Blog Torah thoughts

This Shabbat, we reach one of the several times in the Jewish calendar that our Reform community is a little “out of sync” with the rest of the Diaspora. While, for our co-religionists, Friday night to Saturday night will mark Shemini Atzeret, the eighth day of Sukkot, for us, Shabbat will be both Sehmini Atzeret and Simchat Torah. Put plainly, non-Reform Jews in the Diaspora celebrate eight days of Sukkot and we celebrate seven. This is also true of Passover and Shavuot where our Reform forebears did away with “yom tov sheni”, the extra sacred day, to put themselves in line with the custom in the Land of Israel.

Where did the extra day come from? In the Land of Israel, ancient times, the declaration of the first day of any given month would involve eyewitnesses seeing the new moon, the rabbinic court making a declaration, and then sending out messengers to inform other communities. There would also have been signal fires, but this system broke down because of the Samaritans, who would wave torches on hilltops to fool people into disrupting the calendar. As a result of this mischief and because messengers could take longer than two weeks to get to far-flung Disapora communities, the rabbis instituted an extra day for those communities so no one would be mistaken in when they celebrated the holiday.

Our movement’s luminaries, the early Reformers, at the Breslau Rabbinical Conference in 1848 made the decision that, because of the economic and other hardships imposed by yom tov sheni, they would end it so that communities could focus their spiritual efforts on a more meaningful observance of the first day.

Even as the Reform movement has reclaimed so much of tradition in recent years, why haven’t we added back the extra day of Sukkot, Passover, and Shavuot? For the same reason that our Conservative and Orthodox neighbours hold to it: tradition! As the Reform movement, we have our own unique traditions we have practiced and values we have cherished for over two hundred years. We have our own way of doing things that, on occasion, means we’re doing things a bit differently than our neighbours, but that is something to be proud of, which we should never apologize for. In our day and age, there is a kaleidoscope of Jewish practices, each drawing from tradition and interpreting our sources in their own way.

Will the Reform movement someday add back yom tov sheni? Maybe! The world continues to change and we change along with it. I am so proud to be a Reform rabbi at a Reform congregation where we have so many opportunities to engage with our tradition in meaningful and creative ways. I hope all of us feel that same sense of pride in carrying on the customs of our ancestors going back decades, centuries, and millennia.

Moadim l’simchah

Rabbi Michael Weiss

Rabbi Michael Weiss

Before there were all the electronic distractions on which we (myself, included) spend so much time, there was the Torah. For the rabbis, blessedly free from screens, the Torah was their place for exploring ideas and engaging their imagination. As such, they developed countless tools and tricks to interpret the Torah. For our purposes this week, I would highlight the rabbinic approach in which any two verses in sequence have an important reason to be next to each other, even if they seem completely unrelated.

In our Torah portion this week, Shoftim, we find an inspiring call to action for our work in tikkun olam, repairing the world:

צֶ֥דֶק צֶ֖דֶק תִּרְדֹּ֑ף לְמַ֤עַן תִּֽחְיֶה֙ וְיָרַשְׁתָּ֣ אֶת־הָאָ֔רֶץ אֲשֶׁר־יְהֹוָ֥ה אֱלֹהֶ֖יךָ נֹתֵ֥ן לָֽךְ

Justice, justice shall you pursue, that you may thrive and establish in the land that Adonai your God is giving you.

-Deuteronomy 16:20

Justice! A goal so nice, the Torah said it twice. Within the context of the Torah portion, justice refers to the creation and maintenance of a functioning justice system. The next verse helps us to expand that meaning for a greater purpose. In verse 21, we read: “You shall not set up an asherah (a sacred post or tree) or any kind of post…or erect a stone pillar; for such Adonai your God detests.” Deuteronomy is insistent that we avoid idolatry, the worship of things over God, but, right next to a strong call for justice, it suggests a connection beetween idolatry and injustice.

The Torah, here and there, describes God’s jealousy as a reason to avoid idolatry, but we know God is bigger than that. The sin is not in wounding God’s ego, but against all of our fellow human beings. We learn in the first chapter of the Torah that each human being is made b’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God and thus we need no idols because in the words of Abraham Joshua Heschel:

You are the image of God. But the only medium in which you can shape that image is that of your entire life. To take anything less than a full, living, breathing human being and try to create God’s image out of it-that diminishes the divine and is considered idolatry.

The sin of idolatry, then, is that it undercuts our recognition that every single person is God’s image on earth. To set anything ahead of that is a sin against our fellow human beings. National and religious divisions, economics, politics and all of the ideologies that give us cover to diminish the humanity of others fall away in the face of this profound truth delivered by our Torah after it has only just begun.

To pursue justice, to build the world where all of us can thrive, we need only begin to dignify the humanity of the other, just as we hope they will recognize the humanity in ourselves. The world may be complex and our divisions may seem insurmountable, but when we sit across the table from someone and see the divine image in their face, we can let ourselves be guided by what we all share, even as we honor the profound differences between us. We are all made in God’s image, no exceptions.

L’Shalom,

Rabbi Michael Weiss

וְדִבַּרְתָּ֖ בָּ֑ם בְּשִׁבְתְּךָ֤ בְּבֵיתֶ֙ךָ֙ וּבְלֶכְתְּךָ֣ בַדֶּ֔רֶךְ ׁכְבְּךָ֖וּֽבְש וּבְקוּמֶֽךָ׃

Recite them when you stay at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you get up.

– Deuteronomy 6:7

The Jewish people, I believe, is one of the most resilient peoples on the planet, having been tested over and over throughout our history. As a people, we’ve developed a number of survival mechanisms to help us make it through. Prayer can give us hope. Ritual can give us stability. But the most important tool that has helped us stand the test of time can be found in our Torah portion this week.

Vaetchanan, the second parashah of the Book of Deuteronomy, is packed with great material. We find Moses’ final plea to enter the Promised Land, alongside a reiteration of the Ten Commandments, and yet we also find the “watchword of our faith”, the first paragraph of the Shema, words that are traditionally recited twice a day and, in many ways, define who we are as a people.

One of the most incredible things about the Shema is, like the Cha Cha Slide or the Hokey Pokey, the prayer itself tells you how to use it. We’re meant to put it on our doorposts as mezuzot. Many Jews put them in front of their eyes and on their hands in the form of tefillin. Most importantly for our purposes, we are told to recite the words when we’re at home or when we’re elsewhere. For most of our history, we have been far away from home. Many empires have oppressed us or even expelled us, taking everything we owned in the process. But they can never take away the words that define and unite us. In the face of exile, the Jewish people made religion portable. Yes, we have temples and Torah scrolls, but our stories, prayers, and values can never be taken away.

The Shema reminds us that wherever we are can be holy space and that our home can be anywhere we have people to live and pray with. So long as we live inspired by the words of our Torah, hope and kindness can blossom even in the darkest places or moments.

L’shalom,

Rabbi Michael Weiss

בְּעֵ֥בֶר הַיַּרְדֵּ֖ן בְּאֶ֣רֶץ מוֹאָ֑ב הוֹאִ֣יל מֹשֶׁ֔ה בֵּאֵ֛ר אֶת־הַתּוֹרָ֥ה הַזֹּ֖את
On the other side of the Jordan, in the land of Moab, Moses began to teach this Torah.

– Deuteronomy 1:5

This week, we begin the book of Deuteronomy with Parashat Devarim. Numbers would have been nearly the perfect ending to the story of our peoples’ wandering before entering the Promised Land, but Moses had other ideas. Like a parent sending children out into the world, he still had wisdom to share in the form of a forty-day-long lecture. He had to remind them of their journeys in the wilderness and give them his final advice on how to build a functioning ethical community upon settling down.

Interestingly, Moses begins to talk about topics that had never been covered in the rest of the Torah, namely the appointment of a king and the establishment of a central place of worship. Biblical scholars often identify this focus on centralization of power as anachronisms, dating the authorship of the book of Deuteronomy to a time when the monarchy and the Temple in Jerusalem were already firmly established. We may even find evidence of this in the Book of II Kings where, during the time of King Josiah, the high priest discovers a Sefer HaTorah, a book of the Torah in the Temple. It is only then that we read of Josiah’s regime reforming Judean religion to be centralized entirely at the Temple in Jerusalem. How convenient!

And yet, even if Deuteronomy was written later and, perhaps, smuggled into the Torah, it is as sacred and meaningful as any of the other books. In fact, among the five books, it has a unique focus on the value of learning and study, along with an emphasis on how our practice needs to be felt in and come from the heart. In a way, Deuteronomy serves as the first book of Reform Judaism, identifying a need for a change in the Jewish religion in response to a changing world and presaging a Judaism that emphasizes our power to learn and our capacity to love. There is no doubt that, in the words of Rabbi Ben Azzai (when asked why he would follow his teacher into the bathroom), this too is Torah and we must learn. Let us learn from the lessons of our ancestors who realized that we and our tradition must evolve along with the world around us, so we can better fulfill our purpose of being a light of moral clarity and justice to the nations. May we, like Moses, teach our own Torah.

L’shalom,


Rabbi Michael Weiss

גִּדְרֹ֥ת צֹ֛אן נִבְנֶ֥ה לְמִקְנֵ֖נוּ פֹּ֑ה וְעָרִ֖ים לְטַפֵּֽנוּ וַאֲנַ֜חְנוּ נֵחָלֵ֣ץ חֻשִׁ֗ים לִפְנֵי֙ בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל
We will build pens for our flocks and then towns for our children. Then we will hurry to serve as troops for the people of Israel.
– Numbers 32:16-17

בְּנֽוּ־לָכֶ֤ם עָרִים֙ לְטַפְּכֶ֔ם וּגְדֵרֹ֖ת לְצֹנַאֲכֶ֑ם וְהַיֹּצֵ֥א מִפִּיכֶ֖ם תַּעֲשֽׂוּ׃
Build towns for your children and sheepfolds for your flocks, but do as you have promised.
– Numbers 32:24

We know the Torah can be repetitive in its storytelling, but Moses flips around their words, putting children before sheep. Why? Reuben and Gad may have been revealing that their priorities were misplaced, that they valued their property over the welfare of their children, and Moses needed to set them straight. Moses understood, as we do today, that nothing we have means anything if we fail to invest in the generations to come and especially in their education. The rabbis of the Talmud in Tractate Shabbat tell us that any community without a school is worthy of destruction. Thank goodness that our temple, even over the summer, is filled with young people learning, growing, and connecting with each other, so we’ve been spared, as far as I’m concerned.

In any community, all of us are responsible for our young people as caretakers and role models. No matter how complicated the situation around us gets, this Jewish priority remains. And even in the toughest times the Jewish people have experienced, our commitment to the next generation has given us the strength and inspiration to keep going. Even having just gotten here, I can already see that Anshe Sholom doesn’t need Moses to set them straight. We get what it’s all about. I so look forward to getting to know every generation of our Anshe Sholom families.

L’shalom,

Rabbi Michael Weiss

מַה־טֹּ֥בוּ אֹהָלֶ֖יךָ יַעֲקֹ֑ב מִשְׁכְּנֹתֶ֖יךָ יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃
How fair are your tents, O Jacob, Your dwellings, O Israel!

– Numbers 24:5 Balak

One of the great ironies of Parashat Balak is that Israel never hears the blessings being spoken about them. While they are going about their ordinary lives, Balaam stands on the mountaintop and God plants these words on his lips

Often, we are unaware of the goodness others see in us. We focus on our shortcomings and assume others do the same. Yet Balaam teaches that even our enemies can recognize blessings we ourselves cannot see.

Perhaps this is why we begin our morning prayers with these words. Every day we are reminded that before we speak of our failures, God first speaks words of blessing over us.

Sometimes faith begins with learning to see ourselves through the eyes of blessing rather than the lens of fear.

L’Shalom,

Cantor Paula Baruch

וַיִּֽקָּהֲל֞וּ עַל־מֹשֶׁ֣ה וְעַֽל־אַהֲרֹ֗ן וַיֹּאמְר֣וּ אֲלֵהֶם֮ רַב־לָכֶם֒ כִּ֤י כׇל־הָֽעֵדָה֙ כֻּלָּ֣ם קְדֹשִׁ֔ים וּבְתוֹכָ֖ם יְהֹוָ֑ה וּמַדּ֥וּעַ תִּֽתְנַשְּׂא֖וּ עַל־קְהַ֥ל יְהֹוָֽה
They combined against Moses and Aaron and said to them, “You have gone too far! For all the community are holy, all of them, and God is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above God’s congregation?”

 – Numbers 16:3 Korach

Korach reminds us that not every disagreement is destructive. Judaism values questions and debate. But there is a difference between arguments that seek truth and arguments that seek victory.

Korach declared, “All the community are holy,” yet his challenge divided rather than united. His story teaches that holiness is measured not only by what we say, but by the spirit in which we speak.

May we learn to disagree with humility, and to build community even when we do not all think alike.

L’Shalom,

Cantor Paula Baruch

אִם־אַתֶּם֙ תָּבֹ֣אוּ אֶל־הָאָ֔רֶץ אֲשֶׁ֤ר נָשָׂ֙אתִי֙ אֶת־יָדִ֔י לְשַׁכֵּ֥ן אֶתְכֶ֖ם בָּ֑הּ
None shall enter the land in which I swore to settle you

 – Numbers 14:30 Shelach

There is so much drama in Parashat Shelach. It is curious that even though the people are told they that their generation will not enter into the land, God tells the Israelites that when they enter the Land, they are to bring offerings made of grain, oil, and wine. Their future seems shattered and yet God immediately speaks about what life will look like there.

Judaism always insists on speaking about the future, even when we are disappointed, discouraged, or uncertain. We are commanded not to give up imagining what comes next.

The Torah could have ended the conversation with punishment. Instead, it turns toward hope. It reminds the people that while some dreams may not unfold as expected and still God’s covenant continues. There will still be harvests. There will still be celebrations. There will still be generations who carry the story forward.

That may be one of the greatest lessons of Shelach: never let disappointment have the final word. The Torah always leaves room for tomorrow.

L’Shalom,

Cantor Paula Baruch