We All Need More Bina

"How much better is it to get wisdom than gold! and to get understanding (Bina) rather to be chosen than silver.” Proverbs 16:16

One of my favorite Jewish jokes speaks of the difference between the Jewish pessimist and the Jewish optimist.  Says the Jewish pessimist: “Things are terrible, they can’t get any worse.”  Says the Jewish optimist: “Things are terrible, but they can always get worse.”  Thus, my reaction to the current national and geopolitical dynamic along with growing climate instability is that it is hard not to be a Jewish optimist, comforted, in our uniquely Jewish way, that everything can always get worse.

In an era where there is so much that is troubling and frightening, we all need more Bina. In Hebrew, Bina means “wisdom”, however, in Jewish tradition, ‘Bina’ goes beyond knowing – it is knowledge based on understanding, tempered by contemplation and reflection. It is knowing how to employ all we have learned with thoughtfulness and framed with humanity.  Linguistically, ‘Bina’ is linked to boneh or l’vnot – builders and the act of building.  Thus, we learn that to truly have Bina, our knowledge must be built and built collectively.  Conversely, we cannot build a society and a world of purpose and of values without Bina.

I am struck that, in a number of African languages, “Bina” means to sing and to dance, as well as the quality of freshness.  In Hindi, Bina is a musical instrument.  And, again, in the context of today’s challenges, we all need to sing and dance more and seek the qualities of newness and freshness in ourselves and in others. 

This summer, our family was blessed by the arrival of Bina Mazal

– Jo and my first grandchild, daughter of Keith and Nomi Adams, and niece to Alya and Jacob.

Neith, Nomi and Bina

My daughter Nomi spoke beautifully at the Simchat Bat:

“I can understand her desire to stay in. For her last couple of months in there, she was getting a steady supply of pizza bagels and chocolate ice cream, and the outside world seems like a pretty scary place right now. There’s a lot to be afraid of. I would be lying if I said that I had no worries about raising a child in our current times. There are so many unexplainable things going on that she’s going to want to be explained to her, so many changes we need to work for. But at the same time, that’s what’s exciting about bringing a new life into the world. We have the opportunity to raise a woman who will hopefully be kind and caring, who will work for change, who will fight for what she believes in, and who will love as much as we love her. 

I cannot be more proud of my daughter Alya, who said:

“For Bina, I wish the same things for you that I wished for your mother before she had you. I wish you joy and I wish you love.

I wish you curiosity. The desire to explore the world and to learn new things and meet new people 

Alya and Bina

and hear new ideas, secure in the knowledge that you have this family and home and community always waiting and supporting you.

I wish you grace. In this world of increasing uncertainty and unkindness, I hope you walk through life leaving peace in your wake. I hope you bring light to those around you.

And of course, to echo your name, I wish you wisdom and I wish you luck. The wisdom to listen to all sides and come to the right choice.”

Finally, I share my wonderful son-in-law Keith’s, words: “So, with this name, may our daughter be grounded in her self-determination and may she also find her way to respect and protect our ultimate collective inheritance -- this earth and its inhabitants, one and the same, engaged in a unity for peace.”

Jake and Bina

At a time of great change and challenge, all of us will benefit from curiosity, the desire to explore, and the support of others.  We will benefit from grace and the wisdom to listen to all sides and make the right choices.  We share the responsibility to raise children and to elevate ourselves to be kind and caring, to work for change, fight for what we believe in, and love and be loved. Let us all find the way to respect and protect our ultimate collective inheritance -- this earth and its inhabitants, one and the same, engaged in a unity for peace.

Now is not the time for optimism or pessimism, Jewish or otherwise.  Now is the time for Bina.

My fondest regards to you, your family and your friends for a Shanah Tovah U’mitukah – a happy, healthy and sweet New Year.

Suburban Zen

Our home and yard are shaded by a canopy of beautiful tall trees; pines, poplars and oaks that provide valuable shade during the oppressive Atlanta summers.  Unfortunately, as summer turns to autumn, the trees also deposit a cache of leaves that, in the weeks before Rosh Hashanah, begins as a lovely wafting of greenery and elevates by mid-November to a vegetative torrent and, I would add, torment.  As a dutiful suburbanite I spend each Sunday during this period accompanied by my electric leaf blower, rake, broom and Costco leaf bags blowing, pushing and bagging.  It is not a task that lends itself to a sense of accomplishment as, invariably, as soon as I have moved the last bag to the curb a breeze wafts through the neighborhood and leafy stragglers descend to litter the driveway. 

Not wanting to make leaf collection my sole preoccupation during these months, I have adopted a mantra, which I call suburban Zen: “There are always more leaves”.

Perhaps this is the lesson of the sixties – my sixties that is (I won’t try to fathom the lesson of the 1960’s).  No matter how hard we work, our lives seem to tilt towards entropy.  We literally and figuratively rake, mow, sweep and brandish our hot air but “there are always more leaves”.  Or as Rabbi Tarfon would say upon viewing his lawn: “You are not obligated to complete the task, but neither are you free to desist from it”. 

Perhaps this is also a lesson for the High Holy Days. It is a messy, unfinished, oft frightening leaf-filled world, perhaps more so every day. Even if we can never solve every problem, resolve every conflict and address every local, national or global challenge; we need to keep raking.

This is our partnership with the Almighty; she will continue to provide trees and leaves and we must keep raking.  And that’s the good news.  

Life in the Slow Lane

In the first week in my tenure as interim director of Hillel at Boston University I walked to Best Buy to cruise the Labor Day sale.  Students and parents rushed through the aisles of Best Buys snatching up air conditioners, iPad, TV’s and stereos.  A small microwave oven for $54.00 beckoned me as did a flat screen TV for $189.  But I demurred.  A simpler life beckoned me.

My small one bedroom apartment on Bay State Road is the definition of Spartan functionality.  It has all I need but very little more.  In the days ahead I will return to my well-furnished and provisioned home in Atlanta but here in Boston, life is much simpler. I have two double beds, one love seat, three chairs, two bar stools, two end tables, coffee table and a 6x8 rug.  I have a set of four each of dishes, eating utensils, mugs and glasses.  I have, as of yet only used two of the dishes, one of the bowls and one of the coffee mugs.  Oddly, I have managed without my precious expresso machine.  I have yet to do the laundry, but when I do I will fill my pockets with quarters and trek downstairs to the washer and dryer, which shares a small room with the buildings boiler. 

Everything takes a bit longer.  I make stir fry for dinner.  In the absence of a microwave oven I boil the rice.  Impossibly, it takes 6 minutes rather than one.  There is no dishwasher and so I wash each dish, utensil, pot and glass by hand.  I sweep the small kitchen floor and hand wipe it with a spray cleaner and a small rag.  That deliberate quality of life is pleasant; perhaps, functionally meditative; slow down, embrace the quieter moments. 

Without a Boston-based car, I walk everywhere.  Trader Joe’s is a 20 minute stroll as is Whole Foods.  The walk over is pleasant.  The returning walk with hands filled with groceries a bit less so. The dry cleaner is four blocks, the drug store six.  My commute to Hillel is a 10 minute walk.  I discovered that my iPhone is tracking my steps and I am averaging about 12,000 a day – about 4 miles. 

I sit on a park bench along the Charles River and watch sleek shells with determined rowers glide by.  I walk along Beacon Street admiring the beautiful Victorian era row houses.  I rent a bicycle and pedal to Harvard Square buy a used book and read while sipping coffee.  After a long, difficult day at work I grab a bottle of light beer, head into the bedroom (the only air conditioned room in the apartment) sit on an old office chair, place my feet on the bed, my computer on my laps and watch a movie on Netflix on the 14 inch screen.  It seems overly indulgent.

Perhaps the simpler life will get old soon.  I will long for the convenience of a microwave; the comfort of the full size leather sofa in my den, the convenience of a car and the mindless pleasure of a large flat screen TV.  But a quieter, simpler life has its pleasures.  These pleasures are all in the moment – and none are taken for granted.  It seems to me that is a core message for Rosh Hashanah; enjoy life in the moment for the simple pleasures it offers.  In the absence of the layers of possessions that surround us we become more attuned to gentle joys of God’s creation; trees, a soft breeze, new and old friends, our loved ones.  Among those great pleasure is our own journeys of thought, imagination and wonder.  Today is the birthday of the world, enjoy.

Apples Honey and Augie the Doggie

Generally speaking, other than a honey stained necktie and some extra pounds, I carry little of sustaining residue from indulging in apples and honey on Rosh Hashanah.  Clearly it is yummy but, without question, there is a quality of magical thinking to this custom and belief that eating apples and honey will advance happiness in the year to come.  The same can be said of Tashlich[1] where we presume that tossing stale Cheerios or Wheat Thins into the Chattahoochee or Charles absolves us of our past misdeeds.  Thus, as the New Year approaches, I find myself thinking about Augie, or as we like to call him Augie the Doggie. 

Augie was irresistibly cute when we spied him a year ago at an adoption event; large brown eyes, oversized paws and an expression our son Jacob coined the “Sarah McLachlan face”, after the pathos oozing commercial for the ASPCA. And so we brought him home.  All seemed fine those first days; he was unusually docile, but we chalked that up to the pain medication he was taking for his broken tooth – acquired we learned when attempting to chew his way out of a metal cage.  And then we left him home alone. 

Upon returning, we couldn't quite figure out why large portions of his body were covered with white powder – until we spied the open pantry, whose contents, had been turned into a war zone with Cheerios, sugar, Wheat Thins and, of course, flour strewn all over the floor. 

Augie was dutifully locked up in a large dog cage for our next excursion out of the house.  Channeling Krypto, he bent the bars and broke out. And, in a display of profound industriousness, he ripped out all of the window screens, knocked down the accumulated knickknacks on our dining room hutch and relieved our bedroom wall of a framed lithograph.

More restrictive measures were called for and, as we headed out for a Saturday evening dinner with friends, we locked him in the downstairs bathroom; after all, what damage could he do.  Further demonstrating his destructive acumen, he ripped and ate through the dry wall, knocked a framed picture off the wall shattering its glass and chewed the ends of the vanity doors. 

We were about to give up.  Perhaps we had made a huge mistake.  We took him to the vet who told us about “Separation Anxiety” a common condition among rescue dogs.  He prescribed Prozac and guided us on how to build Augie’s trust and confidence by leaving him for very brief periods and gradually increasing the time away.  Astonishingly, I had found a pet more neurotic than I am. 

A year has passed since our house destruction ordeals.  Each morning begins with Augie jumping into our bed to announce the arrival of morning – and more importantly breakfast time.  His morning kibble is followed by Prozac wrapped in American cheese.  Whenever possible, Augie and I go hiking in Big Trees a local wooded preserve.  Off the leash, he follows close behind as we hike the trail, stopping to drink from the stream.  He sits at our feet as we read or watch television.  He is slowly transforming from a sullen, frightened pet to one that is becoming more outgoing and playful.  We say that he is “discovering his inner dog”.  Last month, for the first time, he chased a squirrel.  Unfortunately, my wife Jo happened to be attached via the leash at the time.  Caught totally off guard by this unexpected “dogged pursuit”, she took a nasty spill, broke a finger and a tooth and needed 5 stitches in her chin.  She is still in physical therapy.

What does this have to do with Rosh Hashanah and apples and honey? Here’s what we’ve learned from Augie the Doggy: The sweetness in life comes not from consuming or possessing things but in investing in, engaging and enjoying the company of others – humans and otherwise.  Psalms 133 teaches us:  “Hiney ma tov u’ma-nayim Shevet ach-im gam ya-chad”; "Behold, how good and how sweet it is for friends to sit together”.  The sweetness in life is in the company of others.  Thus, the question is not what will make this year sweet but who will. 

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[1] Tashlich: the custom where, on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, Jews cast some form of grain (e.g. bread, rice, Cheerios) upon flowing water, as a metaphorical representation of casting out one’s sins,

Rethinking the Akedah

Perhaps no narrative in the Tanach challenges us more than the Akedah – the Binding of Isaac.  How are we to find meaning in this tale?  Even though Isaac is saved at the last moment by an Angel of God, how can we not be outraged by a God who would ask a father to sacrifice his only son?  How can we not be heartbroken for the days of terror and anguish that God has inflicted upon Abraham and Isaac?  How are we to embrace a God and a religion that causes such heartbreak?

Perhaps, the wisdom of the Akedah comes by viewing it not as the story of an individual, but part of the story of the evolution of our people.

The Akedah begins with the words:

א  וַיְהִי, אַחַר הַדְּבָרִים הָאֵלֶּה, וְהָאֱלֹהִים, נִסָּה אֶת-אַבְרָהָם; וַיֹּאמֶר אֵלָיו, אַבְרָהָם וַיֹּאמֶר הִנֵּנִי.

The standard translation is as follows: “And it came to pass after these things, that God tested Abraham, and said unto him: 'Abraham'; and he said: Here am I."

In this verse, the Hebrew word for God is HaElohim”.  The word HaElohim is used in two additional verses:  In verse three:

ג  וַיַּשְׁכֵּם אַבְרָהָם בַּבֹּקֶר, וַיַּחֲבֹשׁ אֶת-חֲמֹרוֹ, וַיִּקַּח אֶת-שְׁנֵי נְעָרָיו אִתּוֹ, וְאֵת יִצְחָק בְּנוֹ; וַיְבַקַּע, עֲצֵי עֹלָה, וַיָּקָם אֶל-הַמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר-אָמַר-לוֹ הָאֱלֹהוַיֵּלֶךְ, 

“And Abraham rose early in the morning, and saddled his ass, and took two of his young men with him, and Isaac his son; and he cleaved the wood for the burnt-offering, and rose up, and went unto the place of which God had told him.”

Again in verse 9:

ט  וַיָּבֹאוּ, אֶל-הַמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר אָמַר-לוֹ הָאֱלֹהִים, וַיִּבֶן שָׁם אַבְרָהָם אֶת-הַמִּזְבֵּחַ, וַיַּעֲרֹךְ אֶת-הָעֵצִים; וַיַּעֲקֹד, אֶת-יִצְחָק בְּנוֹ, וַיָּשֶׂם אֹתוֹ עַל-הַמִּזְבֵּחַ, מִמַּעַל לָעֵצִים.

9 And they came to the place which God had told him of; and Abraham built the altar there, and laid the wood in order, and bound Isaac his son, and laid him on the altar, upon the wood."

But a literal translation of the Hebrew word “HaElohim” is quite different than “God” as generally presented in the English translation.  It literally means ‘the gods”  “The Hebrew letter hey -  הָ  translates as “the”  and the word Elohim  אֱלֹהִים - is plural - gods. What are we to make of this?

Jews began their evolution as a nomadic tribe dwelling in and around the Judean hills of the Levant.  They lived amongst tribes and peoples who engaged in paganistic practices, including human, and most notably, child sacrifice. 

We know that the ancient Canaanites and Phoenicians worshipped the god Moloch and that this worship was marked by child sacrifice.  Moloch is mentioned in the Book of Deuteronomy and in the Book of Leviticus: Leviticus 18:21: "And thou shalt not let any of thy seed pass through the fire to Moloch”.

We also know that the Valley of Hinnom on the southern edge of Jerusalem was the site of ancient child sacrificial rites. 

In Second Chronicles 28 we read regarding King Ahaz:

"He walked in the ways of the kings of Israel, and made also molten images for the Baalim. 3 Moreover he offered in the valley of the son of Hinnom, and burnt his children in the fire, according to the abominations of the heathen, whom the LORD cast out before the children of Israel."

In Jeremiah chapter 7 we read:

"And they have built the high places of Topheth, which is in the valley of the son of Hinnom, to burn their sons and their daughters in the fire; which I commanded not, neither came it into My mind."

Our Jewish tradition tells us that Mount Moriah in Jerusalem, the site of the first and second Temples and the current site of the Dome of the Rock, is where Abraham brought Isaac to be sacrificed.  Thus, when “On the third day Abraham lifted up his eyes, and saw the place afar off” (Genesis 22:4), he would have been overlooking the Valley of Hinnom the site of child sacrifices to Moloch.

In translating the word הָאֱלֹהִים in the Akedah, what if we read it as “the gods” and, in this context, the gods refer to the pagan gods worshipped in Canaan during the time of Abraham.  In this reading, it would not be unusual to be told that the gods asked Abraham to sacrifice his son.  That is what the gods – specifically Moloch - did at that time. 

But, as we read in the text in Genesis, at the last moment, an angel of God tells Abraham not to sacrifice his son.

יא  וַיִּקְרָא אֵלָיו מַלְאַךְ יְהוָה, מִן-הַשָּׁמַיִם, וַיֹּאמֶר, אַבְרָהָם אַבְרָהָם; וַיֹּאמֶר, הִנֵּנִי. יב  וַיֹּאמֶר, אַל-תִּשְׁלַח יָדְךָ אֶל-הַנַּעַר, וְאַל-תַּעַשׂ לוֹ, מְאוּמָה:  כִּי עַתָּה יָדַעְתִּי, כִּי-יְרֵא אֱלֹהִים אַתָּה, וְלֹא חָשַׂכְתָּ אֶת-בִּנְךָ אֶת-יְחִידְךָ, מִמֶּנִּי

11 And the angel of the LORD called unto him out of heaven, and said: 'Abraham, Abraham.' And he said: 'Here am I.' 

12 And he said: 'Lay not thy hand upon the lad, neither do thou any thing unto him; for now I know that thou art a God-fearing man, seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thine only son, from Me.'

But here’s the thing, in this verse and in each subsequent verse in the accounting of the Akedah in the Tanach, the Hebrew name for God is the tetragrammaton, YHWH.  One can argue that it is a different God whose angel now tells Abraham not to sacrifice his son Isaac.  It is a God who desires to steer Abraham away from the horrific practices of child sacrifice.  And thus:

14 And Abraham called the name of that place Adonai-jireh; as it is said to this day: 'In the mount where the LORD is seen.'

We can unpack the Akedah a bit further by looking at the word   נִסָּה   “to test” as in “And it came to pass after these things, that God tested Abraham”.  But what if we change our translation to: “And it came to pass after these things, that the gods tested Abraham” – as in testing Abraham’s resolve.  We can also translate נִסָּה as “tempted”.  Thus, Abraham, the first believer in the one God was tempted to return to worshiping those pagan gods that were popular among other nations.  

While the historical accuracy of the Tanach can be questioned and debated, what cannot be denied is that it recounts and frames the evolution of our people from a wandering tribe immersed in paganistic culture and beliefs to a nation, guided by an omnipotent divinity and framed by laws and values that guide our lives. 

This evolution is recounted through the myriad of laws and statues that, according to the Torah, are handed down from God through Moses.   But we also know that the Torah seeks to guide the mores and values of the Jewish people through stories of our ancestors.  And critical to the evolution of the Jewish people is the transition of our system of belief; the way we worship and honor God.  Perhaps the Akedah not only speaks of that transition but it was, in fact, a tale told thousands of years ago to our ancestors to wean them away from the barbaric practices of child sacrifice; Just like Abraham, you will be tempted to worship pagan gods, but you must resist the temptation. 

Perhaps the evolution of Abraham’s belief is reflective of the evolution of the religious belief of the Jewish people.  Abraham, thus, represents not only the “proto-Jew”, the first of our fore-parents, but, more broadly, a literary construct to represent the religious and cultural evolution of our people.

Thus, gods that that demand human sacrifices speaks of a system of belief grounded in misguided superstition and purposeless and inhumane practices.  But that is not the God of our people.  Our God seeks not human or animal sacrifices but asks that we: “Learn to do well; seek justice, relieve the oppressed, judge the fatherless, plead for the widow” (Isaiah, I;17)

God, Dog and the Meaning of Life - A D'var Torah from Past Years

I turned 60 this year, a notable accomplishment marked by great family joy, personal self reflection and an accelerated schedule of colonoscopies.  In the world of numbers, while 59 was a prime year, that is one that can only be divided by one and itself, 60 lends itself multiple divisions (30X2; 15X4; 5X12…..). Thus, these past months have provided me with an opportunity to divide my years and look at my life in stages or segment; for example, those spent single and those spent married, and those spent without children and those spent with.  And without question, the second halves of these life stages have been far more rich, rewarding and meaningful than the first.  On this coming Jewish New Year, as we collectively reflect on the years that have passed  and plan for those to come, I send my wishes that  each segment your life that awaits you is richer, more meaningful and more filled with peace and joy.

In this context of life and its segments, I ponder another division in my life and reflect that the second thirty years of being a dyslexic have been much more pleasant than the first. Two words, two glorious, life altering words that have brought me from great darkness into light and from despair to destiny account for this life transformation.  Those words; ‘spell check’ .

Spell check has transformed my dyslexia from a real disability to more of a nuisance.  I continue to reverse numbers, mistake my left foot for my right and compensate for my continued writing challenges by limiting my hand-written communications to brief, terse messages: “Hello – am fine, David”.  I have come to delight in dyslexic jokes, my favorites being the “dog” “god” variety e.g., “Untied Church of Dog” and the one about the paranoid dyslexic who always has the unsettling feeling that he is following somebody.

I have come to understand that the vestiges of my dyslexia have left an imprint on my world view, my weltanschauung, (bless you spell check) that provides for and, perhaps, encourages perceiving the world in a different way – reversing things, turning things around.  That in a wink of an eye we can transform ‘god’ into ‘dog’ is perhaps a good thing.  God and our understanding of God is now available for further reflection, for reshaping and rethinking.  That one may have the unsettling feeling that he is following somebody is a good thing. Our world would be a profoundly better and more peaceful place if collectively we were more reflective about whom we are following and who we venerate as leaders and heroes.  Political and social change represents the “dyslexic-ing” of the social or political order.  In the sphere of science, in transposing space and time, Einstein demonstrated that he was, perhaps, greatest dyslexic of all.

We dyslexics see a world that is slightly different and sometimes a bit mixed up.  We are, at times, a confused lot, reversing numbers, mistaking our left foot for our right and, of course, advancing new innovations in spelling. But our message that reality, or at least our perceptions of reality, can be plastic, that we have the capacity to reverse and reorder our understanding of our worlds is a good thing – perhaps a necessary thing.

The upcoming High Holidays call for all of us to be open to dyslexic-like reflective flexibility.  What/who is our God? What does God ask us to believe? How does God guide us to act?  How does our God enable us to live a life of meaning, a life that makes sense?  Who are we following?  What values do these individuals advance?  Is the organization, the city, the nation and the world that they envision and that they seek to build one where people are treated with greater humanity and one where peace and harmony can reign?   In the coming year of 5773 let’s celebrate the dyslexics around us and the dyslexics within us and, together, use this capacity to see the world in different ways and to create a better world together.

Love and best wishes for a happy, sweet, healthy, and slightly altered 5773.

Lama Sukkah Zu???

Just a brief fortnight ago we were tossing Cheerios, Wheat Thins and Wonder Bread in to the oceans, creeks and estuaries, watching our sins float away or be consumed by bloated ducks.   Five days ago, Jews around the world twirled chickens and roosters around their head in another symbolic expiating of sins.  (I’m sorry, but wouldn't causing the needless suffering innocent animals be considered sinful?) I checked the Chabad online site and found the following phrase among the guidelines for Kaparot: “One cannot do kaparot with a "used" chicken.”  Another e-commerce idea down the drain.

Just when we thought Judaism couldn’t get any stranger Sukkot arrives. The building supplies come up from the basement or the garage and lie on our decks like a grotesque erector set – metal poles or wood 2 x 4’s; canvas wrapping or plywood panels; bamboo stalks or mats.  Have you tried navigating 30 pound bundles of 10 foot bamboo pole through the kitchen without knocking over the Mr. Coffee machine or displacing the toaster?  Impossible.  Hours are spent assembling.  Instructions, if they ever existed were lost 7 years ago in the last move.  It is the Ikea assembly project from hell. Forget Avraham, Izhak, Yaakov, Yosef, Moshe, Aahron and David – send me Bob Vila. Of course, the minute the sukkah is completed it starts to rain. Down here in Atlanta, Indian summer will be initiated with temperature and humidity that hovers in 3 digits and our Sukkot will become suburban sweat lodges.  Up north, an early winter will set in early with a cold front raging from Canada.  Chicken soup will freeze in bowls; matzo balls will turn into matzo meal icebergs. 

We go to shule the next day and walk around with long palm stalks and $50 lemons.  Seven days later, the sukkah parts are returned to the garage, the palm branches sit in the garbage and the etrog rots on the counter. 

I so love Sukkot. It is irrational, illogical, unreasonable and unproductive.  And thus, it is so important. We spend our days with metrics, outcome goals and billable hours.  We sit in traffic and, while our cars inch forward, we talk on the phone with clients or bosses. We check our email as we head for bed and as we rise in the morning. Even our recreation becomes task-like – we “workout”.  We don’t stroll, we power walk.  We acculturate our children to this driven lifestyle early on: Music lessons follow ballet lessons follow soccer practice field hockey practice and soccer practice.  Our children no longer play - they compete. In the midst of our focus and driven lives, Sukkot reminds us that among the keys to a purposeful life is to find moments to be purposeless. 

And when the Sukkah is complete and the first night’s meal is over, we sit sipping tea – or perhaps something stronger. Faint stars twinkle through the skach.  The canvas walls offer a sense of protection as is we are wrapped in peacefulness.  We are beyond the reach of the TV.  We have ventured past the boundaries of our wireless internet.  Perhaps we dare to turn off our iphones. We stop, we breathe.  We chat with family and friends. If children cannot be with us we recall times when our they were young and we made paper chains or strung Cheerios, cranberries and ziti noodles and draped them over and through the bamboo poles.

Purposefulness will return in the days ahead, but for now we embrace holy goofiness, and divinely inspired irrationality.  Enjoy!!

Tashlich Take Two

As Rosh Hashanah is “early” this year, I’ll be able to get on with the annual process of expiating my sins sooner.  Fortunately, this phenomenon of Jewish calendaring, precipitated by the aligning of lunar and solar years, also corresponds to the end of a rainy summer in the southeastern United States.  Rivers and streams will be flush, thus providing ample room for the trove of sins that will take the form of stale bread, challah and rice at Tashlich. 

Tashlich, the custom where, on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, Jews cast some form of grain (e.g. bread, rice, Cheerios) upon flowing water, as a metaphorical representation of casting out one’s sins, has always struck me as a cop out.  That we can unburden ourselves, even metaphorically, by tossing week-old challah, stale Wheat Thins or Shredded Wheat, soon to be bound for the disposal in any event, into the waters just seems too easy.  We need something with more bite.  We need to up the ante.  Might we take the ritual tossing of sins more seriously if the stand-in we choose for them was more dear.  For instance, I’d imagine that we’d all be far more pious if, on the afternoon of the first day of Rosh Hashanah, we all were asked to toss our I Pads and I Phones in the water to account for our sins.  Parenthetically, this would work on multiple levels for Anthony Wiener.  (Gevalt, since the days of Vlad the Impaler, has there ever been a more fitting surname).

Inquisitively, I turned to Google, my chief source for spiritual guidance, and typed in the phrase: “the world’s most expensive bread”.  Topping this list was this entry:

Harrods, London’s premier department store, now carries a most luxurious loaf. Britain’s most expensive bread and, if you believe some of the hype surrounding it, the most expensive bread in the world, the Roquefort and Almond sourdough is created with some of the finest ingredients money can buy. The bread, recognized as Britain’s most expensive by the National Association of Master Bakers, will be sold at Harrods for £15 (US $24.50).”

That’s more like it.  At $25 a loaf I’d wager that we’d all be more conscientious about sinning.  Being the consummate capitalist (thus my lucrative Hillel career), I’m thinking that there may be a potential business growth opportunity in “Tashlich” wafers (the hard, flat shape will make tossing easier).  I’m thinking three variations: light, medium and heavy sins, the latter at a minimum of $500 for a box of 10, sold with the assumption that Jews dwelling in SuperMax prisons will have access to some form of flowing water and that Bernie Madoff has some remaining disposable income.

It’s hard for me to see how the act of throwing bread in the water can or should, in any manner, exculpate past bad actions.  Metaphorically casting out past misdeeds may make us feel better but it doesn’t do much for those we’ve ‘misdeeded’ against. Thus, with the operational assumption that the Days of Awe should not just be about mitigating past mistakes but impacting future actions, this coming Rosh Hashanah, I for one, plan on finding my way to the Chattahoochee River and attempt to cast some behaviors on the water.  As the Cheerios flutter through the air and then head downstream, I’ll resolve to make a sincere effort to be less aggressive when I drive and more patient in Trader Joe’s when the customer in front of me brandishes a checkbook.  I’ll click ‘save’ instead of ‘send’ upon completing that snarky email, and will think more charitable thoughts of the parents of the screaming toddler in seats 17 C and D two rows behind me on my flight to the coast.  And literally and metaphorically, I’ll share my bread more often and more graciously so that when Tashlich rolls around next year, I’ll have less, also literally and metaphorically, to toss upon the waters.

D'var Torah in Honor of my Father's 40th Yartzeit

Exodus 25

1 And the LORD spoke unto Moses, saying: 2 'Speak unto the children of Israel, that they take for Me an offering; of every man whose heart make him willing you shall take My offering. 3And this is the offering which ye shall take of them: gold, and silver, and brass; 4 and blue, and purple, and scarlet, and fine linen, and goats' hair; 5 and rams' skins dyed red, and sealskins, and acacia-wood; 6 oil for the light, spices for the anointing oil, and for the sweet incense;

Family lore has it that Jacob Raphael, my grandfather who plied garlic from a pushcart on the Lower East Side, went to the docks one morning to pick up the daily supply, only to find that the boat hold had flooded and the entire cache of garlic was soaked and ruined. Liquidating his entire savings, he purchased the entire load of garlic for a fraction of its original cost, dried it, pulverized it and initiated his version of the American success story by selling powdered garlic. Thank me next time as you are enjoying your well seasoned pizza at Antico’s.

J. Raphael and Sons, importers, grinders and mixers of spices was thus born, the first small factory on Rivington Street on the Lower East Side followed by a larger plant in Williamsburg Brooklyn, in the shadow of the bridge that shares the same name. Jacob ran the business, as he did his family, with an iron fist and a permanently affixed scowl. Four sons tended to the details: Sam, the buying, Max the shipping and billing, Sidney the selling and Alvin, my father, the grinding, mixing and packaging.

Exodus 30

7 And Aaron shall burn thereon incense of sweet spices; every morning, when he dresses the lamps, he shall burn it. 8 And when Aaron lights the lamps at dusk, he shall burn it, a perpetual incense before the LORD throughout your generations.

Whether you arrived by car or via the M train that stopped at Marcy Avenue approximately a ¼ mile away you knew you were approaching the spice factory by the mélange of aromas- cinnamon, allspice, cloves, garlic and nutmeg. Walking up the stairs to the second floor of the aged red brick building one would find my father directing the grinding, mixing and packaging. Workers sauntered about in air diffused with spice dust - that fine mixture coated everything; windows, machinery, clothing and, in very short order, hair, faces and forearms. It is impossible to know whether the daily exposure to that airborne mixture was in anyway responsible for my father’s dying of cancer at the age of 49.

Kings 1: Chapter 10

1 And when the queen of Sheba heard of the fame of Solomon because of the name of the LORD, she came to prove him with hard questions. 2 And she came to Jerusalem with a very great train, with camels that bore spices and gold very much, and precious stones;.

In the evening, in a small split level home in Bayside, Queens, it was the smell of cinnamon and allspice that first announced that his arrive and a small boy would run down the stairs to greet him at the screen door. Over 50 years later, that image of his smile, his spice encrusted clothing and, perhaps more than anything, the rich mixture of spice aromas remains so vivid.

Song of Songs Chapter 4

11 Thy lips, O my bride, drop honey-honey and milk are under thy tongue; and the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.

16Awake, O north wind; and come. thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his precious fruits.

Fragrances can be so infused with emotional potency. I pass a jasmine tree on my daily Sandy Spring walks and suddenly am flushed with memories and images of Jerusalem. We visit an acquaintance at a hospital and, spurred on by the smells of antiseptics, painful memories of lost love ones wash over us. The odor of mildew brings us back to visits to long passed grandparents and elderly relatives.

As I light the havdolah candle and inhale the sweetness of the cloves a flicker of memory slips into consciousness; a cinnamon tinted man preparing compounds to flavor and sweeten our lives, and a young boy, standing by the screen door waiting for the first fragrant hints that his father has come home. The lid is closed, the candle is extinguished but the memory lingers.

"Blessed are you, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, creator of all kinds of spices"

Laws for Drinking Single Malt During Kiddush

Recently a trove of ancient Hebraic documents was found in Afghanistan. The following was among them: Tractate Buba Meitza: Laws for Drinking Single Malt During Kiddush

1. You shall not imbibe blended Scotch during Kiddush as it is an abomination.
2. You` shall not imbibe Scotch from a paper cup as it too is an abomination.
3. Twelve years shall Scotch be aged lest it taste cleave to your tongue in a wholly unpleasant manner not unlike Thanksgiving dinner with your in-laws.
4. He who drinks Scotch before the rabbi shall be called to do Hagbai for 40 consecutive weeks or until he is no longer capable of lifting a shot glass without significant nerve damage.
5. He who does not wash is glass after drinking Scotch is alike a heifer who shares his cud with others. His reward shall be a large and painful cold sore on his upper lip.
6. If you are drinking Scotch and cannot recall whether you have had one glass or two chances are you’ve had enough.
7. Rabbi Aburia used to say: “It is better to drink 15 year old Scotch with 12 friends than 12 year old Scotch with 15 friends. He who drinks 10 year old Scotch generally drinks alone.”
8. If you are immersed in the ritual bath and realize that the time has come for the drinking of single malt it is permissible to exit the bath. However, it is incumbent on you to don raiments lest your affiliation with the Jewish people become pronounced.
9. Until when may one drink single malt on Shabbat? Rabbi Pinchas states: “Until the kiddush egg salad fully consumed.” Rabbi Elihu the Flatulent replied: “Until the chulent of the siudah shelishi is fully expunged from the system.” Until his internment in the Betty Ford Clinic, Rabbi Chananaya would exclaim: “Until the recitation of Sheer Shel Yom on Thursday”.
10. If you are drinking Scotch and the messiah comes it is permissible to complete your drink before welcoming him. Given the circumstances, however, you may want to consider offering him a taste.
11. Rabbi Yechiel of Smirna and Rabbi Elchanan the Parsimonious were drinking Scotch during Kiddush. Rabbi Yechiel commented: “Verily, this Scotch has a palate that is less than fully pleasing. From whence it came?” Rabbi Elchanan replied: “It is the Kirkland Brand acquired while the rebbinsin was purchasing salmon at Costco”. With this, Rabbi Yechiel brought his Tikun down on Rabbi Yechiel’s head with great force causing an odd excretion to emit from his ear.