Scott and I became good friends in elementary school. While we were much closer when we were younger, we nevertheless retained a friendship through high school. He was one of those guys willing to do anything for a laugh, and, well, he always succeeded in that with me. I ran into him at Somerset just a couple years ago. We chatted long enough to accept each other as Facebook friends that evening, and more or less kept up with each other through social media.
Bonnie and I became fast friends in high school. We were in all the same classes, she dated a friend of mine, and it was not long before we were traveling in the same social circle. We both attended the University of Michigan, and I remember relying on each other freshman year during some of those homesick days in one's first year away at college. She was a good friend, with a wonderful sense of humor, keen sense of right and wrong, and she truly celebrated life in all that she did. Bonnie and I too drifted apart after college graduation--she remained in Michigan for law school and I moved to Jerusalem for rabbinical school. But, thanks to that modern invention of Facebook, she and I--like Scott and me--were able to stay connected.
This spring, quite suddenly, both Scott and Bonnie died. Scott succumbed to complications from diabetes and Bonnie lost her fight with cancer. They were both 36. Though it has been years since I've had a meaningful relationship with either of them, losing them has affected me deeply. The stark reminders of the fragility of life and of the shortness of life have been bitter pills to swallow. I've worked hard in recent weeks to reach out anew to friends from high school and to tell them how much the wonderful memories we share continue to enrich my life. I've tried to hug my family tighter, to be even more grateful for the blessings which God has showered upon me, and to reach out more significantly to those in need. The tragic deaths of Scott and Bonnie are significant reminders that I need to live my life even more fully.
In our Torah Parashat Chukat, our ancestors, in the fortieth year from their Exodus from Egypt and not long from the Promised Land, lose both the prophetess Miriam and the High Priest Aaron. Miriam's death is juxtaposed with the strange story of the Red Heifer: an animal whose ashes come to render pure anyone who has been in contact with a corpse or items in proximity of a corpse. Recognizing the Red Heifer's strange juxtaposition with "Miriam died there [in Kadesh, in the Wilderness of Zin] and was buried there" (Numbers 20:1), the Talmud comes to teach, "Just as the ashes of the red cow atone for sin, the death of a righteous person does the same" (BT MK 28a). To this the Etz Hayim chumash adds, "In the wake of a good person's death, we are moved to re-examine our own lives" (pg. 883).
Scott and Bonnie did not die so that I could live my life more fully. But in their death, and my sadness, I am reminded of life's shortness and fragility. Miriam and Aaron, the leaders of our people, did not die so that our ancestors could become reflective. But if the Israelites in their time, and we in our time, do not seize this opportunity to reflect on the meaning of righteousness and the importance of deepening our journey toward holiness, then a true opportunity will have been missed. Tragedies do not occur, I believe, so that we will learn. But tragedies do occur, and we must learn from them. This is why, I believe, the Torah recounts so specifically the deaths of Aaron and Miriam: every year we must re-examine our own lives.
During this week of Parashat Chukat in which we mourn the deaths of Miriam and Aaron, Scott and Bonnie, and we consider the loss of our own family and friends over the years, may God bless us with keen insight and wisdom that comes from deep reflection ... and may God bless us all with life and with peace.
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Shabbat Shemini 2013
My first stop was the Dunkin' Donuts on Greenfield, and then I double-backed to the Bagel Factory at Twelve Mile and Telegraph. Since I was there anyway, I made a third stop as well: Starbucks. Thus began the first full day after Passover for this rabbi, husband and father. I called it Yom Chametz--the day for eating anything and everything we could not eat the previous eight days. Abba was happy. Eema was happy. And, perhaps most important of all, the children were extraordinarily happy. We, "somewhat" like our ancestors, had experienced going from slavery to freedom.
Why is it that at Passover time, more Jews celebrate their Judaism than any other time of the year? The statistics back it up, and of course, there are a number of reasons. I wonder if, then, in addition to the classic foods and the in-home, family-oriented Seder experience, so many Jews celebrate Passover because, subconsciously, we know there is meaning and power to giving something up. Perhaps it is through that giving something up (in the case of Passover, chametz) we become much more aware and appreciative of the tremendous blessings we have in our lives.
This week we read in the Torah Parashat Sh'mini. Our parashah comes to lay out for us the basic laws of Kashrut: permissible and forbidden animals of the land, sea and air. The "whys" of keeping kosher are few and far between, summarized by God's declaration (Lev. 11:44-45): "For I am the LORD your God-you shall sanctify yourselves and you will be holy, for I am holy; and you shall not contaminate your souls ... for I am the LORD Who elevates you from the land of Egypt to be a God unto you; you shall be holy, for I am holy." Non-kosher food, therefore, contaminates our soul and its consumption inhibits our holiness. Why? Ultimately, because God said so. But in avoiding these types of foods, the rewards are, apparently, heavenly.
We made it through Passover and, hopefully, found deep meaning and satisfaction in 1) the accomplishment and 2) the symbolism of avoiding chametz. For eight days, we felt what it was like to make personal sacrifices and thereby gain deeper holiness and purpose. As we now consider the laws of kashrut--a lifetime system of partaking and avoiding, let us also seek the great holiness and sense of purpose that comes with self-sacrifice and heeding God's word. And, like Passover, let us use our own self-sacrifice to remember those who are truly in need many more than eight days out of the year: the poor, the widow and the orphan. Let us commit ourselves to providing for their most basic needs, because we really only had a small taste of what it is like to go "without."
Rebecca, Caleb and Ayal join me in wishing you a Sabbath of holiness, rest and re-Jew-venation.
Why is it that at Passover time, more Jews celebrate their Judaism than any other time of the year? The statistics back it up, and of course, there are a number of reasons. I wonder if, then, in addition to the classic foods and the in-home, family-oriented Seder experience, so many Jews celebrate Passover because, subconsciously, we know there is meaning and power to giving something up. Perhaps it is through that giving something up (in the case of Passover, chametz) we become much more aware and appreciative of the tremendous blessings we have in our lives.
This week we read in the Torah Parashat Sh'mini. Our parashah comes to lay out for us the basic laws of Kashrut: permissible and forbidden animals of the land, sea and air. The "whys" of keeping kosher are few and far between, summarized by God's declaration (Lev. 11:44-45): "For I am the LORD your God-you shall sanctify yourselves and you will be holy, for I am holy; and you shall not contaminate your souls ... for I am the LORD Who elevates you from the land of Egypt to be a God unto you; you shall be holy, for I am holy." Non-kosher food, therefore, contaminates our soul and its consumption inhibits our holiness. Why? Ultimately, because God said so. But in avoiding these types of foods, the rewards are, apparently, heavenly.
We made it through Passover and, hopefully, found deep meaning and satisfaction in 1) the accomplishment and 2) the symbolism of avoiding chametz. For eight days, we felt what it was like to make personal sacrifices and thereby gain deeper holiness and purpose. As we now consider the laws of kashrut--a lifetime system of partaking and avoiding, let us also seek the great holiness and sense of purpose that comes with self-sacrifice and heeding God's word. And, like Passover, let us use our own self-sacrifice to remember those who are truly in need many more than eight days out of the year: the poor, the widow and the orphan. Let us commit ourselves to providing for their most basic needs, because we really only had a small taste of what it is like to go "without."
Rebecca, Caleb and Ayal join me in wishing you a Sabbath of holiness, rest and re-Jew-venation.
Monday, March 18, 2013
A Passover Message from Rabbi Aaron Starr
I love when modern research reinforces the brilliance of Jewish tradition. In this past Sunday’s New York Times (“The Stories that Bind Us,” 3/17/13), best-selling author Bruce Feiler explores research that reveals an overwhelming conclusion: “The more children know about their family’s history, the stronger their sense of control over their lives, the higher their self-esteem and the more successfully they believed their families functioned.” The researchers explained that children who have the most self-confidence have a strong “intergenerational self.” That is to say, “They know they belong to something bigger than themselves.”
Monday night begins the holiday of Pesach. Families and friends around the world will come together for sedarim (plural of seder), sharing familiar songs, stories, and food. Through these often intergenerational experiences, family journeys and experiences are told or re-told. Of course, at the core of each seder lies the re-telling of the history of the Jewish people. "My father was a wandering Aramean,” we read in Deuteronomy 26:5-10, “and he went down into Egypt with a few people and lived there and became a great nation, powerful and numerous. But the Egyptians mistreated us and made us suffer, subjecting us to harsh labor. Then we cried out to the LORD, the God of our ancestors, and the LORD heard our voice and saw our misery, toil and oppression. So the LORD brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with great terror and with signs and wonders. He brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey…” In this way, we fulfill our Torah-based mitzvah to teach our children about the Jewish people’s salvation through God’s awesome might and power. Moreover, through sharing our family’s history, we provide our children a strong sense of identity and confidence that empowers them to face the great challenges of life.
The article goes on to explain that the most helpful family narratives are those that are honest about ups and downs over the years. “When faced with a challenge,” Feiler writes, “happy families, like happy people, just add a new chapter to their life story that shows them overcoming the hardship. This skill is particularly important for children, whose identity tends to get locked in during adolescence.” This is the way of the Jewish people: throughout the generations, life gave us great challenges; with God’s help in partnership with human wisdom and innovation, we overcame those challenges to create a bright future for ourselves. And, frankly, this is the ultimate lesson of Passover as well. Oh, and by the way, Feiler also adds, “the hokier the family’s tradition … the more likely it is to be passed down.” And that’s just good advice for making a Passover seder great!
This Passover, may we immerse ourselves in the traditions of the Jewish people, full of joy and meaning, but also giving our children an inner strength to overcome life’s obstacles. As Feiler concludes: “The bottom line: if you want a happier family, create, refine and retell the story of your family’s positive moments and your ability to bounce back from the difficult ones. That act alone may increase the odds that your family will thrive for many generations to come.” Kein y’hi ratzon, May this be God’s will.
Rebecca, Caleb and Ayal join me in wishing you Shabbat shalom and chag kasher v’sameach.
Monday night begins the holiday of Pesach. Families and friends around the world will come together for sedarim (plural of seder), sharing familiar songs, stories, and food. Through these often intergenerational experiences, family journeys and experiences are told or re-told. Of course, at the core of each seder lies the re-telling of the history of the Jewish people. "My father was a wandering Aramean,” we read in Deuteronomy 26:5-10, “and he went down into Egypt with a few people and lived there and became a great nation, powerful and numerous. But the Egyptians mistreated us and made us suffer, subjecting us to harsh labor. Then we cried out to the LORD, the God of our ancestors, and the LORD heard our voice and saw our misery, toil and oppression. So the LORD brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with great terror and with signs and wonders. He brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey…” In this way, we fulfill our Torah-based mitzvah to teach our children about the Jewish people’s salvation through God’s awesome might and power. Moreover, through sharing our family’s history, we provide our children a strong sense of identity and confidence that empowers them to face the great challenges of life.
The article goes on to explain that the most helpful family narratives are those that are honest about ups and downs over the years. “When faced with a challenge,” Feiler writes, “happy families, like happy people, just add a new chapter to their life story that shows them overcoming the hardship. This skill is particularly important for children, whose identity tends to get locked in during adolescence.” This is the way of the Jewish people: throughout the generations, life gave us great challenges; with God’s help in partnership with human wisdom and innovation, we overcame those challenges to create a bright future for ourselves. And, frankly, this is the ultimate lesson of Passover as well. Oh, and by the way, Feiler also adds, “the hokier the family’s tradition … the more likely it is to be passed down.” And that’s just good advice for making a Passover seder great!
This Passover, may we immerse ourselves in the traditions of the Jewish people, full of joy and meaning, but also giving our children an inner strength to overcome life’s obstacles. As Feiler concludes: “The bottom line: if you want a happier family, create, refine and retell the story of your family’s positive moments and your ability to bounce back from the difficult ones. That act alone may increase the odds that your family will thrive for many generations to come.” Kein y’hi ratzon, May this be God’s will.
Rebecca, Caleb and Ayal join me in wishing you Shabbat shalom and chag kasher v’sameach.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
What is Tu B'Shvat?
It's always funny to celebrate the holiday Tu B'Shvat (15th day of the Hebrew month Shvat) in Michigan. After all, it's below 0 here! How can we be talking about the birthday of the trees?
The Mishnah, the Jewish law book written by rabbis between the 2nd c. BCE and the 2nd c. CE, declares, "There are four 'New Year' days: on the 1st of Nisan is the New Year for kings and feasts; on the 1st of Elul is the New Year for the Tithe of Cattle; on the 1st of Tishrei is the New Year for [the reckoning of] years, o fhte Years of Release and Jubilee years, for the planting [of trees] and for vegetables; and the 1st of Shevat is the New Year for [fruit-]trees (so the School of Shammai taught; and the School of Hillel says: On the 15th thereof)" (Mishnah Rosh HaShanah 1:1).
Thus we see the source explanation for Rosh HaShanah--the 1st of Tishrei--being the New Year for years (i.e., the birthday of the world) and the 15th of Shvat--Tu B'Shvat--the birthday of trees. Just as in our own day and age we have multiple New Years (Rosh Hashanah, start of school, January 1, for example) so too do we have multiple times in our Jewish Year that we take stock of our lives. Are we caring for the earth in the way we must? Are we avoiding wastefulness (Jewish value called bal tashchit) and being responsible for our actions?
I read once that we do not inherit the earth from our parents; we borrow it from our children. As we come to celebrate Tu B'Shvat this coming Shabbat, let us remember to do our part to be a steward of the earth. Consider planting a tree in Israel to celebrate Tu B'Shvat, as well as to honor your child's Jewish learning or to remember the legacy of a loved one: www.jnf.org.
The Mishnah, the Jewish law book written by rabbis between the 2nd c. BCE and the 2nd c. CE, declares, "There are four 'New Year' days: on the 1st of Nisan is the New Year for kings and feasts; on the 1st of Elul is the New Year for the Tithe of Cattle; on the 1st of Tishrei is the New Year for [the reckoning of] years, o fhte Years of Release and Jubilee years, for the planting [of trees] and for vegetables; and the 1st of Shevat is the New Year for [fruit-]trees (so the School of Shammai taught; and the School of Hillel says: On the 15th thereof)" (Mishnah Rosh HaShanah 1:1).
Thus we see the source explanation for Rosh HaShanah--the 1st of Tishrei--being the New Year for years (i.e., the birthday of the world) and the 15th of Shvat--Tu B'Shvat--the birthday of trees. Just as in our own day and age we have multiple New Years (Rosh Hashanah, start of school, January 1, for example) so too do we have multiple times in our Jewish Year that we take stock of our lives. Are we caring for the earth in the way we must? Are we avoiding wastefulness (Jewish value called bal tashchit) and being responsible for our actions?
I read once that we do not inherit the earth from our parents; we borrow it from our children. As we come to celebrate Tu B'Shvat this coming Shabbat, let us remember to do our part to be a steward of the earth. Consider planting a tree in Israel to celebrate Tu B'Shvat, as well as to honor your child's Jewish learning or to remember the legacy of a loved one: www.jnf.org.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Parashat Va-era: Facebook Advice
The Facebook phenomenon never ceases to humor me. I often call it the Shep Nachas site, as so many of my friends are posting about their children's various successful accomplishments, deep insights, or laughable foibles. In November of election years it becomes the site where people are given a much broader voice to air their political opinions than they might otherwise have. And, more recently, I have watched it also because a strange "virtual" support group for people who have suffered losses, injuries, or illnesses. It is in so many ways a "real" community, and in so many ways anything but a "real" community.
Sometimes I wonder too if Facebook had existed in biblical times what it would have looked like. Would Egypt have been spared the Plagues we read about in this week's Torah portion, Parashat Va-era, if after the first plague (blood) Facebook would have lit up with Egyptian complaints? Or, similarly, would Moses have Tweeted the Exodus (#letmypeoplego, "We're marching now!")? Are Facebook and other social media sites today similar or greater than the bully pulpit of yesteryear?
In our Torah portion this week, at Moses' request, God assigns Aaron to accompany Moses before Pharaoh because Moses was "aral s'fatayim-of sealed (actually, "uncircumcised") lips" (Ex. 6:12 and Ex. 6:30). From this notion comes the midrash with which many of us are familiar that, protected by an angel, the child Moses put a burning-hot coal in his mouth rather than a piece of gold, lest Pharaoh think that Moses were after his throne. Or, perhaps Moses did not feel that he had the right to speak before Pharaoh, or the oratorical skills, or that for a variety of other reasons it should have been someone else's role. Whatever the reason, God responds to Moses, "Behold, I have made you as a god before Pharaoh and Aaron, your brother, as your prophet" (Ex. 7:1). Through this interesting statement, we understand that God chooses not to speak aloud in this world; rather, He speaks exclusively through His chosen messengers. As such, Aaron became Moses' spokesperson to the Egyptian monarch and pleaded our ancestors' case before Pharaoh.
Because of the various 21st century social media outlets, each of us today has a much stronger voice than we might otherwise possess. Though we may at times perceive of ourselves in "real" life to be like Moses, "of sealed lips," in reality, each of us is much more like Aaron: a prophet for what is right, for what is just, for what is holy. In this week of Parashat Va-era, may we use that God-given voice to pursue justice and to urge our friends, family, communities and politicians--to live lives of true meaning and purpose. May we be the disciples of Aaron who, as Pirke Avot teaches us, should be "lovers of peace and pursuers of peace."
Sometimes I wonder too if Facebook had existed in biblical times what it would have looked like. Would Egypt have been spared the Plagues we read about in this week's Torah portion, Parashat Va-era, if after the first plague (blood) Facebook would have lit up with Egyptian complaints? Or, similarly, would Moses have Tweeted the Exodus (#letmypeoplego, "We're marching now!")? Are Facebook and other social media sites today similar or greater than the bully pulpit of yesteryear?
In our Torah portion this week, at Moses' request, God assigns Aaron to accompany Moses before Pharaoh because Moses was "aral s'fatayim-of sealed (actually, "uncircumcised") lips" (Ex. 6:12 and Ex. 6:30). From this notion comes the midrash with which many of us are familiar that, protected by an angel, the child Moses put a burning-hot coal in his mouth rather than a piece of gold, lest Pharaoh think that Moses were after his throne. Or, perhaps Moses did not feel that he had the right to speak before Pharaoh, or the oratorical skills, or that for a variety of other reasons it should have been someone else's role. Whatever the reason, God responds to Moses, "Behold, I have made you as a god before Pharaoh and Aaron, your brother, as your prophet" (Ex. 7:1). Through this interesting statement, we understand that God chooses not to speak aloud in this world; rather, He speaks exclusively through His chosen messengers. As such, Aaron became Moses' spokesperson to the Egyptian monarch and pleaded our ancestors' case before Pharaoh.
Because of the various 21st century social media outlets, each of us today has a much stronger voice than we might otherwise possess. Though we may at times perceive of ourselves in "real" life to be like Moses, "of sealed lips," in reality, each of us is much more like Aaron: a prophet for what is right, for what is just, for what is holy. In this week of Parashat Va-era, may we use that God-given voice to pursue justice and to urge our friends, family, communities and politicians--to live lives of true meaning and purpose. May we be the disciples of Aaron who, as Pirke Avot teaches us, should be "lovers of peace and pursuers of peace."
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