They say that clothing makes the man, and jewelry makes the woman. Today’s Torah portion is all about clothing and jewelry. But there is a point to these instructions.

Remember those bands from a few years ago that said WWJD. No, it did not mean as someone suggested, “Worldwide Jewish Domination.” It stood for “What would Jesus Do,” and if you looked at the bracelet on your wrist you might remember what you were supposed to do—be like Jesus, act like G-d. In Latin, Imitatio Deo, imitating G-d.

We have a tradition of imitating G-d too. Sifre Eikev, which we read this morning says,  “To walk in God’s ways” (Deuteronomy 11:22). These are the ways of the Holy One: “gracious and compassionate, patient, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, assuring love for a thousand generations, forgiving iniquity, transgression, and sin, and granting pardon” (Exodus 34:6). This means that just as God is gracious, compassionate, and forgiving, you too must be gracious, compassionate, and forgiving.” The text continues that as G-d clothed the naked, we should clothe the naked. As G-d visited the sick, you should visit the sick. As G-d fed the hungry, you should feed the hungry. As G-d buried the dead, you should bury the dead.” So walking in G-d’s ways is imitating G-d.

We know the expression, “I’ll be there with bells on….”, meaning something like I am excited and pleased to come. I will be there to celebrate, wearing my finest. It first appeared in a F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. But its roots go much deeper. Some say that it is a reference to the bells that teamsters would tie on their horses that were transporting goods. If their wagon broke down, then another teamster would ask for their bells as a reward. Arriving to their destination “with bells on,” was a source of pride. Some say it is a reference to the bells or knobs that were on beds in England. Or it is a reference to the bells on a jester’s costume. Or to the bells that told the time in a naval watch.

There are lots of popular cultural references to bells and faith. In the movie, It’s a Wonderful Life we are told that “Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.” While I don’t think that is true, I love the movie. For George, the bell becomes a reminder to be grateful for his life, his wonderful life. Something he didn’t understand until his guardian angel showed him what the world would be like if he hadn’t been in it, thus earning his wings.

In another Christmas story, Polar Express, a boy, from Grand Rapids no less, has lost his love of Christmas. He is whisked away to the North Pole and because he is a good kid and helps other kids on the train, is given the privilege of receiving the first gift of Christmas from Santa—a bell—, which then falls through the hole in his robe pocket. Santa finds the bells and delivers it all wrapped up. When he opens his gift, he and his sister can hear the bell, but his parents cannot and assume it is broken. Chris Van Allsburg ends the book with  “At one time, most of my friends could hear the bell, but as years passed, it fell silent for all of them. Even Sarah found one Christmas that she could no longer hear its sweet sound. Though I’ve grown old, the bell still rings for me, as it does for all who truly believe.”

So the bell has to do with belief, with faith.

But many say it comes from this week’s Torah portion. The cohanim, the priests, needed to sew gold bells and pomegranate-shaped tassels of blue, purple and scarlet, onto the hems of their robes.

Why? Like the phrase “with bells on” the text does not give us an answer. The pomegranate is easy. Pomegranates grow in Israel, one of the seven species. They have 613 seeds and are a reminder of the commandments.

But the bells. They are more complicated. Some say the bells are so that when the High Priest, the Kohain HaGadol entered the Holy of Holies on Yom Kippur, the sound of the bells would signal that he was still alive. Some say that the sound of the bells chased away danger—noise often does. Some say that they were to summon the presence of the Divine. Some say the bells were a necessity to keep him alive, lest he die.

I think all of the clothing and the jewelry that this portion commands are to remind the cohanim, the priests of how they were to behave. Clothing makes the priest. The names of the twelve tribes were inscribed as a reminder. Each of the jewels on the breastplate was one of the tribes, as a reminder. The Talmud itself teaches something similar. Each of the pieces of clothing reminds the priest to avoid specific sins. The breastplate was to prevent miscarriages of judgment. The me’il, the jacket would prevent gossip, lashon hara, an evil tongue, with those noisy bells, which would drown out the sound of gossip. The three colors of the tassels remind us that there are three people who are injured when lashon hara is spoken—the speaker, the listener and the one who is spoken about. The Ephod would prevent succumbing to idolatry. The tunic, like Jacob’s coat of many colors would remind us against spilling blood in jealousy and murderous rage. The robe, against sins of sexual impropriety, the headdress against arrogant thoughts (BT Zev 88b)

Even the colors, the purple, the blue, the crimson. They too served as reminders. Rabbi Emil Hirsch, who helped found this congregation, who drove out on a stagecoach—probably with bells on and is a source of pride for Simon for his commitment to social justice, wrote an article for the Jewish Encyclopedia about color. The white was the color of purity, the purple, the lower animal level, the crimson, the human level and the blue of the sky, Godliness. A more modern commentary added to it and said they represent the four worlds and that human beings reflect a combination of those four levels. It is all of us.

Rashi deduced a law for all the priestly vestments: “From the negative one can derive the positive: if he will have them he will not be liable for death; thus, if he enters lacking one of these garments he is liable for death at the hands of Heaven.” While that would seem a pretty severe punishment, Maimonides rules the same way. Getting too close to the Divine can be scary, even dangerous.

I think that is the point. Not only is the High Priest consecrated to G-d but every Israelite man and woman is, every Jew is. We are told that we are to be a light to the nations, a kingdom of priests and a holy nation. As Jewish law developed, The development of Jewish law and observance has produced numerous instances of obligations and prohibitions that originally were intended only for the kohanum, democratically extended to all Jews so that we are a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.

We typically don’t wear bells. But we do have a uniform of prayer, of service, as it were tallit and tefilin. These too are set up as reminders. They remind us what our behavior is supposed to be. When you look at the tzitzit on the tallit you are reminded of the 613 commandments or the Presence of G-d or both. When you wrap yourself in tefillin you make the word Shaddai, one of the names of G-d, with the straps. When I wear a kippah, it reminds me to be humble, to “know before whom I stand.” It is like my version of the WWJD bracelet and if I drive through McDonalds or go shopping at Jewel it keeps me honest in some way. I wear other things as well. I always wear the 10 Commandments. I wear a wedding ring that is inscribed, “Live Contented.” I wear a bracelet that is inscribed, “Ani l’dodi v’dodi li,” I am my beloved and my beloved is mine to remind me of Simon’s love.

So for each of you, I have a gift. A little gold bell. Something you can put in your pocket, or tie on a ribbon of purple or crimson or blue. Something to remind you of how to behave, of the 613 Commandments, of how to be a holy person, of the very Presence of the Divine.

Yesterday was Super Bowl Sunday. It is also known as World Wide Wrap by the Federation of Jewish Men’s Clubs. It is an opportunity to “teach our children diligently” and explain the commandment to “bind them as a sign upon your arm and as a sign before your eyes.” What does that phrase mean? To put on tefilin, phylacteries, strips of leather with these very words in little boxes. To wrap yourself.

At Congregation Kneseth Israel, we wrapped. The men did tefilin and the older Hebrew School students, 4th through 8th grade did tallit. Why? Because we are commanded to wrap ourselves in fringed garments too. Most kids will wear a tallit for their Bar or Bat Mitzvah. They may never attend a weekday morning service where tefilin are used.

I struggle with this event every year. While I like the commandment to wrap yourself with fringes (tzitzit), tefilin just don’t speak to me. So much so, that when I was applying to rabbinical school after college I ruled out Jewish Theological Seminary because they were going to require women to wear tefilin.

Let’s be clear. As I read halacha, women are exempt from the commandment to wear tefilin but they are not prohibited from wearing them. If a woman wants to, she can and should be able to. One year for the World Wide Wrap I began my discussion with a picture of Tefilin Barbie. http://www.hasoferet.com/bar/barbie.shtml What does this doll say about where we are in American Jewish society? That we have made it? Is it good for the Jews or bad for the Jews? That it is OK for women to wear tallit and tefilin? That I want to be like Barbie? Because usually the answer to the last one is, “No, I don’t want to be like Barbie.” Ultimately I think it is mixed.

This year there has been a lot of chatter about Orthodox girls being allowed to wear tefilin. At one Jewish day school in Riverdale, two high school girls have now been permitted to wear tefilin. http://forward.com/articles/191256/modern-orthodox-high-school-in-new-york-allows-gir/ Rabbi Lookstein, at Ramaz on the Upper East Side has said that girls would be granted the opportunity to daven with tefilin if so requested, but he has yet to receive such a request. http://www.haaretz.com/opinion/.premium-1.571258

This is exciting big news. 

However, these decisions have come with quite a bit of controversy in the Orthodox community. One of the best pieces of writings was in Ha’aretz: http://www.haaretz.com/opinion/.premium-1.571258

I have seen these arguments before, used on both sides. While I like the intellectual stimulation and challenge of following these arguments, I don’t like what it does to spirituality. It actually breaks the spirit. Here are some girls, who want to do something that has been permitted in the past arguing for their halachic rights. If it enhances their spirituality and their meaning and doesn’t really break halacha, let them do it. Similarly, the Men’s Club looked a series of videos on youtube about how to correctly wrap tefillin–and how not to! The language employed in some bashing the other methods were cruel and bullying. That can never be appropriate. That can never be halachic.

Neither is calling a woman an abomination. Several years ago, Noa Raz was physically assaulted by an ultra-Orthodx man in Beersheva’s Central Bus Station. According to the press release, the man asked Raz twice if the imprints were from tefillin. When she told him they were, he began to kick and strangle her while screaming “women are an abomination.” Raz, who practices Conservative Judaism, and is studying at the Fuchsberg Center, broke free from the man and boarded her bus. http://jta.org/news/article/2010/05/13/2394791/conservative-woman-attacked-for-tefillin-imprint

Traditionally, it is clear that tefilin have been the domain of men. Something men are obligated to do, required to do. Women can–as long as they are consistent with it, take it on as a commandment. And from the earliest times we know that some have. We learn in the Talmud that “Michal, daughter of the Cushite wore tefilin and the sages did not protest.” (Eruvin 96a) In another place it states that “Michal, daughter of King Saul laid tefilin.” (JT Eruvin 10:1, 26a) But just as quickly we are told that “Women, slaves and minors are exempt from the recitation of Sh’ma and from tefilin but are obligated for the Amida prayer, mezuza and birkat hamazon.” (Berachot 3:3). This last mishnah plus the idea that tefilin are men’s clothing (also prohibited) is what gives credence, despite the references to Michal, to the prohibition of women donning tefilin according to the Shulchan Arukh and other sources.

Maggie Anton contends in her wonderful series of books, Rashi’s Daughters, that Rashi’s own daughters wore tefilin. I love these books. They are great novels and Maggie has done substantial historical and textual research. They make medieval Jewish France and Germany come alive. Nonetheless, while stories of Rashi’s daughters wearing tefilin existed before Maggie Anton’s novels, apparently there is no good historical evidence of their accuracy. Other women in the time period did.  Fazonia, the first wife of Rabbi Haim ben Attar, wore tallit and tefillin, as did Rabbi Haim’s second wife. The Maid of Ludomir (Hanna Rachel Werbermacher) in the 19th century also wore tefillin.

Poet Ruth Brin describes Winter this way:
Falling, deeply fallen, the snow,
continuous, silent, covers the ground,
the roots of plants and trees, seeds, spores,
cocoons, the various multitude of living cells,
covers completely, persistently
the white face of earth,
spreading relentlessly,
continuously,
as we who are masking, always masking,
deeply masking ourselves.

This is Shabbat Terumah. It is also Rosh Hodesh Adar 1, Chinese New Year’s, a black moon and my birthday. That is a lot of celebrating. It was also a snow day, in itself a gift. No where to go. No Shabbat services to lead. Just quiet. Breakfast in bed. Long run on the elliptical. Shoveling. Long bubble bath in the late afternoon light, enjoying the view of snow laden evergreens. It was beautiful.

I am intrigued by this confluence of events. I learned that a black moon is when two new moons appear in the same month. It is an auspicious time. It is also a SuperMoon, appearing 14% bigger, even though it is a new moon.

In Judaism, we can’t have a “black moon” since all of our months start with a  new moon. We have a lunar calendar and because there are only 28 or 29 days in a lunar month periodically we need to adjust the calendar so that holidays continue to appear in their seasons. (Remember how crazy it seemed to have Chanukah before Thanksgiving?) Every so often we correct and add not just a day but an entire leap month–Adar 1. This is one of those years.

I always think that Adar 1 is a gift, a gift of a whole month. But not everyone feels that way. Some see Adar 1 as the invisible month, representing the invisible Dinah, maybe the masking, the hiding of ourselves as Brin described. Maybe that is a gift of winter, as we hide.

Yesterday I met with the seniors at the Victory Center and explained this odd calendaring. They knew Dinah only from “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad” and a song I had never heard (written in 1925) about Dinah in Carolina. I read them the story of Dinah in the Bible. It is not a pretty one. Chapter 34 outlines it: “And Dinah, the daughter of Leah, whom she bore to Jacob, went out to see the daughters of the land. And Shechem, the son of Hamor the Hivite, the prince of the land, saw her, and he took her, and he lay with her by force and he humbled her…Now Jacob heard that he had defiled Dinah his daughter, and his sons were with his cattle in the field, and he was silent until they came.”

The text is not explicitly clear what happened to Dinah and then she disappears. She is invisible. Jacob is silent. Jacob cares more that the sons created a problem for him rather than caring for Dinah. Anita Diamant wrote a whole book, the Red Tent, on the New York Times bestseller list for years, to tell the story from Dinah’s point of view. One of the women yesterday said, “He raped her.” She then went on to say, “I was raped when I was 12 and I was invisible. I never talked about it again.”  And that is the gift of Adar 1, to make the invisible, visible. To feel safe to say the unspeakable. To gather strength and courage in the dark of winter. To be able to see the new moon.  It is a gift.

The women understood the importance of gifts. It is about life, health, children, education, kindness. A doll, a drum, a soccer ball are less important. Fleeting.

Our Torah portion today begins, “G-d spoke Moses, saying, Speak to the children of Israel, have them bring Me an offering, a gift. Take My offering from everyone whose heart compels him to give.” What are these gifts? Does G-d require gifts? The Torah mentions gold, silver, copper, fine linen, ram’s skins, purple, crimson, blue yarn, jewels, even dolphin skins. Where did they ever find dolphin skins in the desert? Why the detail?

Sometimes I have students try to build a model of the mishkan. They read the text, give me a shopping list and I go to Michael’s. I buy leather, “jewels”, gold and brass rings, balsa wood. I’ve never found dolphin skins. Sometimes they build a model out of legos. This year the kids seem to want to build it in MineCraft.

Ruth Brin in her poem “Building” has it right:
Out of the cedars of the forests
the ores of the mountains
the stones of the hills
the copper of the desert,
from the earth itself,
the metals hidden in the earth
and the life that springs from the earth,
they built the Temple
where they came to worship
the Creator of the earth.
The Temple was a psalm of stone.

Building a tabernacle is about making holy space. It is about the gift of the spirit. Our homes are to be a mikdash me’at, a little sanctuary, a little tabernacle. I am grateful for the gift of my home. How lovely are our dwelling places, “mishkanotecha Yisrael.” It has heat and light and warmth and that wonderful spa tub with a view of the evergreens.  I admit I am not much of a builder. But every year we would build a Lincoln Log cabin for Lincoln’s birthday (also in February). We would make a cherry pie for Washington’s birthday. It was a tradition; a ritual. Of course we used to joke if we did it once it became a tradition. You try it. Those rituals are about making holy space too.

Today I received a gift. Not a material gift. It was a bright red cardinal that perched outside in the snow. It seemed to watch me while I was running on the elliptical. I remember the first year after my mother died, Simon and I were in Ogunquit for my birthday, and a bright red cardinal appeared against the bright blue sky. They have appeared other times too. Earlier today someone had said, “A cardinal is a representative of a loved one who has passed. When you see one, it means they are visiting you. They usually show up when you most need them or miss them. They also make an appearance during times of celebration as well as despair to let you know they will always be with you. Look for them, they’ll appear.” My mother was a cardinal. She grew up in Saint Louis. She rooted for the Cardinals all her life. She collected cardinals. I have one that peeps in my office. And here it was, a perfect gift on a snowy morning.

My mother tried to celebrate every day, especially in February. My birthday, ground hog’s day, Lincoln’s Birthday, Valentine’s Day, her anniversary, Washington’s Birthday, Girl Scout Thinking Day. And then, the days would be longer, March would be here and spring would arrive. That was a gift too.

Life itself is a gift. Again, from Ruth Brin, her translation/poem of Shehiyahnu:

We thank You, Eternal G-d
for telling us,
“My love around you,
My blessings on you
have surely brought you to this day.”

Someone told me yesterday that birthdays are to be celebrated, because they mark the day you came into the world, that you enriched the world, just by being born. May we each hear the Divine telling us, “My love around you. My blessing on you.” That love is a gift. May it be so for each of us.

When the police chief of Elgin cancelled his monthly community meeting because it is so cold it is dangerous to be outside, I decided that we needed to cancel a special yahrzeit meeting. It was a hard decision and disappointing to those who wanted to say Kaddish. But with the U46 District Schools and the Chicago Public Schools and now the police chief canceling everything, I didn’t think we had a choice. It was going to be -18 degrees, before we got to the wind chill factors.

For me it was a pekuach nefesh issue. I wasn’t willing to put people at risk to say Kaddish. Kaddish, we have all said, is for the living. It praises G-d for life. The people who wanted to say Kaddish, on the actual day of the yahrzeit had all been in shul this weekend when their loved ones names were read. We would have a minyan on Wednesday. We were just not going to go out in last night’s cold.

Then I had an idea. What if we did a virtual minyan? What if we set up a dial in number like a conference call. People could stay in their toasty living rooms with whatever siddur they had at home and we could davven remotely.

The use of technology to enhance worship is not new to Judaism or to me. When Sarah was little and I was doing a lot of business travel, she would call me at bedtime and sing the Sh’ma. I miss those days. When my mother couldn’t get to shul, Sarah would blow shofar on the phone, or sing the Four Questions. When she went to college we frequently sang the candle blessings Friday night together. It was a special moment. When I was the rabbi at a Jewish assisted living residence we used a videotape of Kol Nidre for our Kol Nidre service/program. For one wedding with the parents of the groom in another country, I had them call in on their cell phone one of the sheva brachot. That way they could participate too.

Just today there was a story on Here and Now on NPR about a congregation in Kansas reaching out to Latin America on cyberspace: http://hereandnow.wbur.org/2014/01/28/rabbi-virtual-synagogue I knew that the Reform Movement have been broadcasting services, first on radio, then television, now live streaming for decades. I know that some funeral homes will help stream funerals to out-of-towners. I personally watched Debbie Friedman’s funeral remotely.

I remembered an article that appeared in Voices of Conservative Judaism about Skyping a Minyan, http://www.cjvoices.org/article/skyping-the-minyan/ Our congregation will videotape (yes, still VHS!) a Shabbat morning service so the Bar/Bat Mitzvah family will have  a record of it and can share it with out-of-town family.

I know that some Orthodox have been asking about the halachic implications of using an iPod or other digitally recorded music on Shabbat because you aren’t creating anything new. I knew that there were a couple of completely virtual congregations, http://ourjewishcommunity.org and http://punktorah.org most notably.

But would ours feel like a community? Would it count? Would people be “yotzei”, fulfilling in their obligation to say Kaddish.

I decided to try it. In an hour and 15 minutes, I had set up a conference call line, sent out emails, posted it to Facebook, called the people who were actually observing yahrzeit, and ran through a service from Siddur Sim Shalom picking extra readings from A Minyan of Comfort. At 8:10PM I dialed in. By 8:14 we had a minyan on the line. We davvened. I sang. I read. We didn’t all have the same books, but we had the same words in the Hebrew. There seemed to be a brief delay. We were not all on the same pace. I missed seeing people’s faces (but that is true when I davven Sephardic style in the center of the people as well).

Would I change some things? Yes. I would give more notice. Would I try Skype? Maybe. But there are still delays on Skype and it is harder to set up because people need to download the application first. Anyone can dial into a conference line. Would I try some other conferencing program or maybe Google. Perhaps. Did I go back to look at what the Conservative Movement says after the fact. You bet. Here is what I found:

In 1998 Rabbi Avraham Reisner and the Committee on Jewish Law and Standards (the halachic body of the Conservative Movement) wrote a responsa entitled “Wired to the HaKadosh Baruch Hu.” Accepted in 2001, it concluded that the internet could not be used for creating a virtual minyan. The full Teshuva is available here: http://rabbinicalassembly.org/sites/default/files/public/halakhah/teshuvot/19912000/reisner_internetminyan.pdf

It is best to require a group of ten people in close proximity. It builds community. However, it is permissible to consider oneself “yotzei” if walking by a shul and hearing a shofar. It is also permissible if 10 are gathered for someone to call in.  They concluded that in terms of Mourner’s Kaddish, a mourner  may recite it from a distance, but must be accompanied by a physical participant (a member who is physically present) in the minyan. This preserves community. Without this concluding statement, individuals might take it a step further and recite Mourner’s Kaddish on their own. Rabbi Reisner really wanted, according to Rabbi Miller, to conclude that virtual minyanim could be halachic. He wanted people to be able to fulfill their obligations. And he wanted people who are not able to attend because they are homebound or traveling to be able to participate.

The Teshuva raised some good points. However, it has been more than a decade since its decision. Rabbi Jason Miller asks some good questions here: http://www.thejewishweek.com/blogs/jewish_techs/virtual_minyan_revisited

But for us it worked. On a cold, life threatening night, we met, each in our own living rooms, safe. We had the intention, the kavanah of having a service and so we did. We had knowledgeable people and that helped. Someone mentioned my strong voice carried it. The people saying Kaddish felt comforted by their community–even though they couldn’t get hugs. Virtual hugs are just not the same. However, as one member said, “Virtual? Maybe, but hearts and minds and spirit all together in one place, albeit in a digital manner. If G-d is all-knowing — knowing what was, what is, and what will be — that minyan was acceptable!”

I have written about Martin Luther King junior before in this blog. Most recently I compared Mandela’s writing with King’s after Mandela’s death. Today I am overwhelmed with optimism watching the CIty of Elgin mark King’s birthday weekend.

Our synagogue, Congregation Kneseth Israel, has a long tradition of observing King’s birthday by bringing in a gospel choir to aid our worship. We did it last year and it was a great way to celebrate my birthday as well. The music is upbeat, joyous, a wonderful way to praise G-d and we have a lot to learn from this style of worship. But I worry about tokenism. If that is the only thing we do together, then what kind of partnership is it? Is it real or does it just feel good, we can check off the box that we did something and we don’t really improve the world? This year I tried a different approach.

We participated in the Citywide collection of food in honor of King. The city goal was 12,000 pounds to be used to support the Community Crisis Center, Food for Greater Elgin and the Westside Pantry. Our goal was 40 bags. Our small congregation delivered 67 bags. I haven’t heard the citywide total but kudos to Joe Wars and his team for getting this done. Next up–some of the systemic and economic changes around hunger issues so that no one goes to bed hungry in this country. I commit myself to that part of King’s dream.

Saturday morning we were joined by Ron Raglin, the Assistant Superintendent of the U-46 School District for Secondary Education and Justice and Equity. What a title. I want that one. Just the justice and equity piece. He spoke about his growing up on the south side of Chicago, the fact that having a mentor made all the difference in his life, working in California and then coming back to Chicago Public Schools, eventually to U-46. He and I arrived at about the same time in Elgin–and we share some fundamental beliefs about the need for community organizing, for spending money locally, for mentoring, for the power of education. The meeting that he hosts monthly, the U46 Clergy Council, is my favorite meeting of the month. He spoke powerfully about all of those topics and the need to share leadership, tying it nicely into the portion this week, where Jethro tells Moses the same thing. None of us can do this work alone. Then he pulled up a chair, and he sat, and listened, and swapped stories, and he ate his first pickled herring. He stayed, like he had no place else to go, on a snowy Saturday afternoon, long after most speakers would have left.  Dayneu, it would have been enough.

Later in the day, in a quiet moment at home, Simon and I watched a movie. What did we choose? The Butler. It was powerful, poignant, appropriate for this Martin Luther King, jr. weekend. It helped explain history I lived through, participated in, through the eyes of one African American family. Cecil Gaines grew up as a sharecropper who watched his father shot by the white son of the family whose land they worked. He became a domestic servant, a “house n______”. They use that phrase in the movie! He leaves Georgia behind and becomes a hotel valet who is both efficient and discreet. He is noticed and is hand-picked to become a butler in the White House where he serves eight administrations with distinction.  The reviews call him a “passive witness of history with the American Civil Rights Movement gaining momentum even as his family has troubles of its own. As his wife, Gloria, struggles with her addictions and his defiant eldest son, Louis, strives for a just world, Cecil must decide whether he should take action in his own way.” While passivity was a necessary component of the job of butler, discreteness and invisibility might be better words, many of the presidents checked in with Cecil to see how his son, arrested multiple times, was doing. There was this obvious tension between us and them, privilege and poverty, black and white. Cecil, and the rest of the White House staff, was “them” the presidents and their advisors knew. Quietly, behind the scenes, the Civil Rights Act and the Voting Rights Act got done because the presidents knew people like Cecil, real people. So this is a fictionalized account? Yes. But there were people like Cecils, and Louises, Real people like Nancy and Alyn Rovin, Rabbi Everett Gendler, my parents, the people at the Religious Action Center in Washington and the people at Western College for Women where the Freedom Riders trained, all those who fought for Civil Rights. Real people who lost their battles: James Earl Chaney, Andrew Goodman and Michael Henry Schwerner,Rev. James Reeb. Addie Mae Collins, Denise McNair, Carole Robertson and Cynthia Wesley. The Southern Poverty Law Center gives biographical sketches of all the Civil Rights martyrs, http://www.splcenter.org/civil-rights-memorial/civil-rights-martyrs .We stand on their shoulders. Dayenu. It would have been enough.

Sunday morning, my sixth and seventh grade students were studying Ashrei. One line, says, “You give them their food in its time. You open Your hand and satisfy every living thing [with] its desire.” Many people struggle with this verse. Really, G-d opens His hands and satisfies every living thing? G-d gives everyone food? What about the 19,000 food insecure people in Elgin? Where is G-d. But the kids got it. They explained that there is enough food  in the world, but we need to figure out how to distribute it. One student explains that there is a classmate in his public school class that every Friday he gets a backpack full of food to take home to his family.  We then talked about who is a prophet and we agreed that a prophet is a messenger of G-d, a spokesperson of G-d, a leader. Sometimes prophets can be unwilling, like Moses and Jonah. Sometimes they worry that they won’t be able to do what G-d wants, that they don’t have the skills or the resources. Then we talked about whether Martin Luther King was a prophet. They thought yes. Then they wrote their own version of the dream.

“We have a dream. That there will be no body, no child who goes to bed hungry. That parents don’t have to choose between having a home and paying for food or medicine, heat or clothing. That there is no homelessness. We have a dream. That there are enough jobs for everyone who wants one. That parents won’t be stressed about day care and working. We have a dream, that everyone ‘neath their vine and fig tree can live in peace and unafraid. that we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like water and righteousness like a mighty stream.” Yes, they decided, Martin Luther King, jr, was an example of a modern day prophet. Dayenu, it would have been enough.

Then we had Judaism Rocks, focusing on the Song at the Sea. The theme was “G-d is My Strength and My Song.” We learned that song, Mi Chamocha, danced with timbrels, made bird feeders, watched the parting of the Sea of Reeds according to the Midrash, the movie the 10 Commandments, and planted parsley connecting  Tu B’shevat, the new year of the trees to Passover, connecting Martin Luther King to the freedom of Passover. Maybe, just maybe, we will have karpas for the Passover seder. Dayenu, it would have been enough.

However, the signature event that I attended was the city-sponsored event at the Hemmens Center. I was there to read a litany as a religious leader. The reading was: “We the Religious Leaders of the greater Elgin Area, recommit ourselves to the principles and philosophies championed by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr of freedom, justice and equality for all. We are thankful for the life and legacy of Dr. King.” The community leaders read: “Cowardice asks the question “Is it safe?” Expediency asks the question “Is it politic?” And Vanity comes along and asks the question “Is it popular?” But Conscience asks the question “Is it right?” And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but he must do it because Conscience tells him it is right. As community leaders and advocates in Elgin, we commit to furthering the dream of Dr. King.”

Even before we walked in, as we walked in from the parking garage with my colleagues Revs Dave and Maureen Daubert, I knew this was going to be high-energy event. In the basement of the Hemmens there was a gospel choir praying before taking the stage, there were community leaders gathering in another room. I was amazed at how many people–in the few short 18 months I have been here that I already know. I was warmly welcomed to this group, to this city. After a few brief instructions, we were led to the stage, where I was seated in the front row.

The mayor began by quoting me–he says that when he came for the Thanksgiving service I said that the congregation had been divided (I think what I said is that Judaism is a 5000 year tradition and that there are opinions on everything, and every opinion is correct and preserved) but that no matter who you are or where you come from or what your background is, you are welcome. He thinks that has to be the attitude of the city of Elgin.

The first musical number, Total Praise, captured what I was trying to teach the Hebrew School students. We sing, “G-d is my strength and my song.” They sang,
“Lord, I will lift my eyes to the hills
Knowing my help is coming from You
Your peace You give me in time of the storm
You are the source of my strength
You are the strength of my life
I lift my hands in total praise to You” by Richard Smallwood.

There were scholarships given out, the president of Elgin Community College on the spot, upped the amount. There were connections made, like the young woman who won one of the scholarships who wants to be a nurse with the new president of Advocate Sherman hospital. There was more music–high energy gospel, New Orleans jazz and a rousing rendition of “We Shall Overcome.” The keynote speaker, Orlando Ceaser, spoke about standing on the shoulders of parents and grandparents. He was talking about the Jewish concept of zechut avot, the merit of our ancestors, and asked the question whether the struggle worth the cost. I heard echoes of Peter, Paul and Mary singing “Sweet Survivor.” He talked about leadership. That vision is where you are now to a place that is better, powered by a dream, excited by a dream. But to be a leader you need to know the rules of the game. You have to understand people. You have to have high standards. And excellence has to be the expectation. He wanted all of us to know that we “are loved, deeply, deeply loved.” It was extremely powerful. Dayneu, it would have been enough.

Monday, Martin Luther King jr. Day, I was at the synagogue early. We painted two classrooms. The student volunteers went to have lunch with the mayor and we planned this year’s community garden. Dayenu. It would have been enough. Except it never seems like enough. Pirke Avot teaches, “It is not incumbent upon you to complete the work, but neither are you free to ignore it. The day is short, the labor vast, the toilers idle, the reward great, and the Master of the house is insistent.” (Avot 2:21).

Come work with me. Carry out the dream. Be excited by the dream. Build the vision. Expect excellence.

My sermon this week was not well received. I dared to say I struggle with parts of the Song at the Sea. Don’t get me wrong. I love some of it. I like the idea that this is Shabbat Shira, the Sabbath of Song because we sing the same song that the Israelites sang at the parting of the Red Sea and then we sing Deborah’s song as the Haftarah. I love how the sofrim always right this portion in a sefer Torah so it looks like the bricks the Israelites made as so the very last line has the people of Israel walking through the sea on dry land–just in the calligraphy! I love the fact that we are commanded to feed the birds on Shabbat Shira because they give us the gift of song. I love the fact that Miriam took a timbrel in her hand and all the women followed her and she sang (or chanted) the same song that the men sang.  I love the idea that we learn from Mekhilta that even a lowly bondswoman had a direct experience of G-d while Isaiah and Ezekiel only had visions of G-d. I love the fact that Mi Chamocha says, “Zeh Eli, This is my G-d.” together as one, that all of us need to see how G-d is our own personal redeemer. I love the fact that while most of our prayers are recited in the plural, this one is in the singular.

I understand that the Israelites experienced a very important and powerful miracle and that they were inspired by this awesome sight. They were rescued. Saved. Redeemed. Delivered. Words fail to express the fear, the joy, the freedom, the responsibility. Yet that is exactly what the Song of the Sea is. Trying to express that ineffable.

So I told the story of Nachson ben Aminidav, which was new material for most. Nachson who put his toe into the water and then, only then, did the waters of the Sea of Reeds part. Nachson who waded into the water up to his nostrils, who exhibited such courage. Mechilta, Beshalach 5; Pirkei d’Rabbi Eliezer 42; Exodus Rabbah 13; and others. Do I have that courage. Could I ever?

And I told the story of Reuven and Shimon, that Rabbi Larry Kushner tells in his Book of Miracles. They never looked up. They were whining. They only saw the mud. They missed the miracle. How could they miss the miracle? Would we? Would we be just looking at our cell phones and miss what is going on around us? What miracles do we miss?

But that is not my problem. My problem is with the words themselves. If I were rescued, redeemed, freed, I don’t know that I would be singing that G-d is “a man of war; the LORD is His name.” I am such a peacenik that I don’t want G-d to throw the horses and riders into the sea. I have bought into the idea that we teach at the Passover seder as we take a drop of wine out of our goblets as we recite the plagues, that while the angels were rejoicing, G-d mourned what had to happen. And so our joy is diminished as well.  I don’t want to believe in a G-d which leads others to use these verses as justification for war, as G-d is on my side. And then Miriam–my hero, for whom I am named sings: “Sing  to the LORD, for He is highly exalted: the horse and his rider He has thrown into the sea.” Exactly the same words as Moses. Where is the feminine imagery of G-d. Really, G-d is a warrior? 

But this is why we do Torah discussions, not just lectures as sermons. My congregation taught me. G-d is both. There are plenty examples–maybe too many for me–of G-d as the vengeful, zealous, angry G-d. Destroying the world and saving Noah, Sodom and Gemorrah, the first born of Egypt, after the Golden Calf, the Cannainites, the Hittites, the Amalekites. Examples can be found in Exodus 23:27, Deuteronomy 7, Joshua 8.  Over and over again, G-d is seen as the warrior and destroys the people who stand in the Israelites way–or even the Israelites if they rebel. In this case, G-d is still proving himself. The text says, “Mi Chamocha ba’elim Adonai, Who is like You, among all the gods that are worshipped?” Later, the answer  is clear, “Ain Kamocha, No one is like You.” However, when the Israelites were standing at the shore of the sea, they were amazed, they were awed, they were empowered. It was a WOW moment. This G-d, whom the Israelites didn’t know very well yet, is stronger than Pharaoh, who was seen by the Egyptians as a god.

I don’t get the opportunity to pick and choose what is in the Bible, in the Torah. My congregation told me this emphatically. This G-d warrior is there. A necessary component. As one congregant said, “Deal with it.” And so I am. I need the G-d of love that we see in the 13 Attributes, my Bat Mitzvah portion. And the ‘The LORD, the LORD, God, merciful and gracious, long-suffering and patient,  abundant in lovingkindness, goodness and truth; keeping mercy to the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin.” But from time to time, I need the other parts of G-d. I need Tzur Yisrael, the Rock of Israel, I need Magain Avraham, the Shield of Abraham. I need Atah Gibor, the strong one who picks up the falling, heals the sick, frees the captive and keeps faith with those who sleep in the dust.

What saves the Song of the Sea for me, is the verse, Ozi v’zimrat Yah, vayhi l’yishua. G-d is my strength and my song. G-d will be my salvation.” It is with G-d that I have strength to do the things that I do. Only with G-d. It is G-d who protected me in the wilderness. No one else came to my aid.  Not with Pharaoh or the modern day Pharaohs in our lives. We are told in Psalm 146, “Put not your trust in princes, nor in the son of man, in whom there is no help.” and in Psalm 33, “No king is saves by the power of his arms, no warrior by reason of his strength. The war-horse will not help you, for all its strength it cannot save. Therefore we trust in the Lord. G-d is our Help and our Shield…Let Your steadfast love (chesed) rest upon us, as we put our trust in You.”

Ozi v’zimrat Yah. G-d is my strength and my song. I will keep singing of this G-d. On this Shabbat Shira, I echo these words from the morning service, with Anita Diamant’s excellent lyrics:

If my mouth was filled with song
Like the ocean tide is strong
If my tongue could but give praise
Like the roaring of the waves

Chorus:
It would never, ever be enough
There could never, ever be enough
We will never ever say enough
To thank you, amen.

Verse 2:
If my ears were tuned to hear
The Heavenly music of the spheres
If my heart could rise and reach
Like the crashing on the beach   (Chorus)

Bridge:
So let us praise and let us shout
Breathing in and singing out
Hear the joyful noise of voices
Joined in song

For the gifts that came before us
And for all those yet to come
We thank you,
Amen.

May we continue to be amazed and awed by the big miracles, like the parting of the Sea and the little ones day by day by day, so that we are not like Reuven and Shimon. May we continue to jump in and show courage and strength and faith like Nachson. Now G-d can be both my strength, my song, my warrior and the One who provides unending love and patience. Zeh Eli. This is my G-d. Thank you Congregation Kneseth Israel for reminding me, for teaching me how.

Ariel Sharon, former prime minister of Israel, former minister of defense, died. For me it is personal. When you live in Israel, everything is personal, everything is intense. My response is not rare. It is not an exception.

Some history. Ariel Sharon was the minister of defense when my first fiance served in the Israeli army. He knew Sharon personally as a hands on manager and through him I met Sharon. He was known as Arik, short for Lion of G-d because of his courage and his military prowess in the Six Day War and then the Yom Kippur War.

Because of his military accomplishments and his skill as a general, he became the defense minister. That’s who he was when I met him in 1981. That’s when he became the most controversial. In 1982, there was a massacre of Palestinians at the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps in Lebanon. Sharon was accused of war crimes. In the inquiry that followed, he was found indirectly responsible for not stopping it and not preventing it. The last phone call I received from my friend serving in the Israeli army was to assure me that he was not involved in Sabra and Shatila. It was during break-fast after Yom Kippur.

In 1982, I wrote a paper for a Brandeis student organization about why the war in Lebanon could be justified as self-defense.  Then the unthinkable happened. In early 1983, my fiancé was killed in Lebanon by a terrorist bomb he was trying to disarm, rather than allowing his men to do it. He was following the Israeli strategy of Kadima, “Follow me”. It was the same leadership style Sharon exhibited in the Six Day War. My fiancé died a hero, saving other people’s lives. Six thousand miles away, finishing up my college degree, that was little comfort. The life we were planning was ruptured.

For years I held Arik Sharon personally responsible for his death. I could not forgive him. I followed the news of Sharon intently. He was found indirectly responsible for Sabra and Shatila and resigned as defense minister. He was called the Butcher of Beirut. He sued Time Magazine for libel–the charges were dismissed. The victims of Sabra and Shatilla tried to charge him as a war criminal in Belgium, the case was dismissed. And still i grieved. And still I was not able to forgive.

Sharon became known as the Bulldozer, because he ordered the demolition of Palestinian houses on the West Bank. He promoted the growth of Jewish settlements in what I might call disputed areas of the West Bank. There are those who would argue that his lasting legacy is that he always had the security of Israel first. He was a defender of Israel. But from my vantage sometimes his strategy was ill-advised and he made more enemies, thus risking the security of Israel. That is a subject of much debate, out of scope of this post. I joined Rabbis for Human Rights to support their work stopping the demotion of houses and planting new olive trees. I joined Parents Circle/Family Forum which works on issues of reconciliation between families that have lost loved ones on both sides.

He visited the Al-Asqa Mosque. I wanted to scream, “What were you thinking?” He said it was not a provocation. However, it became the flashpoint for the Intifada. More enemies of Israel made. More people killed on both sides.

Then, Sharon had a change of heart, an about face. After years of supporting the settlements, in 2005 now as Prime Minister, he ordered the removal of Jewish settlers on 25 settlements. He broke with the right-wing Likkud party and formed his own party, Kadima so that he could carry out his plans to disengage in Gaza. Again, we could have much debate about whether leaving Gaza helped create peace, which I think was Sharon’s intention, or provided a platform for more terrorism, which is also true.

We have just spent the last few weeks reading about Pharaoh and his heart. I explained my discomfort with the idea of G-d hardening Pharaoh’s heart. Aren’t the gates of forgiveness always open? Isn’t that exactly what we say during Ne’ilah on Yom Kippur. How could this man who I probably hated have this big a change of heart? Is it real? Could it be trusted? After all these years, could I forgive?

The answer to that, on a very personal level, is yes. Sharon was not personally responsible for my fiancé’s death. He was not a war criminal as others suggested. He was not the Butcher of Beirut as some have called him. He was Arik. Simply Arik, the Lion of G-d, a man of courage.  It takes tremendous courage to change your heart. That is precisely what Sharon did. And in the process he taught me about forgiveness. For me, that is his lasting legacy.

Today my baby turns 24. She is not a baby anymore. She is a capable, competent, confident adult. She is enjoying her emerging life in Los Angeles and I am enjoying watching her. She is full of enthusiasm and optimism. She can conquer the world. She has dreams and aspirations. She has plans for an apartment, for pursuing her acting career, for a new business of her own. She is training hard for the Disney Princess Half Marathon and ran 10 miles today on the elliptical. Far too cold here in Chicago to run outside today!

Yet she still has that child-like wonder and amazement. She can see the beauty hidden in the world. Today we ventured out to see the movie Frozen. It is visually stunning with great music. Listening to her sing, “Do you want to build a snowman,” my own heart melts. An act of true love will melt a frozen heart. But that act doesn’t have to come from a knight in shining armor. In this case, it could be a sister or a smelly iceman, but I don’t want to ruin the plot. It was the perfect way to celebrate her birthday on the coldest day in Chicagoland history. We then had a princess high tea complete with radish sandwiches and hot chocolate (her choice!) and an elegant dinner of duck a l’orange and chocolate soufflés that she cooked. Then a heated game of boggle. Which she won. Of course. I used to be able to beat her but not for several years. And that is the way it should be.

So even with bitterly cold, dangerous conditions, we managed to make her birthday special, joyous, magical. And that is the point. Some people think that celebrating birthdays is a not a Jewish thing. It seems some Jews think to call attention to someone on their birthday might attract the evil eye. Seriously? Yes, seriously. Some even would rather not because the only person in the Torah who celebrates a birthday is Pharaoh. They would rather celebrate the anniversary of starting school, their Bar Mitzvah, their marriage. Or the yahrzeit of a loved one. However, even Chabad http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/481087/jewish/How-Do-Jews-Celebrate-Birthdays.htm  has ways that birthdays can be celebrated in Judaism. And yes, Jews like cake and ice cream (or soufflés and gelato) too!

Giving tzedakah. Davening and giving thanks for your life. Finding a new fruit to experience and saying Shechiaianu. Learning the Psalm of your year. The number of the Psalm plus one (so for my daughter that would be Psalm 25. Use it as a mini-retreat and contemplate your past year and where you want to go. Study Torah. Teach some Torah. Do a good deed. Take on a new mitzvah. Have an aliyah in the synagogue either on the SHabbat before or after or on the day itself if it is a Torah reading day. Celebrate your birthday on the Hebrew calendar. Mine falls on Tu B’shevat. So I do something with trees or ecology or the environment.

My list includes remember and honor your parents. They created you. They created you in love. My mother, after my father died, used to go to one of my favorite restaurants on my birthday, and toast me with one of her friends. I never knew until after she died that she had this tradition.

Chabad says it this way: “Your birthday commemorates the day on which G-d said to you: ‘You, as an individual, are unique and irreplaceable. No person alive, no person who has ever lived, and no person who shall ever live, can fulfill the specific role in My creation I have entrusted to you…'”

Psalm 139 says “You know my sitting down and rising up. You understand my thoughts from afar. You measure my going about and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways. There is not a word on my tongue that You O Lord knows it all….You have made my reins; You have knit me together in my mother’s womb. I will give thanks unto You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are Your works and that my soul knows that right well.” That is the spirit in which I celebrate birthdays. You do not have to be Moses, or David, or even the Biblical Sarah. You need to be you because you are you.

That is exactly why birthdays are important. Because you are you. So Sarah, my baby, my love, my partner in crime. We celebrate you. Because you are you. We love the person you are becoming. We are proud of you. We love you. We love you for no other reason than because you are you. We look forward to many, many (and maybe warmer!) birthdays.

So have your cake and your ice cream too. Have your champagne. Give tzedakah. Make the world a better place. Wonder and marvel at the world.  L’chaim.

One of the best parts of my job is empowering lay leaders to take their religion, their spirituality, their responsibility seriously. Congregation Kneseth Israel does precisely that and is committed to the process. This past Shabbat was Men’s Club Shabbat. There were 16 men who took an active role in leading the service. Some of them pushed themselves to learn new material or pushed beyond their comfort zones. One lead Ashrei for the first time. One lead the Torah service for the first time. And in mastering the material and wrestling with the language they learned something new, deepening their spirituality. One demonstrated a deep, resonate voice in his Torah blessings that I hadn’t noticed before. He jokes that is the only song in his songbook. One chanted the haftarah, his Bar Mitzvah portion, out of the Federation of Jewish Mens’ Clubs traveling Haftarah scroll, a thing of real art and beauty. And one delighted me with his D’var Torah on Parshat Bo. He delighted me because he taught me some things I hadn’t considered before. And his teaching strikes me as being right on target because it forces me to ask some questions at the end. He is our guest blogger today. Here are his words, unedited:

“SHABBAT SHALOM
Preparing for Men’s Club Shabbat is a real treat for me because I always learn so much and I am going to try today to convey some of that knowledge to you.  For today’s Parsha I learned that our God is very literate and a delightful writer of systematic prose.  I also learned from the story of the plagues how patient he or she can be, but how terrible can be the result of God’s exasperation with mortals.  I also had to face the terrible moral dilemma of the retribution directed against the first born of the Egyptians in the final plague.    Lastly, the phrase “Let my people go” has for me taken on quite a different meaning and import. There is a lot here to contemplate.

                                                     COME VS. GO

One of the first things I learned is that nuanced speech can be lost in translation and the story of the plagues is among the best examples of that.   Today’s parsha is called “Bo’ which in Hebrew really means “come”.  The word “Go” in Hebrew is “lech” and both Bo and lech are used in the recitations about the plagues.   Yet whenever God tells Moses to meet with Pharaoh, no matter the correct Hebrew word, the English translation in your Chumash is always “go”.    But, based on the English translation, I wondered why if God always tells Moses to go to Pharaoh and if Moses always tells or asks Pharaoh to “let my people go”, how come this Parsha is called “Come” rather than “Go”? 

 The answer can be found only in the Hebrew words and not in the English translations you have before you.   When you discern the differences, a whole new and astonishing systematic prose is presented that makes sense.

 Once you recognize the original Hebrew words, the symmetry of the passages not only becomes clear, but then they display a beautiful literary brilliance not possible to discern in the English translations.   Unfortunately, as we read the parsha today, you will be able to look in the first line of the eighth plague for God’s direction to Moses with the correct Hebrew word Bo.  But if you a moment to look at Chapter 7, verse 15 relating to the first plague, the blood plague, you will find lech is the right word for go.  

            The three systems of the nine plagues

Once I understood the difference between “come” and “go”, I could see a startling and unique system of very literate prose.  It becomes a kind of acrostic, which you recall is a poem or other form of writing in which the first letter, syllable or word of each line, paragraph or other recurring feature in the text spells out a word or a message.   Our familiar Ashrei is just such an acrostic.   

Bear with me as I try to explain how Bo and Lech are used when God tells Moses to go or come as the case may be.   I have handed out a list of the plagues just so you can follow me.  

First one divides the nine plagues into three subsets of three plagues each, leaving the 10th aside for the moment:

1. Blood                                                                         Go =Lech= 7:15

2. Frogs.                                                                         Come=Bo=10:1

3.  Lice

**********

4. Wild beasts

5. Pestilence

6. Boils

************

7. Hail

8.  Locusts

9.  Darkness 

**************

10.  Death of the Newborn

 Using this analytic device, we are able to discern certain patterns of characteristics of the plague system as a whole.  The first pattern is that Lech    “go to Pharaoh” as the English translations shows, appears only in the first plague of each of the three subsets.  That is regarding plagues 1, 4, and 7.  

 Then we can see that Bo  “come to Pharaoh”  appears in the second plague of each of the three subsets, covering plagues 2, 5 and 8.  See the symmetry?  It’s “Go” in 1, 4 and 7 and it’s “Come” in 2, 5 and 8.   We then can recognize that whenever “come” Bo is used it really means God says to Moses “come with me” and the action always is in Pharaoh’s palace with God at hand.  Whenever “go” Lech is used, the action takes place outside of the palace with Moses on his own.  

These two little Hebrew words translated properly really put the meat on the bones of the stories.

That leaves the third plague in each subset to be accounted for and what we then see is that there is no “come” Bo  or “go” lech, because in the third plague in each subset, there is no warning to Pharaoh to afford him the opportunity to avoid the punishment and Pharaoh is not involved.  The last plague is each subset is simply punishment for ignoring the first two plagues in each subset, and the third does not happen in any particular location.  Remember 1, 4 and 7 are Lech and 2, 5, and 8 are Bo.   3, 6 and 9 are without confrontation or warning and so no Bo or lech.

There are a number of other non-random literary patterns regarding which of the plagues are public nuisances and which are private to the affected persons or when Moses show respect for Pharaoh and when Pharaoh is considered by Moses as an ordinary person.   Okay, that is enough of this discussion of a unique and very interesting systematic description of the nine plagues by a gifted writer, no matter whom you think is that writer.

                                           God’s patience

Concerning God’s patience, a matter we discussed to some extent last week in connection with an earlier parsha, it was not at all clear to me when God hardened pharaoh’s heart or why, until I recognized that is was Pharaoh who hardened his own heart and was obstinate through the first five plagues.  Only when Pharaoh did not change his mind when he was free to do so, did God harden his heart so that the remaining five plagues would get the job done.   God wanted pharaoh at that point not only to let the people go, he wanted what ultimately happened and that is that pharaoh begged all of the people to leave with their flocks, also permitting great treasures to accompany them.  Yes, God said early on that he would harden the heart of pharaoh, but he did permit free will until Pharaoh proved he could not change his mind during the first five plagues.

                                     One crime for another

Next in connection with today’s Parsha, how do we rationalize the killing of the innocent new-born Egyptians as retaliation for the past wrongs of Pharaoh and his Court?  There really are awesome moral, theological and intellectual dilemmas presented within today’s parsha.  Obviously, there are no sins committed by those Egyptian babies to justify the punishment of death, and even Pharaoh should be given some slack particularly when it was our God who hardened his heart during the final four plagues preceding the murder of the newborn.  Moreover, neither God nor Moses warned Pharaoh or the Egyptians about this final calamity.    

This gruesome infanticide is a heavy price for the liberation of our people, but I can only leave you with the question of what heinous crime justifies another.   In the biblical history, we have seen God’s actual or threatened vengeance in the stories of the plagues, the Golden Calf, and Noah’s flood.   Now, in our lifetimes, given the worldwide atrocities of recent years and the bombing of Hiroshima and then Nagasaki, it is a question we and our leaders should pose daily.

LET MY PEOPLE GO

Finally, let’s talk about letting my people go   I am going to take the liberty of reading a Chabad sermonette that captures the theme better than I could say it:

Not surprising it’s called Let My People Go      By Rabbi Yossy Goldman

“The words ring out again and again in the biblical account of the Exodus story, as Moses repeatedly demands of the unrelenting Pharaoh that he grant the Jewish people their freedom.

Actually, the precise words that Moses conveys to the stubborn monarch in the name of God are, “Shalach ami v’yaavduni,”

“Let My people go so that they may serve Me.”

“It is interesting to see how some expressions and phrases become memorable and popular, while others just don’t seem to catch on. “Let My People Go” became the theme song for the story of Egypt and the Exodus way beyond the Jewish community.  It has been used as a catchphrase for a variety of political causes. Unfortunately, the last Hebrew word of the phrase somehow got lost in the shuffle: v’yaavduni  —“that they may serve Me”—never quite made it to the top of the charts.  The drama of the Exodus captures our imagination, while the fact that that the purpose of leaving Egypt was to go to Sinai, receive God’s Torah and fulfill Jewish destiny is less emphasized.  The call to freedom excites the human spirit; the challenge of service and commitment, by contrast, doesn’t seem to elicit as much enthusiasm.”

Goldman then recalls days back in the early ’70s, when Jews the world over were demonstrating for their oppressed brethren in the then Soviet Union, demanding of the Russian government that they allow Jews the freedom to leave the country. Their rallying cry was, “Let My People Go!”   Sadly, they left out the v’yaavduni.    The demonstrators were so concerned about political liberties that they forgot a primary purpose of being free: to enjoy religious freedom and live fulfilled Jewish lives.

Indeed, for so many Russian Jews, obtaining their exit visas and acquiring freedom of movement did little to help them reclaim their spiritual heritage and identity. Seventy years of organized atheism behind the Iron Curtain left their toll. Goldman is delighted that they can live in Israel (or Brighton Beach), but the fact remains that far too many remain outside of the Jewish community and its spiritual orbit.

In South Africa, where Goldman now lives, this situation became blatant.  Blacks have now enjoyed decades of democracy. There have been four free and fair elections where all citizens have had the opportunity to cast their ballots.  It was a long, hard struggle, but political freedom has been achieved. And yet, while confidence levels in South Africa’s future are high, millions of people living there are still suffering from the very same hardships they endured under apartheid—ignorance, poverty and poor health.  The masses remain impoverished and HIV/AIDS is still public enemy number one.

Goldman then observes that political freedom minus spiritual purpose equals disillusionment.  Leaving Egypt without the vision of Sinai would be getting all dressed up with nowhere to go. It is not enough to let our people go. We have to take them somewhere. “That they may serve Me” means that we need to use political freedom to experience the freedom and fulfillment of faith, and a life of spiritual purpose dedicated to God’s service.

I end on that thought.”

So here are my thoughts. THANK YOU for explaining the “Come and Go” scenario because while I knew the words I had not cracked the puzzle and it helps. This is precisely the kind of puzzle that we as Jews, as children of Israel, G-dwrestlers are supposed to struggle with. You leave the moral questions–why does G-d harden Pharaoh’s heart, why does G-d kill innocent Egyptian children hanging in the balance, unanswered. Those we will need to wrestle with further and I invite people to wrestle with them here.  However, thank you for bringing the last piece of the teaching from Goldman. It is not merely “Let My people go.” It is “Let My people go to serve Me.” If we forget the last part of the verse then we remain enslaved to some false gods or we run the risk of idolatry. Freedom comes with responsibilities. A responsibility you have taken quite seriously with this wonderful D’var Torah.

This week we celebrated Rosh Hodesh Shevat, the new month of Shevat which means that Tu B’Shevat, the 15 of Shevat, the new year of the trees is a mere 15 days away, even less now. Perhaps Rosh Hodesh Shevat took a back seat to our secular new year celebrations. Perhaps it got lost in coping with this long Chicagoland winter and several more inches of snow and now bitter cold. Usually I love winter. I like taking walks in fresh powder. I like coming in and sipping hot chocolate. I like ice skating and sledding and skiing. I like grilling steak or smoking a turkey in the snow. I like making snow ice cream. I like cooking soup or roasts or sauerbraten, pumpkin bread or gingerbread and filling the house with yummy smells. I grew up in New York and Evanston and Grand Rapids. I spent years in Boston. I am used to winter. I have coping skills.

This year I admit it, I am struggling with it. My coping skills are starting to fail. Really, drive in the snow to visit someone in the hospital? Really, shovel the driveway again? Really, do I have to train for my half marathon today? Can’t I just go back to bed and wake up when the storm is over? Really, should we cancel services for bitter cold or not? Really. When will spring come?

But then Rosh Hodesh Shevat comes. And I am reminded. The trees will bloom in Israel. The almond trees are blooming. There is a special blessing for seeing fragrant trees blooming. Blessed are You, Lord our G-d Ruler of the universe, who has withheld nothing from the world, and has created lovely creatures and beautiful trees for the children of Adam to enjoy. Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha-olam shelo ḥiseir ba-olamo k’lum uvara vo briyot tovot v’ilanot tovim l’hanot bahem b’nei Adam.