As I many know I grew up in Sharon, Massachusetts, a small New England town whose history is goes back to the Revolution. I remember the milk truck from Crescent Ridge, the dairy farm in town which would leave milk bottles in the metal box on our front step. There was an enormous corn farm next to my elementary school and it was literally unheard of to eat store-bought corn. There were many mornings when deer were standing in my backyard and then scamper off into the woods at even the slightest sound. When my family travels up to Massachusetts in the summer I still relish the opportunity to drive through the town and show my children different sights, tell them about this place, or that place. While it has been over 30 years since I left Sharon, but I still consider myself a Sharonite.
I mention this again as we read Parshat Behar – Bechukotai this week. This double parsha opens with the command to allow the land to lie fallow every the seven years, which is known as the Shmitta Year. The parsha then continues with the mandate to count seven cycles of the Shmitta Year. After the seventh cycle, there is an additional year, a fiftieth year known as the Yovel, the Jubilee Year. During this year, the land continues to lie fallow; a shofar is sounded and land that has been sold during the previous 50 years is returned to their original owners. Coupled with this, the Torah commands to “proclaim freedom throughout the land” (which interestingly is engraved on the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia) and all indentured servants, those who because of theft or poverty, were compelled to serve another for six years, went free in the Yovel year.
This coming week we will celebrate another Yovel. Wednesday is the 28th of the month of Iyar, 50 years ago this week the Old City of Jerusalem, the eternal city of the Jewish people was liberated from its Jordanian captors. In what many could only describe as a nes, a miracle from the Divine, the Kotel was returned to Jewish hands. While the Torah commands us to “proclaim freedom throughout the Land” so it could be heard everywhere, the sounds of General Motta Gur, the commander of the IDF units in Jerusalem declaring “Har HaBayit (the Temple Mount) is in our hands!!” still reverberate in our ears. Indeed at that moment the IDF Chief Rabbi Shlomo Goren blew a shofar at the Kotel, at its liberation.
Jerusalem has always played a prominent role in Jewish tradition and history. Jerusalem is special. The Talmud teaches that one who has not seen Jerusalem in its splendor has never seen beauty. There is a midrash which states that the Land of Israel is the center of the world and that Jerusalem is the center of the Land of Israel. What it meant to have the two parts of Jerusalem reunited, to be able once again to go to the Kotel and not just touch its stones, but have its stone touch you is something I can only imagine.
Sharon, Massachusetts is where I grew up and I will always have nostalgic feelings for this town. However, Jerusalem, where I was privileged to live for three years, where my Jewish spirit was formed, will always be home. This Wednesday, the 28th of Iyar I will say Hallel, I will celebrate the Yovel of Yerushalayim.
As we conclude the Book of VaYikra we say “Hazak, Hazak, V’Nit’hazayk”
Rabbi Yaakov Traiger
I love Shabbat. When it finally arrives I can often feel the tension fall off from my shoulders, especially during the singing of Lecha Dodi in shul. I have written about being in shul in Israel, sitting by the tall windows and watching darkness, and Shabbat, literally descend on the city. I loved walking to shul on Shabbat morning, especially in the spring in summer. It wasn’t just that the streets were quiet in the morning, but rather there was a quality of calmness, of peace (Shabbat peace) that was palpable only the streets of Jerusalem.
This week we read Parshat Emor. In the parsha there is a list of all the holidays of the year. However, the Torah basically gives the date of each holiday and the offerings brought on those days. Not much else is related about the meaning of each holiday itself. This part of the parsha is the Torah for reading for the Shalosh Regalim, the three pilgrimage holidays, Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot.
If we look closer there is something significant in these descriptions on the holidays; two common elements. First, is the number seven. For example, Pesach is a seven day holiday in the Torah. On the 14th of Nisan the Pesach offering must be brought. 14 is a multiple of seven. Sukkot is also a seven day holiday. Beginning with the second day of Pesach we count seven weeks and 49 days, the Omer period, 49 again being a multiple of seven. At the end of this time is another holiday, Shavuot. Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur are in the month of Tishrei, the seventh month.
The second common element is that the Torah describes these holidays, or the first and last days as in the case of Pesach and Sukkot as a “Shabbat Shabbaton,” days that have an element of Shabbat embedded in them. Shabbat is the seventh day. Shabbat becomes the paradigm. Just as Shabbat is part of the week, there are moments when Shabbat is woven into the very fabric of the year.
Shabbat is first introduced to us in Bereshit at the end of the six days of Creation. The Hebrew root of the word Shabbat means to stop. HaShem stopped the act of creating and let things be as they were. Jewish tradition encourages us to emulate HaShem. Just as HaShem is compassionate, so we should be compassionate. For six days we wrestle with the world, we work at our own creative process, for one of the traits HaShem instilled in humanity is to create, to be productive. The seventh day allows us to take a step back from the creating, to let things be, to appreciate what we have done. The myriad of laws of Shabbat are restrictive in nature, but that restriction is meant to ultimately free us from the bonds of the creative impulse and allow to fully appreciate what it means to be human, created in the image of the Divine; to appreciate the world around us and the people we hold most dear.
Each week after my family makes Havdalah the first thing I do is prepare the next week’s Shabbat candles. Shabbat doesn’t just disappear. With this act I begin to prepare for the next Shabbat, to look forward to that moment when the Shabbat Queen will come.
Rabbi Yaakov Traiger
This week we read another double parsha, Acharei Mot – Kedoshim. While the Torah reading opens with a description of the aftermath of the death Aaron’s two sons, Nadav and Avihu, for bringing some type of “strange fire” to the mishkan, and the ritual for the Kohanim, the overall theme of the second of the two parshiyot is the idea of holiness. There is an explicit command, “You shall be holy . . .” Why? Because “I the Lord am holy.” The parsha goes on to list actions that are not considered to be holy if they were done. These include using improper weights and measures in business, kilayim, the prohibition against planting two different species of plants side by side and treating people in a disrespectful manner.
What is holiness? This word often gets used but it needs definition. The Hebrew root means “separate” for some special purpose (my understanding). For example, the word for marriage in Hebrew is Kedushin. A couple have separated themselves from others to create a special relationship with each other. On Shabbat and Festivals we recite Kiddush, which through a liturgical formula we separate one day from the other six, again for a special purpose. In Parshat Yitro, HaShem refers to the Jewish people as an Am Kadosh, a holy people for it is through Torah and mitzvot the Jewish people have a special role and destiny in this world.
Holiness is not easy; it is delicate and takes much work. Shabbat is a holy day, and that holiness in manifest through the many laws regulating what is permitted and what is prohibited.
Holiness is not found in our actions towards HaShem alone, but also through our relationships with people and how we touch their lives. I have told this story before, but I like it therefore permit me to retell it.
There is a story of a monastery made up of elderly monks. No one was joining and they feared that the monastery would close. Nearby was a Jewish community. The leader of the monks went to visit the rabbi to ask what he could do. The rabbi told the monk, “I have no advice for you, but I can say that one of you is the Messiah.”
The elderly monk returned to his compatriots, somewhat dejected. He told them what the rabbi said, “One of you is the Messiah.” When his fellow monks heard this they began to treat each other as if that person was indeed the Messiah. Over time a transformation occurred in the monastery. A new level of respect and courtesy was discovered. Soon more joined. Soon the monastery was a different place, rejuvenated.
We are half way through the period of Sefirat HaOmer, the counting of the Omer. Besides counting the 49 days until Shavuot, this period of time is one of Jewish national mourning for the Talmud relates to us that 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva died from a plague brought about because the students did not treat each other with proper respect. Because of this, we refrain from haircuts, lives music and weddings for seven weeks. Had they followed the rabbi’s advice from our story, would we be celebrating during these days instead?
Jewish life is a like a coin. One the one side there a rituals and practices for holidays and prayer. The other is the human side, the relationship side. Just like you can’t have a one-sided coin, you can’t have a one-sided Judaism. Mitzvot are on both sides. Shabbat is a mitzvah and giving kavod (respect) to another is a mitzvah. The mitzvot are vehicles for us to sanctify not only our own lives, but also to sanctify and uplift the lives of those around us.
Just think, the next person you see, may be the Messiah.
Rabbi Yaakov Traiger
I have a confession to make. I make mistakes. For example, yesterday, I made one with a student. We talked, I admitted the error, apologized for it and we were able to move on. I make mistakes often and I while I am grateful for being called on them, for I can’t improve if I am not, it still stings when it happens for the mistakes indicate I have further to go to reach that impossible goal of perfection. I know that goal is unattainable, I still must strive, as we all must, to reach it.
This week we read the double portion of Tazria – Metzora. If any two parshiyot in the Torah appear, at least on the surface, to provide any inspiration it is these two. The main theme of both is purity and impurity and the disease known as Tzaraat, a condition manifested by snow white patches on the skin with white hairs protruding out from the patch. There were various shades of the whiteness which gave the affected skin the appearance of being deeper than the healthy skin around it.
A Metzora was an individual afflicted with Tzaraat. Tzaraat appeared as a physical malady on the body however Jewish tradition holds that it was the result of a spiritual degradation of the individual, the result of anti-social behavior – usually gossip or slander. In fact, the rabbis say the Hebrew word Metzora is a combination of two Hebrew words that mean “one who spreads slander.” The person diagnosed by the Kohain with Tzaraat was quarantined outside the camp for a period of time during which it was hoped the person would reflect on their behavior and begin the work to improve, to do Teshuva. The Metzora was one who made a mistake and process of purification as described by the Torah was the process to enable that person to improve.
People make mistakes and it is right and proper to tell one when a mistake as been made for as I mentioned earlier we can’t correct the mistakes unless we know about them. In fact the Torah does mandate rebuke of another when necessary, the question is how should it be done? How do we give criticism in a way that truly is constructive and will result is building a person up? This is something I know I haven’t yet figured out, for I know that if done the wrong way, the results can be worse than the mistake itself. I have been criticized for being too nice or too easy when perhaps I shouldn't. Those criticisms are correct. I am still working on that balance.
(By the way, I acknowledge there are really bad things people do. I am not referring to those here.)
Yet at the same time we also need to realize that we do good things as well and it is the good things that people do that needs nurturing, encouragement and emphasis.
The wise King Shlomo wrote in the Book of Mishlei (Proverbs) “Death and life are in (power) of the tongue.” Parshat Metzora teaches us that our words have impact; they have the power to destroy and the power to build. May we focus on the positive, make we focus on the good, for perhaps in doing so the mistakes will seem less egregious. (I should be looking in the mirror as I write this – I am my own worst critic). Imagine the community we can create.
We are good people, we do good things.
Rabbi Yaakov Traiger
In September of 1908 a ship sailing from London docked at Ellis Island. On it were my great-grandfather Tzvi Aryeh Tregor and his eldest daughter Alka. From there they made their way to East Boston. While the Ellis Island documents list my great-grandfather’s occupation as a “laborer” in his native Bessarabia, Russia, (his town was called Anchikrok) he became a tailor in America. By 1910 the rest of the family, including my grandfather, arrived. That same year the census taker changed Tregor to Traiger. My great-grandfather opened his own shop which was on the bottom floor of a three-family house; the family lived in the upper two stories. I have letters from several cousins who relate that he was a very kind man (apparently my great-grandmother was the more stern of the pair). He was a religious man who learned Chumash while he sewed. His becoming a tailor and opening his own store was to prevent him from having to work on Shabbat. I have in my possession his Kiddush cup. It is a small silver cup with the scene of a town etched into the side. I sometimes imagine that is his town.
The Talmud relates the story of Honi the Circle Maker. He was called such because during a drought he drew a circle around himself in the sand a declared to HaShem that he would not move from inside that circle until the rain would fall. Honi’s request was granted and rain did indeed fall. In another account of Honi, he encounters an elderly man planting a carob tree. Honi asked the man how long it would take for the carob tree to bear its fruit. The man replied that it would take 70 years. Honi then asked the man if he expected to enjoy the carob. The man’s response was poignant. He said, “Just as my ancestors planted for me, I am planting for my descendants.”
I find this passage very moving. The passage is told as a way to explain a verse from Psalms 126, “When HaShem will return the captivity of Zion, we will be like dreamers . . .”. The man planting the tree was a dreamer, he was looking into the future and dreaming of his descendants and leaving something behind for their benefit.
We just finished Pesach where we recalled our Biblical ancestor’s exodus from Egyptian tyranny. Now we are in the period known as Sefirat HaOmer, counting the days until Shavuot, the time when we commemorate the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai. Pesach only makes sense in this context for not only is a “Freedom from . . .” necessary, but it needs a “Freedom to . . .” It needs the future.
Perhaps this is our task. It is up to us to plant well for our children, to ensure that they receive the best carob possible. The carob is Jewish tradition. The carob is a quality Jewish education that will sustain them, strengthen them and strengthen the communityLittle did my great-grandfather know that one of the carobs that came from his tree, his Kiddush cup would be used by his great-great grandson (my son). Little did he know that the tree he planted in 1908 would bear wonderful fruit.
May we continue to plant here at GBDS and may we continue to make sure that the tree is nurtured and carob that is produced here is of the highest quality.
Rabbi Yaakov Traiger