Balak again! Shabbat Shalom from…

So I’m reading the Torah portion of Balak twice!! How did that happen??

Last winter, I responded to an email our yeshiva sent out: an opportunity to be a summer fellow through Kulanu, a US based Jewish organization “supporting isolated, emerging & returning communities around the globe”. Little could I guess that six months later I would be sitting and writing my blog in India, where I am to spend a month with an “emerging community”, teaching Hebrew, Torah, Jewish history and more.

Outside my room – built especially for the “guest from the west”, with its own, private, western toilet, shower, table for my computer and much needed fan over the bed, the women of the community are busy making Shabbat – cooking, cutting, grinding, sweeping, laundering, mixing, and even squishing and boiling grape to a home-made grape juice. This morning, there were just bags of potential, and now there are pots in a row, steaming, sending scents and smells into my room which was organized for Shabbat with white sheets, white curtain, white towel and a new set of Indian clothing so I can blend in better 😊 This evening we (we!) expect 80-100 participants of all ages to join for Kabalat Shabbat and dinner. Everything is bubbling with spices and veggies, rice and fish: “your food is over there”, they say to me, chuckling, giggling, pointing to another set of silver, covered dishes, “not too spicy, less pepper, ah”, they shake their head from side to side, which I learn means yes, even though it looks to me like no-maybe-not-sure.

Earlier I sat on a balcony along tall coconut trees. Firecrackers sounded from the streets which sent the local crows up high; Low jet airplanes cut the sky in what would be an illegal speed and distance in my previous homes; kids were moving around swiftly, sweeping the floor with short-handled, long-straw brooms, pouring water on the floor. In all this prep, no one raised their voice once. I was trying to think about this Torah portion, again, about the great power of words, as well as their limitations; about blessings and curses; and about our complex relationship with the nations around us. We are the be like dew on Just then, the mu’azin from the nearby mosque (by “nearby” I mean next door-) started to sing, pray and yell in what I feared is anger, but my hosts told me was ok, and need no worry.

Still, India is hard to comprehend, swallow, absorb. I asked if there is any one person who speaks all the languages spoken here and am answered with a laughter. 35 years ago, on my way East, visas were denied because Indira Gandhi was just shot (yes, I know, it is that long ago). Ever since, I kept wondering if India was ever going to happen. I could have not imagine it with that much greater color and depth.

Shabbat Shalom (pictures to follow).






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Chukat -Balak – not together!!

Chukat-Balak, two Torah portions that could connect on one Shabbat abroad to make up the difference between Israel and Outside Israel, but this year, don’t, extending the gap a little further —-

Chukat opens with the strange description of the Red Heifer: the priest takes a special, red, young cow, who hasn’t done any work, and burns all of it, mixing wood of a cedar tree, hyssop and crimson stuff (from a silkworm) and throw them into the fire consuming the cow (Numbers 19:6). The ashes of this mixture are later used to purify the “impure”, turning the impure to pure, while causing the one preparing it to become impure. This is one of the biggest riddles in the Torah. Commentators explain that in its core, it is the Torah’s objection to death.

We take death for granted, as if it is an absolute must of human reality. How can we even begin to imagine life without it? It is so much of our experience and pain; and so much defines our daily actions: if we thought for a moment that we live for-ever, we would treat life very differently! And yet, the Torah teaches that death is not an inseparable part of the human condition. Rather, it is part of life’s “impurities” which one day will be dealt with and gone.


Balak son of Tzipor opts to fight the Children of Israel through blessings and curses; through speech. The whole Pesach story is folded into this encounter, like a bookend: Speech being the power that G-d reveals Himself in the world, and the aspect most challenging for Moses. Couldn’t G-d find someone who can just speak without hesitation? And Moses, he can do so, so many things, and yet he is challenged right where it’s toughest and most painful for him; and his struggle is so public, so hard; every move is documented; everyone can see, struggling; struggling with no “discount”; not for a minute does the Torah say, ‘oh Moses, let’s go easy on him, he has such a full schedule’…

Towards the end of the Book of Numbers, we learn that the midbar (desert) is the place where divine dibur (speech) is heard most clearly and where the one who’s speech is cumbersome, becomes a medaber. Soon, Moses will be the one speaking for the whole book of Deuteronomy, coming up very soon. Perhaps, this is his journey, to find his own voice. I’d like to imagine he learned Egyptian and Midyanite and other local languages in the palace and throughout his prince-hood, but speaking Gd’s language is a different skill. Perhaps that’s our journey too.


 At the Jewish Peoplehood / Diapspora Museum in Tel Aviv there’s a humor corner for when we wish / need / are able to to use language for a little laughter. If you go there, you’ll be invited to sit on two happy gefilte-fish pillows

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Skipping, cracking open, gushing out — the Torah portion of Chukat (sort of)

So this is what happened: Due to the mysteries of the calendar, I am not going to read the Torah portion of Korach this year. If you fly between Israel and Chutz-La’aretz (not Israel) between Pesach and the week of July 28, 2019, you will either double up on or miss a Torah portion. This is because the 8th day of Pesach was Shabbat. For Israel’s Torah reading cycle, where it was not Pesach anymore, the reading resumed with the regular cycle on that Shabbat, while in “Not Israel”, it was still Pesach with its special holiday reading and the regular cycle resumed only a week later, introducing an imbalance which will be fixed only in about 4 weeks.

Aside from the practicality, it is painful to live in this disconnect. I don’t like it, and yet, find myself defensive when faced with angry voices: “Why are we still having 2nd day holidays anyway? we know the calendar! Let’s just stop this nonsense??” Ah, well, maybe, yes, some day. Meanwhile, we’re reminded that we don’t live in a perfectly harmonious world; that we’re still scattered despite the immense power (and illusion) of the internet; and that there’s still so much work to do.


The Torah portion of Chukat looks like another Numbers – laundry list of ‘what shall we put in here’: the Red Heifer; Miriam’s death and Moses hitting the rock; the complicated relationship between Israel & Edom, and its surrounding nations; the Copper Snake and the Song around the Well. In a way, it’s about how the same thing can give both life, purity and good things, as well as death, impurity and troubles / “challenges”. The same purifying process of the Red Heifer cause tum’a (spiritual impurity) to those who administered it; the same water that brought life to the People, also beget Moses’ death; the same Copper Snake that reminded the people of G-d’s power later became a source of idolatry; things that seems rock-strong, crack open, while “soft” water, gush out. The Psalmist says in his own poetic words (118:22):

  אֶ֭בֶן מָאֲס֣וּ הַבּוֹנִ֑ים הָ֝יְתָ֗ה לְרֹ֣אשׁ פִּנָּֽה׃    The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone.

Last week – or two weeks ago, depending on where you are, we read about following “both our hearts” (Numbers 15:39). We have a good heart and a bad heart, suggests Rashi. We would think we should follow the “good”, but the Torah tells us that the same thing can be both good and bad, that it can go either way, and we can’t always figure those out.


So Israel?? Yes. For-ever?? For now. That’s wonderful! You’re going home!? Well…. What did you miss most about Israel? That I can order ice-coffee and it’s sweet and soft (and not “ice-coffee at all), and that I can use my name, and not make up an easy to pronounce one, while I worry that my coffee goes to Michael, Mitchel and the like. Maybe, it’s symbolic of at least one a piece of my identity that’s in place and in peace here more than elsewhere.

Shabbat Shalom from the hills of the Shomron (for now :))

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On Mending Threads and Tying Knots – The Torah portion of Shlach

The endless wonders of the internet inspired, a reminders’ website, substituting the old custom to tie a knot in one’s handkerchief in order to not forget something important that might slip one’s mind. Tying a knot — and an “e-knot” — is still a way of communicating, both internally and externally.

At the end of this week’s Torah portion, God tells Moses to instruct the Children of Israel to tie their tzitzit – specially knotted ritual fringes which are added to the corners of the garment – as a reminder of the obligation to observe all the commandments. The word tzitzit might be related to the root נ.צ.ה., which is used for ניצן – nitzan, a budding flower, indicating an ornament of the garment which sticks out. As we say in our daily prayers, the Torah (Numbers 15:38-40) instructs us:

דַּבֵּ֞ר אֶל־בְּנֵ֤י יִשְׂרָאֵל֙ וְאָמַרְתָּ֣ אֲלֵהֶ֔ם וְעָשׂ֨וּ לָהֶ֥ם צִיצִ֛ת עַל־כַּנְפֵ֥י בִגְדֵיהֶ֖ם לְדֹרֹתָ֑ם וְנָֽתְנ֛וּ עַל־צִיצִ֥ת הַכָּנָ֖ף פְּתִ֥יל תְּכֵֽלֶת׃

Speak to the Israelite people and instruct them to make for themselves fringes on the corners of their garments throughout the ages; let them attach a cord of blue to the fringe at each corner.

וְהָיָ֣ה לָכֶם֮ לְצִיצִת֒ וּרְאִיתֶ֣ם אֹת֗וֹ וּזְכַרְתֶּם֙ אֶת־כָּל־מִצְות ה׳ וַעֲשִׂיתֶ֖ם אֹתָ֑ם וְלֹֽא־תָתֻ֜רוּ אַחֲרֵ֤י לְבַבְכֶם֙ וְאַחֲרֵ֣י עֵֽינֵיכֶ֔ם אֲשֶׁר־אַתֶּ֥ם זֹנִ֖ים אַחֲרֵיהֶֽם׃

That shall be your fringe; look at it and recall all the commandments of the LORD and observe them, so that you do not follow your heart and eyes in your lustful urge.

לְמַ֣עַן תִּזְכְּר֔וּ וַעֲשִׂיתֶ֖ם אֶת־כָּל־מִצְותָ֑י וִהְיִיתֶ֥ם קְדֹשִׁ֖ים לֵֽאלֹהֵיכֶֽם׃

Thus you shall be reminded to observe all My commandments and to be holy to your God.

This mitzvah is complemented by another reference (Deuteronomy 22:12):

גְּדִלִ֖ים תַּעֲשֶׂה־לָּ֑ךְ עַל־אַרְבַּ֛ע כַּנְפ֥וֹת כְּסוּתְךָ֖ אֲשֶׁ֥ר תְּכַסֶּה־בָּֽהּ׃

You shall make tassels on the four corners of the garment with which you cover yourself.

We go through our lives, and even in our death, clothed. Clothing is especially interesting in the Torah from early on. The first humans were naked (Genesis 2:25). They had no shame and they had no evil inclination within them. But they also had no free will. Free will means having good and evil within us, struggling with both and making choices, which is an essential component in any real relationship.

After Adam and the Woman partake from the fruit, they hide, as it was no longer natural for them to roam around naked in the Garden. While they initially sewed for themselves loincloths from fig leaves (Genesis 3:7), their first “real” set of clothing was made then and given to them by God (Genesis 3:21). Rashi explains that it was an actual garment from the hair of hares, soft and warm, while Ibn Ezra suggests that the term   כתנות עור kutnot or – literally meant the skin that was put on their luminous, soulful body. Either way, it was an act of care, compassion and protection, but also of sadness and distance. The humans were no longer one with each other or with the Divine. Clothing symbolically began as expression of closeness, God’s kindness and empathy. They communicate identity and presence, yet they also stand for separation.

In Hebrew, “beged,” a garment, shares its root with “bagad,” betrayed. It turns out that clothes have little to nothing to do with the climate we might live in for even in perfectly comfortable weather humans wear something. Rather, clothes are a reminder of our original separation (and not “sin”!) from God. As we saw above, the commandment of tzitzit specifies:

וְהָיָ֣ה לָכֶם֮ לְצִיצִת֒ וּרְאִיתֶ֣ם אֹת֗וֹ – That shall be your fringe; look at it

If we’re talking about fringes, it should have said –  –  אותםlook at them, in the plural! Why is it in the singular? The Talmud (Tractate Menachot 43:b) explains:

…תניא אידך וראיתם אותו וזכרתם את כל מצות ה’ שקולה מצוה זו כנגד כל המצות כולן

…The verse states: “That you may look upon it and remember all the commandments of the Lord”; this teaches that this mitzva of ritual fringes is equivalent to all the mitzvot of the Torah.

ותניא אידך וראיתם אותו וזכרתם ועשיתם ראיה מביאה לידי זכירה זכירה מביאה לידי עשיה ורשב”י אומר כל הזריז במצוה זו זוכה ומקבל פני שכינה כתיב הכא וראיתם אותו וכתיב התם (דברים ו, יג) את ה’ אלהיך תירא ואותו תעבוד

And it is taught in another baraita: The verse states: “That you may look upon it and remember all the commandments of the Lord and do them.” This teaches that looking at the ritual fringes leads to remembering the mitzvot, and remembering them leads to doing them. And Rabbi Shimon bar Yoai says: Anyone who is diligent in this mitzva of ritual fringes merits receiving the Divine Presence. It is written here: “That you may look upon it [oto]” (Numbers 15:39), and it is written there: “You shall fear the Lord your God; and Him [oto] shall you serve” (Deuteronomy 6:13). Just as oto in that verse is referring to the Divine Presence, so too in this verse it is referring to the Divine Presence.

The singular form indicates that the mitzvah of tzitzit is equal against all the mitzvot and through it, one can merit ti receive the Divine Presence of the Sh’china.

The verse also interestingly states:“ … So you may not wander after your heart and your eyes to lead you astray” (Numbers 15:39). Why does the Torah place the heart before the eyes? Aren’t we attracted by what we see, and then “feel”?

Apparently not. The eyes are an agent of the heart and not an independent organ. According to what’s in our heart, so we see. This is easily tested when we look at something, or someone, at different times in our lives, and suddenly, “it changed.” Did it?

The very same Torah portion opens with the story of the “spies”: Twelve esteemed princes of the 12 tribes went to check out the Land of Israel before the rest of the nation would follow. Only two of them saw its potential, and the fact that God’s people need not worry. The 10 others saw an impossible place to conquer or live in, full of “giants,” fortified cities and inedible fruit. Why the different view of the same exact place? Interestingly, the Torah tells us they went “latur et ha’aretz,” to scout or “wander” the land, using the same root from the mitzvah of tzitzit. There it says “velo taturu,” don’t wander! Don’t go around aimlessly without first preparing your heart!

But the Torah knows that sometimes we forget.

It therefore gives us a sign: it asks us to tie a knot. Famously, the word “tzitzit”) in gematria (numerical values given to Hebrew letters) equals 600. Adding eight threads (one doubled over in each of the four corners of the cloth) and five for the double knots on each of these threads makes 613, same as the traditional number of all the mitzvahs. The garment’s four corners, five knots, eight threads and other elements have additional symbolic meanings.

Behind it all there is a fascinating idea: The Torah tells us that often that which separates us also brings us closer again. Like two sides of the same coin, what we wear is not only a divider. It is also a tool to reconnect. Our exit can be our point of re-entry and where we erred is where we begin to correct with each other and with the Divine.

Shabbat Shalom from Limmud Bay Area 🙂

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Which way is East? West!

New York on this early morning hides her face under a blanket of clouds, so I can’t quite bid her good-bye, which is just fine. I know, I know – closure is so important, and yes, it is, but then again, we, the people who on the same day, finish and begin the Torah once again, do we actually believe in closure?? Does that (illusion) give us a feeling of comfort and control, to think (!) we know whether we’re done somewhere, and if and when we’ll be back, or not? I left Israel umpteen years ago for a less-than-a-year trip around the world, which I have not yet completed, and – at the same time that I am eager to do so, go back and settle “once and for all”, I already plan when to be back on this side of the ocean… Sometimes I wonder why we’ve been called “Am Hasefer”, “the People of the Book”, when really, we are the People of the Journey…

How fitting to be traveling (East through West) on the week of this Torah portion, Beha’alotcha, when the Children of Israel are just 3 days away from the Land of Israel, but then, as Paul Simon says: “the nearer your destination, the more you’re slip slidin’ away”…

Three days; that’s all it would have taken. The journey should have ended in no more than eighteen months. And now, instead, will last for 40 years. This Torah portion should have been named something like “the disaster”. Instead, it is called “Be’ha’alotcha”, erroneously often translated “when you light the lamp” when it really means “when you bring up”, from the root a.l.h.ע.ל.ה same as going up to the Torah and – going to the Land of Israel.
Some teach that the book of Numbers is really three books: first, chapters 1-10:34, and last, chapters 11-36. In between them, there are two verses (chapter 10:35-36) which the sages deemed as the second book.
It is easy to understand the theme of the “first book”, which centers on the last preparations and the final stages of the journey, including organizing the traveling camp and completing the mishkan. Similarly, it is easy to understand the theme of the “third book”, which includes all the stories of the “delay”: the complainers, the spies, Korach and his mutiny and more.
What are the two verses in between and why are those considered the whole “second book”? They will most likely look familiar from this week’s Torah service:

לה  וַיְהִי בִּנְסֹעַ הָאָרֹן, וַיֹּאמֶר מֹשֶׁה:  קוּמָה יְהוָה, וְיָפֻצוּ אֹיְבֶיךָ, וְיָנֻסוּ מְשַׂנְאֶיךָ, מִפָּנֶיךָ.
35 And it came to pass, when the ark set forward, that Moses said: ‘Rise up, O LORD, and let Thine enemies be scattered; and let them that hate Thee flee before Thee.’
לו  וּבְנֻחֹה, יֹאמַר:  שׁוּבָה יְהוָה, רִבְבוֹת אַלְפֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל
36 And when it rested, he said: ‘Return, O LORD, unto the ten thousands of the families of Israel.

That was supposed to be the whole journey: the ark will travel and rest. The Children of Israel, led by Moshe, will travel safely and uneventfully. No enemies, no trouble. It’s but a small distance. They’ll arrive shortly. The end.
Interestingly, in every Torah scroll, these two verses are separated by two upside down letters, two upside down nun’s. This was possibly done to accentuate the tragedy, as if to say, look! we were so, so close!
What happened?  Was it Moshe who was tired and heartbroken from the situation brewing in front of his eyes which led to his inability to enter the Land, who lacked in his leadership skills?  Were the People, in spite of being at Sinai, in G-d’s presence, and receiving the Law, not ready? Now I think that the Torah says, ‘it’s hard to know what exactly “happened”; it’s just did. Now let’s deal with what’s in front of us’….
Be that as it may, the Torah portion of what could be a tragic turning point, is called “Beha’alotcha”, literally, “as you bring up”, opening with lighting the holy menorah, what became the emblem of the State of Israel many years in the future, symbolic of who we are: not disconnected, fragmented pieces, but a one whole People. Indeed, we got used to quick stories, 90-120 minutes with “they lived happily ever after” caption smeared at the end. But, the journey is rarely that simple, and rather, often, much more complicated than we initially expect. Even when the path is clear, we fall short, fall down, have regrets (ragrets 😊), change our mind, get scared. And, get up. In fact, the Torah might be telling us that there is really no other way. What if the Children of Israel did everything “right” as they “should”? What if they just walked straight into the Land without any hesitation, full of faith and fervor?? I think that would be much worse – for us – than them making mistakes! The Torah in its wisdom, reminded us that even then, even in the strangest “detours”, our direction is still, always upward, to the light.

Shabbat Shalom.

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Naso: Lift up your eyes and see – yourself

176 – is the number of the verses in this week’s portion, Naso, the longest in the Torah, same as the longest Psalm (chapter 119) and as the longest tractate in the Talmud (Bava Batra with 176 dapim, pages). Why so long? Some suggest that this reading, usually closest to Shavuot, and the Giving of the Torah, from either side of the holiday (before or after), so detailed and flowing with information, is like being near a fountainhead, with fresh water gushing all around.

What is said in these 176 verses?
The parasha opens with the orderly travel of the Children of Israel in the desert, parallel to the orderly creation, and ends on the day the mishkan is erected and dedicated, the tribes’ princes bring lavish sacrifices, and Moses hears “The Voice” speaking to him there (Numbers 7:89).

With such ‘wow’ “bookends”, we might wonder, what else is in this parasha? Surprisingly, we find here obscure topics as the removal from the camp of metzo’ra’im (Torah lepers, sort of), description of the zavim (people with “impure” bodily excretion) and other t’me’im (spiritually impure people), maybe because we need to explore and clarify critical distinctions of holiness which were not previously discussed. It is here that we also find the Sotah, a married woman suspected by her husband of adultery. Then, the Nazir, the one who opts for extra religious observances. Then, the priestly blessing. And then, the tribes’ princes bringing their sacrifice.

Is this just a strange laundry list that fell into this chapter, before we get to the “real” stories??

Numbers is the Book of Travel, so appropriately here for me now. Once again, I journey. And once again, like the Children of Israel, the journey is expected to be roundabout. Ultimately, to the Promised Land, but, then, there are going to be detours… (and on that, tbc -).

Back to the Book and this parasha, Naso means “lift up” and begins with the end of the mifkad, a count. What an incredible organization!! Everything is spelled out: which tribes reside next to which other tribes, and where is each relatively to the Tabernacle in the middle; who carries what, who travels with who. Order is necessary before disorder or there is no meaning to either one, and in that we going back to creation: an abyss before an orderly creation; an orderly creation, like a painter setting his clean canvas and bran-new paints, just in order to create a mess again….

It’s the story of a People. but in order to hold the group, the “mess” of this book first must begin with the individuals who need a “tikkun”, a repair: there are those that need it in their relationship with themselves; others – who struggle int heir relationship with G-d and others – with their fellow humans; including those who live in agony and doubt in their closest circle, at home, and need to resolve that before continuing.

Only once the Torah prescribed a method for each, we continue to the priestly blessing, which must be said with love, and to the offerings of the leaders of the tribes. Throughout the book we’ll spiral through these circles: from individuals to home communities, tribes, to the “klal” (the whole people) to how we deal with the world around us. Only then, we’ll be ready to approach the Land.

I am in awe, again, at the Torah’s great wisdom: We, who most pray in the plural language (“our” G-d, “our” king, G-d of “our” ancestors), might think that the “group” is more important than the individual; that we always “must” sacrifice ourselves for the greater good. Comes the Torah and says, let’s not go there just yet. Let’s first find a way to heal each individual according to their pain and needs, as best we can, and then, go from there to build the tribe and then, the whole People. Although each one of us is incomplete without another (as symbolized by the half shekel), each incomplete part has to constantly work to be whole within its “complete incompletion”…. And to think Freud was Jewish! What a coincidence!

May it be a Shabbat of healing, good beginnings and re-beginnings, and safe journeys. Shabbat Shalom.

In the words of the one and only “Sunscreen Song”: You are not as fat as you think… and much more.

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Closing the 3rd Book; Celebrating the One City…

After the dramatic closing of the Book of Leviticus with “The Blessings and the Curses / Consequences”, there’s another chapter we rarely get to; a little appendix, as if the Torah says, oh wait, I have a few notes left here, let’s just put them where no one will see it…

If Genesis and Exodus were books describing G-d acting in the world, Leviticus spells out for us what to do. The first books are a pouring from on high – down, and this one – from down – up. At the very end we look at a person’s value. This is done vis-à-vis what happens is a person takes a vow and needs to redeem themselves at the Temple. This might seem sacrilegious: how can we speak of people’s value when people are created in G-d’s image? When we teach that people are created equally?? Isn’t each of us irreplaceable and therefore, impossible to estimate? How dare the Torah do that?!!

And yet, insurance companies, for example, must deal with this all the time: when paying for certain damages, how much is this or that human being “worth”? Why? How do we figure it out? I might not love or understand all the Torah has to say about this – I don’t know much about “vows” and “Temple calculations”, one reason why we have a whole Talmudic tractate on the issue called Arakhin and coming up in Daf Yomi later in June – but I love that it does dare to speak about it, and offer us two simultaneous scales: each person is equal: “If it is a male from twenty to sixty years of age, the “equivalent is fifty shekels of silver by the sanctuary weight” (Leviticus 27:3). What kind of a man? Wise? Kind? Strong? None of the above? Doesn’t matter. And at the same time, weather this is a free man or slave, might matter. Namely, not the human being but our role within the society.

There are many challenges in this chapter and the tractate, and laws following. I am not saying the scale is perfect or user friendly nowadays. For one, it applies to vows and Temple. But the idea that our worth is made of both who we are as single, unique, individuals, made in G-d’s image being while at the same time, influenced by the world we live in, does resonate. This is maybe the reminder at the end of a book filled with laws: You are one and only; you are an integral part of the whole and the whole does need to be considered. Which way is it? You got it: yes.

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This Sunday, the 28th of Iyar, is Yom Yerushalayim, Jerusalem Day, a day commemorating the reunification of the city in 1967. The midrash tells us that many, many years ago, Shem, the son of Noah suggested that this clear-mountain air city would be called Shalem, wholeness, perfection; while Abraham suggested that this site, chosen by G-d, should have be knowsn as Yir’a, reverence, awe.
G-d, who listened to both decided to combine both names into one, and call the city Yeru-shalem, but then Shem came back all sad: “not enough you put me second, Abraham’s name is longer: mine is 3 letters and his is 4”. G-d decided to rearrange things slightly, making from yir’a – yir’u (which combined the alef and heh into a vav, maintaining their numerical values), so Shem wont be upset. But after he left, G-d decided to add another letter, the letter yod for His name, maybe so we remember our priorities, and so that Yerushalayim will have 7 letters (in Hebrew) like the 7 days of the week, the 7 branches of the menorah, and many more sevens of perfection.
Just this morning, there was a stabbing attack in the city, that struggles to hold holiness and perfection along with the utmost mundane and pained life, of screams and sirens, noisy bulldozers and cranes and buses and light-train and traffic jams and taxi drivers honking through narrow streets; merchants yelling in the open markets where people rush between bins of fresh vegetables, sweet fruits, and colorful spices, avoiding the tahini sauce smeared on the sidewalk; kids running around. And soldiers. And people: religious, secular, Arabs, Jews, tourists, foreigners, locals; countless languages and accents. Talking about peace, perfection and reverence seems absolutely delusional. And yet, a gateway is naturally a place full of hustle and bustle. A place that connects heaven and earth can’t be all heavenly; it must be both. This possibility, now more alive than maybe ever, is what we celebrate.

Shabbat Shalom & a peaceful, joyful Yom Yerushalayim.

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