Yesterday I tried a different kind of D’var Torah. We actually looked at sections of the Talmud. It ran longer than I expected but I think that is because people were interested and it was hard to draw the conversation to a close.
Yesterday was the portion that included the 10 Commandments and the Sh’ma. That is a lot of material in one week. I chose to focus just on the Sh’ma. One piece of Talmud that has always fascinated me is the idea of whether someone who is reading the Torah out loud fulfills his obligation for reciting the Sh’ma when this section is read in the Torah. Exactly what we would be doing.

“If someone was reading (the Shema) in the Torah when the time for its recital arrived, he has fulfilled his obligation (to recite the Shema) if he had the intention (to read the Shema from the Torah scroll beforehand).” (Mishnah Berachot 2:1, 13a)

The answer then is yes, it counts in order to fulfill the obligation of saying Sh’ma—but only if the reader has the intention, the kavanah. So I asked the question—what is intention? People answered that it has something to do with the heart, it is something you want to do, not simply because you have to but because you want to. When I am talking about it in a prayer context, it is the opposite of keva, structure. For me it is the thoughts that go on behind the words on the page, that draw me closer to G-d. So as long as you have the intention, the kavanah of fulfilling your obligation, you are fulfilled.

What is this about obligation? Why are we obligated to say the Sh’ma two times a day. What is with this specific prayer? Is it a prayer at all? It seems like a statement.

The Talmud teaches that we are obligated to say the Sh’ma both in the evening (the beginning of the Jewish day which starts at sunset) and in the morning. It asks the question, “From when”.

From what time may one recite the Shema in the evening? From the time that the priests enter [their houses] in order to eat their terumah until the end of the first watch, the words of Rabbi Eliezer.The sages say: until midnight. Rabban Gamaliel says: until dawn. Once it happened that his sons came home [late] from a wedding feast and they said to him: we have not yet recited the [evening] Shema. He said to them: if it is not yet dawn you are still obligated to recite. And not in respect to this alone did they so decide, but wherever the sages say “until midnight,” the mitzvah may be performed until dawn…Why then did the sages say “until midnight”? In order to keep a man far from transgression.
We learn a couple of important things here. That somehow our prayers are connected to what used to happen in the Temple. They are our obligation just like the sacrifices used to be so we are under the same timeframes. We learn that parents then are not much different than parents now. The father was sitting up waiting for his sons to return after an evening of partying and reminded them that they still have obligations. Can’t you just imagine that conversation with your own teenagers who are out past curfew? “Glad you are home. Hope you had a good time. Don’t forget you still have to do your homework, and your chores. You are still obligated to say the Sh’ma.” And we learn about the concept of putting a fence around the Torah so that there is no danger of violating, transgressing its laws. Yes, we can say Sh’ma until dawn. Better to have finished by midnight so we aren’t in danger of making a mistake. One of our members, an attorney, asked how they would know when midnight was. That maybe why the original answer was until dawn. We can tell when that is. Or can we?
FROM WHAT TIME MAY ONE RECITE THE SHEMA IN THE MORNING? FROM THE TIME THAT ONE CAN DISTINGUISH BETWEEN BLUE AND WHITE. R. ELIEZER SAYS: BETWEEN BLUE AND GREEN. AND HE HAS TIME TO FINISH UNTIL SUNRISE. R. JOSHUA SAYS: UNTIL THE THIRD HOUR OF THE DAY, FOR SUCH IS THE CUSTOM OF KINGS, TO RISE AT THE THIRD HOUR. IF ONE RECITES THE SHEMA’ LATER HE LOSES NOTHING, BEING LIKE ONE WHO READS IN THE TORAH. GEMARA: What is the meaning of BETWEEN BLUE AND WHITE? Shall I say: between a lump of white wool and a lump of blue wool? This one may also distinguish in the night! It means rather: between the blue in it and the white in it. It has been taught: R. Meir says: [The morning Shema’ is read] from the time that one can distinguish between a wolf and a dog; R. Akiba says: Between an ass and a wild ass. Others say: From the time that one can distinguish his friend at a distance of four cubits. (Berachot 9b)

Apparently we need to be able to distinguish day from night in order to meet our obligation to say the day time Sh’ma. This section I used to debate with myself driving to New York for rabbinical school. When exactly, precisely, is dawn, is sunrise. Notice that we have in Hebrew different words for the beginning of the day, like we have in English. There is Hanetzh hahamah (the glittering, the sparkling of the sun, just as it is about to come over the horizon about a tenth of an hour before “sunrise.” I love this image and think about it when I am up that early. The glittering of the day. Full of promise and hope. Holy sparks flying. Sunrise is Amud hashachar, literally the standing, the rising of the sun.
When you can distinguish blue from white? That’s easy and car headlights make it much simpler. When you can distinguish blue from green? Harder. Much harder but I was always intrigued by the green highway signs. Why did we pick green for this if it is so much harder to do? What about these animals. Can you tell a dog from a wolf? A dog from a coyote? Between a sand hill crane and a deer? Not always. You need light to do so. What about the subtlety between a wild ass and a domesticated one? I am not sure I could do that at midday. So what is this about? What is it that you need light for? I like the idea that you need to be able to recognize a friend. For me that is about building community. Prayer, therefore, is about community, not just me driving in my car somewhere between Boston and New York. However, is it OK if you are driving and it becomes sunrise to stop the car to davven?

The school of Shammai says: In the evening all people should recline and recite [the Shema], and in the morning they should stand, since it says [in the verse (Deut. 6:7)], “When you lie down and when you arise.” But the school of Hillel says: Each person may recite it in his usual way (posture), since it says (ibid.), “When you walk on the road.” If so, why does it say “when you lie down and when you arise”? [It means:] at the time when people are lying down, and at the time when people are arising. Said Rabbi Tarfon: “I was once traveling on the road, and I reclined to recite [the Shema] in accordance with the view of the school of Shammai, and [by doing so] I put myself in danger of [attack by] bandits.” They [the other Sages] said to him: “You would have deserved to be guilty for your own fate, since you went against the view of the school of Hillel.”

In times of “great need” like leaving early on a trip, a person may read Sh’ma after Amud Hashahar, after sunrise. Maybe stopping on the Merritt Parkway to recite Sh’ma while watching Hanetz hahamah is a violation of halacha? This portion makes the case that safety comes first! Nonetheless, watching the distinction between hanetz hahamah and amud hashachar surely was pretty and connected me more closely with the Divine and these very passages that talk about saying these very words in your home and on your way. Way, path, road is the real translation of halacha. Think about all of this, the next time you are racing to get out of the house for that early morning, 6AM flight. I think that is why you sometimes see Chasidim davvening at the airport just as sunrise is starting.

Why this level of precision? Because we want to race to fulfill the obligation to pray. If we start the Sh’ma just before dawn, at hanetz hahamah, we can be like the vatikin, the alterkochers of the shul, the pious ones. They want to finish exactly on time so that they can begin the tefilah, the amidah at the earliest possible moment. Not so they can get out on time but so they can be right with G-d, whatever that means. BUT nonetheless, if we delay our own recitation until after sunrise, like the kings, until the third hour, when the kings had the luxury of arising, that is also OK and our obligation is still fulfilled. Ultimately, this time between hanetz hahamah and amud hashachar is an auspicious time.

Nonetheless it is important for your ear to hear what your mouth is saying, in order for you to fulfill your obligation.

MISHNAH. IF ONE RECITES THE SHEMA’ WITHOUT HEARING WHAT HE SAYS, HE HAS PERFORMED HIS OBLIGATION. R. JOSE SAYS: HE HAS NOT PERFORMED HIS OBLIGATION…GEMARA: What is R. Jose’s reason? — Because it is written, ‘Hear’ which implies, let your ear hear what you utter with your mouth. The first Tanna, however, maintains that ‘hear’ means, in any language that you understand. But R. Jose derives both lessons from the word.

We have two important lessons here. The first is that there is something really important about not just reading the words silently to yourself. The Sh’ma is about witnessing G-d is One. That is why the Ayin at the end of Sh’ma and the Dalet at the end of Echad are written larger. G-d is One. Saying it out loud so your own ears can hear what your mouth is saying is part of that witnessing. The other very important lesson here is that you should say these words in whatever language you understand best. Is it good to learn Hebrew? You bet. You learn so much of the subtlety that way. But your ears need to hear and understand what your mouth is saying. Therapists will tell you that part of what makes therapy effective is that patients say out loud what they are feeling in their hearts. Their own ears hear the words that their mouths are speaking. There is a subtle difference between “Hear” and “Listen”. We don’t always hear what we are saying. We don’t always listen. This is a command form. Hear! O Israel. The Lord is One.

The Talmud introduces one other problem for me however. Am I obligated to recite the Sh’ma, even though I am a woman?
Women, slaves, and minors are exempt from the obligation (to fulfill the mitzvot) of the recitation of the Sh’ma (keri’at Sh’ma) and of t’fillin, but they are obligated to fulfill (the mitzvot of) prayer, mezuzah, and the recitation of the grace after meals (birkat hamazon). (Berachot 23a)

I spent a semester on this chapter of the Talmud. It is a complicated concept. It is important to note that women appear to be exempt but not forbidden. The argument is that saying Sh’ma is a positive, time bound commandment. But as we have just seen, it is not entirely clear what the timing is. What we do know: The Sh’ma should be said twice a day, when you lie down and when you rise up. Even if women really are exempt, it is permissible for a woman to say the Sh’ma. Even the Talmud in Kiddushin 34a cautions us to not draw any conclusions about who is exempt from time bound mitzvoth, precisely because there are so many exceptions to what a person is obligated to. Nonetheless, prayer, in this case specifically the tefilah is not considered time bound. People—men, women, children, slaves, strangers, are entitled to do it any time because as the Gemara later teaches it is because of the compassion of G-d that we have access to prayer.

Because it was a discussion, a study session, where I divided the group into chevruta, small groups of friends, it ran long. It takes longer for people to wrestle with the text themselves and be able to teach something to the whole group. But it also creates a deeper sense of mastery and ownership. When we finally read the words, “Sh’ma Yisrael Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Echad” out of the scroll, we knew what we were were saying. It was a holy moment, full of kavanah, intention.

So we are obligated to recite the Sh’ma, when we lie down and when we rise up. When we can distinguish between blue and green and the faces of our friends. We need to say these very words out loud so our ears can hear what our mouths are saying and we need to do it with intention—because we want to not because we have to.

Hear! O Israel. The Lord. Is our G-d. The Lord is One!

This past Sunday I participated in Congregation Kneseth Israel’s second annual build day for Habitat for Humanity. I have done lots of Habitat projects through the years. In Massachusetts I drywalled a closet on the day after 9/11. The clergy of Lowell, through the Greater Lowell Interfaith Leadership Alliance had scheduled a build day as a show of unity and solidarity. We could not have imagined just how much we would have needed it. As all the world seemed to be collapsing and it was, we were actively building something together. It remains one of the most powerful moments of my life.
I have built in North and South Carolina as part of a trip to Clemson to visit my good friend, the Rev. David Ferner. I have built in Indiana and participated in a unique winter fundraiser, the SouperBowl, where various potters donate soup bowls and local restaurants make soup to taste. I cherish the memories and my two soup bowls from that event.
I have built in New Orleans, three times since Katrina. Twice was with Microsoft and I applaud their willingness to give back to a community that was hosting a convention. The first time I graded a garden to become a pocket park playground in the 9th Ward, badly damaged by Katrina. This neighborhood would become a musicians’ village and it was great fun and back braking labor to move dirt back and forth in wheelbarrows. But the heat didn’t matter because it was so joyous listening to the jazz and interacting with the residents. The second time Linda Gilmore, a native of New Orleans and a dear friend of mine from Chelmsford framed part of a house. Who would think that we could? Certainly not me. Again it was hot. Again the music flowed. The brightly colored houses that Habitat is creating in the 9th Ward should last for a long, long time. Up on pilings, they should not flood again. They remind me of the rainbow and G-d’s promise never to destroy  the world again by flood. Habitat for Humanity is definitely fulfilling the role of being partners with G-d in this creation.

This brings me up to this past Sunday. Bastille Day. A day where the French people stormed the Bastille because they were denied basic needs. Bread is a need. Housing is a need. The ability to provide for a family is a right. Egality. Liberte. Fraternite.  Les Mis is one of my favorite shows. The music is haunting. The lyrics sublime. “To love another person is to see the face of G-d.” gets me every time and fits with the idea that we are all created in G-d’s image. “Empty Chairs at Empty Tables” makes me cry every time thinking about some of the people with whom I have done social justice work. We have worked on issues around jobs, education, hunger, homelessness, quality housing. During my tenure as a board member, one of my favorite organizations started the Merrimack Valley Project, The Middlesex County Housing Court, Refugee Immigration Ministry, the Merrimack Valley Housing Partnership and a Habitat for Humanity affiliate. Did any of our work really matter? Have we ever made a difference?

So Sunday, bright and early while the rest of Elgin slept and my husband once again proposed to me as he did 28 years ago on Bastille Day, we got up, put on our t-shirts and shorts (IT IS HOT HERE!) and joined other Congregation Kneseth Israel members to help build a house. In our 8 hour day with 11 volunteers we managed to build a floor. Really. An entire floor. When we arrived we could see from the stone basement all the way to the ceiling of the roof. No first floor. No second floor. Just lots of lumber and plywood. Somehow with lots of teamwork, lots of measuring, some extra cutting, lots of joking, lots of water, we got a floor built. Is it enough? No. Does it make a difference? You bet.

There is a funny short film, West Bank Story, that is a take off on West Side Story. The Arab  hummus hut owner laughs at the Israeli next door when he starts to build a wall between the two stores. “Jews in construction, ha!”

Now it is Tisha B’av–the saddest day on the Jewish calendar. In 586 BCE the First Temple was destroyed. In 70 CE the Second Temple was destroyed. In both cases large parts of the city of Jerusalem were destroyed, ransacked and the people exiled. They no longer had a home. For two thousand years Jews longed to return. To have decent housing where they could worship G-d they believed best. This year as I continue to search for my dream home in the Fox Valley, I have been thinking a lot about housing and exile. The numbers of foreclosures, pre-foreclosures, bank owned houses, vacant properties, is staggering. While I may wind up being the beneficiary of one of those homes, each home has a unique and sad story. Sometimes people lose a house because of health reasons or because they lost a job. Our society does not provide much of a safety net. One of my partners in social justice was always fond of saying that most Americans are only one paycheck away from homelessness. It is a scary thought.

Habitat for Humanity is doing something right. It is taking the dreams of ensuring affordable, safe housing, through a process of owner sweat equity, volunteerism and no-interest loans to new heights. Thus far they have built 600,000 homes worldwide and helped house 3 million people. I am proud to be a small part of Habitat for Humanity. This build, like all others before touched me deeply. It is about giving back to my new community. It is about building community, both in my own synagogue and the wider Elgin community. It is about building.

What I said to my congregation on Shabbat:

Today is known as Shabbat Hazon—the Shabbat of Vision. It is taken from the first word of today’s haftarah which we will chant shortly. This is the vision of Isaiah…

That vision is a terrifying one, one of Jerusalem being destroyed and the Temple along with it. He urges immediate repentance so that his vision is avoided. This is the portion we read every year on the Shabbat before Tisha B’av which we will observe as a congregation on Monday night and Tuesday.

One of the connections between today’s parsha, the beginning book of D’varim and the haftarah is the use of a single word. Eicha. How. Eicha is also the opening word of the Book of Lamentations. At first it would appear that by pairing our Torah and haftarah the vision is just one of impending doom. We should only be focused on tragedy and mourning. And sometimes, especially at this season, that seems to be all we Jews talk about. Or is it?

Let’s look at the question Moses and Isaiah are each asking.
Moses says, Eicha, How can I do this alone? How can I bear alone your stress and your burden and your quarrelling? How can I lead this people. This is the beginning of his long farewell address, his ethical will, if you will. He has been doing it for 38 years and he is tired. Worn out. Exhausted. This is a stiffnecked, stubborn people that do nothing but complain and kvetch and believe that they can’t get to the Promised Land. They would rather be back in Egypt. Change is always difficult.

Isaiah painfully observes and asks, Eicha / How it has (or How has it) become as a harlot, a faithful city ”full of justice, in which righteousness would lodge; and now murderer.”
Rabbi Regina Sandler Phillips points out that Moses’s question, Eicha, How can I bear this alone can be understood two ways. One is rhetorical. It is a lament. I can’t do this. The other is the way of problem solving. How can I do this? Let’s find a way. The answer is I can. I would add, together we can. Together we can figure this out.
Isaiah’s question can also be understood two ways. One is lamentation—How terrible it is; the world as we know it is coming to an end. The other way, as Regina points out is one of analysis: How has it become so terrible and what can we do to fix it.
She argues that we need both ways of reading the questions. We need the lamentation and the grief and the mourning. We need to feel our feelings before we can rush into to fix something. She cautions, using Isaiah’s own later words, that our analyzing often leads to sh’lach etzba, literally fingerpointing, where no one takes personal responsibility. Hey, after all, it’s not my fault.
Lamentation is not all bad. The challenge of this question Eicha, How, is to understand the vision and the need for lamentation. G-d understood our need to mourn and saw it as a communal responsibility.
Thus says the Eternal-One of Hosts: Consider, and call for the mekonenot/ lamenting-women, that they may come; and send for the wise-women, that they may come. And let them hasten and raise a wailing over us, that our eyes may run down with tears, and our eyelids gush waters….So hear, women, the word of the Eternal-One, and let your ear receive the word of God s mouth; and teach your daughters wailing, and every woman teach her neighbor lamentation. (Jeremiah 9:16-17, 19)

I want to underscore that: Hear the word of the Eternal One, and let your ear receive the word of G-d’s mouth. Next week when we study the Sh’ma in depth we will read about the need to hear what the words of your mouth is saying in order for the Sh’ma to “count,” in order for us to be “yotzei,” fulfilled in our obligation. We also therefore need to be able to hear our cries, our mourning, our lamentations.

The Mishnah asks What is lamentation? That one (woman) speaks and all the rest respond after her… as it is said, quoting this verse from Jeremiah, teach your daughters wailing and every woman teach her neighbor lamentation. (Moed Katan 3:9) So lamentation was a call and response, a repeat after me kind of song and it was part of women’s leadership. Women knew how to lament, how to mourn and they taught it to their daughters, to their neighbors from generation to generation.

Nevertheless I don’t want to mourn. I am uncomfortable with it. I want to live in the present. I want to enjoy this beautiful summer weather. I don’t necessarily even want to plan for the future, to figure out how to execute the vision that this congregation has worked so hard to develop. I came to Elgin because I was impressed with the process of visioning that this congregation intentionally went through. It was hard work. There were complaints along the way. I sometimes feel like Moses, Eicha, How can I do this alone. But you were seeking a partner, not a solitary leader. I don’t have to. Together, you and I with G-d can figure this out.

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev gives us a deeper meaning to this idea of vision.
A father once prepared a beautiful suit of clothes for his son. But the child neglected his father’s gift, and soon the suit was in tatters. The father gave the child a second suit of clothes; this one, too, was ruined by the child’s carelessness. So, the father made a third suit. This time, however, he withholds it from his son. Every once in a while, on special and opportune times, he shows the suit to the child, explaining that when the child learns to appreciate and properly care for the gift, it will be given to him. This induces the child to improve his behavior, until it gradually becomes second nature to him—at which time he will be worthy of his father’s gift.
On the “Shabbat of Vision,” says Rabbi Levi Yitzchak, each and every one of us is granted a vision of the third and final Temple—a vision that, to paraphrase the Talmud, “though we do not ourselves see, our souls see.” This vision evokes a profound response in us, even if we are not consciously aware of the cause of our sudden inspiration.
G-d presence is everywhere. It is a basic principle of our faith in the One G-d. The entire earth is filled with His presence” (Isaiah 6:3) and “There is no place void of Him” (Tikkunei Zohar 57). Nonetheless, G-d is closer to us in Jerusalem. I remember being in Jerusalem just before Tisha B’av one year where an Orthodox rabbi explained to me that you can encounter G-d anywhere, but here is where G-d dwells and you can meet Him (always a Him) with his newspaper and bedroom slippers. It was an image that worked for me. Somehow in the intensity of the July heat in Jerusalem it is just easier to find G-d.
Chabad.org said it this way: “The Holy Temple was a breach in the mask, a window through which G-d radiated His light into the world. Here G-d’s involvement in our world was openly displayed by an edifice in which miracles were a “natural” part of its daily operation and whose very space expressed the infinity and all-pervasiveness of the Creator. Here G-d showed himself to man, and man presented himself to G-d.” In Jerusalem we can see G-d, we can meet G-d. That is part of the vision.
Twice we were given the gift of the Holy Temple. Twice that Temple was destroyed and we were exiled and the Divine Presence was banished. Or was it? The Shekinah is referred to as the manifest presence of G-d in the Tabernacle and the Temple in Jerusalem throughout Rabbinic literature. It is present in the acts of public prayer, “Whenever ten are gathered for prayer, there the Shekinah rests” (Talmud Sanhedrin 39a); in righteous judgment,”when three sit as judges, the Shekinah is with them.” (Talmud Berachot 6a), and personal need “The Shekinah dwells over the headside of the sick man’s bed.” (Talmud Shabbat 12b).
We are told that “Wheresoever they were exiled, the Shekinah went with them.” (Megillah 29a). Some say that the doves that live at the Kotel are a sign of the Shcehinah’s ongoing dwelling. In our musaf service we pray for a return to Jerusalem and a return of the Temple. Midrash tells us that G-d will build us a third temple. It won’t be human construction and therefore it will be eternal and invincible. We will read a story Monday night about this Temple to be. For now, the midrash teaches that G-d has withheld this gift, this third suit of clothes, keeping it in a higher, heavenly sphere.
We get glimpses of it. Shabbat, according to Heschel, is a foretaste of the world to come where we will have easier access to the divine presence. And once a year, this week, on the Shabbat of Vision, we are able to see this third temple. We perceive a vision of the world at peace with itself and our Creator. What would that look like to you? How do you perceive this vision?
Why does Levi Yitzchak use a metaphor of a garment. It is so personal. Why not stick with the metaphor of G-d dwelling in His house, the Holy Temple? We had a good discussion here. A suit is something that you can grow into or out of and back into again, like being close to G-d’s presence. It is very personal, created just for you, fitting you just right. It has various compartments, pockets, hiding places. It can be beautiful or threadborn. It was like the sparks of Torah were flying and I could see our own communal sense of vision.
Then I explained what Levi Yitzchak meant. G-d chose to reveal His presence in our world in a “dwelling”—a communal structure that goes beyond the personal to embrace an entire people and the entire community. Yet the Holy Temple in Jerusalem also had certain garment-like features. It is these features that Rabbi Levi Yitzchak wishes to emphasize by portraying the Holy Temple as a suit of clothes. This goes back to our vision of embracing diversity—or dare I say it pluralism. The temple itself embraced diversity—it had separate sections for men, for women, even for the stranger among us. It had a special room, the Holy of Holies, just for the high priest and only for once a year, on the Day of Atonement. In fact, while we know about the Pharisees and Saducees and the Essenes, at the time of the destruction of the temple there were some 70 different sects. Each practicing Judaism as they saw it. Each having a different vision. Although the Temple expressed a single truth—the all-pervasive presence of G‑d in our world—it did so to each individual in a personalized manner. Although it was a “house” in the sense that it served many individuals—indeed, the entire world—as their meeting point with the infinite, each and every individual found it a tailor-made “garment” for his or her specific spiritual needs, according him or her a personal and intimate relationship with G-d. Levi Yitzchak’s teaching parallels the midrash that we all stood at Sinai and that G-d created a special voice for each person so that each person could hear just they needed to during the awesome experience of the revelation of Sinai. Hearing and seeing, listening and vision. That is what this week’s Torah and Haftarah portion are about.
For me then, Tisha B’av becomes a day not of lamentation and looking back, but looking forward and acting today to make the world a better place, a better place for the indwelling of G-d. Our parsha ends with hope. Joshua will lead the people and is told not to be afraid because G-d is with him. Moses is instructed to encourage him and strengthen him. None of us has to go it alone. We have our community and we have G-d. We do not need to be afraid. In the end, that is the vision.

“By the waters, the waters of Babylon. We sat down and wept, and wept for thee Zion. We remember, we remember, we remember thee Zion.”

Tonight marks the Jewish holiday of Tisha B’av, one of the saddest days on the Jewish calendar. On this day we commemorate the destruction of both Temples in Jerusalem.. According to the Talmud, in Taanit 4:6, there were actually five tragedies that happened on the 9th of Av.
• The twelve spies that Moses sent to scout out the Land of Israel returned with their report. Only Joshua and Caleb had a positive report.
• The First Temple, built by King Solomon was destroyed in 586BCE and the Israelites sent into exile in Babylon
• The Second Temple was destroyed by the Romans in 70CE.
• The Romans crushed the Bar Kochba revolt and destroyed the city of Betar, killing 10,000 Jews in 132 CE
• The Roman commander Turnus Rufus ordered the site of the Holy Temple plowed under in 133CE.

2000 years later we are still mourning. It is a bad day, and the tragedies on this day have continued throughout history.
• The First Crusade began on this day in 1096. 10,000 Jews in France and the Rhineland were killed that first month alone and in the end 1.2 million Jews perished.
• Jews were expelled from England in 1290 on July 25
• Jews were expelled from France in 1306 on July 21
• Jews were expelled from Spain in 1492 on July 31
• Heinrich Himmler received approval for the Final Solution in 1941 on August 2.

• The fall of the Warsaw ghetto and the deportation of Jews to Treblinka in 1942 on July 23.

While each of these happened on a different secular day, amazingly, they each happened on Tisha B’av. More recently, the bombing of the Jewish Community Center in Buenos Aires took place on the 10th of Av (the day the Second Temple was still burning!) killing 85 people.

There are plenty of reasons to be sad on Tisha B’av. There may even be reasons to be wary on Tisha B’av. It is important to remember, never to forget. But what do we do with that collective memory? What do we do with the reality that Jews have been gathered from the four corners of the earth and that the State of Israel is again a reality?

When I first went to Israel, in 1977, we observed Tisha B’av. It was a very meaningful service. We sat on the floor. We sang haunting songs. The room was lit by candlelight and there were no electric lights. As teenagers we were given the option of fasting the full day, a half day or not at all. Why a half day? Because now that the State of Israel has been restored, our mourning for the exile might/should be suspended. I opted to fast the full day. There is nothing quite like fasting in Jerusalem in the heat of the summer. You really get that sense of burning heat, burning thirst. There is nothing quite like visiting the remains of the Holy Temple, the Kotel in the evening of Tisha B’av and then going to Yad V’shem in the morning. There is nothing quite like that long walk back from Yad V’shem to the center of Jerusalem with no water and no Coke.

Today only 22% of Israelis themselves fast a full day or at all according to a 2010 poll. Others observe the day by avoiding entertainment, visiting with friends or going to the beach.
The half-day fast makes the most sense to me now. First you might ask, why fast at all? Israel exists. We should be happy. We even sing Ahavah Rabbah when it talks about the ingathering to the tune of Hatikvah, Israel’s national anthem. Ismar Schorsch, the former chancellor of the Jewish Theological Institute said it this way:

“But one day of remembrance, enacted wholeheartedly is sufficient. Three weeks of escalating mournfulness, beginning with the fast day on the 17th of Tammuz, threatens to turn martyrology and victimhood into a world view. The creation of Israel has endowed the Jewish people with an unprecedented degree of power that is ill-served by a festering sense of resentment, an abiding angst over insecurity and a messianic zeal to right past wrongs. To brood on our long history of impotence can only blunt our political judgment in an age when so much has changed and obscure the ideals of justice and righteousness that were to mark the descendants of Abraham and cast a beacon for the world.”

I tend to agree. I get frustrated, even angry, who can only see the world in terms of “Is it good for the Jews or bad for the Jews.” While it has been said that in every generation a new Amalek arises, I can’t look at the world that way. Maybe I am naïve. This past year I read a drash about the difference between Passover Jews and Purim Jews. Yossi Klein Halevi writes:

Jewish history speaks to our generation in the voice of two biblical commands to remember. The first voice commands us to remember that we were strangers in the land of Eypt, and the message of that command is: Don’t be brutal. The second voice commands us to remember how the tribe of Amalek attacked us without provocation while we were wandering in the desert, and the message of that command is: Don’t be naive.

The first command is the voice of Passover, of liberation; the second is the voice of Purim, commemorating our victory over the genocidal threat of Haman, a descendant of Amalek. “Passover Jews” are motivated by empathy with the oppressed; “Purim Jews” are motivated by alertness to threat. Both are essential; one without the other creates an unbalanced Jewish personality, a distortion of Jewish history and values. http://www.hartman.org.il/Blogs_View.asp?Article_Id=1103&Cat_Id=275&Cat_Type=Blogs

So we need both. We need the hope of liberation and welcoming the strangers in a strange land and we need to remember not to forget.

Tisha B’Av in light of all the other calamities is still mournful and fasting is how Jews express their sadness. And while the State of Israel exists, it is not perfect. No human government can be perfect. There are plenty of problems still to be addressed in the modern state of Israel. We are told that the Second Temple was destroyed because of Sinat Chinam, baseless or senseless hatred. This year it seems to be that there are plenty of examples of sinat chinam. This is what I will be mourning on Tisha B’av:
• The baseless hatred that some Jews have shown the Women of the Wall. The fact that eggs were thrown at these women, women just like me, who wish to daven at the wall wearing a tallit or reading from Torah, on Rosh Hodesh Av when we talk about sinat chinam necessitates mourning.
• The baseless hatred that some Jews feel toward the other Jews: Jews that don’t look like Eastern European Jews, Jews that are LBGTQ, Jews that have intermarried. There is no place in Judaism for sinat chinam
• The baseless hatred that some Jews feel toward the other responding out of that place of fear: towards Palestinians, towards Muslims in general. This week we saw the verdict in a trial in Florida. No matter what you think of the not guilty verdict, there is no place in Judaism for the baseless hatred (and fear) of blacks, Hispanics, immigrants. We were once all part of immigrant families.

So yes, I will be mourning this Tisha B’av. However, for me, it is not enough to fast, to refrain from bathing, swimming, entertainment. For me Tisha B’av is a call for action, a call for Tikkun Olam. Last Shabbat was called Shabbat Hazon, the Shabbat of Vision. We have been given a vision of what the world can be. We are partners in G-d’s creation in implementing that vision, a vision of peace, of comfort, where no one will sit under their vine or fig tree and make them afraid. I was pleased to spend yesterday working at a Habitat for Humanity build project, building a house with my fellow congregants. That is part of that vision. And yes, when Tisha B’av is over, I will return to my sense of hope and renewal and comfort that we find in the prophets and in our actions for Tikkun Olam.

Last week I asked my congregation a question. “What is the role that ritual plays in our lives?” The portion, Pinchas, teaches us how to observe the festivals. We read this one over and over again, as the maftir for each of the pilgrimage holidays and for Rosh Hodesh and then when it comes in rotation. It must be important. It teaches us how many sacrifices we must make for each of the holidays and for Shabbat. It outlines what we do for musaf, the additional offering made on Shabbat and festivals. What is this about? Frankly I have no intention of going out to the parking lot of the synagogue and offering a ram or two or three or four. I asked what the word for sacrifice is in Hebrew. I was told, correctly korban, which has as its root, to draw close. Because offering a sacrifice enables us to draw close to G-d. The word I was looking for however was avodah. Now avodah is an interesting root. It means work or worship or service or sacrifice. A person who offers an avodah can be an eved, a slave or a servant, one who works or worships or serves. We sing about it at Passover, “Avadim hayinu” and the modern Israeli song Zum Gali Gali, talking about the avodah of the chalutzi, the pioneers. But why use this word, avodah for a sacrifice for the chaggim, the holidays?

I think it is about the power of ritual. What is a ritual? People answered:

• Something that we do routinely.
• Something that draws us together.
• Something that grounds us.
• Something that floods us with memories.
• Something that is evocative.
• Something that uses all of our senses
• Something that marks liminal time.

What rituals are important to you?
• Morning routine, brushing teeth, getting dressed, eating breakfast, getting out the door
• Birthdays—candles, cake, special dinner, presents, singing Happy Birthday
• Bedtime routine—reading Good Night Moon, a cuddle, saying bedtime Sh’ma
• Exercise—packing the gym bag, planning when, what and how long, tracking, warm up, exercise, cool down, hydration
• Medications—One in the morning and one in the evening. How does this keep us closer to the Divine?

What about Jewish rituals?
• Shabbat—candles, wine, motzi, havdalah
• Rosh Hashanah—apples and honey, shofar
• Passover—Matzah, 4 cups of wine, 4 questions, family and friends gathered, same menu year after year
• Mourning traditions—Kaddish, shiva, hard boiled eggs, putting earth on the grave

Each of the holidays have their own rituals. And not a sacrificed ram in the bunch!

Why do we need ritual?
• Makes it easier to know what to do when to we don’t know what to do
• It is the kevah (structure) to the kavanah (intention)
• Brings us closer to others, closer to G-d
• Reminds us of our past, a nostalgia factor
• Allows us to feel in control, particularly after the death of a loved one.

It was a hard week. The congregation helped with the burial of a stillborn infant. Now it used to be that Jews didn’t mark this kind of tragedy. Now we have learned the importance of allowing the parents to grieve and to mark the event with Jewish rituals. As the rabbi, it was a difficult few days. However, it was helpful to apply traditional Jewish mourning rituals to this process. It was helpful to consult ritualwell.org to see what others have already done. I hope we brought the parents and grandparents some comfort.

There was a great article in Forbes magazine about the power of rituals in eating, grieving and business. It talks about some research being done at Harvard between the psychology department and the business school. They conclude: “Another experiment showed that observing a ritual is not nearly as powerful as performing a ritual. Participants who prepared a glass of powdered lemonade in a ritualistic manner (stir for 30 seconds, wait for 30 seconds, and so on) enjoyed consuming it much more than those who merely watched someone else prepare the lemonade. ‘With grief, the ritual leads to a feeling of control,’ Norton says. ‘With consumption, rituals seem to work because they increase your involvement in the experience.’” http://www.forbes.com/sites/hbsworkingknowledge/2013/06/03/the-power-of-rituals-in-eating-grieving-and-business/

I picture at this season the ritual of the lemonade stand, a celebration of summer. And I remember the words of Abraham Joshua Heschel, “People of our time are losing the power of celebration. Instead of celebrating we seek to be amused or entertained. Celebration is an active state, an act of expressing reverence or appreciation. To be entertained is a passive state–it is to receive pleasure afforded by an amusing act or a spectacle…. Celebration is a confrontation, giving attention to the transcendent meaning of one’s actions. (Source: The Wisdom of Heschel)

He always wanted to be amazed, to experience wonder. Ritual helps us do that. It helps us celebrate. It brings us comfort. “How grateful I am to God that there is a duty to worship, a law to remind my distraught mind that it is time to think of God, time to disregard my ego for at least a moment! It is such happiness to belong to an order of the divine will. I am not always in a mood to pray. I do not always have the vision and the strength to say a word in the presence of God. But when I am weak, it is the law that gives me strength; when my vision is dim, it is duty that gives me insight” (Man’s Quest for God: Studies in Prayer and Symbolism, New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1954, pp. 64-68). Rabbi Arnold Jacob Wolff, from KAM Isaiah Israel in Chicago talks about this tension between Keva and Kavanah in his article, a tribute to Abraham Joshua Heschel. http://www.myjewishlearning.com/practices/Ritual/Prayer/Prayer_Music_and_Liturgy/What_is_Jewish_Liturgy/Intention/Keva_and_Kavvanah.shtml

Stan Goldberg, PhD (a member of the tribe, I assume) tells us it does two things and doesn’t have to be about religion at all. “Ritual is an important psychological event that has served, currently serves, and will continue to serve a basic need of life: It connects us with the past and grounds us in the present. Cutting oneself off from it, cuts oneself off from our history and forces us to stand alone in the present.” http://stangoldbergwriter.com/about/the-power-of-ritual/
The chief rabbi of Great Britain reflecting on the power of ritual and this portion teaches us what we probably already know. Being a champion is about “deep practice” as he calls it. They put in more hours than anyone else. He says that the magic number is 10,000 hours. That—roughly 10 years of deep practice is what it takes to reach the top in almost every field.
There is the old joke—how do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice. So it is true for performers as well. Mozart the child prodigy, started practicing at three, became an accomplished performer at six but did not compose until he was in his 20s. Cue the music for Fiddler…at three I started Hebrew School, at 10 I learned a trade…Hebrew takes…practice too. Doing it over and over again.
Recent research has shown that ritual and practice help with brain function. As we master each new skill it reconfigures the brain, creating new neural pathways. Repeating an action over and over again making the connections in the brain speedier the more they are used. “Far from being outmoded, religious ritual turns out to be deeply in tune with the new neuroscience of human talent, personality and the plasticity of the brain. The great faiths never forgot what science is helping us rediscover: that ritual creates new habits of the heart that can lift us to unexpected greatness.” http://www.chiefrabbi.org/2011/07/23/credo-ritual-develops-habits-that-can-lift-us-to-greatness/#.UdgYeJX0Ay4
So that is exactly what this parsha is about. Repeating a ritual over and over again, helping us connect with the past, while being in the present, connecting with other Israelites and with the Divine, remembering when we all stood at Sinai and the mountain smoked, quaked and trembled. Helping us make amends, providing a structure and a formula that allows us to use all of our senses. I am still not going into the parking lot to offer a ram. I will, however, continue to find ways to balance the spontaneity of my heart in prayer and the structure, traditions, rituals that bring us comfort as we daven together.

The Energizer Rabbi in her borrowed, decorated wheelchair and her family

Happy Independence Day. I am proud to be an American. I happen to love the 4th of July. It gives us the opportunity to pause as a nation and reflect. It is a holiday that all of us can participate in–Jew, Gentile, black, white, Asian, Hispanic, gay, straight, families of ancestors who came over on the Mayflower and those who will become American citizens today.
It is a day filled with ritual that we can all participate in. Who doesn’t love a parade, a picnic, a fireworks show? I am delighted that my congregation will have a large presence in today’s Elgin parade. And despite being told I could not walk (pesky infection), I found a wheelchair, courtesy of Provena Health and the chaplain there. We will decorate the wheel chair and Simon and Sarah will take turns pushing it. This kind of interfaith collaboration is exactly why I am proud to be an American, and why interfaith dialogue is so important to me.
But what about this quote? It is on the Liberty Bell. It comes from Leviticus 25:10. THe National Park Website for the Liberty Bell explains that through the years the inscription has meant different things to different people. When the Speaker of the Pennsylvania Assembly commissioned the bell, he wanted a Biblical verse to represent the ability of the citizens of Pennsylvania to choose their own religion. It is where the principle of freedom of religion came from and led to the plank in the Bill of Rights separating church and state. It was first called The Liberty Bell by the abolitionistsin the 1830s who adopted the bell as the symbol of their cause. After the Civil War it travelled throughout the United States to help heal the rifts from the war. Women suffragettes uses it as a symbol to help get women the right to vote.

Our country is not perfect. It wasn’t in the days of John Adams, Sam Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Paul Revere. It wasn’t under Abraham Lincoln. It wasn’t when women had to fight for the right to vote. It wasn’t during the 60s when blacks did not have the same rights as whites and the country was again split by whether to participate in the Vietnam War. It is still not perfect. Last week we saw two rulings by the United States Supreme Court. Striking down DOMA makes sense to me. Striking down the Voters’ Rights Act did not. There is still much work to be done. More on that in another post.

When I got to the parade, I had to be pushed a long way. I am not used to being in wheelchair. It is a very different perspective to see life from the seat of a wheelchair. I could see many more details than I can see either walking or in my car. I could also see people move to make room for me, police officers stop traffic for “Wheelchair”, the bumpy bumps that help blind people identify that they are at the end of a block about to enter a street. I am grateful for the American with Disabilities Act. Elgin turns out to be very handicapped accessible. Elgin is also very diverse. Congregation Kneseth Israel’s vision statement has a plank, embracing diversity. We most certainly did that yesterday. We marched as Jews and as non-Jewish partners. We appear white, black, multi-racial and I added to that diversity by being in my wheelchair. It was the only one we saw in the parade.

I am proud to be an American and I am proud to be a Jew. I am glad we live in Elgin where  my participation in an American tradition was possible and easy.

What do you say to a mother who loses a child two days before the due date. Not much. There is nothing much appropriate to say. That is the situation I confronted on Monday when the mother of a new congregant called. We had been planning a baby naming. Instead we planned a funeral.
I rushed to the hospital. The mother had just finished delivering and was resting. The nursing staff was kind and compassionate. The baby, whose name was Violet Aria, was out of the room having her pictures taken. There were some tears, lots of hugs, even some laughter. They brought Violet back in and nestled her in her mother’s arm. She was beautiful. Perfect. I was given the privilege to hold Violet. It is one of the most natural things I have ever done. When I left the hospital after a brief prayer, Violet was back in her mother’s arms, her little fingers around her mother’s.
On Wednesday, we gathered to bury Violet. It used to be that in the old days, Jews didn’t mourn a child under 30 days. We have gotten smarter about this. However, in this day and age, it is so rare to need to, no one has much experience with it yet everyone has some story of someone who lost a baby. Word fail here too. Lost a baby? It is not as though the couple doesn’t know where it is. The baby died. The baby was still born.
Judaism’s rituals for morning are very concrete. We tear a ribbon or our clothes. We shovel dirt onto the casket to hear that sound and know that this is final. We act with compassion. As G-d clothed the naked, visited the sick and buried the dead, we too bury the dead as a sign of compassion that cannot be repaid.
But in that moment words fail. We learn from the Book of Job, that our mothers were right. Silence is golden. Job lost everything. His friends showed up and sat for seven days without saying anything. That was good. Then they tried to speak. They tried to ask what Job had done wrong. That was bad. Job answered from within his deep pain, “A man’s friends should love him when his hope is gone. They should be faithful to him even if he stops showing respect to the Mighty One.”

Many people rush in after a tragedy and say things to make the situation less awkward, to fill the void. If you are faced with this situation, try to avoid things like:
God needed another angel in heaven
It’s OK. You are young. You can have another one.
It happened for the best.
I know exactly how you feel.
What are you going to do now?

Try instead
I’m sorry. I know how much you were looking forward to being a parent
It’s OK to cry
Would you like to talk about it?
Is there anything I can do for you?
I’ll call you in a few days.

After a tragedy, some people can’t muster the faith of Job. Some struggle through the meaning of the Kaddish, that we praise G-d for life, even in the face of death. That’s OK. What I told the family is that it is OK to be sad. It is OK to be angry. It is even OK to be angry with G-d. I believe that G-d cries with us. Some things are beyond explanations–theologically or medically. Sometimes things just happen.

At the end of a funeral, the mourners line up to greet the family. They say, Hamakom yinachem etchem. May the Place comfort you. My colleague, Rabbi David Paskin who lost a child to brain tumor struggled to understand that greeting. Why not call G-d, The Compassionate One, the Merciful One, the Comforting One? Why call G-d at that moment the Place. He discovered that it is because when you lose a loved on, all you have left is a space, a place, an emptiness. They are saying that may that space that hurts so damn much comfort you. May you learn to live with that space. He wrote a song in tribute to Liat., called HaMakom. I’ve been thinking about it all week. I talked to the couple about that phrase.

Here is the youtube clip from NewCaje where I watched him perform it live. I cried then. I cried listening to it again this morning. “May the One who fills our space, give us hope and give us strength. In our silence may we hear the voice of G-d.” The music is great but you need to hear him tell the story at the beginning. I was the one the who went to the Butcherie and rushed in with the deli platters. It was something I could do. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NEETpwpt2LM

Woody Allen said 80% of life is showing up. When confronted with this kind of situation it is about showing up. It is about being present. You may not have the perfect words. No one does. Go. Hug the couple. Cry. It’s OK.

“How lovely are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places O Israel.”

If you were here very early this morning, you know that we sing this verse every week as part of the Birkat Hashachar, the morning blessings. In fact, it is in every morning service. Sometimes I make a brief comment; that I am thankful for our dwelling places, for heat or light or air conditioning or the ability to get out of the rain. I am especially grateful to get out of the rain this morning. That was some thunderstorm that rolled through overnight and while I have camped in storms like that, in a tent, I prefer the security of my solid house.

However, the rabbis who added it to the morning service took it out of context. For them it was the perfect introduction to talking about entering a sanctuary, a mishkan, a place where we worship.

It comes from today’s Torah portion and it really was about tents and wandering in the desert. You think Jews don’t camp? We most certainly did and do.

Today’s Torah portion is one of the strangest in the Bible. Balak, the king of the Moabites, wants to curse the Israelites. He hasn’t been successful defeating them in war and he figures he will hit them where it hurts most, their spirituality. He hires Balaam, a prophet to travel to Israel to do precisely that. On Balaam’s way, the donkey keeps talking to him, even throwing him off, trying to get him not to do what he has been hired for. Now I have never run into a talking donkey. The closest might be a talking horse, Mr. Ed and even as a child I knew that was a horse of a different color. It was TV. It wasn’t real. Balaam persists in his journey and his mission.

However, every time he opens his mouth to curse the Israelites, blessings emerge. His mouth is filled with words of praise. His mouth is filled with the words of G-d.

“How good are your tents O Israel, your dwelling places, O Jacob.” Is this praising the Israelites or asking a question, How Good?

This week, ironically, as Simon and Sarah and I look for a new house, I have been thinking a lot about housing. We have good housing here in Elgin. Some lovely homes. In many different price ranges. And yet I am painfully aware that there are still people in our community who cannot afford a house or an apartment.
What makes a house a good house? What makes a house a home? The discussion here was rich and ranged from the people who live in it to a good kitchen.

The rabbis teach something else as well. A home should be a mikdash me’at, a small temple. In Megilah 29a we are taught that G-d will dwell in the holy spaces we create, for they are like the Holy Temple, like the Mikdash, the Mishkan. Where G-d dwelled within.

How do we create a mikdash me’at? Does it really matter what the house looks like? How big it is? How do we create a home?

The congregation agreed that it was about peace, security, happiness, love. Jews have lived in all sorts of homes wherever they have wandered. Rabbi Larry Milder captured it well in his song, “Wherever you go there’s always someone Jewish” He sings, “Some Jews live in tents and some live in pagodas. Some Jews pay rent cuz the city’s not free. Some Jews live on farms in the hills of Minnesota. And some Jews wear no shoes and sleep by the sea.”

The rabbis teach something very important about our verse today. In the midrash we learn that what Balaam was praising Israel for was their modesty. Every time they set up their tents, they made sure they were not looking directly into each other’s tents. No need for curtains.

On our trek through greater Elgin this week, I have learned something. That open spaces and having views are important to me—even more so to my husband. Not being right on top of others is also important. But we’ve learned something else. Deciding what is a good house is hard. Is it one with lots of open space that needs a lot of work, but it is serene? Is it one on a busier street that has an undocumentable reputation for crime but a wonderful kitchen, perfect for keeping kosher? Is it the perfect suburban house but it is next door to registered sex offender? Did checking the registry violate the modesty rule? Were we somehow peering into our neighbor’s house without their permission by using the internet?

What is this quality of modesty that Balaam is praising? We are told in today’s haftarah that there are only three things that G-d requires of us, “To justly, to love mercy and to walk modestly with G-d.” Often that modesty is translated as humbly. My mother’s very favorite verse of Scripture, but what does it mean?

Rochel Holzkenner, the co-director of Chabad in Las Olas, Florida, teaches on Chabad.org that “Modesty means having healthy boundaries.” She points out that some of these reality shows where we are peering into people’s lives are not modest. It violates those healthy boundaries. She adds that conversely, teens or adults can be misled to think that if they do not expose that which is meant to be sacred and private, they are prudish. Au contraire, they are being modest.

Modesty also means being careful with our speech. To avoid lashon harah, gossip. People who avoid gossip are practicing healthy boundaries. As Rochel points out, “Who gave you permission to analyze another’s life? You shouldn’t be looking in their window. And if you are exposed to a private bit of information about your friend, be sensitive. Gossiping is violating the sacred space of another person.”
This parsha has much to say about speech and its power to hurt or to heal.
Balaam was not modest. He knew he was up for the task of cursing the Israelites and bragged he could. He was humbled by the words that G-d put in his mouth.

One of the things that intrigues me the most about this parsha, is that these words come out of the mouth of a non-Jewish prophet. And these very words, from a non-Jew no less have taken on such prominence in our tradition. Sometimes we tune out the words of the other because they are not Jewish.

Today is the last day of the Community Crisis Center Rummage sale that we are co-sponsoring with Christ the Lord Lutheran. This rummage sale will directly benefit those who do not have a home that is a mikdash me’at. People who are experiencing domestic violence do not have a home filled with modesty or with shalom bayit, peace of the home, two of the values we identified in making a house a good home. People who live in fear of being abused by a partner do not have a mikdash me’at. I believe we have a role as Jews to help ensure that type of violence is eliminated and that we help those who have suffered from domestic abuse. Sometimes people say that there is no abuse in the Jewish community. I can tell you that there is and that there are survivors right here in this congregation. So we have a moral obligation just as the haftarah from today teaches, “To do justly, love mercy and walk modestly with your G-d.”

This event was the vision of Pastor Keith Fry, a Lutheran minister, in order to get our two congregations together to celebrate our two congregations’ landmark years, our 120th, their 50th. To make the world a better place. To do tikkun olam and put the shards back together again. I listened to his ideas, brought it to the board and together we came up with an action plan. As of late yesterday afternoon, he announced on Facebook that In two days we have blown our fundraising record sky-high.” At least some of that will be matched by Thrivant Lutheran.

On the bottom of my emails, I usually type a verse. “Who is wise? One who learns from all people.” We have learned from Balaam the importance of modesty. We have learned from Pastor Keith, the ability to make a mikdash me’at, a small sanctuary, when we combine our efforts.

The midrash for today’s portion teaches something else:
It was not easy for Balaam to get from point a to point b. Balaam complains, “I see it from the summit of the rocks, and from the hills do I view it” (Numbers 23:9).”

Midrash Tanchuma teaches that the rocks are our Patriarchs and the hills are our matriarchs. Rashi adds to our understanding: “I look at their origin and at the beginning of their roots, and I see them entrenched and strong as these rocks and hills, by means of the Patriarchs and Matriarchs.”

We learn something else about tents. Sarah, our matriarch opened her tent on all four sides. This way she could see anyone coming and offer hospitality.

How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places O Israel. May we each create a home that is a mikdash me’at, filled with lovingkindness, peace hospitality and modesty. May we find the time to help create that sense of safety and security for others so that all of us can inexperience the indwelling of the Divine Presence. Ken yehi ratzon.

This past Shabbat we had a learner’s minyan at my congregation. My job was to teach people the dance steps are in a traditional Jewish Shabbat morning service so they are comfortable. Here’s the secret. There is no one way to pray, to davven in Judaism. However, many people feel uncomfortable walking into a service with which they are not familiar. In Judaism we talk about keva, the fixed structure of the prayer, the order of service, the actual words, and kavanah, the intention behind the prescribed ritual. Sometimes we get so hung up on “doing it right” we forget why we are doing it. That this is a conversation between us and G-d. The fact that we can have the conversation–in Hebrew, in English, with dance steps, without dance steps, in a synagogue or at the beach, should bring us joy, or comfort, or security. Too often it intimidates us. I don’t believe that G-d cares whether we get it right. I don’t think there is any right or wrong way to pray. The rabbis talk about this in the Talmud. They tell us that they have provided a structure so that we can pray, when the words may not be easy for us to say. We are “allowed” to pray from our hearts. We are capable of this but many of us have never been told that it is OK. So G-d wants to hear from you–your joys, your concerns, your happiness, your sadness, your pain–in whatever language you are most comfortable with whatever movements help you to focus, to express yourself, to feel the Divine Presence. So if it is dancing, great. If it is sitting quietly and meditating, wonderful. If it is being at the beach, out in the wetlands, in your backyard gardening, on a mountain, fine. If you want to sing, scream, talk, be silent, play an instrument, all of these are within normative Judaism.

If you want to understand the traditional dance and how it enriches the meaning of our service and the words that the rabbis came up with, we can talk about that too. Here is a guideline of how we usually do things at Congregation Kneseth Israel.

ChoreographyShacharit

At the end it contains a post from the Coffee Shop Rabbi, http://coffeeshoprabbi.com Rabbi Ruth Adler. She has it right.

“MOST CHOREOGRAPHY IS OPTIONAL: Bow, etc, if it is meaningful to you or if you think it might become meaningful to you. If it is distracting or just “isn’t you,” that is OK. However, give yourself permission to try things out and see how they feel. Some people find that choreography makes them feel more in tune with the minyan, or closer to God in prayer: how will you know if you don’t at least try it out?

She points out that only a few things are “required,” and those only if you are able. She lists standing for Barechu, standing for the Amidah (which means standing prayer), stand when the Torah is being moved or when the Ark is open.

The discussion we had at services was very rich. People have learned different interpretations through the years of why we do what we do. There were three interpretations of why we back up three steps and move forward before starting and finishing the Amidah. One was it is like being in a sultan’s throne room, we are showing respect for the ruler. Just like you would back up when leaving the presence of an earthly ruler, you back up when leaving the Divine Presence. Or we are waving at G-d to say, “Here am I, take notice of me.” Or it is representative of the Cohanim, Leviim and Yisraelim, the three types of Jews.

When we get to the Barechu, we enter the formal part of the service with the “Call to worship.” Everything up until here has been “warm-up”, Jewish aerobics. A Chassidic rabbi was asked what he does before he prays. His answer, he prays for an hour that he might pray. We stand and we bow and we bend our knees. For me this is always a humbling moment. The word Baruch, blessed, comes from the word berekh meaning knee so it is a kind of stage direction. I surprised one of our Israeli members with this etymology.

When we talked about the Sh’ma and whether to close your eyes or keep them open, people talked about closing them made them focus better or keeping them open allowed them to be a witness, to observe G-d’s oneness which is what the Sh’ma is about. My own daughter in the car later reminded me that she had been taught that if everyone closed their eyes during the Sh’ma, then the angels would be present. No peeking, she had learned at her own Junior Congregation. But she would peek.

When we say Kedusha, the holiness prayer, echoing the angels as Isaiah taught, we are told to stand with our feet together and rise up on our toes for each repetition, Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh. Isaiah had a vision of the angels doing precisely that. Rising up, towards G-d. One of my favorite books for teaching Jewish prayer remains Sh’ma Is For Real. Joel Grisover describes the Kedusha, its keva and its kavanah this way:

http://books.google.com/books?id=Mh2CpIgrLfYC&pg=PA96&lpg=PA96&dq=kadosh,+kadosh+kadosh+choreography&source=bl&ots=RE8kI8RFpp&sig=Y3lF-SgntpNyrU3sX72_Au6F0sY&hl=en&sa=X&ei=j6vBUZeLA_KgyAH1sIFw&ved=0CGMQ6AEwCQ#v=onepage&q=kadosh%2C%20kadosh%20kadosh%20choreography&f=false

May our dancing elevate us to be like the angels, holy.

My husband isn’t a big fan of Father’s Day. He doesn’t like gratuitous gift giving. He doesn’t like things divided neatly down gender lines. He might like riding a bike or kayaking or hiking but he is just as likely to enjoy time in the kitchen, knitting or sewing. He reminds me that he is not my father. But he is the father of four adult children so I believe we should celebrate Father’s Day.
Some have argued that Jews don’t celebrate Father’s Day (or Mother’s Day) because it is not a Jewish holiday. I disagree. Judaism teaches that we should, “Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long upon the land which the LORD your God has given you.” (Exodus 20). It is repeated in Deuteronomy, “Honor your father and your mother, as the LORD your God commanded you; that your days may be long, and that it may go well with you, upon the land which the LORD your God has given you.”

Honor is an interesting word. It means to respect. In Hebrew it is kabad, the same root as kavod, honor, glory but also the same root as liver, an organ that is heavy. Somehow honoring our parents is important, it’s a heavy responsibility. In Numbers, in the Holiness Code, this is reversed. “You shall fear every man his mother, and his father.” What is the difference between fear and honor?

One of the arguments I have had with Simon for a long time is how to translate the word “tire’u” in Hebrew, “you shall fear.” I am not sure I want to fear G-d or fear my mother and father. I think it means more likely “revere”. This discussion has been going on for years. Simon would argue that fear is a necessarily component to some of these relationships.

People tend to fear their father because all too frequently the “man of the house” is the disciplinarian. On the other hand, people honor their mothers–for giving birth, for raising them, for nurturing them. The commandments deliberately reverse the typical gender based roles. However since both mother and father, honor and fear we should do both with both parents. Honor and fear. I think that I probably honored, feared and revered both my parents. I honor, fear and revere my husband as a parent of his four children and pay respect to him for that.

The commandments don’t say “Love your father and mother.” You can’t legislate love. And yet I do. I love my parents and I love my husband.

This week on Facebook, through Pastor Keith Fry of Christ the Lord Lutheran Church posted a very interesting blog post about parenting. http://www.handsfreemama.com/2012/04/16/six-words-you-should-say-today/

She, like me, admits to saying to much to her children when they finish an event. Too much correction. Not enough praise. She says there are six words you should say today. “I love to watch you.” She said that these six words have changed the way she parents. It is the difference between a nightmare sports parent and a good one, according to a survey of college athletes. You can read the blog yourself. She wondered if she had ever said it to her children after a soccer game, dance recital or piano concert. “I love to watch you play.”

I remember thinking about that when Sarah was young and she had picked playing basketball in second grade. She had learned about it in gym (yes, there were still gym classes then) and we signed her up for a summer league. I would leave work a little early and drive to an outdoor court. These girls who had been always told to “play nicely” and “share” were now being told to “be aggressive.” It was fun and I loved to watch. It was often the highlight of my week. But did I ever say it outloud. To her?

I loved to watch the little girl turned angel in the Nutcracker. And yes, I was proud of her, even if it did take 8 weeks of rehearsals to do one pirouette on stage. I loved to watch the growing dancer be Degas. I loved to watch her growing stage presence as she took on more and more challenging roles. I loved to watch her creativity in her costume designing. I loved to watch her and listen to her formulate sophisticated arguments at family dinners earning her place at the adult table. But did I ever say any of this out loud? I am not sure.

Hands-free Mama goes on to ask this same kind of thing about her language with her husband. So while you can’t legislate love, “I love to watch you.” I love to watch Simon breathe in the middle of the night. It is so calming for me and my active mind. I love to watch his eyes light up when he talks about Michigan football or dairy cows. I love to watch him play with the puppy–even when their aggressive play frightens me. They were even–hold your breath–dancing in the living room the other day. I love to watch him cook latkes or mow the lawn. I love to watch him play with the grandchildren and relate to them at whatever age they are. After all, as he says, he has always liked his children at whatever age they are and doesn’t hope that they will stay an infant, a toddler, a curious first grader, an independent fifth grader, a whatever forever. I love to watch him debate Sarah and challenge her intellectually.

I love to watch him. I love him. Happy Father’s Day.