Psalm 136 is a beautiful psalm with a repetition of the phrase ki l’olam chasdo, for God’s lovingkindness or mercy endures forever. It lists many examples of God’s lovingkindness, Creation, the Exodus from Egypt so that we see God as both Creator and Redeemer. Then in the present tense it says that God gives bread to all flesh. This verse gets reiterated in the Birkat Hamazon, the Grace After Meals. In my class this week on Shabbat liturgy, my professor, Dr. Sol Schimmel, asked what happens when reality does not seem to match the theology of the Psalm. There are many people who have a hard time with this verse, both in the psalm and in Birkat. How can we say that God gives food to all when there is so much hunger in the world? Some see it as a wish, a hope for the world can be. Although the verse is written as a praise of God because we are grateful for the food we do have, others see it really as a request, a prayer of petition without being so direct about the request. Let me suggest another idea. In truth, the world does have enough food but we human beings have yet to figure out a more equitable way to distribute it. As we close out Thanksgiving weekend, which celebrates an abundance of food, let us recommit to making sure that no family goes with out. Join me working at a soup kitchen, writing a check to Mazon, a Jewish response to hunger, donating non-perishables to food bank. Together we can make a difference and then the line from the Psalms will be more accurate–God DOES give food to all. Ken yehi ratzon, may it be God’s will.

Then Miriam the prophetess, Aaron’s sister took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dancing. And Miriam chanted for them, “Sing to the Lord, who has triumphed gloriously. Horse and rider were thrown into the sea.”

Such relief at escaping such danger. The gratitude is palpable and physical. They danced. They sang. They played their timbrels.  Often I play a game with children—sometimes even adults at the Passover seder. If you were leaving Egypt in haste—what would you take with you. I get the usual answers—food, water, sunscreen. It is the desert after all. My family, my stuffed animals, my dog, my GameBoy, camera, photos, books. No one has ever said timbrel—or frankly any musical instrument. But somehow these women knew, they took food, lamb and matzah baked in haste, their neighbors’ gold and their timbrels. They knew that out there in that desert there would be opportunities to celebrate, to rejoice, to be grateful. How did they know? Continue reading →

What, you didn’t call, you didn’t write.” We’ve all heard that stereotypical Jewish mother jokes. There is some truth in it. Mothers like to be called. I know. I am one. This year as we celebrate Mother’s Day, I wish that I still had a mother to call. You may not think that Mother’s Day is a Jewish holiday. However, the principles come directly from our Jewish tradition right from this week’s Torah portion. Continue reading →