I had a great car ride to school this morning. I found my CD of Shabbat Zemirot, slid it in and turned the volume up to near ear-drum blasting decibels. The loudness of the music, while being the sole passenger in the car afforded me the opportunity to sing as loud as I wanted without hurting either myself or anyone else. When I arrived in Oakland, I was happy, Shabbat is coming.
This week we read Parshat Lech Lecha and we are introduced to Avram, the man who will eventually become Avraham, the progenitor of the Jewish people. Avram is commanded “Lech Lecha . . .” “Go for yourself from your land, from your birthplace, from your father’s house to the land I will show you.” Rashi explains that this is for Avram’s benefit and his pleasure. Rashi further says Hashem will make his (Avram’s) name known in the world. What is interesting here is that Rashi uses the word “teva” for name rather than “shem” which actually means name. “Teva” in Hebrew means nature, but it can be used for coin, meaning just as a coin is imprinted, the nature of a person can leave an imprint. Avram’s nature, Rashi seems to teach, will leave an imprint on the world.
Perhaps the same is with us as well. Life is not always easy. We are faced with all kinds of different challenges, some of which are easily withstood, others not so much. Rashi’s comment teaches us that we have the ability to help another through challenges; a kind word, a thank you for something, even a smile can lift spirits high and make those challenges easier to bear. And for those moments of joy, they are all the more sweet when experienced with others. Life is meant to be experienced with community. We leave our imprint on the world in how we touch the lives of others.
Yes, Shabbat is coming. I feel happy. The ear shattering Shabbat Zemirot playing in the car worked its magic. What can I do today to leave others with the same feeling?
Shabbat shalom, one and all.
Rabbi Yaakov Traiger
Do you remember the saying, “When I was a kid, I walked to school every day, and it was uphill – both ways”? In fact, when I lived in Israel, I actually had to walk up hill both ways. The school where I studied was tucked behind the Israel Museum and I would walk down the hill, cross Rechov (Street) Aza and then walk up a hill, take a short cut that brought me to Rechov HaPalmach to get to my apartment on Rechov HaLamed Hey. One night as I was walking home (uphill, of course) there was a very bad rain storm. I was walking into the wind and rain was literally coming at me sideways. Suddenly there was a gust so powerful, a virtual tsunami of wind and rain, that I was knocked over and my umbrella was reduced to shreds. Was this what Noah experienced?
This week we read Parshat Noach, the righteous man who was commanded to build an ark, bring his family and a zoo-full of animals onto it. They would be the survivors of a what would be a 40-day rain storm (probably like the one I experienced in 1989) and a massive flood that would wipe out all living creatures. Noah's family would then become the progenitors of a new generation of humankind, one that would hopefully be morally superior to the one just destroyed.
However, it is the end of the parsha that I find compelling. It is the episode of the Tower of Babel. Rashi and other commentators say that this new generation, the descendants of those saved by the flood, united by the fact that they speak one language decide to build a city with a tower that would reach the heavens. What I find remarkable is the manner in which the people came together towards a common goal.
Why were the people dispersed to other lands and their language changed so that they could no longer communicate with each other? I did notice something interesting in Rashi's commentary. The Torah refers to the people as "Bnai HaAdam" the sons of the man. Rashi comments that just as Adam blamed HaShem for his sin in the Garden of Eden, not demonstrating gratitude for HaShem's kindness, the people were not showing a sense of gratitude for having been rescued from the flood. Despite the unity, HaShem, explains Rashi, viewed the building of the tower to Heaven as an act rebellion. The end goal the people had was ultimately negative and for that the people need to be separated.
This value of HaKarat HaTov, of recognizing the good, of expressing gratitude, is all too important. The people came together to build something great, and to a certain extend they did, but they lacked that sense of gratitude. That was their downfall. We can build physically, like the tower, and we can build in other ways. People are a Tower of Babel, people need to be built up to do great things. How do we build people? Showing gratitude for who they are and what they do? Everyone needs validation, everyone needs to know they matter and what they do matters. This can easily be accomplished with two words, "thank you".
We just finished two days of Parent Teacher conferences. Thank you to all the teachers who spent the time to talk with parents, for their devotion to teaching and giving of themselves to 108 Jewish children who are in our little corner of the world. I get to see, everyday, how hard they work to educate, and do all the other things necessary for our school.
Thank you to the PTO who provided dinner and snacks for the teachers and everything they do for the betterment of GBDS.
Thank you to the GBDS staff who work hard each day, providing support for teachers and students.
And thank you to the parents who entrust their children to us each day.
GBDS is our Tower of Babel, together may we continue to build it and each other.
Rabbi Yaakov Traiger
I had the wonderful privilege of living in Jerusalem for three years. I had one apartment on HaLamed Hey Street and another in North Talpiot a five minute walk from the Haas Promenade overlooking the Old City. It was really a special time. To actually live in the land where Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov walked and where King David lead the Jewish people, was beyond compare. To be in a country where the language is that of the Torah was amazing, even more so when I finally understood it and was able to let the Hebrew, as broken as it may have been, come from my mouth instead of English. During those years I hiked through the Golan, and rode camels in the Negev. I climbed Masada. I also enjoyed walking through the Machane Yehudah shuk, the open market in Jerusalem, for it was the one place that remained untouched by the western world. I can still hear vendors yelling,“Avati’ach!” (watermelon). One year a friend of mine and I would walk there every Friday morning to shop for Shabbat. We would begin at a little meat place and each week I ordered grilled turkey with hummus and salad in a pita and that would be my breakfast (I was in my 20’s).
When I lived on HaLamed Street I would walk to a shul located at the point where HaPalmach Street met Rechov HaNasi. As I walked I could hear the horn that blew throughout the city to indicate that Shabbat had started. I usually sat on the right side of the shul near the tall, narrow, floor to ceiling windows and in my mind’s eye I can still see the darkness, and Shabbat, gently descend over Jerusalem as we sang Lecha Dodi. That image returns weekly wherever I sing Lecha Dodi.
And there was the Kotel, that magnificent wall. What can one say about the Kotel? It is the one wall that more than we can touch it, that wall touches us.
It has been many years since I have been able to return to the land. But I know it is mine, I know it is ours.
This week we begin anew the cycle of the Torah reading with Parshat Bereshit. The opening words are very likely the most well known words of the Torah, “In the beginning, HaShem created the Heavens and the earth . . .” In his first comment on the Torah Rashi asks why the Torah begins here and not with Parshat Bo in Shemot in which the first commandment to the Jewish people as a whole is given. Rashi answers his own question by explaining that if any of the nations of the world call the Jewish people bandits for taking the Land of Israel, the Jewish people can respond that HaShem created the world and it was (and is) His will that He gave it to us.
As we begin the new cycle of the Torah, I recall that special time, when I dwelt in that special land. It reminds me of a simpler time in my life, of those things that are truly important. I will close my eyes tonight as I sing Lecha Dodi and watch Shabbat blanket Jerusalem, and us, with a gentle peace.
Shabbat Shalom, one and all.
Rabbi Yaakov Traiger
We are in the middle of the wonderful holiday of Sukkot. Every time I wave my lulav and etrog and eat in the sukkah, my mind conjures up memories of being in Israel, being at the Kotel for the powerful experience of the Kohanim waving their lulavim and etrogim, sleeping in the sukkah, feeling the gentle, warm breezes passing through the walls of the sukkah during the night. It always amazed me seeing the sukkot all over Jerusalem, on balconies and on roof tops. Just the fact that the municipality would cut palm branches and leave them in large piles throughout the city for people to come and take for schach, the roofs of their sukkot was testimony for me of the realization that Judaism is life itself.
Of all the holidays, there is a duality to the holiday of sukkot, which is almost contradictory. On the one hand we wave the Arba’ah Minim, the four species, which, according to Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, the former chief rabbi of the British Commonwealth, are representative of the Land of Israel, and yet we sit in a sukkah which symbolizes exile, for the Jewish people sat in huts while traveling in the desert. The Talmud teaches that the Arba’ah Minim serve as an entreaty to HaShem to provide rain, for Jewish tradition teaches that the on Sukkot the world is judged for water. However, the opportunity to eat, sleep and spend time in the sukkah is dependent on there not being rain.
The Talmud relates that the schach, the roof which comes from leaves or branches, is a symbol of the Annanei HaKavod, the Clouds of Glory that hovered over the Israelites during their sojourn through the desert. These clouds provided protection for the people as they traveled. The sukkah’s roof is to provide (some) protection from the elements as well. This is the particular nature of Sukkot; that HaShem made sure that our Biblical ancestors were protected as they traveled through the desert.
At the same time there is a universal aspect to Sukkot as well, which makes it different from the two other pilgrimage festival, Pesach and Shavuot, both of which are solely particularistic. The Arba’ah Minim are dependent on water. The entire world is dependent on water. All peoples need rain. The prophet Zechariah recognized this for he prophesized that after the nations would wage war against Jerusalem, HaShem would help the Jewish people defeat their enemies and that Jerusalem would become the spiritual center of the world and all the nations, not just the Jewish people, but all the nations would gather there on the festival of Sukkot.
As with all the Jewish holidays from which we learn many important lessons, one such lesson for us on Sukkot is this universal aspect of the holiday. We live as Jews; we maintain our traditions, our customs; those elements that make us distinct. Coupled with this is the reality that we live in the world, we come into all kinds of people every day. Our actions, our behavior makes a difference, not just to our fellow Jew, but all people, wherever we are, the grocery store or the post office.
May we continue to enjoy the last few days of Sukkot. On Monday night and Tuesday we will be dancing with the Torah in celebration of Simchat Torah, that Torah which binds us together as Jews and obligates us to treating others with decency, with respect.
Sukkot teaches us, as the prophet Yeshiya taught many centuries ago, to be a light unto the nations.
May the light shine bright.
Shabbat shalom and Chag Samayach.
Rabbi Yaakov Traiger
Jewish tradition says all beginnings are difficult. I am finding the truth to that idea as I sit here this morning trying to find some thought, some inspiring idea. The reality is that I am drawing a blank; I am finding it difficult to begin today.
The parsha this week is Ha’Azinu. It is the last parsha of the Torah that is read on a regular Shabbat morning. The final parsha, Vzot HaBeracha is read on Simchat Torah, when the cycle of the Torah is completed.
In the beginning of the parsha, Moshe, who is relating a song to the people, says, “Corruption is not His, the blemish is His children’s”. Rashi explains that this verse is to be understood as it is, that people are the source of corruption, people are the reason for things going wrong. Does this mean that every bad event that takes place in the world is the result of some evil that humans cause? No, obviously humans did not cause Hurricane Matthew last week. As I have done before, I am going to be bold and give my own interpretation.
Sometimes I am my own worst enemy. There have been, and still are, countless times when I do things, or not do things; say things, or refrain from saying things that just get in my own way and cause my own downfall. I make bad choices that I know I should not make. I don’t when I know I should. The result is that I am the cause of whatever misfortune coming my way. I am to blame for my failures, no one else.
Is it the same for others?
Yom Kippur was two days ago. The slate has been wiped clean. We now move forward. It is difficult to begin anew. The thoughts, memories and results of the mistakes and bad choices do not suddenly vanish though I wish it were so. Over Rosh HaShanah my wife wished several friends with the blessing of clarity. I pray for clarity, clarity at home, clarity in my job, clarity with what I am doing in life. Those choices that I have yet to make are mine, and mine alone. In the parsha Moshe exhorts the people to take responsibility for themselves. The responsibility is mine to make better choices, to do better, to be better. I cannot control what challenges I am given, I can only control how I respond to the challenges.
5777 is still at the beginning. Am I up to the challenge??
Rabbi Yaakov Traiger