A judge who is seen as being inconsistent in his/her ethical behavior off the bench cannot be trusted on the bench.

Many have extended this lesson to celebrities; reminding them that people look to them as role models. We are comfortable thinking of celebrities as exemplars, but I think Torah speaks to regular people, not just the stars in the community. I look up to my teachers and my students, my family and friends as role models. As I told the young man in my office, he is a special role model. As such, this is a relevant teaching for all of us. The gates of our bodies that transmit and take in information fill us and share from within us everything we feel about the world, and tells folks around us, what to think about us. Thus the command to establish gates for judgment is not an edict to the elders of the community, but an adjuration to the entire community. Moses did not take the elders aside and say, "Ok, guys this one is just for you." No, he told everyone, "Appoint for yourselves - each of you - judges and guardians. Each of us is commanded to be a hero for each of us is special, and the good things we do, fulfill the mitzvah of goodness. In fact, even more than when we fail to act "good," when we demean the value of our good acts ... this is a greater blaspheme. We are blessed in order to bless.

We are getting near the time to prepare for the High Holy Days. This is a time when we are commanded to self assess. Tradition calls on us to look at the year that has passed and figure out where we need to do things differently in the coming year. The traditional liturgy will call on us to beat our chests saying "Al khaet shekhetanu - for the sin which I committed" as we list more than an alphabet of transgressions.

This tradition has always troubled me. We are not a people who believe that humanity is innately evil. We do not believe that each person's sin is my sin. Knowing that we have not been guilty of all these transgressions makes this confession disingenuous and diminishes the value of the matters for which we really must do t'shuvah (atonement).

We accept responsibility to help teach, heal, and learn from the world. Outside of this liturgy, our tradition puts a greater emphasis on the "I-Thou" work each of us must do, so that we can better pay attention to what is needed than on the atonement for someone else's transgression. I cannot be responsible for someone else's bad act, unless I facilitated it, exampled it, or passively looked the other way while I knew it was happening. I absolutely must be responsible for my own behaviors and for helping one injured and one who injures to a place of greater wholeness and vision. If the liturgy stopped with this, I would feel more comfortable with the liturgy ... but it does not.

More difficult for me is the relative absence of perspective in the liturgy. We spend ten plus days (Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur) talking about all the stuff that we and others do wrong, need to rethink, fix, or repair. Here is a radical thought: we are not bad people. We do a lot of great things, too! Yes, there is a lot of suffering in the world. Nature and people can provide devastation beyond belief, but both can also bring healing beyond expectation or hope.

If I have to beat my chest for someone else's xenophobia, why can't I also spend time celebrating that true heroism exists? If I have to commit to working on my own frailties, why isn't there the same attention paid to making me appreciate the things I do that help people? If I am to hold myself accountable for someone else's failings, why can't I also spend this time being thankful for their blessings from which I have derived benefit?

This week's Torah portion alludes to a potential reason for the conundrum. We normally read the text, "You shall consider in your heart, that, as a man chastens his son, so God your God chastens you (Deut. 8:5)." The verb is Y'yasaer (yod, yod, samekh, resh). Tradition will translate this word as chasten or punish. The word can also mean admonish or passionately teach, and the normal translations change the syntax of the sentence as written in the Torah. As written, it should read, "Know this intimately in your heart, in just the way a man y'yasaer his child, so God will m'yasrekah."

The Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev taught the most famous parental line, "This is going to hurt me more than it will you." Thus, any chastening by God of man hurts God. With respect to an incredible scholar and giant of spirit, I can only respond, "Really?"

I am a parent, and yes, punishing a child is painful. I hate grounding a child from things they like, but they hate it far more than I could ever feel badly over it. I know why I am upset; often all they see is that an unreasonable adult went overboard WRONGLY. While they understand what they did, they also have the added embarrassment of having been caught acting badly. There are appropriate and inappropriate ways in which to teach a child. Despite what Proverbs teaches ("Spare the rod and spoil the child") we know that our children learn from example. Learning a proper way to behave through example is ... long term ... a better lesson than being afraid of misbehaving. I cannot count the stories I have heard in counseling, of people growing up afraid of being abused or demeaned, who now had major issues with which to deal and from which to heal.

Y'yasaer - to admonish is to passionately teach. A loving parent has a child's best interest at heart, and will do everything in his/her power to teach them to live ethically. If we read it in what I believe is a more appropriate context, the text should read, "Know this intimately in your heart, in just the way that a person admonishes his child, so God will admonish you." Thus, while I cannot know what pain God feels or does not feel, I refuse to believe that the One who creates miracles can't fathom a better way for us to learn than to hurt us first. Rather, this is an impassioned engagement with a God who wants us to grow and prosper. The pain we experience in Torah results from our own failures in faith, not God's punishment.

Rosh Hashanah is a day of celebration; it is a new year. Yom Kippur is a day for renewal. If we go back to the earliest of commentaries, we learn of these realities. Over the last 2000 years, we have allowed our story and the perception about our history to be spiritually impoverished. The "Day of Awe" has become a day of anything but.

Torah is intended to be ambiguous, allowing for a great many different meanings. That we somehow default to the negative cannot be healthy. Perhaps the notion ... even our somewhat muted version ... of "hell, fire, and damnation" is the reason that so many have found religion to be irrelevant. It may have been an effective tool to keep provincial and afraid people guilty and engaged.

I believe that the heart of a loving parent would always help us choose blessing and life. Maybe it is time to rethink the way we traditionally read our texts and observe our traditions. We cannot be faithful if we root our religion in fear. Where we are faithful, there is little room for fear.

The Greeks developed four different understandings / concepts of love. They range from the erotic to the simplicity of human dignity. Modern day psychologists argue that whichever the �version� of love one experiences, there exist three basic components. One can determine the extent to which one loves based on how one defines their level of connec...tion on these three criteria: passion, intimacy, and commitment. If we think about how we use the word love to describe our relationship with people or our affinity with things, we might become concerned as to how we throw the word out, and how people hear it in turn. In Greek, there are four words for love; in English, there is only one. Perhaps this is a reason we stay confused as a society.
I love my wife absolutely. I love our children absolutely. I love Torah and my job, absolutely. I also love the Green Bay Packers, absolutely. I really would hate to think that the word �love� meant the same level of intimacy, passion, and commitment in each sentence. In our society, we use the word �love� a lot. In interpersonal relationships, we often intend the term one way, but get confused in how we apply it. Not every couple who love each other erotically (Eros) should be married, nor is everybody who are intimate lifetime partners or best friends (Storge), necessarily erotic for each other. We have a moral obligation to respect and protect each other�s dignity (Agape), whether we have any other relationship with them. We form communities with people who hold the same values as do we (Philia love), but the strength and vibrancy of that community is not dependant on its members all being best friends (or friends at all). In as much as we use the one word for all of these levels of relationship, it is no wonder that we confuse them and enter into relationships with sometimes unreal expectations of our partner. It is also no surprise that so much pain results when all we wanted to do was express love.
Psychology lesson aside, we come to this week�s Torah text. We receive the admonition to remember that one source of divinity must be responsible for creation, and that we must, �Love Adonai your God with all your heart, with all of your soul, and with all of your being.� As a quasi-historian, I get stuck on this phrase and how it has manifested in our �religious zeal and commitments� throughout time. People have understood this �love� to occur at every level that the Greek definitions offer; and this �love� has yielded some really bizarre results.
Loving God erotically spawned the mythologies of love gods and goddesses and prostitute cults on the one hand and commitments to celibacy (saving it for God) on the other. Is God our best friend or parental creator; the dispassionate overseer or monarch, the temperamental and jealous child, or the conscience that reminds us of our moral choices? Religious traditions have argued all of these, and most religious systems portray God across a variety of these roles � at the same time. So, we are obligated to love God with every fiber of our being. On a literal level, it would absolutely mandate that we experience all four types of love in religion, and at the highest levels of the psychologist�s standards. That people take these as absolutes explains religious fundamentalism and also why so many others walk completely away from religion.
As Rabbi, I wrestle with the language of scripture and strive to always remember that the book�s intended purpose was to help us make life more relevant and more meaningful. I refuse to believe that our human emotions and language are God�s limitations, and I absolutely believe that scriptural stories are human. The biblical god is a product of our own lore; our best efforts and our own limitations. I also believe that the authors/editors understood this reality - even while many readers since have not.
We have given God a name, Yod-Hay-Vav-Hay. These four letters are, according to tradition, unpronounceable. Some try �Yahweh,� while convention would replace the letters with the word, �Adonai (my Lord).� The four letters are a form of the verb, �to be.� To quote Rabbi David Cooper, �God is a verb.� I do not know how or that we relate directly to the source of creation. It is not for me to tell God how to do God�s job. I do read the Torah as a sourcebook for our own behavior. Love God with all heart, soul, and being is a commitment to celebrate and love � being. This is a command to love every moment and every opportunity that we can love � in every way in which we can love it ... with everything that we have. The more we can love being, the more we can love being with each other.
Certainly the news around the world tells us that we are not doing a good job interpersonally, but there is life beyond the news. There are families and friends who do amazing work for each other; committed to each simply because we love. Whatever our challenges (and I cannot imagine the world that many have cope through each day), I know that whatever blessings we do enjoy come from our intentions to own them. Marcus Aurelius wrote, �Do not indulge in dreams of having what you have not, but reckon up the chief of the blessings you do possess, and then thankfully remember how you would crave for them if they were not yours.� I love that we can love, and I pray we do a lot more of it. Shabbat Shalom.

41 years ago, this Shabbat, I stood at the bimah (pulpit) in my Synagogue in Las Vegas, Nevada and chanted these words. They begin the Haftarah (prophetic reading) associated with this week's Torah portion.

I was an ornery young man who maintained that the whole process of Bar Mitzvah was an act of oppression that rivaled our time under Pharaoh's taskmaster's whip...s. For a host of reasons, after it was over, I walked away ... the Rabbi even encouraged me to do so. As I reflect on the journey that began with my first steps out the door and has taken me to a place where I am beginning my 19th year post ordination as Rabbi, I have to acknowledge covering a lot of ground.

I had no idea who Isaiah was, and what the purpose of his prophecy might be. The words of the text were words of condemnation. God was upset and we were horrible people. You know, I had had enough of people being upset at me. All the text did was remind me of my parents and teachers, all of whom kept telling me that I wasn't doing enough, that I was lazy, and that I had a lot of "fixing" to do in order to amount to anything. Okay, that's how it all sounded to an ornery thirteen year old.

Unfortunately, as a rabbi, I have found that this is how it sounds to a great many people ... adults ... who have an, at best, tangent relationship with the text. If one picks the book up and reads snippets, God can come off as having real anger issues. When read casually and/or literally, there is a whole lot of senseless destruction going on. For this purpose, people either walk away from it rejecting an angry God, or take it so literally that they justify being angry at people with whom they disagree, because God is angry with all of the folks with whom God disagrees.

I find it troubling that for so many people, this is all they get out of religion and scripture. It really does not take much intention to sit with the text and find that neither is appropriate, and that the character of God in the Bible is not "God," rather it is the purveyor of consequences for the actions of humanity: human and inhumane.

As I look back on the text I rejected so long ago, I keep finding new and profound teachings that make the text relevant in very adult and progressive conversations. I know many folks who join houses of worship to find God and feel bogged down in having to read the scriptural text, but if handled appropriately, it is the conversation spawning from the text that helps us commune with God. The purpose of scripture is to get us to talk about holiness with each other and learn from each other; to help us help each other into greater spiritual awareness. When handled as "the word and rule of God," the book has no value and can breed devastating human responses. Every day, we are inundated with the news of the destruction we force upon each other: the devastating consequences. Wars run by power brokers rage across the world consuming life and liberty in its path leaving only death and destruction in its wake. What is the largest impetus to war? Well, the claim by most ... for all time ... "we are fighting on behalf of God. Our scripture demands this service and sacrifice on behalf of divinity." Really? So, the God who lovingly
creates all things wants us to destroy some of it? Worse still, this one God who creates all things tells different groups to destroy each other? How can one pray for peace and then go into war to kill another?

I understand the argument that "the policies of the other have left us no choice." Again, really? If violence is the only answer, then we really are in trouble, and at what point does defending one's self become an act of offense against the other? There is no basis in Judaism, Christianity, or Islam for offensive violence. Each religion also admonishes followers to strive at all cost to turn enemies into friends. We each hold sacred some version of the teaching, "When the world is
not behaving humanely, strive to be human." It is hard to claim to be a person of faith when one's goal is to destroy another's life ... even if in response to violence.

Many have questioned my relative silence on the war in Gaza and Israel. I say relative, for I have not been silent, I have just not said what many expect me to be saying. I am a Zionist, and I serve on the Board of Trustees in the Reform Jewish Zionist movement. I am brokenhearted over what is happening over there, and cannot but condemn acts of terror that oppress both the victim and the perpetrator (self-victimized in a different way).

Propaganda fills the news and while everyone has a sense of what is and is not right, it is clear to me that there are truths that exist from multiple perspectives that fall on deaf ears in the camps of the "other." What I know is that while children are being orphaned and killed, the population around the world is picking sides as if this were a soccer match and the World Cup was at stake
Rallies gathering only partisan groups cannot help but fuel the fires of distrust and solidify the rhetoric heard in speeches as "the truth," and not our understanding of truth. The media feeds our frenzy with photographs (some real and some manufactured) and agenda based debates that have experts (often partisan) instructing us as to what we are supposed to believe. I believe that these rallies serve only to drive us further apart and keep us from hearing each other's very real pain. We allow power mongers to take control when we distract the world from seeing that the war really is not about what God wants, but about who wants to have control. If we really wanted peace, these rallies would be multireligious, multicultural, and multiethnic, and the conversation would focus on how we can help people on both sides who are suffering, how we can help open each other's eyes, and how we can jointly hold the media accountable for its gratuitous depictions of violence to gain viewership and advertising dollars. Yes, there is hell happening, and I fear that people not living in the midst of the struggle but who try to direct and usurp the conversation help it proliferate.

The prophet Isaiah teaches us that the people who trample God's courts bringing offerings rooted in ego and agenda are an abomination before God. Isaiah will later admonish us to remember that there can be no peace until the lion can sleep with the lamb, and until we have beaten our swords into ploughshares and spears into pruning hooks. This is not a condemnation from
God, but an admonition for us to understand what is at stake. It seems to me, that if we want to respond in a Godly way, then our gatherings would be to heal and not to rally. We need to reach out and create relationships rooted in faith and set a better paradigm for those who now see us only putting fuel on the fire. Face it, every time only Jews gather, only Muslims gather, or only Christians gather, the perceptions of division only become more entrenched. For those of us who feel this way, let's be more vocal together. Shabbat Shalom.

We are coming close to the culmination of the Torah storyline. We are nearing the River Jordan, Moses is preparing for his farewell address (Deuteronomy), and the people are making plans for establishing life in the "Promised Land." They have wandered for forty years, watching a generation wane and another mature, weathering waves of war..., and experiencing miraculous redemptions.

Each tribe prepares to move into the land given them by edict of God, and Moses readies himself to say "Good bye" to his people. In the midst of all this preparation for "settling in," a couple of tribes approach Moses to tell him that they have no interest in crossing the river. They reject the land given them in "the land," and want to settle in where they were and go no further. Moses' response was vehement and angry. He condemned the tribes for abandoning their brothers and for their cowardice in not wanting to help establish the land given them by God.

Ultimately the tribes agreed to aid the other tribes in establishing homes in the land, after building their own where they were. Moses is eventually mollified, but we cannot help but realize that the decision by these tribes creates trust issues that threaten the integrity of the family fabric.

The text does not tell us how the rest of Israel reacted, but we have to struggle with Moses' response. He did not ask for their motivation. His first response was anger. Why was his first response so angry?

Some will argue that he was frustrated. After all of the trials and tribulations of the journey, these tribes did not want the prize. Was he upset because they were rejecting the land that is denied to him? He wants to enter the land and cannot, and these people are not even interested ... despite being gifted guaranteed access?

Is he upset because he has put his entire life on the line to keep this family together, and now, as his life is waning, he sees that his effort was wasted and meaningless? Perhaps he is really frustrated with himself. This challenge is just one too many, and he realizes that it really is time to let go; he just does not have the strength for this one more challenge. He does elicit a promise from the tribes to aid in the cause of settling the other tribes. He does formally relinquish leadership to Joshua. He does prepare his final sermon. His story raps up.

We, though, are left with all sorts of questions about what to do with a story that teaches that Moses' final responses are painful, confrontational, and prejudicial. I feel for him. Leadership can be frustrating.

A leader can give heart and soul and not be appreciated. A leader can give heart and soul and, at the same time be so invested in what he has to offer, that he lacks perspective for other people's points of view. A leader can give heart and soul, and be so invested that he forgets that others are not as invested in the cause as is he. We all have differing priorities, and the stuff that is sacred to one is not even on the radar of another.

This is not a statement of one's value, for each of us faces unique challenges and celebrates life in unique and intimate ways. It is for this very reason that I am committed to faith, and not to a demonstration of faith. I tell people that the sanctuary is only one room where sacred work is done in a house of worship, and the house of worship is only one place where sacred work is experienced. Even as to my own faith tradition, the sages are explicit in teaching that anyone who believes to have a literal understanding of scripture's demands has blasphemed.

Moving to a new community provides a great opportunity for renewal and restoration ... and for gut checks. Even while we are who we are, we encounter new situations wherein people who have no experience with us, do not always know what to do with our idiosyncrasies, familiar behaviors, points of view, humor, mood shifts ... and the list goes on. In short, there is no experience on which to base trust. We walk through new worlds with life skills, points of view and expectations rooted in a context in which no one around us shared. We walk through their worlds without any context for how they became who they are.

Moses had forty years with folks and still experienced a huge disconnect in his relationship with the people. Our every day news is filled with myriads of stories that call us to question the norms in which we have always trusted. Certainly, some of these norms need to be rethought, for we take too much for granted.

We need to be jolted sometimes. More often, though, our skepticism creates interpersonal problems that might otherwise have never occurred. Where our first thoughts create skepticism as to each other's integrity, we set in motion a chain of reaction of responses that can only end in conflict. Even where we have cause to be skeptical, meaningful and compassionate conversation goes a long way towards helping each other grow in understanding, and creates ground rules for productive relationships.

What I believe in my heart is that where good people give each other the opportunity to experience each other's dignity, the world gets to celebrate greater light. Further, I believe that our world views continue to evolve, and we really should not take for granted that we really understand what makes each other tick. In each engagement, we should strive to listen to each other more, judge less, and commit ourselves to a greater sense of appreciation of the ways in which we can add blessing to each other's lives.

Yes, eventually the tribes in question came to the aid of their brothers who crossed the river, but perhaps their angst and humiliation that took place was ultimately not necessary. I think Torah is clear that we owe each other more.
Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org

We hold strong opinions on what we believe to be right or wrong. Yes, it is appropriate to try and follow traditions and keep them alive, but often times, we get so caught up in our own interpretations of what is and is not right, that we forget that rules and traditions perpetuate to ensure the integrity of relationships.

Ritual traditions exist because a community has decided that it best grows when people act in concert ... in ways that take care of each other's spiritual needs. Ritual norms provide us with a vehicle for spiritual growth and for the pursuit of holiness. We light candles to help us separate time. We pay attention to what we eat so that we can be intentional in giving thanks for that which sustains us. We honor a commitment of stewardship towards the earth and towards each other in order to live meaningful lives. While certain communities accept standards for ritual observance, these "rules" are always temporal, as humanity needs the flexibility to evolve in order to stay relevant.

Holiness is found in this commitment to relevance in real world relationships that elevate the souls of everyone engaged. When we become more concerned with being "right" than being holy, proffering the "my way or you do not count" mentality, even the most "religious" of ritual lives serves to destroy the community. There is no godliness in zealotry ... even zealotry for God. I refuse to accept that God can be known in only one voice, one path, or by one people.

Thus is the conundrum I face as I read this week's Torah portion. Last week, Pinkhas saw an Israelite chieftan cohabitating with a Moabite priestess. Even while Moses and the elders sat, he jumped up and impaled the two for violating "God's commands of national purity." Scholars through the ages really struggle with this text. The problem we face is that even while the Bible condemns zealotry and violence, here, Pinkhas seems to be rewarded for protecting God's integrity.

The text will remind us that he is a Priest, and in line to be the Kohen Gadol (High Priest). Commentary after commentary argues that God does not like violence, but in this case, there was a unique reason hat justified the deadly assault. In each case, commentators rework the text to make sense out of this very difficult story.I think that our sages try too hard.

Pinkhas is an angry man, and his anger causes him to upstage Moses and the elders who saw what Pinkhas sees, but did not take it upon themselves to be judge, jury, and executioner on a matter that was God's to judge. Keeping the entirety of the story in context, the story is less about Pinkhas, and more about God. God has already promised the priesthood to Aaron and his offspring. God affirmed that this promise would not be broken, but Pinkhas is an angry person, and a man with such anger could not possibly serve as an effective Priest. In affirming that Pinkhas' lineage would hold the Priesthood (as promised), God also mandated that a covenant of peace should rest over Pinkhas and his offspring. This covenant of peace mandated a change in behavior; if he is to serve as a Priest, he needs to start living and acting the role and demeanor of a Priest.

We recognize that this covenant is a work in progress. In the Torah, the word for peace, "Shalom," is written with a letter that is intentionally defective. The sages teach us that the covenant of peace had to be made whole ... this is our charge.

I sometimes get the strangest looks from folks. We are a people accustomed to passing pleasantries with others as we walk through this world. We exchange greetings, usually asking another how he or she is doing that day. Many who ask are doing so out of habit, not really investing his or her self in hearing the answer that may or may not be returned. Whenever I am asked how I am doin...g, I respond � �I am blessed every day.� Every time I say this, people look at me funny. I have had some people try to argue with me, asking me why and how. Most people end up smiling and either engaging in similar response or moving on. As yet, I have not encountered the �Oh, that�s nice� response. I do have to stop myself, though, and make sure that this answer is not just the phrase I throw out, as an in kind response to the mindless question.

What does it mean to be blessed? Certainly, we all face challenges every day we exist. Some of the challenges are mere annoyances, while others are much larger obstacles. The now late Maya Angelou taught us that when we confront a situation we do not like, we are obligated to work to change it. Where we cannot change the situation, we are obligated to change our attitudes. Our values are not determined by the obstacles or challenges, but by how, in face of them, we live and celebrate the rest of our lives. Trust me, this year has provided several challenges, including a decision to uproot my family. Despite the days that may not have been as affirming in my faith as others, I have to realize the incredible gifts I have received as part of this community, and the amazing opportunities that stand before me. So, what does it mean to be blessed? In my eyes, it means being able to appreciate the amazing things that we do experience in life; not just taking them for granted as we walk through each day.

Eleven years ago, we moved to Lexington. In part, my late first wife (Cindy) made it clear that this was her city of preference (of the places from which I was privileged to choose). This weekend is my last Shabbat worship service on the pulpit of Temple Adath Israel � presiding over my last Bar Mitzvah as this congregation�s Rabbi. It also happens that this Shabbat is Cindy�s birthday. Was this not an interesting enough �coincidence,� this week�s Torah portion calls on us to remember that we are blessed with faith, security, and hope. There is not a more appropriate text upon which I could spend my last Sabbath here.

The text reads, �May God bless you, and keep you. May God�s light shine for you and be present with you. May God give you peace.� God has blessed me; blessed me with the relationships that have filled my life with great value. In the midst of trouble, I have been kept whole and allowed perspective that has helped me grow and to better serve. While I cannot know what God is, I know that every day is an opportunity to create and affirm the miracles that move us to do incredible things in each other�s lives. We are lights in each other�s worlds, as we show up and make a difference � just by being there.

In a conversation with several dear clergy friends of mine, we delved into the real meaning and value behind the concept of spirit. It happened that we were discussing the text in the Book of Acts retelling the story of Jesus� ascending to heaven. We thought about its relationship to Elijah�s ascension and Enoch�s ascension (early Genesis). Amazing it was that from the many divergent faiths in the room, we all came to realize that we spend too much time pursuing the tangible proofs behind the stories of our faith, and not nearly enough time or energy, celebrating the miracles of faith. I had to think about the amount of time and energy that goes into pursuing accolades, avoiding responsibilities by blaming others � searching for Noah�s ark, the Ark of the Covenant, the Holy Grail, or the wood of the cross. Somehow we are so insecure in faith that we need to have proof that Moses led the march into the wilderness, that Jesus was divinely born and resurrected, that Mohammad took dictation from Gabriel, how the world actually formed, or that Krishna has spent many lifetimes in varying incarnations walking the earth. If the proof fails our smell test � we lose faith. I have found faith in the security of relationships, and it really does not matter whether these things happened or not � we are here � together � looking forward to completing creation � however it began. Whichever our faith story, it happened in the past. Rabbi Mordechai Kaplan taught us that the past has a vote but not a veto as we forge our relationships today and plan for tomorrow. Faith lives � here and now.

I am now saying �so long� to the source of a great many blessings experienced here and preparing to take my own leap of faith into our next adventure. I really have to believe that the more energy we put to proving our story � and disproving someone else�s story, the more insecure we are in our own faith � and the less appreciative we are of the blessings and miracles that surround us. Why do the stories have to matter? Why can�t they be the launch pads for wonderful conversations of faith? Pirke Avot teaches us to get ourselves a teacher, and acquire for ourselves a friend. As I prepare to move from one world of blessing into the next, thank you to all who have blessed me as my teachers and as my friends. To quote Father Norman � �God is good, all the time.� May we all experience and appreciate experiencing the blessings that so richly enhance our lives. Shabbat Shalom.

I believe in the concept of truth in advertising. I think a consumer has a right to know as much about a potential purchase as is possible. I also understand the need to advertise and sell one's wares in order to earn a living. In the mix of all of this, I am also a recovering lawyer, and know that there is a fine line between what is ...and is not enough information and what stifles sales and impinges on a consumer's rights. So, through decades (if not generations) of machinations, we have a notion in society that sales and advertising must be transparent, and that one cannot deceive either in the role of the seller or the purchaser. The rudiments of this ethos come from antiquity, but I question what we know (or think we know) that demonstrates that we handle these matters better today than did our ancestors. More importantly, I am not sure what it says about the way in which we handle the most important piece of any transaction, the underlying relationship that affirms or denies each other's dignity.

We begin with a piece from this week's Torah portion. Nearing the end of the Book of Leviticus, we read in Chapter 25 that there should be no fraud in any transaction between individuals. Were that not enough, just a few verses later, it says it again, but this time we cannot defraud each other, but instead, "You shall be in awe (some read 'fear') of God." Ok, so fraud is wrong ... and why is it wrong? God is watching. Some may argue that in every exchange there are a minimum of three witnesses: the buyer, the seller, and God. Now, I know that they did not intend for the inevitability of an overly litigious society, but it is hard to call God as a witness at trial. For those who are older, imagine George Burns testifying and swearing the oath, "So help me, me."

Most clearly, one has to act with an evil attempt to cheat another person, and therein one finds a most important kernel of truth. According to the text of Torah, more than the fact that fraud is a bad business practice, it is unholy. The text could have simply left fraud to be lumped in together with the list of "thou shalls, and thou shall nots." It was not enough to tell us not to commit fraud, but the text shows that the text revisits this command later and tells us that the reason not to violate this section is that it is morally wrong; one cannot affirm the awe of God and cheat another person at the same time. Whatever the legal system's interest is in its concerns over fraud, and the financial amelioration needed to compensate for such behavior, the spiritual approach to fraud is not rooted in the pecuniary result of the act. Rather, by invoking God's witness, the text argues that the problem with fraud is that it demeans the value of the victim ... hence diminishing God. We are all the incarnate image of Divinity - the source of dignity. Dollars are temporary, but dignity is eternal.

So, we have to think about the many transactions in which we participate throughout our daily lives. While the initial reading of Torah seems to point to financial matters, I cannot believe that God cares whether the car you sell or buy is good or is not good. I think that the piece of this transaction that is at stake in this fight is whether or not you wefaceboore deceived (or committed a deception) in the process of the transaction. This reality stands true for how we deal with each other in every engagement. We have to remember that an attempt to take advantage of another person, whether in business, in personal relationships, in employment, or on the playground, each of us has to be sure that we remember we are dealing with / speaking with or about / and maintaining a relationship with divinity every step that we take. This, by the way, includes the way in which we look at ourselves in the mirror, for integrity begins within each of us ... for that is where divinity dwells. Shabbat Shalom.

I know that there are days I face severe challenges in trying to maintain spiritual balance. I guess I buy into the notion that if there were not these days, we would not fully appreciate the blessings and gifts in our lives. Even so, there are times that I really need reminders. I do not think that I am very different from most folks. I can list the trials I have faced and it woul...d be longer than some and pale in comparison to the lists of many others. At the same time, were I to try to list the blessings I have experienced (never mind the many more I squandered), I know that I would have to look at the list of my trials and atone for having put so much influence on the way in which they distracted me. As I face my upcoming move, I am in the midst of reflection time. In reading this week's Torah portion, I found myself (surprise) once again taking issue with a literal reading of the text, and even with many of the traditional sages.

These are the appointed times of God, callings of holiness, which you shall call in their appointed time (Leviticus 23:2

The Sages teach that the holidays are more than days of celebration; they are sacred moments in time (Mikra-ae Kodesh ) set aside" in the sense that each is a landmark in time at which we are empowered to call forth the particular holiness or spiritual quality imbedded within it. ... The special mitzvot of each festival are the tools with which we "call forth" the "holiness" of the day." As does the text, the sages go on to demonstrate that each day has a story and a related ritual. We eat matzah on Passover to remember freedom. We dwell in the outdoors to remember Sukkot. There is a litany of things that we do for each holiday, as a way of remembering an event in time/lore/tradition.

What about May 2? What about the holiness of every day? The sages speak about the holiness of every moment, but then somehow seem to point to the festival days as being extra holy. For many commentaries for this week's text, they harp on differing takes on the holiday rituals espoused in text, and, if progressive, the new rituals that evolve as the relevancy of the holiday changes generation to generation. Most stop short of admonishing people to find ways in which to ritualistically acknowledge the holiness of every day. Face it; every day is a new year and an anniversary. It is exactly one year since this date last year. This is not trite and not silly. Abraham Joshua Heschel taught us that time is the only truly holy thing that we experience. "Just to be is a blessing. Just to live is holy." Further, "The greatest problem is not how to continue but how to exalt our existence. The call for a life beyond the grave is presumptuous, if there is no cry for eternal life prior to our descending to the grave. Eternity is not perpetual future but perpetual presence. He has planted in us the seed of eternal life. The world to come is not only a hereafter but also a here-now."

Holidays and festivals can have no real value if we set them aside as floats on the open sea or as singled out constellations in the starry heavens. If we spend our time waiting for the next engagement with our evolving or inherited ceremonial tradition, we waste every breath that we take in between those fleeting moments. Many people can play the notes on a page of sheet music, not everyone can use the pauses between the notes to make the music touch your heart. Every time my mother visits, she tells me how quickly the time passes during the visit, "I plan and plan; looking so forward to this, and then it is over just like that." I admonish her to look forward to our time together, but not to exclusion of celebrating even every moment that we are not. This recitation of the holidays screams at me to make every day a unique day in the calendar cycle.

The challenge is simple. Okay, the challenge is simple, even while meeting it may not always be. I do not mean to be trite, but in an attempt to put this in useable terms, if we think about the Disney classic "Mary Poppins," the whole theme of the movie is that we have choices to make. We can choose to be gloomy, or we can choose to live each day as a holiday. The Torah teaches us that each day is a day to choose between the blessing and the curse; between life and death. We are obligated to always choose life. Again, it is easy to say and not always easy to do, but we do need to take time each day to appreciate the folks around us, the world that engages us, and be more intentional to live that standard with each engagement of our own. Shabbat shalom.

The problem with religion is that sometimes it gets in the way of faith. The Pittsburgh Platform of Reform Judaism (1885) asserted, as to Jewish ritual that segregated Jews from the rest of society, "We accept as binding only its moral laws, and maintain only such ceremonies as elevate and sanctify our lives, but reject all such a...s are not adapted to the views and habits of modern civilization. ... They fail to impress the modern Jew with a spirit of priestly holiness; their observance in our days is apt rather to obstruct than to further modern spiritual elevation." It further provided that, "We recognize in every religion an attempt to grasp the Infinite, and in every mode, source or book of revelation held sacred in any religious system the consciousness of the indwelling of God in man. ... We recognize in Judaism a progressive religion, ever striving to be in accord with the postulates of reason. We are convinced of the utmost necessity of preserving the historical identity with our great past.. Christianity and Islam, being daughter religions of Judaism, we appreciate their providential mission, to aid in the spreading of monotheistic and moral truth. We acknowledge that the spirit of broad humanity of our age is our ally in the fulfillment of our mission, and therefore we extend the hand of fellowship to all who cooperate with us in the establishment of the reign of truth and righteousness among men."

Judaism is evolutionary, and demands that our faith continue to evolve in ways to keep us relevant in the societies in which we live. For this reason, no two communities will practice this faith identically to any other. Our faith demands that we take the culture in which we live our daily lives, into account in determining how we define our ritual lives. For me, this is the most sacred ideal that makes faith make sense. Unfortunately, a great many folks from many different religions do not understand this and live "religious lives" respecting some while demeaning others. Their "truth" is tightly held within very narrow boundaries that do not allow even for the possibility that their religion may shut out even the breadth of God.

I have both created allies and gotten into trouble, in asserting the confluence of faith events this weekend. We are in the midst of Passover, a holiday that celebrates the resurrection of Israel from the graves of Egyptian slavery. We are reborn as a nation, recommitted in our service to God and to each other, and embark on a journey of faith that will lead us to engage God "panim el panim ... face to face" at Sinai. Many will argue that it is the most important of our ritualized holidays, because this story of rededication (re-creation) has greater impact on our spiritual lives than even the story of creation, itself. This is Christianity�s �Holy Week.� Culminating in Easter, the Christian world celebrates the resurrection of Jesus by pledging to spiritually renew itself in faith. Most would argue that there is no more important day on the Christian calendar than Easter. Both holidays celebrate resurrection and faith, and both are seminal to our respective faith traditions. Why do we fight so? Why are some Jews afraid of Easter and some supersessionist Christians afraid of leaving a Jewish Passover alone to the Jews? Perhaps our respective histories play a role. Re-enactments of walking the last stations of the cross and the crucifixion have led to violence against Jews. Perhaps there is a reason for the fear. At the same time, while Passover is a biblical holiday, Jews have evolved the story in a uniquely Jewish way. The story can evolve along a host of different lines, for it speaks of freedom from all oppression. So, Jews who tell Christians that they cannot have Passover � especially a uniquely Christian Passover unjustly divest Christianity from its own roots. A Christian Passover does not undo the Jewish one, it is only a different take on the same story. At any given time, we are all subject to the oppression of others, no differently than at some points in time we all participate in oppressing others. These holidays are reminders to us to be vigilant to monitor how our own behaviors lift people or hold them back. At the same time, the ethos of these holidays calls on us to celebrate and grow the faith that it takes to live freely, as well. These really are the same �holy day,� we just refuse to celebrate faithfulness, feeling the need to invalidate or demean the other who wears a different religious label.

For me, this is the poignancy of this week�s haftarah, the portion of prophetic text associated with this holiday Sabbath. Ezekiel (Chapter 37) speaks of the reunification of humanity. The nation of Israel � not just the Judeans, lie as skeletons in the valley. Faith left the decaying bodies of once vibrant nations. In the context of this text, Israel is best defined as people of faith � people who wrestle with God (the literal etymology). Ezekiel accepts god�s challenge to prophesy over the bones, and watches as they come back to life with renewed bodies and freshly breathed in souls. The people � all of them � stand as one people. They are not divided into tribes; they are one people. The resurrection of faith is intrinsic to this story, and I refuse to believe that the rabbis who designated this haftarah for this weekend saw anything other than what I have shared today. Isn�t it time we stopped arguing over stories and started celebrating that as a humanity of faith, we have a lot more to celebrate in each other than to fear or hate? I pray that my rebirth and renewal this year will help me do more to be more true to my faith by celebrating people who are more true to their own. We do have a lot to learn from each other. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Khallah (Something on which to chew) - One person's truth never should invalidate another's; it should only provide additional perspective for both.

I have written extensively about the death of Aaron's sons, Nadav and Avihu. They died for bringing an alien fire to the altar; a fire other than what God had enjoined upon them. Sages debate whether it was their arrogance or their pursuit for righteous change that consumed them, but nonetheless they died for what they offered. For me ... I have always likened their deaths to the destruction experienced by those on the front line of any righteous based movement. Prophets become prophets often only after giving their lives for "the cause."

This year, I see things a little differently. This year, I read the portion "Akharae Mot" from a different perspective. Torah is wonderful for it spawns conversations. We know from the text that Aaron and the family were told not to demonstrate any open sign of mourning, even though we are not told why. Sages differ as to why the edict was so, but at best, we are left guessing. I have thought about the different messages that such mourning would send. If the boys died from their arrogance then mourning blasphemers is a "no-no" (I personally hate this interpretation). If they died trying to change the world, then mourning them could incite insurrection. That is also a bad thing. Another theory argues that, as High Priest, Aaron cannot allow himself to be distracted by the death of his boys (irrespective if they died for folly or for a cause). I understand the need to stay busy to keep from getting lost in grief, but not grieving at all is somehow not authentic and makes the text scream to be discussed.

Where I am stuck, at this point is in wondering what the people are experiencing as this story unfolds. With so much attention paid to the "Heads of State," we are left scrambling to figure out how the people felt as young and presumably popular priests died for approaching the altar, and how parents, siblings, and uncles seemingly ignored the deaths. Especially from a position of leadership, we teach people by being living examples of behavior. How we behave is the way in which the people who look to us will pattern their own behavior. Were we to take this lesson as written, we would, in my opinion, walk away with some really twisted paradigms. So, perhaps the text begs us to think about what examples we follow, and what examples, when we teach, we want people to emulate.

I have been the one suffering the loss and the one observing and caring for the one suffering the loss. I know that people need time and space to heal, but that too much time and too much space accomplish neither. I look to this textual story, and realize that, for me, I remain troubled. Without any conversation as to what happened, that the people have no idea what happened or how to appropriately respond. Is this silence for any death, is it political silence, or is it undue grief masked? The funeral service that has evolved over time allows the mourner and the observer perspective. We learn how people lived and can often put death into perspective, so that it is not about the date of birth or death, but about the life in between the dates. We can determine the lessons to be learned, the way in which to hold the people who suffer loss, or the way in which to grant and honor space in the process. What I feel I know for certain, is that to avoid speaking about the people who pass on makes their lives ... and hence their deaths, irrelevant.

It is with poignancy that this portion coincides with a great loss we suffered this week. Oscar Haber passed away this week. To simply throw out a name tells us nothing of the man or his legacy, no differently than hiding the story behind the deaths of Nadav and Avihu. Oscar was 104 years old when he died. Oscar was an accomplished professional long since retired. Oscar was my dear mentor, student, confident, and exemplary friend. Oscar was a man of incredible faith in ways in which most people would not understand. Oscar was a survivor ... a survivor of the Shoah (Holocaust). His story is one of cowardice and heroism, of wisdom and fear, of love and resolution. He was open about what it took to survive and what he was able to do for others because he did survive. In each case, and with incredible consistency, whatever befell him ... however we would assess its value positively or negatively, his response was unchanged. His eyes moved towards the upper right corner, lifting upward the grin that turned his lips and cheeks. His hands and shoulders both slightly lifted to the heavens. He would then say, "Hoo ha-Elohim - He is God." He took no credit for the amazing things he did, asked no pity for what befell him, accepted full responsibility for that which he did to survive, and every day thanked God for blessings. Our lives became forever entwined the day after Yom Kippur three years ago, and I know that I am blessed for and with our friendship. Whether or not Nadav and Avihu's souls and stories could teach us anything is hidden in Moses' and Aaron's silence. That silence, in my eyes, causes the most precious of lives to be wasted on eternity, leaving us nothing but questions and fodder for argument and debate. In choosing life, we choose for ourselves and also for all those who continue to live as we continue to teach from their lives. Oscar's days on earth are over, but my days on earth with Oscar are not. That is a blessing of friendship upon which I know I can rely to help me grow for decades to come. I hope that I help others learn to continue loving and learning from each other ... sharing with each other ... even after we leave each other. Shabbat Shalom.

This week we learn that there are foods we are ritually permitted to eat ... and foods which we are not supposed to eat. Not being one for hard and fast rules, I racked my brain for something meaningful to say today. I tried several esoteric ways of approaching text, but each hit a spiritual "dead end." So, I went back to something basic, the rules of keeping kosher. The Torah teac...hes us that if an animal has a cloven hoof and chews its cud, it is appropriate to eat. Kosher means "appropriate," not ... cleaner or less grotesquely slaughtered. I also think that it really has nothing to do with what we eat. Yes, at a literal level, it does, but we also know that Torah was not intended to be read literally. The "P'shat" or basic level of reading is the least valuable. Every text has more allegorical and symbolic meanings. So many Jews get hung up on whether one keeps kosher or not, what one's level of kashrut is, that they devolve spirituality into a gastronomic enterprise.

So, I think that the text must speak to us at a different level. To be kosher, an animal has to have a cloven hoof and chew its cud. Only one animal has the cloven hoof, but does not chew its cud. The Torah spells out that this animal is the pig. Lots of animals do not have cloven hooves. Some chew the cud and some do not. Only the pig has a cloven hoof but does not chew its cud. It looks kosher, but it is not inside. Other non-kosher animals are what they are ... a mixed bag, but the pig is an intentional deceiver. Many sages leave the commentary here, and argue that this is the reason that of all non-kosher foods, the pig is the most offensive. Interestingly, the pig is considered to be one of the cleanest of barn animals, hence the word kosher does not mean clean.

Actually, though, I am not convinced that this is such an easy lesson. I feel badly for the pig. It did not make itself this way. For biblical literalists, the pig was created to be defective. I would hate to think that God created the pig for the purpose of being shunned in this world. I just cannot buy into this idea. So I look at the pig, and the text calling attention to specifically just the pig, knowing that there has to be more. The pig looks alright, but is not right.

As I mull this thought over, I think about those of us who look just fine, but are experiencing horrific internal turmoil. We think about associates and friends who seem jovial and well adjusted ... until we learn the amount of drugs they are on to keep them that way. We think about the well adjusted successful people's whose worlds devolve into nightmare after some catastrophic intrusion in life. We think of the traumatic stories of close friends and family speaking of one who seemed perfectly fine only to have intentionally harmed themselves (or worse) behind closed doors. This is the pig.

For those who suffer, one feels that he/she has to wear the good face; has to live the appearance of normalcy, even while their soul burns in agony. Why is it that we feel unable to be open about our pain? What is it about mental illness ... or society's perception of mental illness that makes people who suffer keep their pain under wraps? Yes, we have stigmatized mental illness no differently than we have the pig. The pig's negative status is set for a reason no one can see. In a similar sense, we have compassion for people's whose physical ailments are definable. We do not shun people with cancer or heart disease. Yet, we do judge those with mental illness harshly. We do not blame a patient for cancer or a broken arm, but somehow find it ok to act as though mental illness is not really a disease ... the patient must be faking it, lazy, or of poor character. Most often, mental illness results from a physiological malady, no different than does cancer. We have an obligation to see each other with far more compassionate eyes than we do. Were we to keep a strictly kosher diet, but treat each other badly, of what value is the ritual observance?

Does this change how we should view the non-kosher status of the pig? I will not go out on that limb, but I will suggest that the permissions and prohibitions in text ought not to simply lead us to a lists of do's and don'ts. Whether someone will choose to eat the pig or not really is of little consequence if one wrestles with the values that this text can lead us to discuss. Are we whole inside and out? How do we respond to care for people who seem well, but are spiritually broken or ill? Is God more concerned with the kashrut of our behaviors than our diet? The gift of Torah is that it only begins the journey into incredible conversation. One can see from just this snippet that the holiness of the text is not in the text. Torah is holy because of the moral and ethical journeys upon which studying it causes us to embark. I have other reasons for not eating pork ... in large part because of the behaviors of other people over the matter, but please do not argue or judge someone based on your reading of the text or your perceptions of their well being. Dive into text, and take time to get to know each other. The whole world will end up being more holy. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom With a Heart Healthy Side of Torah -

by Rabbi Marc Kline

It's Purim time, a most misunderstood holiday on our calendar. Purim is not the Jewish version of Mardi Gras! If anything, it might be the other way around ... we came first. Mardi Gras is the real "Last hurrah / carnival time" before Lent, a time of sacrifice and personal introspection for Christians. Yes, we do dress up in costumes for Purim. Yes, there is fun and games. Ok, I will even concede ...that there may be a little drinking on the holiday. Purim celebrates the "near miss" of a catastrophe. The Persian Jews avoided annihilation at the hands of the wicked Haman and the apathetic King Ahashuerus. What Lent and Purim do have in common is the focus on salvation and the immortality of spirit.
Abraham Joshua Heschel taught that we are a people in whom the past endures. The value of today is inconceivable without knowledge of yesterday. The ability to dream of the possibilities of tomorrow can only be real if we can make sense out of today. We cannot know where we are going if we do not understand where we have been. Purim is such an important holiday because it reminds us that we always stand on the brink of devastation, and at the same time on the cusp of immortality. As with most religious observances, this reality is not uniquely about Jews or even about religion. How and what we celebrate in faith is only a reflection of something that impacts upon every piece of our life ... every day. We are always one step away from defeat and one step away from grandeur. However much we plan, our every success or failure depends on and is determined in large part by the world around us. A momentary mishap in a car may take lives, while the accidental encounter with a stranger blossoms into the most cherished of relationships. Plan all we want, stuff happens out of nowhere, and blessings and challenges come "Giftwrapped" in weird packaging. We do not know what tomorrow brings, as the Grassroots sang it in the 60's, even while planning for the future, me must "Live for Today."
Rabbi Eliezar was once asked by his students, "When should we do our full atonement?" he replied, "One day before you die." In response to their question as to how we will know when that might be, he said, "We have no idea when it might be, therefore, we should do it every day." The bottom line is that the world continues to change, and we cannot wait until tomorrow to fulfill today's dreams. Every day provides us a new opportunity for new blessings, even while it might be the last day for us to experience them at all.
A few weeks back, I went back home to visit my mother and get a little time for regrouping. I reconnected with some friends from high school (Go Vikings, class 1978!). I was taken aback when one asked me why I abandoned my dream of being a dentist. I had to think about how much my world has changed since then. The easy answer to the question was that I had to beg to pass Chemistry with the promise that I would never set foot in Tulane's science building ever again. The thoughts that spawned found me retracing the steps through my life's timeline. How I ended up a rabbi married to a northern woman moving to New Jersey is an interesting twist of fate. Most certainly, I was never destined for this path ... or at least I could never have foreseen that I might be.
I spent Thursday morning speaking at and participating in the program of the Governor's Prayer Breakfast. Amongst the honor of being included and the enjoyment of being with people I greatly respect, I had the pleasure of meeting Jacob Tamme. Jacob is a former All-Star at the University of Kentucky, and now a major force in the Denver Bronco offense. He recounted stories of how he learned that trying to manipulate life brought only anxiety and frustration. Over the course of trying to prepare for the NFL draft, he kept trying to project what he thought he was supposed to be to attract the interest from professional teams. His stories were funny, but ultimately, his message was profound. He spent so much time trying to second guess someone else's standards, that he almost ruined his own chances of success. He tried living in someone else's moment, intentionally ignoring the blessings that made him unique. He did not have enough faith to celebrate and face each day's success and challenge at each step along the process. We do not know what tomorrow brings. When we spend more time distracted than we do focusing on the blessing of being, we risk squandering the blessing.
This week, Moses has to come to grips with this lesson. He has gone from being the leader of the people and conduit between them and God to a spectator in the process. For a period, all focus is on the High Priest (his brother Aaron), and the priest becomes responsible for communication between God and the people. Moses' skills and blessings did not include serving at the altar. He had to come to grips with his second in charge status, knowing that even while the priest had the spotlight, the prophet still had a major role to play in service to God and the people. Had he lost faith in himself or had the anxiety bruised his ego, the rest of the Torah and the rest of western world faith would look very different. Moses is the most revered teacher in the western world. He had to be able to appreciate each day's blessings, and his role in living each one. That this Torah portion and the holiday of Purim coincide in time only serves to emphasize how important it is that we accept the blessings of who we are and what we have every day. Our truth can never revolve solely around what we think other's want or in waiting for the "someday we will do that" mentalities. We can plan for tomorrow, but we have to live today. Heschel also taught us that just being is a blessing. Shabbat shalom.

Shabbat Shalom With a Heart Healthy Side of Torah -
VAYAKHEL

by Rabbi Marc Kline

I am blessed to have had the opportunity to consult with a variety of organizations, helping them process through the creation/growth of a mission and vision game plan. Most organizations really want to do good work, but many struggle with finding the best formula and process for fulfilling their mission. The circumstances vary group to group, but in most cases, the problem is usually existential. Whether we are looking at a "For Profit" or "For Prophet" organization, everyone around the leadership table has a passion for doing good work. I get called in when they are trying to figure out how to make the good work happen when the stumbling blocks seem just too great to surmount. Often the first step in working past obstacles to progress is to look at who is involved in the process. There is a line from Fiddler on the Roof, "A bird may love a fish but where would they build a home together?" The beginning of every organizational consultation deals with the group at its core ... who makes up the core and what are their needs, issues, agendas, and perspectives.

This focus on the "players" is not a newly discovered technique in problem solving. We learned this methodology from Torah. This week, the portion begins with the word Va-yak-hel (He gathered). Moses had just made his second trip up the mountain and returned with a "glowing" report (okay ... bad puns are part of Rabbi-ing). God gave him instructions and tools useable to see this community through its journey into freedom. The first thing Moses does is gather the people. In doing so, he must assess who the leaders are, who the workers are, and who presents challenges and obstacles. What is the first thing that Moses does in gathering the people? Moses instructs them to honor the Sabbath. Moses goes on at length telling the people to take a step back and renew and restore ... "Renew from what?"

A lot has happened to Israel over the course of the last 30 chapters of Exodus. They experienced bondage, horrific taskmasters, plagues, miraculous liberation, and threat of attack, even more miraculous waters parting, wilderness travel, a golden calf, and now a glowing Moses. There has been no time or energy (or inclination) to create a game plan for moving forward. Each new vignette demonstrates a panicking Israel responding to some existential threat or miracle. They need a break. In truth, this is the most effective first step in directing any organization. First thing we need to do is take a step back and breathe. We need the opportunity to reflect on all that brought us to the moment and place wherein the work of "moving forward" gets to begin. Most groups form in response to some void and often some crisis. People jump into the relationship with others who express a similar need, call, or passion. Where we do not take the time to intentionally reflect on the way in which the disparate group can expect to interact, we destine our organization to tohu va-vohu (chaos from Genesis 1).

Moses' second instruction is to bring the most appropriate gifts to the table. The text does not instruct Israel to bring everything, only the things that one's heart moves him to bring. So successful is the campaign that Moses has to do that which we would find unthinkable; he has to tell people to stop giving. While the concept of telling people to stop giving may seem absurd, the point the text makes is that an intentional and relevant plan yields amazing fruit and abundance. There are many organizations focused on good causes, but the successful ones are intentional in their focus, their mission, their target, their goal and their resources. Effectively, the Sabbatical time to reflect on the journey and the mission are essential to success. It keeps us, even with the most progressive and helpful of intentions, from diving in without focus or direction. Just one reason that we call Moses, "Moshe Rabbaenu - Moses our teacher!"

In truth, though, this is a philosophy not written for organizations as much for individuals. Each member of the organization has to use this time to find a place of grounding. Organizations are made up of individuals, and where the individuals have not done the personal work of reflection and not made their commitment to relative giving, the organization cannot function. No group can be whole, if it is built on iffy foundations. Each person has to be in a place to celebrate the mission and message in a way that dignifies the way in which his/her partners do ... even when from differing points of view. I tell our congregational Board of Trustees that each person there is a member of the clergy. The decisions that they make have a greater impact on the religious life of our congregation than anything I do or say. They fund, support, cheerlead ... or do not ... our programming ideas and projects. Such a group cannot function without intentional visioning time. It begins within. What moves us to clearer vision also allows us the chance to share our passions in productive ways, being productive in hearing other's passions, as well. It is the stuff upon which Messianic visions of peace are built. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom With a Heart Healthy Dose of Torah -
Ki Tisa

by Rabbi Marc Kline

As I sat down to look at this week�s Torah portion, I thought that I was going to write about Moses� argument with God. I then made the mistake of turning on the television. OK, by a show of hands, how many of us are tired of celebrities in the news? Get those hands up! I know that the world has to have more important things to talk about than whether or not to deport... Justin Bieber. I really do not care about almost anything on reality TV, and I have to believe that celebrity divorces and weddings ought to play second fiddle in the news to world economics. I guess I am tired of people living their lives in order to live in the spotlight. Of course, perhaps if we let them live more private lives they might, but knowing of superstars who do live normal lives, I think the ones who get the excessive notoriety actually seek it.

Contrast this reality to the story of Moses, who from the very beginning, kept telling God that he was not worthy of being sent. He argued with God, he took a lot of heat from the people even when trying his best, and stood tall to the best of his ability. In the end, as with many great people, however much God may have appreciated him, the text seems to teach us that it was not until after Moses died, that the people realized his value. Pirke Avot teaches us that one who seeks fame diminishes his own value, while one who works hard is appreciated beyond what he can imagine. One who seeks light from external sources may find it, but usually at the expense of something sacred, whether his own privacy or someone else�s dignity. Moses� work was certainly not for his own fame.

At the end of this week�s reading, Moses descends from the mountain (having gone up for a second set of the tablets). As he approaches the encampment, people see that he is glowing � radiant with light. There is no spotlight following him down the mountain. He is radiating light, it is not illuminating him. We are taught that this light results from his confrontation with divinity. Moses partners with God � arguing with God (Exodus 32) � recreating with God (the second tablets), and the resulting partnership changes Moses (and God, as well, seeing as there are no further threats to destroy the people in the wilderness). Moses is truly enlightened, he understands God�s limitations and God�s power � and his power (one we all have) to help make sense out of both. The light that people see comes from within him.

Again, contrast this story to the news we face every day. Contrast this internal light to the light that so many seek trying to associate themselves with famous people. Our society spends a great deal of energy seeking light from eternal sources, failing to realize the powerful light and energy that exists in each of us waiting only to be accessed. There is a huge difference between the photo-opportunity and soulful connectivity.

Ultimately, we have to ask ourselves about our own worth. Are we spotlight seekers or do we shine from within? Are we controlled by our search for light, or do we move through the world sharing light? One does not have to be a rock star to be � a rock star. I often hear people say, �I am only �, not �� and I wonder, why he/she has to qualify who he/she is? If we are authentically the best of who we are, then does it really matter who we are not? Whether we are famous or not is not the measure of our value. While I have had my share of the spotlight, I am far more concerned with the way in which I pay forward the many blessings from which I have benefitted, and how well I respond to people who are in need. If we pay more attention to the light that we send forth, we will need less light cast upon us. One of the most profound prayers we utter is the one to be relevant and helpful � even when no one is watching. Maimonides codified this as one of the highest levels of righteousness. I have seen the Christian concept of turning the other cheek to symbolize the need for one to act righteously even when not facing the light. The Quran speaks of the need for quiet righteousness �Swell not thy cheek (for pride) at men, nor walk in insolence through the earth; for God does not love any arrogant boaster.� (31:18) Bottom line � in sharing our light, we share God�s light. Shabbat Shalom.

Over the course of my 24 years since leaving the practice of law to become a Rabbi, I have been in unique places where I have either been the only Rabbi, the only liberal Rabbi, or the somehow otherwise unique Rabbi in the area. In all cases, I have had the pleasure of welcoming groups into the sanctuary for conversation, exploration, education, and a great many shared experiences. As part of the tour (and often before I get to bring it up), someone wants to know why there is a light over the ark that holds our Torah scroll(s). My stock answer is that the light is our version of the �Motel 6� sign; you know the company that advertises, �We�ll leave the light on.� Most people who remember the commercial chuckle, youth think it is funny (but often do not know why), some are puzzled � and there are always a few who are upset that I find humor in the way that the Bible finds its way into common society without any religious reference or significance.
I do explain the history of the �Ner Tamid � Eternal Light.� It actually begins with this week�s Torah portion, as we are told to keep the altar fire burning 24 hours a day. Even while the people are sleeping, the fire needs to be there to remind them that God is always present, and to remind others, that there is never a time that the people are not protected and vigilant. In today�s world, we have door and window locks, alarm systems, and security guards to protect us from the outside world. On a day to day basis, our normally biggest threat is not from an invasion from outside our homes. While we have night lights, reading lights, and all sorts of lights in our homes, the real threat to our security comes from the missing piece of the equation above. Even while routinely playing the role of the rebellious child, Israel knew that its existence and security revolved around a belief in the power of divinity. The light in the midst of camp was a symbol of hope in an otherwise scary and desolate wilderness. While many of us exist in a spiritual wilderness today, most feel secure, so long as we can lock our doors keeping the world outside.
I do not think that I have ever experienced a more true, or more disturbing metaphor for the crisis of faith that exists in this world today. The fire on the altar, even while burning 24 hours a day, was never the same in any given second. As the flames leap from the altar, they dance � they ebb and flow; they stretch to break free of the bounds that keep them tied to the altar at the very same time that they retreat and become one with the rest of the fire. At best, we have light bulbs that we turn on and off � even in our sanctuaries (fire code issues) � that give static light that is unwavering and unchanging. The spirit of the eternal flame is the core of our faith tradition. From Proverbs we know that the spirit of man is God�s light. We know that in the story of creation, the first words uttered by God are �Y�hi Ohr (Let there be light)!� Light happened. This light was not from the celestial bodies; there was no sun or moon in the story � there was the light of enlightenment � a new beginning. The Biblical day begins at sundown so that we can experience the creation of light each day (in the course of our day), and not just have it happen. While our spiritual inheritance roots in a flexible and organic light, we pass to our children artificial chemically controlled light bulbs. Artificial light yields only spiritual darkness.
For those who remember the movie �The Matrix,� religion today has asked us to take the blue pill. We have been given lines to remember and recite � and accept as sacrosanct. We don�t offer light, we give light � a light that we direct and manipulate. This weekend, The Clergy Letter Project has organized almost 600 houses of worship in America (from all denominations) to affirm that faith is not stagnant and not dogmatic. I am a man of faith, and I cringe every time I hear someone of faith trying to force their religion down someone else�s throat. That people are forcing schools to teach the Bible�s version of creation is a sin. It is sinful for a host of reasons; the most blatant is that the Bible does not have one creation story. In the first six chapters of Genesis there are no less than four stories of creation, and one cannot have six days of creation AND Adam and Eve without rewriting the text that they claim to be inviolable. The most difficult reason that this is sinful is that it limits God into someone else�s box. Ultimately in faith, IT DOES NOT MATTER how the world was created. We are here and we have what we have. Whether it was seven days or seventeen thousand epochs, it does not alter our lives today and our sacred calling to care for the earth and for each other. The divine work of creation is magnificent and miraculous whether it happened as per Aristotle�s ex nihilo (from nothing), from the Biblical tohu v�vohu (chaos), resultant of a big bang and evolution, or a computer generated organism. What happens around us is miraculous and when we spend more time fighting each other trying to force our ways upon another, we are not acting in faithful stewardship � rather, we are destroying the very fabric of the miraculous creation. Face it, however the world was formed, we evolve � and devolve. Societies come and go; cultures grow and wane; and people thrive and fail. Our goal must be to focus on our growth and on sharing in the miracles around us if we are to call ourselves truly faithful stewards of this gift. We need to love being people of faith � and love that other people love being faithful � even under a different label and ritual than our own. We need to rekindle the Ner Tamid, and once again find our spirit dance in the rise and fall of the flame � find our soul stretching to be free and unbound, while never losing touch with the real world that sustains us. Shabbat shalom.

Shabbat Shalom With a Heart Healthy Dose of Torah
- Terumah

by Rabbi Marc Kline

A young lady brings her fianc� home to meet the parents. Dad asks the young man what he does for a living. The young man replies that he is a student. Taken aback, dad asked, "How will you support my daughter?" Not missing a beat, the young man said, "God will provide." "How will you put a roof over her head?" "God will provide." "Assumi...ng you will have children, how will you support them?" "God will provide." After dinner, mom and dad were in the kitchen talking. Mom asked, "So what do you think of that man wanting to marry our daughter?" Dad smiled, "He's great! He thinks I am God!"

We make a lot of presumptions about what God will provide. We take even the air we breathe for granted ... until it is compromised and unhealthy to inhale. Preachers make careers out of telling us how we should not have these expectations; about how we should work to earn and appreciate these blessings. While I absolutely agree with this position, I read something in text that created a conundrum for me. A most wonderful text implores Israel to bring gifts "from every person whose heart so moves him (Exodus 25:2)." It is not through a sense of obligation that we should bring gifts, rather, we need to be so appreciative of what God offers, that we want to support the work with our resources. The text will go on to list appropriate gifts, ranging from gold to goat hair ... every gift is equal before God (because it is from the heart and not dependent on one's net worth). Ok, this is a really great message, don't you agree?

The problem is that the list of gifts ends after verse 25:7. Verses 8 and 9 instruct Moses to build a Tabernacle (sanctuary of sorts), and verse 10 demands that it be made with gold. I have read this year after year, but for some reason, I stopped and scratched my head thinking, "What if no one brings gold? Isn't God being a little presumptive expecting gold? If it is truly a gift from the heart, and the hearts motivated goat hair, should the Tabernacle be made from goat hair?" I shared this thought with some clergy type friends who must have thought I was crazy. Not only does God demand that this be made of gold, it also has to be portable. The whole structure has to be disassembled and reassembled ... and cartable.

Does God have a right to expect that we will respond with gold? Does God have a right to expect us to schlep this structure across the wilderness? Perhaps we were asking the wrong questions, or at least from the wrong perspective.
Tradition teaches that nothing is in scripture accidentally. This does not mean that it was necessarily put there with full understanding of every possible commentary. I believe that this tradition teaches us that every word is fodder for commentary, and that to create a hierarchy of some words over others belies the integrity of the text. It is open and organic. So, what do we do with these seemingly unrealistic expectations?

The text demonstrates God's commitment to a partnership. The focus of the text is not the gold that we bring, rather the gold that we create. The purpose of the gifts is so that we can build a place wherein we can always meet divinity. Too many houses of worship have taken literal the command to overlay the altars with gold, defining themselves by their "edifice" complexes. If the finest we have to offer is the goat hair, then so be it. The overlay of the altar is not a physical structure, but the way in which we vision what happens when heaven and earth meet right there. The entirety of the structure is a metaphor. The portability of the structure is not a draconian command to schlep tons of material across the wilderness. Rather we must be the tabernacle that travels with each step that we take and witnesses every inter-human engagement in which we participate. The "religious institutions" that try to impress us with the beautiful structure and "golden altars" as fulfillment of this Biblical command have missed the boat. Beautiful buildings are only really beautiful if the infrastructure of its membership creates gold on the altar of engagement. The later command to keep a fire on the altar 24 hours a day is impossible if the structure is always mobile. Our sages throughout time have taught: the altar is our soul and the fire is the call to righteousness that fuels our work and our relationships. The Biblical command to give is not about a God who needs to be fed the finest of fruits. Rather we are to create the finest of experiences (from whatever the gifts on the table) every time we engage. Again, the gold overlay is the brilliance of making heaven and earth touch. We all experience miracles every time this happens.

Bring the best we have to give in every engagement. Sometimes the best is going to be of greater physical value than others, but if it is our best in each situation, then its spiritual value and the impact it has on the engagement is boundless. Some days, I do have gold to bring ... other days ... only goat hair. Every day, if I am intentional, it should yield only blessings. The question is not about what we bring, but what our heart motivates and by example, leads other hearts to motivate, as well. Shabbat shalom.

Shabbat Shalom With a Heart Healthy Dose of Torah
- Mishpatim

by Rabbi Marc Kline

A few weeks ago, we welcomed a secular new year. We changed the number on the calendar and stopped to assess the world around us. Many of us resolved to live better lives (make better choices) over the course of the unfolding year, than we did last year. Welcoming a new year with a commitment to a new way of doing things is considered by many to be a most healthy way to move forward in life. We do a lot of living for tomorrow, moving ... or trying to move swiftly past yesterday's challenges in order to pave the road for future blessings. Certainly this ethic is not reserved to "New Year's resolutions." We facilitate handling of all sorts of grief and dysfunction simply forging ahead or forgetting that "Denial" is not just a river in Egypt.

I am not sure that this is the way of Torah ... or at least not the way in which many traditionally interpret it. This week, we meet the phrase, "You must not oppress the stranger, because indeed you know the soul of the stranger, because you were strangers in the Land of Egypt" (Exodus 23:9). Thirty-six times does the Torah remind us to love the stranger. Why must we love the stranger? Simply put, because we know ... or are supposed to know, what it is like to be in his shoes. At some point in our lives, we have all been the stranger in a larger group ... we know what it feels like to be "left out." As a minority people, we have worn this label throughout history ... in nearly every land in which we have lived ... and been forced to leave. Some in our tradition have argued that carrying this pain forward is a badge of honor. Former British Chief rabbi Jonathan Sacks teaches that it is our destiny to hold empathy for the stranger, and this is the very reason that Israel had to experience exile prior to its birth as a peoplehood and free nation in the Biblical tradition. "Only those who have felt the loneliness of being a stranger find it natural to identify with strangers."

I find myself in conflict with both of these sociological/psychological responses. Neither is based in faith. In the world in which we live, we fear strangers. We fear that which
is different. Fear drives us to categorize people and situations. Acknowledging one as a stranger presumes that one is outside ... and we are inside. There is an arrogant hierarchy in labeling strangers, and the best we can hope for is to use pathos (in this case empathy) to realize that we need to welcome the outsider. Maybe I missed that day during rabbinical school, but I find that constantly reminding myself of how different I am keeps me from focusing on our affirmed destiny of healing the world. How can I affirm strangers as "strangers" and, at the same time, hope to collectively build a world that encompasses and includes all people? So many of our texts demand that we create a world where there are not special rights or unique dispositions, but where there is opportunity for everyone to matter ... equally. This is not to say that we create an amalgam of faceless or nameless traditions. I do believe that it is or uniqueness (diversity) that creates a beautifully rich society. Where we remain encased in and affirm strangerhood, we never get to blossom or experience each other's blessings.

How many times have we heard righteous and loving people described as never meeting a stranger? How many people have we met who accepted us without even questioning our labels, and brought warmth into our lives. William Butler Yeats said, "There are no strangers here, only friends you haven't yet met." We must begin each engagement with another with the premise that God made no mistakes in creating us. Even where we see ourselves as strangers, we somehow diminish the magnitude of our very being. We have gifts to share, as well. Meeting and engaging each other is an act of our own search for shared blessing ... not our awareness of someone else's plight. "Stranger" and "uniqueness" are not synonyms. One never has to compromise who they are and what they hold dear, in order to welcome, accept, and validate another who believes or lives differently. Nowhere does it say that we have to agree with each other, only that we have to respect and dignify each other: affirm each other as being endowed with the same divinity that flows through our own veins.

Why must we remember that we were strangers in the land of Egypt? Why must we remember to see others as strangers? Quite simply, I believe that the text reminds us of the bitterness and emptiness of strangerhood. I believe that we are admonished to remember that being a stranger is equivalent to being lost ... being in exile. I believe with perfect faith that where we affirm each other's blessings, no one is ever lost. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom With a Heart Healthy Dose of Torah
- Yitro

by Rabbi Marc Kline

If I had a dime for every time I have heard someone say, "Rabbi, I am just not very religious," I would be able to retire nicely. What is "very religious?" Merriam Webster says, "Relating to or manifesting faithful devotion to beliefs and observances in accordance with an acknowledged ultimate reality or deity." I love the "ultimate reality or deity" part. Most appropriately, the definition does not pre-suppose that ultimate reality and deity are synonymous. I usually ask people why they feel that they "lack" religion, and the most normal response is that they do not observe their religion's rituals faithfully. Really? I am not sure what that means. If God is the ultimate reality, then why are there so many different mandates as to what that "Ultimate Reality" wants us to do? If the deity is not the ultimate reality, why does it matter? Ok, these questions are considered heresy by some, as silly by others, and ignorant by others. I get it. Perhaps these questions presuppose that faith is "black or white:" all or nothing.
If being religious means to be observant of a religion's rules, rituals, and restrictions; if that is the goal, then I am not religious. There are lots of Jews who will tell you that to be a "Good Jew," one has to follow a host of rules made up by sages over time. Each claims that these rules come from God through Moses, at Sinai. Each community differs on what their "bottom line" rules are. There is congregation very near here that will allow certain "kosher" labels but not others, meaning that they think some Jews are better than other Jews. There is a group of Ultra-Orthodox Jews who now claim that the number of Jews killed by NAZI Germany was only 2.8 million, because the rest of the 6 million were not really Jews in their eyes. So, we are Jewish enough to die for being Jewish, but not Jewish enough to be counted amongst our own?
Lest one think that I am picking on my own people, this is only one example of how fundamentalism in all religions destroys religion. I heard a sermon where a Baptist Minister said that he had to convert from being a Methodist and be baptized the "Real" way. In the south, an "Interfaith" gathering has been described as a time when Catholics and Christians get together. I don't know, I always thought that Catholics were Christian. Never mind the fact, of course that "Interfaith" meant only Christian ... the rest of us are heathens in their eyes. At least they can agree on something.
The really odd thing about all of this is that it begins with this week's Torah portion. According to the text, Moses gets the "Ten Commandments" at the top Mt. Sinai. Richard Lederer is an author who collects butchered English and histories from school papers. In his book, "Anguished English," he recounts how one student described this epiphanic moment as being held atop Mt Cyanide. You know, given the way in which we have misused these texts, perhaps it is the more accurate commentary.
The "Ten Commandments" are not commandments. The Hebrew word is not mitzvot (closest word to commandment we have). The Hebrew word is not khokote, deneem, or mishpatim (the biblical words for laws). The Hebrew reads, Aseret (ten) Hadibrot (sayings or things). Their texts are at best ambiguous and ethical conversation starters. Really, what does it mean to honor parents, observe the Sabbath, don't lie? Can I disobey a parent and honor him? What if he ordered me to rob a bank, would doing so bring him honor? By whose definition is Sabbath observance to be followed? The Christian world changed the Sabbath to Sunday and does not feel it violated God's will in doing so. What is a lie, and is it okay to nuance the truth if it means helping to keep one from embarrassment?
People fight extensively with each other over who gets to control these texts ... decide what the ultimate truth ... deity demands of us. Of course, this presumes that the deity even authored the text ... can an ultimate truth be ambiguous? Here is the truth, as I see it ... the Gospel according to Marc: All wisdom comes from divinity, and as my tradition teaches (wishing that many in my tradition would actually read the Talmud), "Aelu v' aelu divrae Elohim khayim - these words and these words are both the words of the living God." God is not ambiguous. God is just broad, approachable, and available ... to all of us. Okay, maybe not all of us, I toy with the thought that God is not available to the folks who think that God only speaks to them, but the unavailability is only because of the wall these people put up separating themselves from divinity. We are blessed to have such a diverse world with which to celebrate. The diversity of faith should affirm for us that we all matter and that even when we may feel alone ... we are not. Here is where I get bold. I dare each of us to find enough faith in the breadth of God, to affirm other people's faith as being as dear to God as our own. Shabbat Shalom.

Every year, we sit at the Passover Seder and recount the Biblical story of the exodus from Egypt. As we get to the final plague, I cringe at the notion of death visiting every first born of Egypt. It was only 80 years earlier that Moses survived Pharaoh's edict of death to all male children. Now, on the cusp of the march into freedom, a new Pharaoh with a hardened heart has come to power (at least Cecil B. De Mille says it was), and the edict from the generation past came back to haunt and devastate Egyptian homes.

I look at the deaths suffered by Egypt, and have to wonder about the long term effects of God's decision making (as Biblically depicted). How different is God's edict of death for Egypt than was Pharaoh's for Israel? I know that the Bible says "Ayin takhat ayin v'shaen takhat shaen - eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth," but I have always read the text to argue how difficult that standard is to fulfill in a righteous world. I know that I am not off base, for Tevya ("Fiddler on the Roof") argues with God, saying that if we really took the phrase literally, we would all be blind and toothless. Yet, as I read the text, this precept finds confirmation in God's behavior. Worse still, it perpetuates a story that has caused us untold sorrow and devastation for the last three thousand plus years.

As a result of the death of Egypt's first born, Pharaoh seeks revenge. We will read in weeks to come, that in pursuing Israel into the wilderness, Pharaoh will lose all of Egypt's sons as they drown in the sea as the waters return to normal after Israel is safely across. The story does not end here, as the rest of the Bible ... and the history of humanity ... teems with stories of slaughter and devastation ... all in the name of God; justified by the stories depicting God killing off whoever displeases God. When read literally, it is enough to make anyone with moral sense turn from the text ... and from any religion based on the text. Think of all the wars fought that began with the battle cry "In the service of our God."

So, here it begins. This week's Torah portion sets the stage for all that plagues humanity, or does it? I write a lot about how one has to look past the individual episode in the text to see any story in its broadest picture. The Rabbis throughout the ages have helped clarify and heal this most difficult text. If "God" is a character in the book and story ... and not GOD, then we can understand the text in a different light. The character of "God" in the Bible is the personified ethical question, "What happens if I do ... ?" This is not just another commentary on thinking forward. Certainly we see in this story, that what we justify today may haunt us tomorrow. If we justify the taking of life in this episode, then we will find many other "justifiable reasons" to do so.

The root of the problem lies far deeper than in the need for long term thinking. I think that the problem roots in faith and how we read / interpret the character of God in the text. Writers write with agendas, and almost no book or story is ever written without some deeper motivation than simply telling a story. Histories try to persuade readers to accept the author's point of view on how and why wars begin and what is important to remember about all that has been. I am often amazed to read the many differing accounts of the same event, and where I have personal experience with a situation, how different the author saw it than did I. Romance novels target the emotional heart strings, forcing readers to feel passion and compassion alongside the story's characters. We know that not every love story has a happy ending, and that not all fantasies come true. Sermons intend to help listeners learn more about the world through the use of alliteration. Depending on the background of the sermonizers, the very same story may yield as many differing messages as Baskin Robbins has flavors of ice cream. The Bible is not a book about God, it is a book about humanity, and the ways in which it views or miss-views its relationship with God. Literally read, God is a war mongering, fear instilling, and supremacy oriented despot. The majesty of the created world speaks of a very different God. The Bible has an agenda. It purports to teach us of the pitfalls of ego, idolatry, and callousness. The greatest tragedy is found in the lack of faith with which so many have read it, accepted it as absolute gospel and truth, or rejected it as hateful and destructive. The purpose of the text is to ask the tough questions, to show us that faith requires engagement, and to prompt the conversations that make us think beyond the stimuli of everyday life. The Bible has no answers, and those who find it to be the alpha and omega commit the most heinous of blasphemies of idolatry, forgetting that the Bible is not God, and that whatever God is ... God is the alpha and omega. The destruction seemingly justified in this week's Torah portion screams at us to faithfully challenge ourselves to understand that it depicts the worst possible in each of us. Where is GOD in this text? GOD is the voice that screams at us to pay attention; to know that if we persist on the path of taking one life, we destroy the whole world. It is the voice of the Divine that forces me to know that I cannot hurt another, without expecting to be hurt in return. "Eye for an eye" ... not because it is God's will, but it is GOD's warning. Therefore ... choose life. Shabbat Shalom.

I am shocked over the duplicitous nature of the health craze that has hit this country. At the same time that people are claiming to be so religious, they are also turning their backs on the Bible. The city of New York is leading the fight against scripture, making it impossible to eat junk food! What is the world coming to? This week, we read in the Torah that God loves cheap fast food, and designates the consumption of fast food a symbol of freedom. So important is this symbol that we remember it at a special service every year ... a special service that revolves around eating. It is embarrassing how, even given this command, we have turned our back on God's word!

The four expressions of freedom come to us as four promises that God will make to the Israelites. The first is that there will be "TAKE OUT;" the second is that there is also "DELIVERY." Thirdly, will experience redemption, and last there is acquisition. This is kind of like pizza: One can order delivery or take home. Often times there are coupons to "REDEEM," and information on "ACQUIRING" one's own franchise in the business.

Ok, some of you are groaning. Some aren't sure if I am serious. Others are just thinking this was in poor taste (bad pun, I know). Think about it, though, how really off base am I, in terms of what we do to tradition? Khanukkah and Christmas have become holidays in which we incur huge debt to consume more; to buy huge gifts so that people think that we love them more than someone who buys them less expensive gifts. These holidays originate as holidays of dedication not consumption; as days for giving and serving not gift gluttony; as a time for remembering that light increases, daylight gets longer, and faith is affirmed. Whether the origin of both holidays is the solstice, or the popularized story lines, our faith traditions demand that we dedicate and rededicate ourselves to being prisoners of hope and restoration.

The rewriting is not limited to the "light based" holidays. Even the secular "New Year" has been turned on its head. The Jewish tradition recognizes a host of New Year's. There is the new year of the trees (Tu Bishvat), the new year of creation (Rosh Hashanah), the new year of the actual
calendar (the month of Nissan - spring), and the new year of monarchies. Additionally, each birthday, each anniversary, each life cycle moment, and every time that we said the prayer of thanksgiving over something for the first time; these are each days that we acknowledge as "New Year's." The secular New Year is actually a religious holiday. There is certainly debate as to when Jesus' actual birth date might fall, but if it is December 25, then January 1 is the eighth day ... Jesus' day of circumcision and covenanting. It's what Jews traditionally do.

We need to rethink the emphases that we place on holidays. More and more, we seem to honor what we want them to be, rather than acknowledge the chain of transmission that taught us what they should be. In celebrating, how much time do we spend appreciating the blessings that we have, versus the time we spend on fretting over the blessings we don't have, or the stuff we wish we had?

Given all of this, this week's Torah portion actually speaks of a different holiday: Passover. The celebratory foods at a Passover Seder remind us of promises I spoke of earlier, actually speak to the blessings of freedom. We are to be taken out from Egypt, delivered into freedom, redeemed from slavery, and acquired as God's partners. We are required to refrain from the tastes of leavened breads, and commanded to eat bitter herbs, entire animals (and I mean entire), and bread that has no taste. The point is that even as we celebrate our own blessing of freedom, we have to remember, the pain of servitude, the agony of oppression, and the devastation we make real when one person seeks power over another. Yes, we have added fun foods and activities to the Seder, and we celebrate it with folks we love and enjoy.

The purpose of the holiday ... all holidays, though, is to remember how blessed we are ... not for the stuff we have, but just because we are. May the pending secular New Year see us all dedicate ourselves to something new that serves only to take better care of serving each other ... because the world will be a much better place if we do. Shabbat shalom.

Shabbat shalom
On mornings when I forget my MP3 player, I get to listen to whatever is playing at the YMCA on the gym stereo. There is no telling what will be � or even who picked it. Some mornings it is heavy metal, others it is Disco/techno, and this morning � out of the blue, it was old movie show tunes. Does anyone remember the song, "What's It All About Alfie?" Dionne Warwick made it big in collaboration with Burt Bacharach. Yes, I am old, but in the song (part of a same named movie soundtrack), the character confronts a world that seems to have turned upside down. "If life belongs only to the strong, what (about) the old golden rule? If only fools are kind ... I guess it is wise to be cruel." Ultimately, the thing that grounds the speaker is love. "As sure as I believe there's a heaven above � I know there's something much more, something even non-believers can believe in. I believe in love ... without true love we just exist.� There is a lot of faith that goes into believing that order exists, even when all you can see is chaos. As I struggled to finish my last set of crunches, Dionne�s voice blasted from the speaker.

At first, I got a little nostalgic, but then I thought about the news that fills our media. More school shootings, more corruption, more political chaos, and I understood the social commentary of a song that heretofore always just seemed like a tear evoking painful love song. I can buy into the madness or I can hold firm rooted in grace and in love. This lesson is most appropriate when thinking about Moses� story, as we begin the Book of Exodus. Moses fled his �home� in Pharaoh�s court, realizing that the societal norms of Egypt could not be the answers upon which a God based world could exist. According to the Biblical text, long before there was a burning bush, there was something innate in his psyche that made him hear the plight of the beaten slave that led him to come to the aid of Jethro�s daughter�s at the well, and gave him the love and patience to tend his father in law�s flocks.

Some will argue that these were the tests that he bested, which paved the way for God�s call from the midst of the bush that burned but was not consumed. Had he failed any of these tests, he might not have been called upon to lead Israel into freedom. Others will argue that these were the trials that opened Moses� heart to be able to see the burning bush. It would have burned anyway; he just would have missed it.

Personally, I think that both arguments miss the point. As I see the story, there is no textual evidence of an intentional trial. There is, however, a cohesive storyline that speaks of a man who overcomes the temptations and madness in the world around him to live an honorable life � sometimes even charged with keeping God in line. Here is where I find the relevant miracle this week. When we have faith that love and righteousness are the right answers � regardless � we can move even heaven and earth. �As sure as I believe there's a heaven above � I know there's something much more, something even non-believers can believe in. I believe in love �� Doing what is right is not dependant on any traditional theology. Moses will actually shame God 32 chapters from now. Doing what is right is absolutely dependant on caring enough about � doing what is right. The prophet Micah will teach us, �Do justice and love mercy.� Deuteronomy will teach us to love Adonai our God with all of our heart, all of our soul, and all of our being. It all boils down to believing that love matters.

Each day, we stand in Moses� shoes. We have the choice of buying into the noise and the avarice that entice us and our egos, or we can intentionally choose to pay attention to loving each other. Ultimately, each of us will confront the bush that burns and have to wrestle with the fact that the flame does not consume the bush. Ultimately, we learn that the reason the bush is not consumed is that the fire is merely a reflection of our souls. This fire burns on our own internal alters, and is fueled by our commitment to love. God is not in the fire; the fire just helps bring to light God�s call to service. Whether the call comes from a media �all call� or an individual encounter, each of us needs to turn aside and pay heed. Those of us focused on love will do more and be more, and with hope, will help others kindle the fire on their own alters, moving them to do more and be more, as well. Shabbat shalom.

Shabbat Shalom With a Heart Healthy Side of Torah
Shabbat Vayechi

by Rabbi Marc Kline

I read today that the universe might be nothing more than a hologram. Ok, perhaps it is, but if there is no universe out there ... what is? The scientist projected emptiness. I am reminded of a great story:

A little boy presents his mother with a beautifully wrapped birthday present. As she slowly and playfully unwrapped the gift, the little boy beamed from ear to ear. He was obviously so excited at what was about to happen. As the last piece of paper fell from the enclosed box, mom began to slowly pierce her fingernail through the massive amount of tape that sealed it shut. She asked, "Why is there so much tape?" The boy grinned back, "Because I didn't want it to get out!" A little concerned that a now dead rodent was to be found inside, mom continued smiling and slowly opened the box. She gasped, it was empty? The little boy could tell his mother was not as thrilled as he thought she would be. He climbed in her lap and looked in the box. It was empty. Sadly, he said, "But ... but ... I made sure it was there before I wrapped it" Just then, a huge smile came across his face. "I know, I can just put another one there, because the box needed the first one." Mom was obviously perplexed as her son put the box to his mouth, and he spoke, "Mom, it was a kiss. I put a kiss in the box! I knew it was there when I sealed it, but I guess the box needed a kiss, too. So, I put another one there just for you." With tears in her eyes, she took the box in her hands and looked into it ... no dear; the first one is still here. See, you can't see it because it filled the entire box."

So, I look out at the universe and wonder, if it is just a hologram ... what fills all that is beyond the hologram? Is it empty, or so full, that one cannot see beyond it? And if it is full, with what � and why must we feel that we have the tools � or the need, to know?

Human beings get so stuck in ... being stuck. We create finite boundaries around infinity. Mom could not see the kiss, and therefore it did not exist. One scientist sees a hologram and declares that nothing else exists beyond it. We are that way with life and death.

Jacob dies in this week's Torah portion, the tears flow at his funeral and Pharaoh grants Joseph permission to take Jacob to the burial chamber makhpelah, where his parents and grandparents are buried. Prior to his death, he calls his sons for their final blessing and makes the statement that he will reveal to them the future, the coming of the end of time ... in our language, the days of the Messianic age. His last breath leaves him, before he fulfills this promise. The Rabbis say that God kept him from doing so, that the secret had to remain under lock and key. There the secret will remain, until the day comes, when the age arrives.

And we all lived happily ever after.

Yes, it is a commentary, but it is the prevailing commentary upon which so much tradition relies. As I read the text, Jacob did fulfill his promise. In �blessing� each of his children, he made it clear that there was still a great deal of work to be done, before real blessings (read �Messiah�) would be available for the world. So when we (universally) do the work of peace, these will be the end of days. What happens after that? Does all existence cease?

I become frustrated when conversing with people who claim that the �end� is definable. That we cannot see what lies beyond does not mean that it does not exist, and the moments that we create the barriers around infinity, hope for anything beyond what we think we see becomes non-existent. Life has to have more meaning than the limits of what we perceive, and our souls can only grow where we acknowledge a place of wonder beyond even our imagination�s limitations.

The blessings Jacob gave his children are by no means a gift of joy, as he chastises each of his children. It does, however, scream at us to debate whether his complaints about them are the sum total of which they were. Each of us has baggage, but we also have blessings to share. If we see only the empty box, the love that really fills it goes wasted. As Jacob�s life ends, one of the most important gifts that he leaves to us is the picture we too often see when we look in the mirror. As was he, we are too steeped in the complaint � in the finite � to see the opportunities that also look back at us. We default to the difficult response, yet we need to transcend to the sacred. It is absolutely our choice as to how we respond to any situation, and the Torah tells us to always choose the blessing and in doing so, choose life. Shabbat shalom.

Shabbat Shalom With a Heart Healthy Side of Torah
Shabbat Vayigash

by Rabbi Marc Kline

What a family reunion! Joseph and his brothers and their dad's and moms are all back together, gleefully living in the land of Goshen, the fertile Nile Delta. Ok, well, Joseph is not living there, but it seems clear that he visits periodically. For his family, life is sweet, even while the rest of Egypt is suffering. According to the text, while Egypt is selling itself into slavery to Pharaoh, Israel is enjoying all it wants ... to the want of the children. Every year, I think about how unfair this situation is. This "favoritism" for foreigners ends up undoing not only the Egyptian nation, but in the midst of that revolution, it causes the devolution of Israel into slavery, as well. Yes, our own selfishness is our own undoing. Joseph's greed served to destroy the lifetime savings of countless families across Egypt. He forced people to sell everything (even themselves), just to get the grain they grew back from the government that confiscated it ... for the future. A truly prophetic move, assuming the accuracy of his dream interpretations, would have been to store the grain to return it to the people who grew it

The Rabbis of our ancestry were not fools. I have to believe that they understood the text and made intentional choices, instructing us on ways in which to "use" the text to move ourselves (and the world) forward. As a companion for each week's Torah portion, they assigned a selected text from one of the prophetic books. This companion piece is the Haftarah (sometimes pronounced "Halftorah," but it has nothing to do with the word "Torah"). An often heard complaint is that the Haftarah is loosely tied to the Torah portion by a common or tangent theme. I wish I could count the times that people have flippantly speculated as to the relationships between Torah text and that of the prophetic inclusion. I usually find myself outside the norm. This week, despite the pathway to disaster that the Joseph story paints, the prophetic text associated with this portion tells the tale of healing and hope. Ezekiel (Chapter 37) is holding a bundle of sticks in each hand. One hand represents the southern kingdom of Judea, while the other represents the northern kingdom of Israel. Merging the bundles prophesies the reunification of the north and the south, and serves as a metaphor for the ingathering of all people of disparate traditions into a commonality of faith. Nowhere does the text say that the sticks lose their independent flavor in the merger, they just found a commonality that brings them "faithfully in concert" with the other sticks.

We see the beginning of our biblical nation's end, and the rebuilding of our people ... all in one week's worth of text.

There exists a precept in the rabbinic tradition, "Aen Mukhdam, v'aen m'ukhar- there is no before or after." We are in the process of unraveling and rebuilding; both at the same time. As this thought struck me, I marveled at the sagacity of the biblical authors/editors who left the text so open to interpretations, and also at that of my ancestral colleagues who paired the texts for weekly study. While I am not suggesting that they knew all the ways in which these texts could be used, I do believe that the system of hermeneutics they created intentionally allows for the most amazing of understandings.

Just yesterday, the hero of freedom, Nelson Mandela passed away. He was 95, and had battled a lung infection for quite some time. His legacy to the world is the knowledge that freedom and peace are never beyond our grasp if we have the tenacity and faith to make them real. He spent time in prison. He suffered the most horrific of indignities, he changed the world. At the same time, he spent a great deal of his life on our own country's terrorist watch list. It was not until the world recognized the end of Apartheid, that in 1986 a movement (almost vetoed by then President Reagan) demanded Mandela's freedom from prison, but his name remained on our terrorist watch list through 2008. Nelson Mandela spent his life unraveling and rebuilding ... and both at the same time. As his push for equality and righteousness branded him a "terrorist," the life lessons his work provided us have only made the world better.

world of the majority was obviously very short sited in its assessment of him. Certainly, the same could be said for Joseph's perceived heroics that ended up causing the destruction of Egyptian society and the enslavement of his own people. I might add that George Washington was a terrorist in the eyes of the British, Jesus was in the eyes of the Sadducees, and all Jews are in the eyes of fundamentalist Muslims and Christians (who hate each other, as well). At the same time, Hitler was, at one time, a national hero. Joseph watched Egypt implode during his life. He even admonished his children to swear an oath to carry his bones from Egypt when they would, at some day in the future, escape the oppression that he obviously knew was coming. Mandela was fortunate enough to see his work bear fruit during his own life, and lived to see his work vindicated. We are still waiting for Ezekiel's prophecy to come true. We do know, however, that we need to think and act prophetically. Joseph lived for the day and compromised the future. Mandela compromised the day, to create a better world for the future. Wouldn't it be great if living for today also served to preserve an even better tomorrow? We need to pay attention to the long term effects of the things we think, do, and say; more attention than we are accustomed to paying. Perhaps we will, in the process, better appreciate the miracles we are not accustomed to seeing. Perhaps we will be more deliberate in selecting which causes are best not to support. Shabbat Shalom

Shabbat shalom!
Ok, I know that this is a stretch, but as I was listening to the self-proclaimed finest Country & Western Song, "You Never Even Called Me By My Name," as recorded by David Allan Coe, I had thoughts about Torah. Actually, a Jewish guy, named Steven Goodman wrote the song, so the connection here is not quite as much of a stretch. I could not stop thinking about the way in which the story line of this song touches so many truths in our world. You do not have to like country music to get a hoot from this song, so I will let you find it on YouTube, but wrapped up into its provided amusement is a very real tale about how little we really pay attention to each other. We make up names for each other when we cannot remember the real ones. Meaning that we impose personas on people based on what we think we perceive, rather than taking the time to learn about who they think that they are. Based on our own limitations, we make decisions as to a person's worth and dignity, and then we judge them based on our own perceptions - often without ever actually engaging them in a conversation.

This is certainly Joseph's story. Despite the pitfalls and royal platitudes of his story, there is not one place where we hear from Joseph what Joseph thinks of Joseph. People love him and hate him. Some are jealous of him and revere him. He gets a great deal of credit for his ability to interpret dreams, but, as we will see next week, is a horrible governmental manager. For whatever it is worth, I believe that Joseph is ultimately to blame for the 400 years in which Israel was enslaved in Egypt. Even that, though, is a judgment I can make with 21st century eyes, imposing my point of view on a story/history thousands of years old. In a most shocking example of how we judge others, Pope Pius is vilified for having acquiesced to Hitler, in an effort to save the Catholic Church. While I cannot fathom a rational for letting Hitler move forward, I also cannot ignore the Church's argument. In the face of the utter destruction of all decency, the church made a decision that attempted to save some part of the world from which decency could be rebuilt. Which is the right answer ... or is there one? No story has only one take, and we miss so much opportunity to grow and learn when we decide that only one answer matters.

Is Joseph a hero who saved Egypt ... and his family, or simply an opportunist who parlayed his talent for interpreting dreams into governmental control and power? He established his family's encampment in the fertile Nile delta. Was this move intended to give his family special lands (more fertile than that lived on by most of Egypt), move them as far away from his world as he possibly could, without ignoring them altogether, or to keep them removed from the rest of Egypt in order to protect them from a prophetically seen bigotry that would eventually turn the people against his family? Are there lessons to be learned from each of these scenarios? Of course there are, and the nature of the Rabbinic tradition is to understand that each take is of equal value looking backwards, for we can develop a great many lessons for our present and future behaviors because of what we learn from the past. This is what makes our tradition so relevant to me. We recognize that history can be viewed from a great many lenses, each of which has something to teach us moving forward. Every such conversation that causes us to learn and grow from the lessons of our ancestors' successes and failures is holy. We learn not from deciding which is or is not true, and not by judging the characters in the story, but from the way in which the story did and could play out.

This is easily recognizable in dealing with the holiday of Khanukkah. The Book of Maccabees tells one version of the story, the early rabbinic commentaries tell a different story, and the Talmud teaches it with still a very different emphasis. The original stories never mention a miracle of oil, and yet, it is the oil story that is most well-known today. By itself, longer lasting oil is a stupid miracle. The Rabbis write the story at a time when emphasizing the military victory would have brought on the next disastrous slaughter from Rome. The only way to teach the miracle of faith that allowed the few Israelites to overcome the Syrian Greek army was to couch in terms of an innocuous story. When seen through the eyes of those who created it ... and when we expand the need to be able to create such stories, the miracle of oil is immensely important. We cannot even agree on the proper transliterated spelling of the holiday. Is it Khanukkah, Hanukkah, Chanukkah, or ... any other variation on the theme. The problem we face, though, is that when we lack the understanding of why people say and do the things that they do, we dismiss them ... the people and their story. There are multiple miracles that attach to Khanukkah, some historic and some rooted in lore. Either way, though, they teach us voluminous lessons about what it takes to renew and restore. This is not a holiday about presents any more than the Joseph story is all about dreams coming true. Still, though, for those who use this holiday to give the gifts that they do not know how to give the rest of the year, and for those who need to know that dreams can be prophetic messages that help us act proactively to do good work ... then this is just that holiday and this Torah portion is just that proof. I gain nothing from diminishing someone else, just because they see it differently than do I, and I diminish myself when I judge their motivations as being founded in a lesser truth than my own. Shabbat Shalom and Happy Khanukkah.

Shabbat Shalom With a Heart Healthy Side of Torah
Vayaeshev

by Rabbi Marc Kline

Amongst the many aphorisms my father left to me was that Marilyn Monroe would look great in a burlap sack. He tried to help us understand that the clothes do not make the person ... or should not make the person. Of course, it was his inimical way of teaching that one cannot judge the value of a book by its cover or the style of its typeface. We aggrandize celebrities and � yes, even books by the fashion statements of their wardrobe and the eccentricity of their behaviors.

The Torah teaches us this lesson (and a little more) as we confront the Joseph story this week. Joseph was the fashion maven of the Torah. He was Jacob�s favorite, �chosen� for special treatment that made his brothers jealous. Because of his �chosen� and favorite status, he received a �k�tonet paseem.� Many translate this as a coat of many colors, a woolen coat, or a tunic with sleeves. The truth is that the word �paseem� can mean several things, all of which, though, refer to something with some special features. However it translates, we know that the most loved Joseph got a very special gift that set him further apart from his already estranged brothers.

In this story I find a crisis of faith. In �choosing� Joseph, Jacob set him up for disaster. �Chosenness� is a word we throw around way too casually. We create icons of people and place them on pedestals. We dress them up to mirror our favoritism, without regard for those who we leave out, or for the security of the one whom we choose to exalt. In this story, Jacob put Joseph at risk by exalting him over his other children and ignoring their dignity as equally blessed children, who felt the need to supersede their brother�s status by removing him from the family. By naming him the favorite, Jacob divested Joseph of being able to be known for his own talents and gifts, letting his brothers (and us readers) see him only as the pompous exalted son. Joseph may have been a great guy, but for all of Dad�s expectations, we never got to know that side of him.

What makes this moral so poignant is that I cannot help but looking at the way in which modern day religions throw around the concept of �chosenness,� as they each try to demonstrate that they are more special before God � more chosen � than any other religion. In the Torah, the concept of chosenness speaks to all people who have faith beyond themselves � which ultimately is all people. As we have seen in weeks past, the word Israel literally means �one who wrestles with God.� For one person to claim this special status over others violates the very concept of faith held so dear by all religious traditions. I learn a lot from my children. I am a parent/step parent to eight children. They are all radically different, and each shares a different relationship with me. I could not choose between them. It is as if each represents a different approach to faith, and if each truly is my favorite, then I believe that each of us is truly God�s favorite, as well. When we speak of someone being chosen, we exclude some and create unreal expectations for others.

For me, this story, while about Joseph, speaks volumes about how we deal with God. How many of us place our special tunic or label on God and then expect God to live up to only our own expectations? How many people are so disaffected with God that the code word �atheism� is a greater player in the language of faith than in any generation before? As I see it, God often �fails� for the same reason that so many celebrities fail. They are not incapable of greatness, but we are incapable of having reasonable expectations of how their greatness is to be appreciated. With God, I tire of hearing people make demands that God become their own personal wish grantor while they ignore the grandeur that already exists in our world. When we choose God to be exclusively ours, we destroy everyone else�s dignity. When we claim to be God�s only choice, we destroy God�s dignity. I cannot believe that God makes the decision as to where medical malpractice should or should not occur, what home the hurricane should destroy and which not, who contracts cancer young and who lives to be old, or any other such matter over which people judge God�s value and majesty. When, because of our own unreasonable expectations, we lose faith in God � we destroy some piece of the world. If the messianic age truly is a time of world peace, then the whole notion of someone being tortured in this life or in an afterlife hell cannot be possible. So, with no intended disrespect to other traditions, the notion that God loves only one of us is simply blasphemy. Love God enough to let God love others. Love God enough to realize that God cannot stand on only our personal pedestals. V�ahavta et Adonai Elohekha b�khol l�vav�kha. The Torah tells us to love God with all our heart. It does not say �Adonai bishveel atzmam� that we are to own God � laden with all of our baggage. Works for me. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom With a Heart Healthy Side of Torah
Vayishlach

by Rabbi Marc Kline

When my late brother David and I were young, we used to watch ... and then mimic professional wrestling. Our heroes were the Junkyard Dog and Rocky Johnson. They were choreographed characters, but they were the �good guys� of the day. Now, I am quite sure that the choreographers did not intend for this, but I learned a lot about faith watching these matches. Partners who worked in synch had what looked to be a spiritual bond that allowed them to do incredible things in tandem, as though one soul moved simultaneously through two bodies. There were the edgy partnerships that devolved into "blood lust" hatred at what seemed like a moment's notice. Watching them, one could tell that there was no peace in their house. I learned about the practical application of the phrase, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend ... for the moment." I learned how ... even if for show, the characters who felt appreciated ... appreciated back.

And then there was the day that my rabbinical school professor, Dr. Mark Washofsky, preached on this week's Torah portion's wrestling match on a day I helped lead services for the seminary. In a wonderfully animated moment, claiming to be a masked superstar (without the mask), he started wrestling with himself on the pulpit demonstrating that the entity with whom Jacob was wrestling ... was himself.

For a host of reasons, that sermon stuck with me. Perhaps it resonated so deeply, because of my own history with professional wrestling. Perhaps it was because while Mark has a wonderfully entertaining style, he struck a chord deep in my spirit. At the same time that we laughed at his delivery, we had a chance to really chew on the message. At this point in my own evolution, I am wrestling with what it means to wrestle � especially with faith.

Long ago, I read the story of a man who had to make a choice between the job that he loved and the job that would sustain him. He thought for a while and chose the job that would sustain him, hoping that he would not regret giving up on his dream. He stayed in that job until retirement and amassed a nice nest egg, but never fought off the nagging feeling that there should have been more to life. This story resonated deeply, as I made the choice to close my law firm, leave the practice of law, and pursue becoming a Rabbi. Certainly, it was a leap of faith, and it was scary � and it meant more student loans. While I have never looked back, I can tell you that I am not the same Rabbi I was at ordination, almost 19 years ago. We grow, we change, we rethink, and we do it all over again and again and again. I have learned that this is what faith is all about; the struggle to fill our lives with meaning � to understand that because we are, we are always becoming and evolving. Our tradition has grown in many different directions over millennia. All religions have evolved. If we are to stay relevant in the next generation (and those that follow) we must continue to struggle to find meaning in life.

In this week�s text, Jacob becomes Israel; the entity with whom he wrestled changed his name. He wrestled with God and won. Interestingly, though, in the next chapter he is Jacob again. He never stopped being Jacob, but he also now understood faith. In addition to being just Jacob, he was Israel, the �God Wrestler.� We wear many hats, and are each called by many names. These names and hats define us; they are given to us by people who observe how we impact the world � theirs personally or just the greater world around us. Our faith and our behaviors mold and shape our identities, and help us to know where we are strong or weak; growing in faith or stagnating. Prayer is the activity that calls on us to crawl inside and wrestle with our own conscience. Prayer is the tool that helps us see the blessed world that can be, currently hiding within the broken world that is. Prayer is the tool that helps us appreciate love and friendship. Prayer, as a tool, takes a lot of work to properly use, never mind use effectively. Prayer is hard work. It takes a lot of courage to wrestle with our complacencies and ignorance�s. Sometimes prayer can be scary. We open vaults in our soul�s previously locked shut, and intuitions, emotions, insights, and epiphanies flow out for which we are not prepared to handle. Heschel taught us that prayer has to undermine our presumptions allowing us to be radically amazed in new insight. The prophet Jeremiah told us that prayer should remove the callousness from our hearts. Kierkeggard wrote, �The function of prayer is not to influence God, but rather to change the nature of the one who prays.� There are a lot of people saying prayers, but I wonder how many of them are doing the work of praying while mouthing the words. I pray that my prayer will open my heart to feel the joy and pain of the people with whom I interact. I pray that my prayer will open my arms to hold those who are celebrating or needing comfort. I pray that my prayer helps me help other people pray in ways that will cause us to pay more attention to the blessings and needs in the world around us. I pray that as we wrestle with our own faith, we find ways to value that other people do, as well. Shabbat Shalom.

�I am all around, in every day dream. I am all you are, and all you know.� A dear friend of mine, Julie Silver wrote these words � too many years ago. It is the chorus to a song that is one of the finest examples of transforming the Biblical words of ages past into a most relevant gospel for today. Jacob wakes from his dream of God�s ladder and exclaims, �Wow, God was in this place, and I � I did not know it!� He is at least forty years old at this point in the story. He has lived a full life, devoid of the morals and standards of communal responsibility that go hand in hand with being a person of faith. In the truest sense of epiphany, he awoke from the dream with a new sense of reality. He had not a clue yet what to do with it, but over the rest of the story, he grew into his name � Israel, one who struggles with faith. Julie�s song takes this story and lets us know that the epiphany is there waiting for all. In the morning, in the struggle for freedom, in the calm and still of the night, God is � just �is.

Okay, that might be a great place to end this commentary, except that even while the epiphanic moment is always at hand, just as Jacob had no idea what to do with his awakening. Julie reminds us that the opportunity for spiritual awakening is not just a Biblical story. The question remains, though, �how do we know when it happens and what do we do with that?�

There is a picture and story going viral across the internet right now. An older Jewish man (wearing a yarmulke � Jewish head covering) is sitting on a bench seat on public transit in New York. A young man African American man sits next to him and then proceeds to fall asleep on him. The older man did nothing but let him sleep. The photo and story have traveled the globe under the headline, �This Picture Will Restore Your Faith in Humanity.� Of course, every article pointed out

that the man was Jewish and wearing a yarmulke and that the young man was black in a hoodie. I was shocked at the need to identify the two characters as to who they were and how they were dressed. The photo did not restore my faith, it caused me angst � until I found restoration and hope in the statement from the elderly man, �I simply remembered the times when my own head would bop on someone�s shoulder because I was so tired after a long day. � Maybe the photo would not have become so popular, if people were not seeing a Jewish man with a yarmulke and a Black man with a hood. � There is only one reason that I didn�t move, and let him continue sleeping, and it has nothing to do with race. He was a human being who was exhausted and I knew it and happened to be there and have a big shoulder to offer him.�

This week, especially as we recall the horror of Kristallnacht (the night that Nazi Germany and sympathizers destroyed synagogues all over Eastern Europe), I realize that we spend way too much time singling people out and labeling them. Even in this wonderful gesture, it is clear that may people were impressed � for all of the wrong reasons. That a human being gave of his own comfort to another human being � that is where I find God�s presence. I would hope that as the young man awoke and realized what had happened, he would have exclaimed (as did his ancestor Jacob), �Al khaen yesh adonai bamakom hazeh, v�anokhi lo yadati - Wow, God was in this place, and I � I did not know it!� As I think about the people who have held me through my trials (as minor as needing a moment of rest and as major as restarting my life after tragedy), I am amazed at how many opportunities I have had to affirm this epiphany. I do not know what God is, but time and time again, I am blessed to experience that there is divinity in this world � and often I get to do so in ways in which I could never have expected. This hope and source of faith is always available to us as we interact with the people with whom we share the time and space of our lives. Even more pressing, though, we must always be available to help other people experience divinity in the moments that they share with us. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom With a Heart Healthy Side of Torah
Toldot

by Rabbi Marc Kline

I was speaking to a group the other night, and I made the statement that Judaism is rooted in prophecy. Even while the Torah will end, reminding us that Moses is the only prophet to know God �Panim el panim � face to face,� we then move immediately into the second piece of the Jewish Bible � the Books of the Prophets. For us, the Bible opens our hearts and minds to the conversations that help us learn how to change the world. Torah even tells us that prophecy is not rooted in accurate predictions; it is found when holy conversations help us open our hearts, minds, and eyes a little wider than they were before the engagement. If we waited to see predictions come true, very little of scripture could be called holy. The texts help us figure out how to bring about the day that they can come true. Prophecy is not about the prophet � it is always about the message. We have no biography of the biblical prophets, but we do have the legacies of their teaching.

As I was reading this week�s Torah portion, I had to realize that I always get stuck on the prophecy God gives to Rebecca. Normally, we read it thusly, "Two nations are in your womb, and two kingdoms will separate from your innards, and one kingdom will become mightier than the other kingdom, and the elder will serve the younger.� I am not so sure that this is what it necessarily says, and most definitely sure that this is a prophecy that has not come true. Jacob cheated his brother out of his birthright and at 40 years old, his mother dresses him up to look like his brother (appropriate for �Shabbat Halloween�) to cheat his father out of the blessing. According to tradition, Rome descends from Esau while Jacob is Israel. I know of no place in history where Rome bowed to Israel. Today, we are such a vast minority (thanks in part to Rome and its descendancy), that I do not foresee it happening. In fact, our entire concept of Messiah is not based in evangelizing the world. The Messianic Age will come when we are all faithful and respectful of each other�s faith.

So, Is Torah wrong? No, I think it is just mistranslated. So, I went back to the Hebrew, �Ool-ohm Meel-ohm ye-ematz v�rav Ya-amod Tza-eer.� The text does not say that the nations will separate and the older will serve the younger. The text translates that one nation will adopt the other and the greater will serve the younger. As I see it, this text was not so much about Jacob and Esau, nor Rome and Israel. There will come a day when size and age do not matter. Already in the bible, the law of primogenitor never rules. The oldest never receives his father�s blessing or double inheritance. The stronger does not win, the underdog always does. If we are to fulfill this prophecy, it will not happen because we will be striving for or wielding power. Rather, we will have to pursue righteousness � doing what we want not because we can, because we want an upper hand, or because we are not paying attention. We will find that day when we really do care for each other�s dignity; when we are committed to learning from each other � stretching our own boundaries.

My favorite text in all of our tradition is from Pirke Avot. Hillel says, If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am only for myself, what am I? If not now, when?� Hillel knew, 2200 years ago, what we need to learn today: Yes, we have to stand for ourselves, but being only for ourselves does not bring us closer to each other. We have to take care of each other�s dignity, equal to our own. We talk about creating a world where life makes sense for more people � for all people. Fulfillment of this vision is what it takes to create a holy community, and when it comes to the life of a holy community, JFK got it wrong. People do not jump into communities first to serve. People join because the community offers something that can help transform and fulfill their lives. For too long, we have looked at this concept of holiness in terms of what happens via individual congregational life. Over and above our individual houses of worship � over and above our unique denominations, there is an entire world which needs to experience holiness. I struggle with the truth that when we choose with whom we are willing to share our holiness and with whom we will not, we hold the world hostage, participating in staving off the age of peace for which we pray. If we truly believe that we are called to bring the Divine presence into the world, then we need to be able to see divinity in every set of eyes that stare back at us � in each engagement. Most especially, we need to be able to see God staring back at us, when we engage the mirror. We are, as the Torah teaches, little less than divine. In this capacity, we were born to create miracles � let�s go do it! Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom With a Heart Healthy Side of Torah
Khayay Sarah

by Rabbi Marc Kline

How many of us know stories about family members a few generations back, whose marriages were arranged? For some, they were promised at birth or were joined because of societal attributes. Others met on the docks on their way to America � married right then and there. For others, potential children�s spouses were pursued to enhance the pursuing family�s status. So many cultures based themselves in the understanding that experienced parents knew what was best for their children. History will show that those marriages lasted longer than do marriages since we started picking our own mates. Some will read these statistics to argue that our forefathers were correct and chose more wisely. Others will argue that these unions lasted only because of the stigma of divorce or the unempowered wife�s belief that she could not survive outside of the marriage. Still others, and here is the hopeful part, believed that there is no magic wand and that love took work � and they worked at it and succeeded For whichever the reason and the results, subsequent generations made up their minds, determined to prove that they knew themselves better than the elders who were �out of touch.�
It is with some sardonic twist of fate, that I sat to read this week�s Torah portion and realized that we had come full circle. More and more of us have turned to other �authorities� to find our mates. We fill out personal profiles for on line dating, accept invitations to events where �like minded� people are invited for the purpose of matchmaking, and inevitably, grandparents are still going to want to set their grandchildren up with the newest �fresh face� that shows up. When I think of all the people with whom we do not get access to in these venues (those weeded out for us based on our own personal profiles), I feel that we have returned in some ways to the olden ways of meeting people.
For all the history of �matchmaking,� I found in this portion the most valuable lesson for the process. We place incredible importance on common interests and religion, on appearances and life styles, and on all of the checklist traits on our on-line or in grandparent list of necessary assets. This week, th0ough, Abraham sends his servant Eliezer back to the homeland to find a wife for his son Isaac. Abraham and Isaac have not spoken for years (since the time dad took his son up in a mountain and tried to kill him) and there is no evidence that Abraham had any real contact with the folks back home. Abraham left it to his servant, and his servant sought only one characteristic: compassion. The prayer he asked from God was simple, �Make sure that the woman who greets me wants not only to care for a poor servant, but also for the animals carrying his burden.� Rebecca did just that, answering God�s prayer.
There is a midrash that teaches a Roman matron asked Rabbi Yosei bar Chalafta: "In how many days did God create His world?" "In six days," he replied. "What has God been doing ever since?" she asked. "God sits and matches couples," Rabbi Yosei told her. "Is this God's job?" she asked snidely, "I could do that too! I possess a great number of men servants and maid servants and would be able to pair all of them off in one hour!" "You may think it is easy, but for God, it is as difficult as parting the Red Sea," he said. After Rabbi Yosei left, the matron formed rows of her men servants and maid servants, a thousand in each row, and said to them, "This man shall marry this woman," pairing them off as she walked down the line for the night. But when they returned to work the next morning, one had an injured head, one was missing an eye and one had a broken foot. "What is going on here?" the matron asked. "I don't want this one," they all said. She saying, "I will not take him"; he saying, "I will not take her." She sent for Rabbi Yosei and told him, "There is no God like your God. When you explained to me that God is busy making matches, you spoke wisely."
Relationships are not rooted in fiat or arbitrary chance. The divorce rate is so high because we have relied on both. Believing that today�s package will never alter and today�s priorities will never change ... for either partner. For any blessed friendship, the only thing that ultimately matters in growing a lifetime of commitment is that we hold enough compassion to look past each other�s foibles to accept each other�s �maturation,� and to celebrate each other�s continued emergence into the next phase of life. One person cannot do it, both must, if any of us is to live happily ever after. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Khallah � �A religious man is a person who holds God and man in one thought at one time, at all times, who suffers harm done to others, whose greatest passion is compassion, whose greatest strength is love and defiance of despair.� Abraham J. Susannah Heschel

Bear with me this week, for I know that this may seem like it is coming out of left field, but I had an epiphany that I just needed to share. Last week, Abraham circumcised himself at the age of 99. This week�s portion begins, as he is convalescing from his �surgery,� and three visitors approach: one them is God (or at least God�s spokesperson). His visitors announce that Abraham and Sarah are going to have a child of their own. He had a child with Hagar (Ishmael), when Sarah tried proving that their infertility was his fault. Prior to that, he had relied on Eliezer of Damascus (his servant) to stand as the inheriting �son.� A great deal is written about the episode wherein Sarah laughs at hearing the news about their future son. A great deal of these texts deal with her inability to believe that at Abraham�s age, he could give her a son (never mind that she was 89 and barren, herself). What struck me was that she actually had a good reason for doubting his ability to father a son. After all, no one had ever cut off part of his genitals before. She had to laugh at the thought that after his �self-genital mutilation� he could still father a child. I know, this sounds silly, and maybe it is lack of sleep catching up with me, but I really found something profound in this thought.

Sarah had every rational reason to laugh at the prospect of her newly mutilated husband giving her a child. Faith, however, would afford her a different answer. God asks, �Is there nothing too amazing for God to do?� This is a question with which we have to wrestle every day. We walk sightless among miracles: we speak freely of miracles, and then go about living our lives trying to disprove them. What we do not understand, we either try to rationalize away or simply put on a shelf and ignore. Sarah�s limited knowledge and experience manifested in disbelief. She had no way of knowing what the effect of circumcision would be, and yet, she jumped to the most negative of conclusions. What a common phenomenon this is for us: �Out of my experience� equals �Impossible to be real.� We see this phenomenon play out in conversations between people of disparate cultures, faith traditions, political orientations ... and every subject upon which we find ways not to see eye to eye.

There are always differing points of view through which to appreciate the world around us. Our �starting place attitude� goes a long way in determining the outcome of any engagement. Abraham Joshua Heschel taught us, �One may look upon the world with enthusiasm and absorb its wonder and radiant glory; one may also see and be shocked by its ugliness and evil. The prophet Isaiah heard the angels proclaim, �The whole earth is full of God�s glory� (Is. 6:3); Job, however, maintained that �the earth is given over to the power of the wicked� (Job 9:24).� When we begin any engagement believing, �There is no majesty because I cannot see it,� we condemn our relationships to doom. I think I speak for many in saying that but for someone else�s patience in getting to know me, I would have missed out on some wonderful opportunities.

Faith has to be rooted in the optimistic belief that magic exists in everything and everyone. Yes, there are times that people are too blocked and locked within themselves to be able to express or experience this blessing, but it is there. This is not �New Age� or �Reform� theology. The belief that there is a path to healing open to every person is the very reason that we commemorate Yom Kippur EACH YEAR. The Talmud teaches us that the gates to T�shuvah (turning and returning) are always open. One of the greatest of mitzvot (included in the morning liturgy) is to make peace where there is strife ... to turn our enemy into our friend. We have an absolute obligation to look at the potential that exists in every engagement, even where our �real world� limited experiences might make unlikely the possibilities of tasting resultant sweet fruit. Faith is the phenomenon that allows us to intuitively see (if we pay attention) the results of our behaviors, even when we cannot explain away, the dilemma which we face. We are supposed to be people who transcend the tangible in order to perceive the miracle. Let�s spend some time walking that journey. Shabbat Shalom!

Shabbat Shalom With a Heart Healthy Side of Torah
Lech Lecha

by Rabbi Marc Kline

Growing up in Las Vegas, I learned not to be enamored with gambling. It was everywhere. Slot machines line the wall of restaurants, airports, groceries, and theaters. To my knowledge, they have not yet made it into the hospitals or schools, but there was a joke that if you pulled and did not get three jackpot symbols, the bathroom stall door would not open. Where I do bet, I bet on sure things. I learned the hard way, that even when we are sure that we are right, we may not be, and so, in truth, the only "Sure things" upon which I bet are the matters that have already happened or the matters completely within my sphere of control.
We learn this very same lesson from this week's Torah portion, as Sarah is so sure that she has not had children because of Abraham's impotency that she gives him her stunning Egyptian slave girl to sleep with. She effectively wagered that Hagar would not be able to produce a child, thus proving that while Sarah was fit and perfectly healthy, Abraham was defective. As twisted Biblical story lines would have this one, Hagar (the servant) ends up making Abraham father to the great nation of Islam. For giving him this son and in the process humiliating Sarah, she earns the wrath of her mistress. While Sarah would have a child many years later, it would be long after "the way of women" had passed her, such that it took a miracle. Abraham will continue to have more children with other wives.
Now, I understand that the easy lesson here is not to take risks or gamble, but that would be a bad lesson to take away. Every advance in culture, education, technology, and faith happened because someone took a risk and gambled his or her reputation and career on proving something as yet unknown to humanity. The risk is not the problem. The problem I see here is that the gamble was with another's dignity. The goal of the "wager" was to prove another person inferior. Sarah refused to accept that perhaps the problem was her own infertility. Why? Who knows? Perhaps she feared that Abraham would leave her. Perhaps she was simply an arrogant bully. The text does not speak of her motivation, but the result would have been humiliating to Abraham ... and was mortifying to her.
This is more than a "What goes around comes around" lesson. This lesson reminds us that when we go out of our way to hurt ... the pain never isolates one person. In fact, one might argue that the entire Middle East debacle stems from the sibling rivalry created by Sarah's reckless attempt to humiliate her husband. Our actions have long range and long term ramifications. Aristotle taught that every breath eventually moves air completely around the world. Torah teaches us that our transgressions and our blessings inure to the detriment or benefit of generations to come. I would much prefer that we leave our children the blessings and not the trials ... hope we can all agree on that. Shabbat Shalom.

God said, "Let there be light!" There was light. Over the course of the first chapter of Genesis, God spoke ... and the world came into being. All ten acts of creation happened because God spoke them. In the subsequent early chapters of the book, we will move forward in our story of destiny and meet the animals (and name them), find a suitable partner (and marry her), and decide that living forever meaninglessly was a choice inferior to living a span of years filled with knowledge. We ate the fruit. Even in the statement that God makes, recounting the blessings and challenges that we will face, I do not remember God saying anything about the anxiety a parent feels the day before the first child's wedding. The anxiety is as old as time, but in the very story of the text where children first come into being. Nowhere does it say that they will give us anxiety. OK, there is a hint. Cain kills Abel, and while there is no mention in the text as to how this affected their parents, we do read that Seth is the replacement for Abel; the "Additional one." You know, if I were Seth, I do not know how I would feel being named "The Replacement," or even the "The Extra Kid." I will, however, give Adam and Eve the benefit of the doubt, and assume that they were shell shocked. Now, I do not mean to belittle the story or the way in which the story line has tainted history and destroyed lives, as we have watched brother kill brother throughout time. That said, my daughter's wedding is not traumatic, and too my knowledge ... no one has ever died simply from nuptials. I did threaten my son-in-law to be, but that is just what Dad's do.So, I sit here, prepared to drive to Louisville to give my daughter to a young man (I do respect and love this guy), and I am a basket case. "God! Why did you create parent anxiety? It's not in scripture! When did you sneak it in?" Well, in the midst of worrying about losing a daughter, gaining a son, the guests, the Rabbi (I am Daddy for this), and all the other craziness, I read the most amazing ... and calming thought about this week's Torah portion. This week we read about Noah and the rainbow. This is not a children's story, this is a story about new beginnings. The world is different before the rainbow than it is afterward.Prior to this story, people lived inordinately long lives. Methusaleh, Noah's grandfather, lived almost 1000 years. The generations that follow the fold become normative, and life spans begin to resemble the counting of our own lives. Prior to the flood, all life on earth was at risk at being swept away, but the rainbow signified the creation of a covenant securing that life would never be at risk that way, again. In the story, people were all perverse acting in ways which God found it necessary to flood the earth. After the flood, we find that there are still perverse people, but humanity is not perverse. Because of the people with whom we interact, we have flourished and experienced otherwise unfathomable blessings. My daughter is getting married. I have always loved her dearly, but she has changed; there is a before and an after. She was a child. She is still my child, but she is Adam's wife - her Adam's. She has new priorities and answers to more than one family. Before she was independent and stubborn and ... and ... now she has mellowed, and while always thoughtful, she goes out of her way to be kind. I could still claim to be young before, but now I have a married child. I have not aged more in one day, but my perception certainly has. The befores and afters both accompany blessings and challenges. Before moments are not necessarily bad. After moments are not necessarily good. They are unique and distinct ... and different. Even amidst a difficult world, Noah's righteousness demonstrated that there was hope, but even the rainbow did not heal the pain that we cause each other to experience. The rainbow allowed us to see that even in the midst of destruction; the opportunity for renewal was very real. The real problem is that we keep speaking of the rainbow as though its only value was in that it symbolized something. My epiphany this week is simple: with all the craziness, I need to just enjoy the rainbow and its vibrant beauty. What was and what is will be what they will be. Corey and Adam are great young people. This wedding moves them into uncharted waters fraught with challenges and new blessings ... and potentially children. The magic of Torah is that its teachings never grow old; they speak over and over again, teaching us new and relevant lessons from the same tried and true adages. Someday, they will be anxious at my grandchild's wedding. I hope to be there to help them see the blessings of the before and the after ... but really ... I want them to learn to appreciate the blessing of being ... now. Shabbat shalom.

This week, we start over again. We bridge the distance between the end of Torah and its beginning on Simkhat Torah, but now we find ourselves rooted in the next cycle of reading through the text. The world is created and recreated every year we start all over again. One would think that for the 2000 plus years over which this practice has taken place, at some point we should know it already. Every year, though, brings some new insight; uses some experience of the previous year that spawns a whole new line of commentary. Sometimes, though, it is important to retrace our steps, and reinvest ourselves in the lessons we learned years before � but somehow forgot.

Every person who has offered a commentary on the Bible has had something to say about the creation of light. We have twisted it and turned it so that it is a metaphor for knowledge pulled from ignorance, for good and evil, for faith and paganism. I would like to take us back to something far more basic. There is a story I read the other day.

A wealthy man had three sons, and to choose which one was best suited to carry on the family business. He devised a test, and took his three sons to an empty room instructing them, "Fill this room as best as you are able."

The first son got to work immediately. He called in all sorts of heavy equipment, and brought in earth to fill every corner of the room, floor to ceiling, wall to wall.

The man emptied the room to give the second son his chance. As an accountant, he had years of accumulated boxes of records that now had a useful purpose. It didn't take long and the room was absolutely filled from floor to ceiling, wall to wall, with paper.

The man then cleared the room for the third son who seemed very casual about the task and did not seem to do much of anything towards its goal. As evening set in, he brought his father into the room. It seemed empty still and was completely dark. He took a candle from his pocket and lit it. The room filled with warm light. Dad awarded him the business.

We fill our lives with so much stuff. We are tied to our calendars, to our belongings, to our �stuff. We have over stuffed closets and resources galore. I am not saying that it is bad to have nice things, but how tied into our things and agendas are we? If we lost it tomorrow, how whole could we be? To best appreciate the beautiful things that we have and the opportunities that allow us to have amazing experiences, we have to be in touch with something basic, something that strikes at our core, something upon which everything else�s relative value depends. Life is empty without warmth, without enlightenment � without light. It is light that allows us to see what is hidden from us in the dark. We can close our eyes to the needs of the world; to the love waiting for us in the arms of those near; to the beauty that fills the space around us. Even while necessary for a great many tasks on earth, earth and paper are not beautiful; are not filled with spirit; and do not change the world.

We are each other�s light in this world. We help each other to see beyond yesterday�s limitations and painfully hurt each other, return the spirit to darkness. There is a prayer in our morning liturgy, �Barukh sh�amar v�ha-yah ha-olam � Praised is the One who spoke the world into being.� As written, the first command in Torah is, �Let there be light.� Everything that follows is dependent on this light. It does not emanate from the sun or the stars (day 4), it � just is, and it �was good.� It is the spark of light that animates each of our lives. The Kabbalah teaches that it is the shattered urn of light that brought us to life, to return the shards to the vessel that it might again be whole. Light is the embodiment of understanding and appreciation. Where we drive out light, or hide ourselves from light, we diminish in spirit. Even while our possessions may mount, they will do far less to fill our souls with joy and our lives with meaning. We spend too much time going through the motions of living � this year may we bask in this light, celebrate in this light, and thrive in this light and �Uv�kharta b�khayim � choose life.� Shabbat Shalom

This week, we will complete the cycle of Torah reading for the year, and at the same time � begin the next cycle. The final weekly portion of the cycle is �V�zot Habrakha � This is the blessing.� The first portion of the cycle is �B�raesheet � Creation.� Certainly, creation is a blessing, and it is not lost on me that these two portions are inseparable and are read together on one night. The entirety of the Torah walks us through the creation of the world, national identity, family, and all relationships. In reading the Torah, we become intimate with the blessings and foibles; the pitfalls and the miracles that life has to offer. The characters in the Torah�s story are us � even the role of God � they are us. Even as we finish the book, and find ourselves struggling with the horrific things that we do to each other, the text puts an exclamation point on the ultimate lesson of Torah: we are blessed to be here. We get stuck in our own fears, anger, and ignorance, but we have to remember that Abraham Joshua Heschel was right on the mark, when he taught us, �Just to be is a blessing. Just to live is holy.� So, just as we finish the story of the rebellions, the wars, and the rest of the disasters, the text reminds us of the many blessings that the text teaches, as well: the lessons of loving our neighbors and ourselves, caring for the weaker amongst us, being honest in business, governing with compassion, and caring for the wellbeing of our animals and all of the earth. Being is � being blessed.

Were that not enough of a lesson, something else struck me for the first time this year. It happens every year, but this year, for whatever reason, it stood out as a point on which to be chewed. The Jewish calendar recognizes four days set aside to be celebrates as the "New Year." One is the beginning of the calendar year (Spring� 1 Nisan), another is TuBishvat (New Year of Trees � 15 Shevat), the equivalent of �Tax Day� (Beginning of Expiation Offerings � 1 Elul), and Rosh Hashanah (Liturgical Birthday of World � 1 Tishrae). We count the number of years from the liturgical new year and not the calendar new year. The Torah tells us in several places that we are to mark the first day of the seventh month as this new year - birthday celebration of the world. There are a host of reasons why the Rabbis created this system, though most thoughts generate from the presumption that creation did not begin with this world nor are we the end of the divine creative process. Certainly, those who would argue that the Torah says that this is all there was, is, or will be have not read the text carefully.

There is one new year missing from this cycle. Rosh Hashanah was over two weeks ago. It will not be until the end of this eight day Sukkot holiday (Festival of Booths), that we will complete last year's cycle of reading Torah and start this year's cycle. With intention, the Rabbis place us six months into the year before we celebrate creation, and then have us wait nearly another month before we re-begin the Torah cycle. Why do we not begin the reading cycle on one of the new years? Wouldn't it make sense to keep the cycle in line with at least one of these dates? Quite obviously, the Rabbis answer, "No." We are left to experience and surmise the reasons for this decision, but I might start with Heschel's assertion, �Just to be is a blessing. Just to live is holy.� The gifts that Torah brings are not tied to a special day. They are tied to every day. The purpose of Torah is not to mark a celebratory, historical, or even mythological point in time, it moves us to celebrate all of the time. The purpose of Torah does not root in a need to prove history. Rather, Torah demands and commands the debate between the partially defined stories of the text, their interpretations in years past, and the relevant real world in which we walk today. The goal of scriptural study is not to validate the past. Rather, the study of Torah compels us to shape a more relevant and more holistic future. Tradition teaches us that the Messianic Age will become manifest during Sukkot. It will be that when we have done the work of healing the world for its own sake, and not because of an artificially imposed calendrical change, we will know peace. The cycle ends and begins at a time when, already deep into the new year, we have a chance to assess how seriously committed to change we were, as we read the commands to change during the new year and atonement worship services. Along this line of thought, the sages teach us that the world will know peace when the whole world, at the same time, recites the word (in whatever language) "Amen." Messiah is not tied to any uniform prayer. The tradition does not require that we all pray together � even different prayers. The word "Amen" affirms someone else's prayer. Literally, it means I affirm the truth and value of your prayer," and so one should not say "Amen" to one's own prayer. It is in affirming each other that we will find peace, and this cannot happen because we came together to celebrate a holiday crafted in folklore, history, or the divine will. This affirmation has to happen because � on any given regular day, the world chooses to live in peace. It begins with you and with me. Utter the inmost prayer of your heart for peace � I affirm its place in faith. AMEN. Shabbat Shalom.

Having written more sermons for these Holy Days than I can use in a lifetime (and then throwing most of them out), I wanted to share a brief thought, but one which I think is an essential piece for conversation at this time. Amidst the great many blessings that I experience, there is one place in which I feel cursed. Actually, I am not the one cursed � it is everyone around me. This week, we read, of one of the very last commands Moses got, before taking the "walk" with God. He then went to the people, �and spoke all the words of this song into the ears of the people, he and Joshua son of Nun, Now, write for you this song, and teach it to the children of Israel . . .� We are commanded to write poems and sing songs. Some of the greatest lessons we learn in our lives stem from this very command. In fact, Abraham Joshua Heschel taught that music is prayer of the soul. The curse I experience is that while I love honoring this commandment, people would much prefer that I don�t.

In truth, nowhere does it say that we have to sing well, the text just tells us that we have to sing. Of course, this is a metaphor for making sure that we are heard. For many, this would seem to be a meaningless affirmation of what we already know and practice. For many more, though, this is a gut wrenching reminder that we have to go beyond our comfort zones, and stretch beyond what we know
to be safe. So many of us live insular lives. Some of us are afraid to express our thoughts, our innermost dreams, the songs of our spirit. Many are unwilling to engage others in meaningful conversation for fear of being challenged or out of disdain for any but their own opinion. Opening up and joining in the community conversation challenges all of our boundaries, because we know that people may � will respond to what we share � and will potentially judge us in the process.

We have to believe in our song. We have to believe in our ability to hear the song that other spirits sing, and appreciate their beauty without feeling threatened by them or inadequate in the face of them. I sing loudly, and I love my music. The truth is also, that I believe that I have something to say, and in sharing what I have to say, I get to hear what other people say as well. Because I engage in the conversation, there is conversation, and my spirit grows as I learn from what other people share. Especially during this holiday time, we need to celebrate the opportunities that we have to share and grow with each other. These Holy Days remind us that we need each other, cannot grow without each other, and cannot heal the world without each other. I do not think it is accidental that one of the last instructions with which Moses leaves us is the command to engage each other from the place where the sweetest of prayer comes � the song launched from our souls. Ultimately, Moses is telling us to show up and get in the game. Shabbat Shalom and Shanah Tovah

Wednesday night, I had the honor of being included in Lexington�s 50th anniversary commemoration of Dr. Martin King�s �I have a Dream� speech. King spoke on the steps of the Lincoln memorial in Washington D.C. We spoke on the steps of the courthouse in Lexington. Both institutions are staunch symbols of Justice. The scales of Justice are incorporated into the physical and spiritual architecture of both structures. Vicariously, we find them in our sacred texts, as well. In this week�s Torah portion, Moses tells us that God instructed him, �Now therefore write down for yourselves this song, and teach it to the people of Israel; put it in their mouths, that this song may be my witness within [them] (Deut. 31:19).� We normally think of this �song� as the call for justice. On the courthouse courtyard, on the memorial steps, on the pages of scripture: there are no more fitting places for such a conversation to happen � except for one problem. I am tired of justice.

My father was the first white student at Howard Medical School in Washington. He befriended the Dean of the college. They tried to go to a movie together. The law did not permit Dean Johnson to sit downstairs with white people. My father was not allowed to sit upstairs with black people. That was justice: backed by the scales that hung in the buildings of justice. Slavery was legal. Withholding the right to vote was and is legal. Separate but horribly unequal was legal. That was justice: backed by the scales that hung in the buildings of justice. In 2000, on Martin King�s birthday holiday, I joined a handful of others, and led a march on Columbia, South Carolina. A reported 50,000 of us marched to have the Confederate flag removed from the dome of the Statehouse. It went up in the 1960�s, as a Justice based tribute to the 100th anniversary of the Civil War and never came down. Real justice eventually prevailed, and the flag came down. The next act of justice was to put it in a monument at the entrance to the building, amidst the cheer, �Off the Dome and in your face.� I am tired of justice. Justice may be legal, but it is insincere. Not one defendant in a civil rights lawsuit ever went back home thankful to have lost, offering thanksgiving prayers to God for opening their eyes and making them disgorge their ill gotten gains. Justice prevailed � and resentment grew.

Eleven years ago, I came to town with a line that meant everything in the world to me. I was beyond flattered when Governor Beshear �stole� this line, in his bid for re-election. �Justice is never �Just us!�� I was wrong. Justice is always about �just us.� Last night, speaker after speaker spoke about the need for justice. Ministers quoted scriptural calls for justice. People carried signs and banners for justice. Speakers acknowledged that we stood on the courthouse steps making the same arguments for justice that Dr. King, Rabbi Joachim Prinz, Daisy Bates, and others made fifty years ago.

They acknowledged with frustration that we are still no closer to justice than was the entourage who gathered half a century ago. They were wrong. We live in a world of justice. Dr. King lived in a world of Justice. JUSTICE WAS �JUST� NOT ENOUGH! Justice is determined and meted out by those in power, and those without power will always suffer or gain at the benevolence or arrogance of the ones with power. I am tired of �Justice.� If one reads Dr. King closely, he was tired of �Justice,� as well.

What has always been missing in this conversation is the transcendent notion of righteousness. The Bible in English may call for Justice, but in the Hebrew God�s call is for �Righteousness.� The world stands on three things: on tradition, on stewardship, and on righteousness rooted in a love and kindness for everything and everyone that God created. We know that tradition is based in rules. As stewards, we do our best to live by these rules and maintain the order that they seek to preserve. These rules and this order have allowed us to spend thousands of years seeking supremacy over each other at all cost. We will oppress each other, we will demean each other, and we will even kill each other to get the upper hand. In each case, we will argue that our way is the �JUST� way, and that our rules are better to live by than someone else�s rules. �Justice� happens when we win the day, and our way prevails. �Justice� has created victors and victims. It allowed people to use water cannons, dogs, and discriminatory law against others. Yet, if you were to ask most any person if God would condone cheating, if God would approve of oppressing the widow, the orphan or the stranger, he would cite to scriptural text after text affirming that God demands that we care for the weakest amongst us. Righteousness demands that �Justice� stands as a minimal standard, not as a goal, and if it is our final goal, then we have blasphemed before God. We have to learn to respond to each other, to govern, to dignify our world and all with which God has blessed this world in accordance with a standard that takes care of everyone, not just the one�s making the decisions. Anything short of that may be �JUSTICE,� but it is not right, it is not righteous, and it will not bring healing to a world that experiences such horrible pain on a daily basis. The prophet Amos did not rely on justice. He said, �Let judgment well up as waters, but righteous should be the mighty stream.� As Deuteronomy taught, �We must pursue righteousness.� Dr. King distinguished between justice and righteousness. He hoped to be remembered as a drum major for both, separating them in context. He argued that a righteous man could not live in a place of evil. He said that about a righteous man, not a �just� man. We have reached a time when we must separate ourselves from what we think we know and turn to what we must learn to know. �Shiru L�Adonai Shir Khadash!� The psalmist wrote, Sing unto God a new song. On that day when we turn our hearts from what is to what can be, and not until then, God will be one, God�s name will be one, and we will know the age of peace and wholeness � of righteousness for which we all must pray. Shabbat shalom.

There is a line from Ecclesiastes "The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of hearing" that I use at funerals. Each time I read this text, I am reminded that no one ever lived "enough," saw "enough," loved, "enough," or spent "enough" time with those they loved. I do remember my first day as Chaplain at what was then Glen Manor Home For The Jewish Aged, in Cincinnati. Before introductions were finished, I was called down to a unit: a resident had stopped eating and refused to take any more medications. As I ran down the hall and walked into Bea Margolis' room, I had my speech outlined and ready. "Good morning, Mrs. Margolis. I am the new chaplain and I need to help you decide to eat." I went on about how life is a gift from God, and how it is ours to cherish and nurture, and � Bea was beyond patient with me. When I summed up the sermon, she asked me to sit down on the corner of her bed. I did, and then proceeded to get an earful � and an education. Her siblings had all gone. Her friends had all died. She was 92 and was living with her daughter's family, but her son in law just had a stroke, and her daughter could no longer care for her. She knew she was frail physically and becoming so cognitively. She was emphatic that she did not want to be strapped into a wheel chair or a bed. She had had � "enough." I had two choices. She never wanted to see me again, or I could hold her and befriend her as she slowly passed away.

What I learned that day was invaluable. What I learned several years later was even more so � and somehow, I owe Bea an apology. That day, I learned that people had a right to live out their end days as they wanted to, and that empathy would require me to love them through that choice. I held her, as she passed a week or so later. She had had �"enough." The deeper I moved into Chaplaincy work (and into congregational life) I realized that I only learned part of a huge lesson that day. Bea had �enough� of suffering and worrying, but only because she missed the love and companionship of which there was no such thing as "enough." People who hurt themselves did not have enough living. In fact often it is the love, compassion, attention, or care that they were not getting, that drove them to the act. There is not "enough" love, compassion, attention, or care in any of our lives; that we reach a saturation point and want no more.

With this in mind, we read a curious piece of text from this week's Torah portion. Moses, nearing the end of his farewell address, reminds the people that they are about to enter the Promised Land. God has done amazing things for them over the last forty years, even as they rebelled all along the way. Almost as if to take the onus off of the people for their own bad behavior, "Moses summoned all Israel and said to them: 'You have seen all that the Lord did � with your own eyes, those prodigious signs and marvels. Yet to this day the Lord has not given you a mind to understand or eyes to see or ears to hear. I led you through the wilderness forty years; the clothes on your back did not wear out, nor did the sandals on your feet." With their own eyes they saw the miracles or redemption, yet only as they have traversed the journey did God give them senses to see what really happened. Along the way, they had not paid attention to the fact that their shoes and clothes never wore out (nor, I guess did the children outgrow their clothes). If you have been shoe or clothes shopping, these are indeed miraculous savings.

One place in scripture tells us that we do not have the senses to process life's miracles along the path of living � even though they are in plain view. In another, scripture tells us that the senses never experience enough. Sometimes, we have to massage texts into the lessons we need to teach, but this one jumps off the page. We walk sightless among miracles. There are so many blessings that we receive, but never experience. It is only as we get older, that we gain the maturity to understand pieces of the world through which we have previously walked. Bea never told me that she was tired of living. Bea told me that she was now understanding the many blessings of her life that no longer are available to her, and that she missed how special they were. This epiphany was the greatest tool I had available when my first wife died, when my brother left this world, and as I remember so many who have passed on. The blessings do not leave us � and even when not immediately evident to us, are still there. We may not have the ability to comprehend them until much later, but they are there. As we grow, we understand more of them; find ways to process more of them; find the ability to see even through moments of greatest pain, the blessings that sustain us. Some of us are so stuck, though, that we cannot imagine ever experiencing this reality. No differently than Israel rebelled against Moses throughout the wilderness, we lash out and rebel � against those who love us, against God, and against ourselves. These rebellions and depressions are sometimes temporary and sometimes permanent, but that does not change the reality of the miracles that abound � that we just cannot see. Every day, when I look at Lori and our children � and the world around me, I know I am blessed. Even when sometimes I cannot fathom the source of my blessings: I am blessed. Our task is laid out before us. We need to find ways to internalize the many blessings all around us, and find ways to help those who experience even greater barriers to this epiphany to experience them, as well. Shabbat Shalom.

How many of you had either been the child or had a child who has defiantly announced to a parent, �I hate you!� My late first wife Cindy had the best story I ever heard. When she was young, she would get angry with her parents, storm into her room and slam her bedroom door. A bit of time would pass, and one would hear the door open and then slam again. Her parents would look on her door where a sign was taped, �Dear Mommy, I hate you! Love, Cindy.�

Were it that all �hate� was this simple, the world would be in great shape, but it is not. Hate is complex � and ultimately makes no sense. Especially at this time of year, as we approach the Jewish High Holy days, we need to think about whether our behaviors and obsessions are healthy or not. We have to take a step back and think about what is at stake as we decide how to respond to each other � or not respond to each other. This is by no means a new conundrum, and the psychology behind forgiveness is not �New Age.� Torah teaches us that hatred is anti-God, and that forgiveness has nothing to do with the people who wrong us.

In an often over looked piece of this week�s Torah portion, we read, �Do not hate an Edomite, because he is your brother. Do not hate an Egyptian, because you were a stranger in his land.� (Deut. 23:8) The text is over looked, because it appears amidst a laundry list of commands, ideas, and warnings. This week�s portion includes more mitzvot than any other weekly section of text. It is easy to look right past it.

Now, as I recall, we did not fare well in Egypt. At the beginning of Exodus (1:22) Pharaoh orders all male babies be drowned ... and the news got worse from there. The Bible describes Edom as the eternal enemy of Israel and Judah (Amos 1:11; Ezek. 35:5). Ezekiel cites several examples of how an opportunistic Edom took control of parts of Judah at the time of the destruction of the First Temple. They may have even helped in the destruction of Jerusalem (Ps. 137:7; Obad. 11) and even the Temple (Obad. 16). Did Moses forget all that happened with these two nations? Even now, can we forget what happened at their hands, even with Moses� admonition not to hate these people?

.I think Moses offers us at least two lessons that, at this season, seem too appropriate to gloss over. First, Moses is telling us that we need to forgive even our most heinous of enemies.

Forgiveness is not dependent on the wrong doer�s apology. Forgiveness is about letting go of even the most painful past, so that we do not continue to victimize ourselves into the future. Second, I think Moses is telling us something even more profound. This is not just about forgiveness; this is about overtly refusing to hate � even the people for who we might really think we have cause. We choose to succumb to these feelings; no one can make that choice for us. Martin Luther King, Jr. taught us, �Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence, and toughness multiplies toughness.�

Moses is telling Israel that their future � our future � depends on their ability to understand that freedom is holistic, and even if one has been freed from the physical lashing of the taskmaster�s whip, one stays enslaved if he carries hatred for the taskmaster with him for the rest of his days. One can never be free unless they are emotionally free, and we know from stories in our history that even when one�s body was enslaved, his heart sang in freedom. This is the foundation of Gospel music, and the story about those who celebrated Shabbat in the midst of Auschwitz. This is the story of how someone with a debilitating illness can still be emotionally whole. One�s freedom is not dependent on the shackles imposed on the body. Rather, it is the soul�s capacity to soar beyond the confines of the body that allows one to be free. One cannot build a free society on the building blocks of resentment and degradation, and one cannot live a free life stuck in the remnants of hate. Where our tradition equates freedom with the ability to love and live, we must know that one cannot truly love if one stays steeped in emotional, spiritual, or physical pain. The Edomites and the Egyptians were nations built on hate. They are no more. We give them a posthumous victory, if we continue to hate them; speaking of them with disdain. We hurt ourselves when we let the memories of those who have hurt us continue to cause us to hurt � when we spend even more energy �needing� to confront them. They are no longer in our lives, but our commitment to continuing to acknowledge the pain they caused us jades every other relationship upon which we may embark. Whether it is an abusive parent, an ex-spouse, former business partner or class bully, where our pain is unresolved, we are not whole. If we are not whole, our future relationships cannot be solid. Dr. King was correct. Moses was right on the mark. We cannot be open to love, if we are mired in hate, and where we are committed to love, there is no room for anything else. Shabbat shalom

While still living in Florence, SC, I opened a community center with an AME minister (actually, he opened it and I helped). Leo Woodberry and I had hands in a host of different causes in town. It happened that City Council voted to locate the new city dump in the part of town inhabited by mostly minorities (yes, there are cities that still do things that way). The decision caused an uproar! That evening, as I was walking out of the Temple to go home, a news van came tearing into the parking lot. Out jumped a young reporter with whom I had spoken from time to time. She stuck the microphone in my face, announcing, �I am with civil rights and environmental activist, Rabbi Marc Kline. Rabbi, what do you think about the environmental impact City Council�s decision to locate the dump there?� I was not quite sure as to how to begin, since I knew nothing about hazardous waste. I offered all the rabbinical wisdom I could muster, �I am not an environmental expert.� The reporter insisted that I offer a real answer, so I did. �Here is what I know about garbage dumps: 1. They smell nasty, and 2. I do not want one in my backyard, so I should not want it in my neighbor�s yard, either.� That quote made the news that night, as offered by �Environmental expert, Rabbi Marc Kline.� I know very little about environmentalism. I have learned a lot. Still though, I tend to rely on the wisdom of people for whom I hold deep respect. The more I listen and learn, I am realizing why environmentalism is so important. There is such a close connectedness between the identities of trees and humanity.

As I began to prepare for this Shabbat, I noticed a phrase that had never stood out to me before. It has, to many others. It most certainly did to Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, as he marched on behalf of the trees in protesting the Vietnam War. The more I have researched, the more I realize how many sages expounded widely upon this line. Clearly, I am not there yet. At Deuteronomy 20:19, in offering the prohibition against destroying fruit bearing trees in battle, the Torah compares the tree to a human being. �For man is a tree of the field.� The text may also translate as, �for is the tree of the field a man?� Either way, the connection is direct.

Under the first scenario, I envision this statement as a prohibition against war. We are the fruit trees that must not be damaged in a battle. Torah prohibits the injury to a tree; it also prohibits the injury to another human. In a similar vein, Torah also demands empathy from us. If we are to go into battle, we have to remember that each tree gives life. In truth, there are no non-fruit bearing trees. If the only thing the tree gives forth is oxygen, it is a fruit more powerful and necessary to humanity than the gift of any other fruit that hangs from the limb of any tree. Its fruit is our very life source. So, there really is a prohibition against destroying any of nature in battle, for each tree that we destroy is a human life that we sacrifice. Hence, we must not fight.

If we translate the verse along the alternative path, we hear a very different message; one perhaps more relevant in our everyday life than the very important and relevant one discussed, above. How does a tree compare to a man? A tree has roots that must sustain it, and a trunk and foliage to protect and defend it, and with which to serve the world. Its foundation is in its roots, yet it foliage and trunk are really all that we see. If the roots are strong, the tree stands firm. If the roots are weak and the trunk is large, it cannot hold itself up: it is unstable. If it is all roots and no trunk or foliage, it lacks character and purpose. This is a wonderful analogy to human beings. We are people of depth and substance. Those who are all show (all trunk) fail in life. Those who offer nothing beyond their own stability (all roots) fail, as well. Those people who have deep roots, and at the same time, maintain the integrity of their body and use it for good work are the building blocks for the coming of a messianic age.

Between the two interpretations, we learn an overriding lesson that reminds us that our dignity is not greater than nature�s and that, in fact, we are simply a part of this nature, and not secondary to it or it to us. Even when we are not at battle with our nations, we persist in a struggle with nature. Whether one believes that we are the cause of global warming or not, we know that our lack of concern for the earth�s wellbeing only enhances our own loss of resources, and destroys the beauty and vitality of this planet. Henry David Thoreau wrote that it is pointless to have a beautiful house when it has to exist on an intolerable land. Republican, Democrat, or other � Jew, Christian, Muslim, or other � each of us has to be enough of an environmental expert to see that the world operates a whole lot better when we are paying closer attention to how we behave on it and with it. As Heschel taught, if we are so aware of what we are doing to the forces of nature that cannot speak back, then all the more so we will be able to begin really hearing each other, as well. Shabbat shalom.

I am causing trouble on Facebook. I know, many of you are saying, "Why is this night different from all other nights?" I really did not mean to do it, but � well, it just happened. See, someone posted a note that said that God was returning soon, and all those not on board should be afraid. Now, I have no problem accepting that for Christians, Jesus will return, at the same time that I believe that for non-Christians, God manifests in all sorts of other ways. So, I did not take issue with the statement of the poster's expectancy of "God's" return (except to say that I never felt God left), but I have a problem with the "fear" piece. I refuse to believe that fear has anything to do with faith, especially that a God of love should be feared. I know that the English language perverted "Yirat Adonai," translating it "Fear of God." The more authentic translation, though, is the "Awe of God." I asked the usual question, "If God is infinite, how can God be narrowed to loving one group and scaring all others?" I believe with absolute faith, that God speaks many languages, has inspired the writing of a variety of sacred texts, and does not choose one piece of God's own creation over another, any more than I can love one of my children more than I love another. I affirm that Christianity, Judaism, Islam, and, by extension the other main religions of the world are all equally authentic, each finding God through unique and engaging spiritual enlightenment.

The number of people who favorably commented on this person's post, agreeing with her position of God being monolithic (and telling me how wrong I was) was downright scary, yet not surprising. In the midst of my distress, I had to take notice of two realizations: 1. I have to believe that God is not scary and loves all folks; and 2. Lots of people think I am wrong. I then read this week's Torah portion where the text speaks to us about false prophets. "If there will arise among you a prophet, or a dreamer of a dream, and he gives you a sign or a wonder, and the sign or the wonder of which he spoke to you happens, [and he] says, 'Let us go after other gods which you have not known, and let us worship them,' you shall not heed the words of that prophet, or that dreamer of a dream; for the Lord, your God, is testing you, to know whether you really love the Lord, your God, with all your heart and with all your soul. (Deut. 13)" I fully understand how, in the eyes of the persons writing and agreeing with the post, I am that false prophet. I also understand, how in my eyes � they are. So, we are stuck. We have a sacred text upon which both of us hang our theology, and yet, if we hold tightly to it, we deny each other's authenticity.

This is why so many people run from religion. How can there be one God who created everything, including this cause for discord within the very texts at the core of God based study and worship? I have to wonder what God thinks about all of this (assuming that God thinks � and thinks about this). Here is where I come down on this matter. When helping couples prepare for marriage, I ask them to work through a series of exercises aimed at helping them communicate more effectively. We all fall short of doing this well all the time, but the more tools we have, the better likelihood of our doing well more often. One of the key pieces of this endeavor is to help remind couples that they do not have the right to make up each other's mind. Put another way, no one has the right to condemn another, for the words that they put in someone else's mouth. Nor can they condemn someone for words someone else put in their mouths. I may believe that my partner hates my family, but absent his/her indication of it, I cannot condemn him/her as though it were gospel. People wrote the Bible. People have edited and translated it. People have been interpreting it and reinterpreting it for over two thousand years. No matter what our own personal faith, to make God say something that results from our own experiential and linguistic manipulations is tantamount to false prophecy. My partner may hate my family, and perhaps God does like some of us more than others. To use our own manipulations to prove it, though, taints the entire process. I don�t believe my partner hates my family, nor do I believe that God picks and chooses. That said, for me to say that God absolutely agrees with me is equally wrong (even though more palatable). Here is the bottom line, as I see it: Faith is personal. We believe what we believe and need to govern our own lives in accordance with the highest truths of our most sacred beliefs. We do not have the right to impose those beliefs on anyone else, nor, do we have a right to judge someone's value in faith on whether or not they agree or disagree. If we are allowed to judge people at all, it can only be based in the way in which they are personally true to the call that exists in every faith tradition, to honor our creator by caring for all over which we have been made steward. This stewardship begins with dignifying each other, since we all stem from the very same acts of creation. Any other response to each other is false prophecy, and serves only to dehumanize each other. Shabbat Shalom.

I love my children with all of my heart. I love my wife with all of my heart. I have friends whom I love with all of my heart. Does anyone see the problem inherent in the way in which we make these statements? Hold up your hand if you have said these things. Okay, now here is the tricky one, �I love my (car, house, cheeseburger, job, teddy bear, spelling bee trophy, etc) with all of my heart.� Guilty anyone? Either we throw the word �love� around way too cavalierly, we do not really love any of the above that much, or we need to figure out how it can be possible for all of the above to be true. There are only so many �alls� to go around, and to the best of my limited physiological knowledge, we each have only one heart. Oh yeah, there is one more, �Love God with all of your heart.� These words are in this week�s Torah portion, and in our everyday liturgy.

Merriam Webster lists nine or ten definitions for the word "love," but they all amount to essentially this good working definition, �a strong, unselfish, loyal, concern, admiration and affection for another.� This is a really tough concept, because love is such a strong emotion, that to have to split it in all these different ways would prove exhausting to the finest of spirits. Perhaps, though, we need to look at our loving from a different perspective. What if it has little or nothing to do with someone or something else? If I did not have to split my love, then things might make a whole lot more sense.

I have seven children whom I love absolutely, and for whom I would go to the mat to protect, provide, care for, and nurture their wellbeing. They are each unique and even while only four came to me biologically, I cannot imagine my life without anyone of them. I was married for 23 years to a woman I loved. She died five plus years ago. Recently, I remarried and love my wife, absolutely. I somewhat jokingly kid that I learned all of my theology from my family. It really is not a joke. I learned to respect diversity from the ways in which they are all so different and yet, so essential to who I am. I have also learned that love is not something that you do to another. Love is something that one strives to be, and that in being a person who loves, there is no compromise in being able to love multiple people with all of one�s heart.

How does one love God with all one�s heart? You know, the answer is quite simple; by paying attention to all that God created, and by caring enough about what one observes to further enhance it or help heal it. Too often, we say words in prayer or study, without really paying attention to what is at stake. What is at stake is everything that we hold dear: our ability to share in meaningful relationships with the world around us. It is easy to forget that this unconditional and absolute love to which we profess, needs a lot of intention to be made real. As we speak with each other, think about what is really at stake. Are the words we choose to use words of judgment; words rooted in the preservation of our own ego? Are the words we speak, even if words of rebuke or concern, words rooted in love and appreciation? Can we help people learn in more loving ways? Can we let the people we love know that we do love them, without reservation? We must think about being an example of how love manifests in this world. Where we can be successful, our words and actions will make a whole lot more sense, than if we are first concerned with proving that we are right or in control. I struggle with people who profess to serve organizations that root in expressions of love and dignity, who yoke opportunities to be negative to others who serve or to force their hand at the expense of another. We know these people with whom we serve on boards and committees. Albert Einstein taught us, �Force always attracts men of low morality.� We know, as well, the people who restore a downward spiraling situation to a place of grace, simply by sharing their own heartfelt commitment to respecting, even loving the people with whom they serve.

Torah teaches us to be like Aaron who "loved" peace and pursued it, and in doing so, every time we have the ability to choose between life and death (of each other's dignity), we will choose life. It is not that hard for us to remember what is at stake, if we would only engage the heart, and demonstrate our love for God with all of it, by loving each other. We are made �b�tselem Elohim � in the spiritual image of God:� we are the reflection of God on earth. There is no possible way in which we can morally profess to love God, in any faith tradition, if we are, at the same relative points in time, destroying the dignity of another, who also is God�s reflection on earth. We must, therefore, be intentional in how we speak to each other, and choose life. Shabbat Shalom.

Today is the 9th day of the Jewish Calendar month of Av. In Hebrew, it is known as Tisha B�Av. It is a day unlike any other in our history. On this day, both the first and second Temples were destroyed. The first Crusades, the expulsion of Jews from England and Spain, and the beginning of World War I mark this date. The first deportations from the Warsaw ghetto mark this day, as well. This is a tragic day. Still though, we are not a people who live in the past, and no moment of despair can dispel hope for a future of peace. As I reflect on what this date in history has meant, I also recall a story from the Talmud. Rabbi Akiva and his friends were walking at the site of the destroyed Temple. The Rabbis were weeping over the destruction and loss, Akiva remained merry. While the behavior seemed odd, even as they all remembered the Lamentations text that prophesied Jerusalem�s destruction, �Because of Mount Zion, which lies desolate;
Jackals prowl over it, (Lamentations 5:18)� he celebrated the second piece of the prophesy from Zechariah, �There shall yet be old men and women in the squares of Jerusalem, � (8:4).� Our tradition teaches that on this day, the Messiah will covenant. It will be on Tisha B�Av that redemption foments and the fasting and mourning will turn to celebration for the world will begin to become whole.
We teach and believe that hope is eternal: we are prisoners of hope. That we breathe proves that we have the opportunity to be and to share blessings and miracles. For me, while I grieve the results of our inhumanity to each other, I remain committed to believing that we have the ability to change the painful past into a tomorrow of celebration. I am not na�ve. I do not think that this transformation will happen in my life time. I know that even while it is not on my shoulders to complete the task of healing the world, I am not allowed to fail to work for the cause, and this can never happen from the top down. Each of us, neighbor to neighbor has to commit to making a difference in each other�s lives. As Margaret Mead once wrote, �Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.� I look forward to the work that we can do together, and pray for the day when we can all sit under our vines and fig trees unafraid.

Acharei Mot/ Kedoshim
by Rabbi Marc Kline

I know that this story cannot happen in the real world, but I love it, and thought it most appropriate to share this week:

The king condemned Joe to death by hanging. Joe asked for

a short leave to inform his wife of his fate. "My best friend

Leo will take my place if I fail to return." The king gave him

24 hours. When the time was up, he placed a noose around

Leo's neck.

At the last minute Joe came running up: "I got stuck in traffic,

but I finally made it. Hang me!� However, Leo protested,

"You missed the deadline of 24 hours, so I must take your

place. Hang me!"

The king was so overwhelmed by this display of loyalty and

mutual love that he exclaimed: "I won't hang either of you,

on one condition: That you let me be your third friend!"

This has been a horrible week. Between the shootings of five young men in Lexington, the bomb in Boston, the ricin poison mail to the Senate and the White House, and the war all over the world, it is hard to remember that there is real decency in the world. In addition, April 19 is the anniversary of the end of the bloody standoff in Waco, Texas, and the bombing of the federal building in Oklahoma City.

Still, the above story reminds me that we are not lost, and that there is hope for our redemption. The late Rebbe Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch taught us, �When two people meet, something positive must result for a third.� I hang on to this teaching because it helps me to remember that my interactions with one person serve as an example to others. In this case, the King, as arbitrary and capricious a villain as he was, in the presence of this act of love, he found holiness.

Holiness is best defined as �The commitment or devotion to elevate one�s physical and spiritual behaviors to achieve a harmony with one�s respect for divine behavior.� After all, this week�s Torah portion calls on us to be holy, because God is holy. I do not know what God is, but I know that when I can elevate the actions of my being and my soul, I feel a lot more �whole� than I do when I am not paying that close attention to what I do. I am not speaking about religion, rather about a faithful sense of holiness.

I also know that when I model this sense of holiness, I change not only my life, but the lives of those around me. We are dependent on each other. This world cannot exist at all, if we each lived in an exclusive bubble. Children learn from parents, students from teachers, citizens from leaders, and parents from children, teachers from students, and leaders from citizens, as well (if we pay attention). Holiness is found in the moments when we transcend our piece of existence to realize that to be �holy � whole,� we have to pay closer attention to how we teach and how we learn from each other. I had an off-hand conversation with a man at the gym this morning. Every day, we greet each other with an acknowledgement that each day we are here is a day we are blessed. My immediate response to him this morning took us both back, �How much safer the world would be if we not only acknowledged the blessing, but shared it?�

We get so caught up in posturing for political power or for our own personal wants that we ignore what is really at stake for this world. The troubled person ignored in society is the one who ends up taking revenge on it. The bullied becomes the bully and the victim becomes the oppressor. In almost every case of violence, the violator felt ignored or belittled � or beaten. How many devastating acts could have been prevented if we had remembered to be holy, to demonstrate holiness in the way in which we approach living, which would help us be more aware of how we need to better approach each other. �Eem teertzu, aen zoh agadah � If you really want it, it is not a dream.� These words come from another place in history, but I know in my heart that if we really want our streets to be safe, our schools secure, and our families to thrive, then it will not come because we are better armed, because we hold greater power, or because we scream louder. If we really want there to be peace, then we have to act in such a way, that we elevate our physical and spiritual behaviors to achieve a harmony with one�s respect for each other�s divinity. We shall be holy, because it is what will save our world. Shabbat Shalom.

Tazria/ Metzora
by Rabbi Marc Kline

I recently had lunch with a man who, at the age of 85, still works training future professionals. He is stymied because the world has changed around him. He watches students who go about getting through school without ever talking to each other! They are young professionals who spend more time looking at a key pad on a phone or tablet, than they do sharing with the colleagues with whom they are preparing to spend their careers. These budding professionals speak to each other through technology, even while sitting in the same room. They diagnose problems and find resolutions to these problems through internet and data base searches, even while never putting their eyes or hands on the problem, itself. Yes, technology has given us the ability to do a lot more work in a lot less time, but it has also dehumanized the process of the job, and devalued the inter-human experience.
I do not understand how professional education can be reduced to recorded lectures. The conversation that spawns from the lectures often creates a more engaging and further reaching lesson than anything for which the instructor could have unilaterally prepared. Yes, being able to access lessons and lectures at differing hours allows more people access to education, but there is a cost to the profession � and the result of the professional service. I watch as our children sit across the table from friends and text each other rather than use their mouths and ears. They have friends all over the world, but in not having to speak with and face each other, they have lost the need to think through or filter their thoughts. Where we do not have to take into account the human response to our speech, we forget that it matters, at all. Even when we are careful to write clearly, without a face and a voice to moderate how words are heard, the most benign joke can be read by another has a horrific slander.
This week, Torah teaches us about Tzara-at. Most translations call this �disease� leprosy. The leper is diagnosed and excluded from the camp as contagious. The literal text speaks of a skin affliction that probably sounds a lot like leprosy, but the text is open ended enough, that sages throughout time have portrayed this disease as anything that excludes one from a community. The sermons using this text to speak about sexually transmitted diseases, AIDS, alcoholism, and other infectious diseases / plagues / epidemics fill volumes. Most often, this illness is portrayed as �lashon harah � evil speech.�
An interesting point, according to the text, the High Priest accepts responsibility for the diagnosis and the prognosis. The priest determines who is and is not infected and when one must leave or can return from camp. The guidelines given the priest are fairly detailed, and they serve to create an objective standard by which to determine whether one is able to live safely in the community or not. There is no conversation as to how one was infected, only that one was. If infected, however one got infected, one cannot do so.
Most commentary is not so even handed. While we certainly do not always control how we get sick, there is a tendency in commentary to hold us accountable for the risks we take and the precautions that we do not. Certainly not every case of a transmitted disease is the fault of the one contracting the disease, but the text spawns conversation about moral and ethical decision making and personal responsibility. So, while one may not have done anything wrong, and may be the victim to those who did, still we all need to be careful. Similarly, one may not have had anything to drink, but gets hit by a drunken driver. We all lose where some are not intentional about paying attention.
With lashon harah, it is absolutely only through recklessness that we hurt another, and in this case, it is both the victim and the perpetrator who suffer. Gossiping is a threat to every community, and the gossiper is set outside of the community � outside the trust of anyone in the community. The one about whom the gossip is shared must also hide (or worse) in humiliation.
The problem with abuse of technology is that it seems to merge all of the above into one horrific situation. People use the internet to grow and learn and in the process of this growth, leave themselves open to being stalked or worse. The �cyber-scams� that destroy assets, put people at risk, and invade privacy run rampant. Simply watching a virtual tour of a museum puts you on somebody�s watch / promotional list. Opening a simple greeting card enables a webcam that stays on filming you even when your computer may be turned off. Cyber bullying is huge and the stories of our youth who commit suicide as a result of this bullying is heart wrenching. There was a day that one would be humiliated in the lunch / break room if gossip spread. Today, one is humiliated in front of the world on Facebook or Instagram. Technological abuse serves to alienate us from each other in ways that no infectious disease has the power to do. It is the 21st century �tzara-at.�
In the same sense as the community longs for the healing and return of one infected, we must be intentional about wanting to return to each other. Certainly the ability to speak to the world and access information easily can bring blessings. Where we rely so heavily on technology that we divest from a personal investment in each other, we all lose. The medical and scientific worlds are working hard to find cures for all sorts of biological diseases. Our legal system works hard to move our world into a more egalitarian place in which all can thrive. We need to put similar efforts into healing this illness of alienation, as well. Pick up the phone and call someone with whom you have only been �virtually� speaking. Now, didn�t that feel great? Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Khallah � �Life and death are in the power of one�s mouth.� (Proverbs).

Shabbat Shalom With A Heart Healthy Dose Of Torah -
Shemini
by Rabbi Marc Kline

Once again, we face an interesting dilemma in Torah. In the middle of this week's Torah portion, Aaron's sons, Nadav and Avihu perish. Whether what they did was right or wrong is still up for debate, but the instructions to the rest of Aaron's clan was quite determinate: they were not to mourn the loss. The explanation for the silence is intriguing. Even while most scholarship will argue that the young men did something wrong that warranted their death, the reading is not uniform. While the medieval scholar RASHI condemns the boys, he then reads the next verse in a very different light. �Then Moses said to Aaron, "This is what Adonai spoke, [when God said], 'I will be sanctified through those near to Me, and before all the people I will be glorified.'" Aaron was silent.� (Lev. 10:13) RASHI argues that God spoke those words to Moses in the Book of Exodus (29:43), but only now did Moses understand them. �Aaron, my brother, I knew this House was to be sanctified by ones beloved of God, but I thought it would be either through you or through me. Now, I see that Nadav and Avihu were greater than you or I.� (Vayikra Rabbah 12:2)
I understand that God seeking sanctification through taking a human life is not a foreign concept to large pieces of the religious world, but it is outside of my tradition. I am not going to debate that here. What hit me from this episode, though, was not that it happened, but Moses and Aaron�s response to what happened. The humility Moses displays is really quite amazing. We tout Moses as the teacher of all teachers and Aaron as the highest of high priests. We have seen religious leaders all over the world, and throughout history, rally the troops around their own charisma. At least in the way RASHI reads this text, Moses divests himself and Aaron of having any special status, instead, imputing the status of �exemplar� to Aaron�s sons.
As we look around the world and see the enormity of problems caused by ego, I find this take on text wonderfully refreshing. Daily, we read of the threats from North Korea, as the brash young leader�s rhetoric aims at growing his own demagoguery. Political pundits make fortunes through bombastic attacks on our government, the people who seek to serve our government, and the other bombastic pundits with whom they disagree. I know one religious leader who, while wearing blue jeans and slicked hair, claims to be the singularly chief selected follower of Jesus Christ � above any other Christian. In my own tradition, I sometimes find it difficult to attend gatherings with other colleagues as they try to �out rabbi� each other. The list of ego based abuse is, in my opinion, the single largest driving force leading to the destruction of relationships and peace in our world.
Sometimes people really do believe their own rhetoric. There are times that the ego speaks loudly to protect the spirit�s fragile insecurity. There are times that this abuse happens solely out of the selfish intent of elevating one�s public name (and bank account) even (and sometimes especially) at the expense of another�s basic dignity. And, sometimes, the rhetoric ramps up so high, that there is no way to back down and save any face at all. The number of relationships that suffer ruin, simply because one does not have the sense or strength to back off of a fight they caused, is staggering.
Here, though, we have two of the greatest religious personalities in western world religious tradition demonstrating their own humility. Perhaps one of the factors that feeds their legacy is this sense that neither of them ever took the mantle and made it all about them. Moses fought God every step of the way, not wanting to be the leader, king, and often not even prophet. God even offered to start over again, and make Moses the focus of the entire peoplehood, but atop Mt Sinai (Exodus 32), Moses refused to wear that honor. Moses argued with God, but served God. Moses argued with the people, but served them. And this act of humility happens at a time when most people would need to lift themselves up and seek a great deal of attention, No, Moses tells Aaron and his children to keep living their normal lives, and remember that they are blessed.
We spend inordinate amounts of time thinking and worrying about only us. We spend a lot of energy doing the work of inflating our own sense of self-worth. Moses, though, teaches us that our worth is found in who we are, not in how we call attention to ourselves � and not what another thinks of us � even, in this case, God. Moses and Aaron go on to continue their service to our people, and are considered great not for what they said about themselves, but for who they were and what they did to serve. I love this paradigm, and my prayer is that we can all find a way to proffer our names less and our hearts more; that we can see past our need for personal recognition to the gift of knowing that we matter and have value simply because � we are. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom With A Heart Healthy Dose Of Torah -
Tzav Tzav
by Rabbi Marc Kline

I used to profess that a sandwich could not qualify to be a �good sandwich,� unless it was really messy. Think about the greasy cheeseburgers, the drippy runny Reubens, and the subs (hoagies or po�boys) with stuffing falling out all over the place that just seem to ooze (pun intended) flavor. I say that �used to pro...fess� for two reasons: 1. I really do pay a whole lot more attention to the nutritional value of what I eat � and greasy, drippy, runny, falling out stuff just seems antithetical to the notion of �healthy.� 2. I violated the �modernity rooted rules� of passively ignoring Leviticus as being outdated and obsolete, and actually spent some in depth time with the text � this week�s text. The description of what happens at the altar is just beyond gross and messy. Between the two factors, the thought of cheeseburger grease running down my arm and clogging my arteries is just � not what I am interested in doing. While I can certainly choose to avoid really messy foods, I really cannot avoid wrestling with this text.

So, here I am. The year is 2013 and I am looking at texts that changed my dietary practice, that make me cringe at the thought of what these folks are doing to these animals, and all of this about a practice that has not been real for the last 1933 years (if it ever was done this way). What makes it worse, is that there are folks out there who think that Jews still do these things (again, presuming that we ever did them all).

What do we do with outdated and obsolete texts and practices? Some people respond by arguing that you ignore them and move on. Others will argue that you venerate them, put them on a shelf, and pay homage to the great days of yesteryear when they used to be relevant. There are even those amongst us who will argue that we are still supposed to do these burned offerings, but they can only be done on a specific altar in Jerusalem, and once it is rebuilt and stands again, we will do them again. I personally think (and hope) the last one is the most wrong answer. There is another answer that we need to consider; perhaps they are not outdated or obsolete? Ok, the offerings at the altar piece may be, but that does not mean that the text has nothing to offer. In fact, by the time the early commentaries are written, these Temple practices (whatever they had been) were no longer. Thus, from the beginning of the Rabbinic tradition, the value of the Bible�s history was of far less value than the allegory and ethics of the lessons that its stories taught. As to this week�s text, the sages offer a host of potential sermonic lines. One of my favorite commentaries points out the absurdity of the whole sacrificial practice. A high priest (ultimate holy man) dressed in the purest of white linens, slaughters multiple animals on the altar, throwing blood and entrails all over the place � all to make a pleasing odor to God. This sounds so-o-o pagan, and I believe that the rabbis kept all of these details to point out just how pagan the whole notion of burning flesh to please God really is

In this vein, the text, never being intended to detail our fire and flesh destroying ritual at an altar, the texts of Leviticus must serve a different purpose. As with every commentary, I never advocate that there is only one meaning for any given text, and I say this precisely because often times, the literal meaning cannot possibly help us thousands of years later: there have to be other possible interpretations. Thus, scripture has to speak now, not just back then. Scripture has to allow us to take our real world 2013 experiences, and make them as authentic to Torah as if they were spoken at Mt. Sinai.

So, specific to this week�s Torah portion, the idea that the description of what happens at the altar is gross and disgusting. It does not take much of a leap to understand why that scene reminds me of the above referenced �disgusting sandwiches.� It also makes me ask another question, why would a purification rite be so gross? It is in this question that one truly sees that value of these ancient stories. Purification is messy, and it has always been messy. Cleaning the �filth� from our lives has never been easy, and has and will always cause a mess. Whether it is detoxing our bodies or detoxing relationships, the first pieces of the journey are really quite messy. It literally takes sifting through all of the garbage (the priest separates the entrails, etc.) and putting it all on the altar to be burned (disposed of), before one can really move past the baggage that exists that holds us back physically and emotionally. The pure white garment is now a bloodied mess, but the task of rebuilding (cleansing) is now well into process. The fire on the altar detoxes the person/community bringing the offering, cleansing of body and spirit purifies each of us engaging in the task. More to the point, since this altar described in Torah no longer stands in its designated spot in the Middle East, we have to wrestle with what to do with the command to keep the fire burning in any event. The late Lubavitcher Rebbe, Menachem Schneerson taught that it was not enough to have an altar; one had to keep it burning so that the pursuit of prayer, of study, and purification of one�s spirit could always be evident on the face of one who is intentional in these pursuits. Works for me!

Our texts stay relevant as ethical teaching tools, so long as we can read past the literal words on the page. Where we insist on reading the Bible as the absolute word of God, and the text based instructions of behavior as statements of what God demands from us, the book becomes irrelevant to helping us through our daily lives. Value is never really found in the price tag on an item (its literal worth), for we determine how dear someone or something is by how it touches our hearts. My children�s school artworks are priceless, in every sense of the word, and I will choose to display them over any work of the masters. Shabbat shalom.

Shabbat Shalom With A Heart Healthy Dose Of Torah -
Vayakhel/ Pekude
by Rabbi Marc Kline

I know that I am an odd bird. I know that I have been accused of seeing tradition in all sorts of twisted ways. I am Jew, devout in my faith, and devout in believing that faith transcends religious dogma. For so many, religion provides the boundaries that keep some dogma in and some dogma out. Every day, I find that my Jewish frame of reference demands that my boundaries keep expanding. Moses Mendelssohn receives credit for founding the Haskalah (the Jewish Enlightenment), reminding us that there is no dogma in Judaism, that Judaism is a tradition accepting the legitimacy of faith (even when the frameworks of some religions differ from our own), and that we do not have to denigrate someone else�s belief to hold fast to our own. I am not sure that he gets enough credit for the role he played in the foundations of not only Reform Judaism, but also modern religious post denominationalism. That said, I stay intrigued that a man living in the mid 1700�s, in a world stepped in political and ideological upheaval, could be so focused on a universal approach to faith.

As the Book of Exodus ends this week, we witness a huge shift in the presentation of the Biblical story. The story based paradigm is over, and the Book of Leviticus will use the story only as a transition linking the lists of ritualistic regulations and precepts. Genesis and Exodus span thousands of years, while the entire Book of Leviticus story will not cover even an entire generation of our people�s timeline. Granted, the last several weeks, we have been stuck in the construction of the Tabernacle and the two top of Sinai experiences and exchanges between God and Moses, but these chapters have been the crescendo pieces of the symphony detailing how Israel came to be. It begins with the beginning of life and culminates with the creation of a home in which God and man can intentionally co-dwell.

This is, as I see it, where the problem begins. The Exodus stories, including the building of the tabernacle present no real problems. In fact, there are churches that pride themselves for having constructed their building according to the Biblical design of this Tabernacle. With the advent of a Tabernacle based sacrificial worship, though, the Western religious world begins distinguishing the use of the altar and the surrounding ritual as uniquely Jewish. To this day, there are Christians and Muslims who believe that Jews still do burnt offerings on an altar, �just like Moses and Aaron did.� I have had church groups come to the Temple and asked me where the real sacrificial altar is, since the podium on our pulpit area is wood (and not charred). Yes, this happens in the 21st century. For some, we are the �Chosen People� of God, holding a unique place in God�s love. Of course, there are also the �Supercessionists� who argue that we are relics of history, an example of the curmudgeon based fool who refuses to believe in the �real truth.�

At the end of the Torah portion, Moses finishes overseeing the building of the Tabernacle and designates his brother Aaron (and Aaron�s offspring) as Priests. The text then gives us instructions on knowing how and when we are supposed to continue our journey across the wilderness. The cloud which Covers God�s entry and exit into and from the Tabernacle will lift, and with that event, Israel is to dismantle the structure and move on. In these last phrases of the book, I find cause to think not about Moses of the Torah, but of Moses of the Haskalah.

The tabernacle is not a permanent structure that stands in one land. It is portable and exists, bringing sanctity to every land in which it finds itself. The very first thing we learn about our life with this sanctuary is that it is not static and will keep moving. Whether it is set up on sand, on rocks, on the beach � whatever terrain on which we find ourselves, the holiness is the same holiness, even while the entire scene is different. Such it is with faith. The scenarios and frameworks of how to establish sacred space is different tradition to tradition, but the truth of what happens in the sanctuary does not change between us. Jews do not burn sacrifices any more than do Christians or Muslims. The altar based texts that follows is allegorical for us all, equally, and Judaism (even in its most narrowly restricted practicing communities) no more reflects a literal reading of this text than does any other modern day faith. Only where we write ourselves out of a tradition do we stop owning it. We either all own Torah � we are all chosen � or none of us do/are. Interestingly, almost two thousand years ago, in the Mekhilta D�Rabbi Ishmael (Torah commentary), we read that Torah was given at Sinai, a place owned by nobody, so that no one could claim any greater (or any lesser) ownership over it than could another. The now deceased Methodist Bishop W. Ralph ward wrote, �Faith is raising the sail of our little boat until it is caught up in the soft winds above and picks up speed, not from anything within itself, but from the vast resources of the universe around us.� I find it amazing that whatever religion the boat�s owner practices, the same winds move the same sails, the very same ways. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom With A Heart Healthy Dose Of Torah -
Tetzaveh

There is a joke that I always enjoy: Sammy was called into the Rabbi's office. He was always a little trouble maker, and his father thought that meeting with the Rabbi would help him calm down. The Rabbi, who was a huge man with a booming voice, sat Sammy down and asked him sternly, "Do you know where God is, son?" The boy's mouth dropped open, but he made no response, sitting there wide-eyed with his mouth hanging open. So the rabbi repeated the question in an even sterner tone, "Where is God?!" Again, the boy made no attempt to answer. The rabbi raised his voice even more and shook his finger in the boy's face and bellowed, "Where is God?!" Sammy screamed & bolted from the room, ran directly home & dove into his closet, slamming the door behind him. When his older brother found him in the closet, he asked, "What happened?" The younger brother, gasping for breath replied, "I am in BIG trouble this time. GOD is missing, and they think I did it!"

This weekend is Purim, and in the entire Book of Esther (the story of the holiday), God is missing - never mentioned. There are volumes of debated commentaries as to why this is so; some even postulating that God is present, we just cannot see God. The argument is that the only reason that Esther would fast is a form of prayer. There is a cosmological reference to the reason Esther defied all odds, and despite being a �foreigner,� she became Queen of the Persian Empire. Of course, it was �God�s will.� So, some will try to force God into the story, presuming that if one cannot see the hand of God moving through the story, God might not really be there.

This week's Torah portion poses a similar conundrum. The name Moses never appears in the portion. This section of Torah is unique that way. Sages will need to go to lengths to prove that Moses was in fact there. Some say he intentionally requested to have his name let out of this portion to show humility, as if to say, "There should be one portion where I am not mentioned, so that it is not all about me. Another argued that since he rejected being priest (not sure where this is), he had to be absent from this conversation about priestly things. Another argued that since this was all about celebrating Aaron as Priest, he stood by silently and let his brother have the fun. Even while the text does not mention Moses, somehow our sages felt that if he were not accounted for in this part of the story, the story would somehow be inauthentic.

In case my tone has not yet revealed my feelings, I am really troubled by the notion that we have to go through extreme machinations to pretend that God or Moses is part of a scene or story in which they are not mentioned. I struggle with the notion that God may not be thought present or relevant if not actually mentioned. By extension to the Torah portion, I have problems that one has to fear Moses� disappearance or irrelevance if we cannot place him in every post exodus Torah episode.

The real problem that this presents is how we feel about the value of people in our lives, when they are not � immediately in our lives. Whether it is a close friend or relative who has passed on, or one with whom you have not had contact in a day, a week, month or years, it is unthinkable that we would not hold them in our thoughts, just because they are not with us physically. Yet, this is the problem in our crazily over programmed world. We have filled our calendars with so many time commitments that our ability and opportunity to think about others falls through the cracks. So, we acknowledge people with impersonal posts on social media, form letters attached to holiday cards � or not at all. I am guilty. My job fills sometimes more than 100 hours per week, not including my time with my family or for my own care. I am not complaining � I am blessed to be able to do what I do, but one of the difficult compromises is that when I get to a place to call a friend, I realize it is too late to make the call. My west coast friends hear from me, because they are three hours earlier than me. I can call them at midnight and it is not too late.

The good news for many of us who are �over-programmed� is that we fill our lives with so much, because there is so much to do and we are passionate about doing it. We are certainly not bored. Somehow, God needs to add several hours to each day, or we need to find time � even amidst the wonderful things in which we are involved � we need to find time to remember to acknowledge the people who are not with us physically, but who never leave us spiritually. If they have touched our lives, they continue to walk with us through every future engagement. Where we fail to remember the people who have helped us learn how to appreciate living, I fear that we have somehow blasphemed. These people may not be in front of us, but they are still with us, and we are blessed that they are. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom With A Heart Healthy Dose Of Torah -
Vayigash
by Rabbi Marc Kline

�It�s the end of the world as we know it.� These are the title words of a song by R.E.M. I do not think that they thought of this week as they wrote this song. There is no evidence that the Mayan calendar was on their radar at the time. I do, though, think that the song is prophetic. The lyrics speak about our failure to pay attention to each other. At one point in th...e song, we hear, �A tournament, a tournament, a tournament of lies. Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives; and I decline.� Every day, we have the opportunity to see new ways of paying attention to each other. Every day, we face alternative ways of looking at the world. There is always the choice for renewal, but too often, we decline to see differently than we did the day before. We have all heard the words, �This is the way we have always done it.� I think our way of living is at risk, but I do not think it has anything to do with the Mayans.

While I am not one to be a fatalist, I do believe that sometimes coincidences are too � too � too coincidental to be mere coincidence. I am looking at a Torah portion that speaks to this very notion of insurmountable inertia: things do not change without real upheaval. Jacob was a deceiver. He cheated his brother out of the birthright and then the blessing. He cheated his father and his father-in-law. He deceived his wife Leah into thinking he valued her. His sons all have issues and Joseph lords himself over his brothers and his parents (Jacob included). Joseph becomes second in charge of all Egypt, and lords himself over people there. In an effort to �heal the country� from the famine, he collects all the grain during good years and then sells it back to people during the famine. People had to sell themselves into slavery to Pharaoh just to get their own grain back. Jacob�s arrogance destroyed his family. His compensation for the arrogance was the horrible dysfunction in the lives of his children. Reuben sleeps with his step mother. Levi and Simeon slaughter an entire community. His favorite wife dies, and most all of his sons insist on killing or selling his most favorite son into slavery. There are more stories. They are sordid. In two weeks, we will read that a revolution occurred, overthrowing Joseph�s Egyptian regime. The apple did not fall far from the tree: like father � like son. Both lived very selfish and divisive lives. It literally took the revolution in Egypt to break the pattern and produce a Moses, a figure with a far different outlook on life and responsibility. It was, after all, an Israel that had rejected God that spawned Moses. Even Moses could not free Israel; the text reads that we had to be forced from Egypt.

The history of humanity is filled with stories of how societies stuck in old ways of living only changed in response to some catastrophe. We keep wanting to think and act prophetically, but too often, change only comes when it is forced upon us.

What happened in Connecticut last week is nothing short of horrific! I have seen carnage and destruction after bus bombings in Israel. I have held parents who have lost children in the midst of war torn areas. I cannot imagine what it means to lose a child, never mind losing one to the senseless but gut wrenching violence that plays out in our news. That said; I know that we all look at things through differing lenses. I am for gun control. I support a ban on assault weapons. I see no reason how to accept the idea that more guns makes us safer. I know there are many of you who feel otherwise � this is America � I accept that, but I think that people need to re-read the Dick Act of 1902 (as amended in 1908) and the 2nd Constitutional Amendment. The militia provision puts pretty strong restrictions on gun ownership, and does not provide the freedom to own any and all guns, nor does it make everyone part of a militia. In any event, I honestly think gun control is necessary, but is not the solution to this wave of violence. My reality is quite simple. Even while fewer guns give people less access to weapons, the real culprit is our lack of any attention to mental health awareness. It would matter far less how many guns were around, if we took better care of people who suffered the depression, schizophrenia, bi-polar, or drug reaction conditions that drive people to destroy life. We have failed to identify and work on solving the real problems that feed violence, while looking for what one person called �the low hanging fruit� that make it seem that we are making a difference. Gun control does not change the mental illness that makes people look for weapons.

I have a wonderful colleague, Rabbi Judy Abrams. She shared a piece of Talmud with us that is painfully on target. She summarizes the text of B. Shabbat 119-120a quite accurately, �The text gives us a clear message. Unless we protect our schoolchildren, we are doomed. Unless we develop a good healthy sense of shame, we are doomed. Unless we forsake a know-nothing culture, we are doomed. Unless we rebuke one another, we are doomed. Unless we protect our schoolchildren, we are doomed to be utterly destroyed.� I do not believe that we can any more claim this push to change is prophetic in nature. We are being pushed to change. Too many schools, shopping malls, and businesses have made the news as the site of horrific violence for us to claim that we are acting prophetically. We are being pushed to change. We need to address mental health care. We need to address the free access to the weapons that are too dangerous to have available. We need to be intentional about making each other accountable. We cannot let our children die because we do not want to face reality. We cannot wait for the revolution that will emerge from the chaos, or there will arise a new king who does not recognize the freedoms of which we too often take for granted. I cherish life. I cherish the hope for peace. I pray for help for those who are in need, for giving them real help helps secure my future peace. I pray that this is not the end of our world, but the beginning of our greater commitment to care for each other. I pray that we celebrate this potential for peace and that this Sabbath will find us more committed to each other�s peace. Shabbat shalom.

Shabbat Shalom With A Healthy Dose Of Torah

by Rabbi Marc Kline

This is going to sound like a stretch, but as I read this week�s Torah portion, preparing to wax profoundly on some hidden meaning in the text, I had the oddest thought. I read �They took Joseph and threw him into the pit. The pit was empty, without water in it (Gen. 37:24),� and, for whatever bizarre reason, I started thinking about our fire pit in the back yard. When we light and stoke a fire in the pit, the warmth radiates through the community, and people just show up to join us. The light of the fire is as though a beacon, calling ships lost at sea to follow the light and return safely. The light calls on people to come join us and share in the light and the warmth. Thinking about the warm experiences we have shared around the pit, I then look back at this text and see not a welcoming tool, rather a source of exile and pain. As I thought about the pit of welcome and the one of exile, I struggled with the dichotomy. At the end of Shabbat we participate in a service of �Havdallah. The word Havdallah most literally means a separation. The final benediction of the service reminds us that we are separating ourselves from the sacredness of Shabbat, and returning to the regular week. Hamavdil baen kodesh l�khol - separating the sacred from the profane. The pit of welcome and the pit of Joseph: hamavdil baen kodesh l�khol.

I guess that there is a piece of me that has always read this portion and ached. On the one hand, one cannot help but sympathize a little with Joseph�s brothers. Joseph is � a class �A - Number One� jerk. This is, after all, an apple that did not fall far from his father�s tree. Jacob cheated his brother and parents. Jacob cheated his father in law, and at least one of his wives (Leah) felt unloved, even while Jacob continued to use her sexually. His most favored son, Joseph, lords himself over his own brothers and over his parents (and presumably step-parents, as well). His behavior, even while irritating his father, is met with a showering of love and affection, preferred status amongst all children, and a gift that is almost as famous as is any other object mentioned in any ancient scripture. Whether Joseph�s coat was colorful (as per accepted mythology) or special because it had sleeves (the more literal reading), it is clearly the �reward� for very bad behavior. His brothers ultimately strip him of the coat and soak it in animal blood. In so doing, demonstrate both their justifiable disdain for their brother and for their father�s sense of favoritism. Without any ability for even self-sustenance, Joseph is abandoned in the pit � and then further alienated as he is sold into slavery. At the end of the Joseph story, he will attempt to validate them. Later on, he will effectively tell his brothers that they may have been bent on evil in throwing him into the pit and then selling him into slavery,

but they were really doing God�s will. Had he not been sold into slavery, he could never have risen to prominence in Egypt that allowed him to save everyone from the famine. Traditionally, the sages see this statement more as an additional poke in his brothers� eyes than any statement of reconciliation or justification.

On the other hand, is there any justification for violence and the infliction of pain on another? While we can all sympathize with Joseph�s brothers� feelings, there is no way in which we can validate their responses. The pain they inflicted upon their brothers (let�s not forget Benjamin), their father and their whole household is only devastating. Even while it is Jacob who created the �monster,� he is now only old and broken. Certainly the brothers cannot be rejoicing in the result of their actions! Yes, they got rid of Joseph, but Torah is amazingly astute in its failure to demonstrate anything other than increased hardship in their lives as a result of their scheme. Nothing ever good came from the destruction of another.

There are volumes of lessons one can take from this episode. One can argue that apples do not fall far from the tree. The sons of Jacob are very much like their father. One can argue that ego and bravado destroy lives. Jacob�s ego destroyed his family, and Joseph�s did likewise for his own. My take away this year revolves around this notion that being hurt justifies retaliation. There is an enormous amount of pain that people experience in this world. Some of it stems from intentional actions and some from the serendipity of circumstance. The news is filled with the most horrific of responses to this pain. The mass killings in malls and offices, the trust betrayals that make for sordid but sellable headlines, and the so many stories we read about (or participate in) where one act of violence seems to justify the next.

I believe in my heart that violence comes from brokenness. Even those who commit violent acts with intention do so because they do not have the skill set to see or know better. Their violence is not the sum of who they are, it is only the sum of their broken pieces. Where we respond violently, we can break even more pieces (ours and theirs) or we can change the course of behaviors. It takes a lot of strength to be hurt and not respond in kind, but our world needs strength. It takes courage to control our responses to pain such that the first shot does not become an all-out war, but our world needs courage. It takes a lot of love to see that people are in pain and in need, and this world needs a lot more love. It is the warmth that grows as we gather people around us, around our fire pit, that keeps them from feeling estranged � that keeps them from alienating us. Joseph�s dreams of grandeur destroyed lives. I pray that my dreams restore them. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom With A Heart Healthy Dose Of Torah -
Khayae Sarah

by Rabbi Marc Kline

I am glad the elections are over. I am unfortunately accustomed to politicians bashing each other during elections, but this time I am mediating between citizens bashing each other over which candidates and causes each supported. We have a tradition of moving on the next day, returning to our lives, ...

but this year already seems different. Of this situation, I am greatly saddened and concerned. I am struggling to find a limb to grab, upon which I can argue the need to rethink how we treat each other. I often try to remember to focus on the paths we must travel back into relationship with each other. I am struggling with this societal situation, and was not sure I saw a pithy solution in this week�s portion. For me, this is incredibly frustrating. So, I dove back into the teachings of our sages, and remember that Pirke Avot reminds us that enlightenment does not always scream at us from the pages of scripture. We have to turn it over and over, and massage the text. We have to remember that it is often not the words of scripture that are the keys to enlightenment, but the spaces in between the words. An individual may be able to play each and every note on a musical page, but a musician knows that the magic is found not in the note, but how the places in between the notes connect them to each other. It is how we use the places between the notes that makes the difference between playing notes and making music.

So I looked at the conversations between the players in the stories. It hit me that, we usually focus on the two lengthy stories about the death and burial of Sarah and Abraham�s dispatch of a servant to bring back a wife for Isaac. The stories, separated by chapter breaks, certainly seem to flow chronologically, as it seems fairly clear that in welcoming Rebecca, Isaac begins to heal from the loss of his mother. I could not help but rethink the subtext of this plot. Isaac has no relationship with his father. It did not take too long before I was struck with a thought about Abraham�s death.

The text tells us that Abraham has a great many other children, but much time and text is given to his sons Isaac and Ishmael; they are singled out from the rest. Of course, in last week�s portion, Abraham casts Ishmael from camp, and almost kills Isaac. There has to be a huge and burdensome weight thrust on the shoulders of both of these young men. According to Torah, Abraham has no further conversation with Ishmael after casting him from the camp. He also has no further conversation with Isaac after their trip up the mountain. One does not even know how much one brother knows of the other�s plight. As this week�s parsha draws close to an end, the brothers meet to bury their now deceased father. In a shared moment, they bury the past and find a release from their respective emotional burdens and healing from the still festering scars. Even while Isaac has Rebecca, his life story does not begin until after Abraham�s has ended. Coincident to Isaac�s freedom, it is not until after Abraham is buried that we learn anything about the life and lineage of Ishmael.

Both boys, and the story of two great nations were developmentally arrested and held captive until the source of their pain was removed. While this may not be a popular way of looking at Abraham, it is quite literal to the organization of the text. I am not saying that Abraham was a bad person, in fact, text and tradition teaches us otherwise. He was, though, limited by his emotional intelligence and the cultural milieu in which he lived. In other words, he was a great man who still had dark pages in his life story.

What made this point so very clear to me was my feelings post-election. I have to begin by saying that we all know that no civil servant ever got healthier serving the public. Even while it takes a certain amount of ego to run for office, it must also come with a certain commitment to put one�s own health and family life on the line to offer one�s self up for the scrutiny it takes to get into office, and then for the weariness and early aging that comes with the stress of serving. I go next to my strongly held belief that we have a great country that offers potential yoking opportunity in ways that no other place on earth offers (hence the vast numbers seeking to immigrate). With all of this wonderful opportunity, even those of us who benefit from it carry a huge weight on our shoulders. We have an electoral system that is intended to create equality for all people, compensating for densely populated states by giving smaller states higher bargaining power (Electoral College). Even with the best of design and intention, the system only perpetuates abusive behaviors; it disenfranchises its children; it pits brother against brother no differently than Isaac and Ishmael were put at odds - one loved and the other scorned. It is the nature of how we elect officials that causes us to find our way into polarizing camps where the success of our chosen candidate or cause depends on demonizing all those who are the �other� amongst us. Isaac and Ishmael became great nations. Their stories move millions to love, to grow, and to care for each other and for the Earth. This whole story, though, is not unique to Abraham and his progeny; it is our story. This is the story of all oppression humanity experiences. I do not believe that most people hate; I absolutely believe that in our frail humanness, we often look past what we should know about taking care of each other�s dignity, to what expediently stares us in the face. Each of us is Abraham, and there are those whom we love who still hurt from the things that we do. It will not be until we bury the systems that perpetuate pain that we will be able to fulfill our potential. We have to find a different way to elect our officials. We have to find a different way to reward those who stick their necks out to serve us. We have to find a different way to disagree that allows us to grow having heard each other, and not destroy each other for seeing the world through different lenses. We cannot purport to love our country because of the Democratic system it promises, and then tear each other apart as haughty winners or disgruntled losers. Especially now, I pray for peace. Shabbat shalom.

Shabbat Shalom with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah Va-et'chanan

Shabbat Shalom with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah Devarim

Shabbat Shalom with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah Matot-Massei

Shabbat Shalom with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah Balak

Shabbat Shalom with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah Korach

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Va-et'chanan

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Devarim

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Matot-Massei

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Balak

Shabbat Shalom with a
Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah
Korach