Shabbat Nachamu – The Shabbat of Comfort: “Discovering America”, part I

Posted on August 20, 2016 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

I’ve been living in this country for more than 30 years. Yes. I know that’s hard to believe, especially with me being 29 and all, and yet. More than 30 years, and so much I have not seen, especially in the middle. I know, “us” on the edges think the middle is kind of empty, “fly over”, 5-6 hours of sleep with nothing underneath, and hop, here we are, but turns out, the middle is amazingly beautiful. On this week of Shabbat Nachamu, the Shabbat of Comfort, I venture on my journey cross-country; my “discovering America”, my “masa hashalom”, journey of peace with this place that, admittedly initially unintentionally, became my home. There is lots to say, but as usual, it is – almost Shabbat, so here is just one day, and hopefully, more to come.

Thursday, Day 4: Idaho Falls, Idaho to Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming.
I thought that G-d lives in Yosemite; now it turns out, He takes residence in Grand Teton too.
The G-d of Grand Teton is awesome and majestic and beautiful, and a little scary too. I arrive after driving through great expanses of yellow wheat and other green fields, barns, trucks, and horses in Colter Bay, just in time for an afternoon hike.
I almost make it to Hermitage Point when I hear the first boom. It’s a bit cloudy but, hey, I’m only 0.5 miles away from that point and can’t give up now. I rush out to the edge of the Bay, breath deeply, trying to take in the amazing wow, click as many pictures as possible and rush back. 10 minutes later, it is no longer a far away boom; it is lightening, thundering, raining and – hailing! The lightening is so close – it’s blinding. The thunder is so loud, I instinctively cup my ears and duck down. What were the instructions? Hide under a tree? Stay away from the trees? I am alone in the forest, drenched. My hair is dripping; my shirt clings to my body; my pants stick to my legs; my favorite hiking shoes – soaked. The trail I was on is a muddy creek. I am alone in the forest. Not a soul in sight (this was the “well traveled trail”…). The “village” is 4 miles away. Just me and the trees. It’s immediately 1944. All I have is water, two cliff-bars and a bag of grapes. No reception, and I didn’t buy the bear spray – for $45.99 a can. $45.99!! They told me not to worry, bears dont “frequent this area”, and if you see one, “you can sing”, they suggest at the ranger station, “just make some noise”. Is this not enough noise right now?? The inside of backpack is getting wet; I put my phone in my bra, perhaps the last semi-dry place, then keep going through the woods. Suddenly as it has begun, it eases off. First, big drops instead of the hail; then lighter drops, then a semi-smiling sun fights through the clouds.
In the evening I find a place with a veggie soup and salad. They set me up with decent wifi and a place to charge, and let me sit indefinitely with my computer while I write. The guy at the tent village confidently hands me a bundle of wood and kindling for my cabin’s stove, as even he knows I know what to do with it, and miraculously, I manage to light and enjoy the warmth until I fall asleep.
G-d of the Grand Tetons laughs. Sometimes we laugh together and sometimes, He laughs alone. Grand Teton and I are not yet friends, but I think by tomorrow we will be.

From Billings Montana, home of the “Christmas Menorah”, my blue stallion and I wish you a Shabbat Shalom.

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Shabbat Chazon – the Shabbat of vision and looking ahead

Posted on August 13, 2016 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

You might have seen some of the online back and forth: to fast or not to fast, that is the question. Why fast, they those who’d rather not. After all, we have our land and Jerusalem is our capital. Fasting might be like an unappreciative slap in the face of all the good we have. Fast, advocates those who do; it’s our tradition. And besides, the Temple has not been built yet, so no reason to be that joyful.
I love it when I discover that this is actually a very old conversation. The Book of Zachariah 7:3 we find the question, as the people want to know: ‘Should I weep in the fifth month (Av), separating myself, as I have done these so many years?’
To get some background, Zachariah lived during the time of Darius the Great, who some say might have been the son of Achashverosh and Queen Esther, and under whose reign, Jews were to return to their Land and begin rebuilding the Temple. Zechariah prophecies date to 520-518 BCEand center on the rebuilding of the Temple, which was now encouraged by the leaders of the empire in hopes that it would strengthen the authorities in local contexts. This policy was good politics on the part of the Persians, and the Jews viewed it as a blessing from God.
Clearly, questions now emerge about observances as things have changed, and same as today, the prophet is being asked about the fast for that old, first Temple, which many of those living in that present, didn’t experience and felt remote from. The difficulty with ‘out of the blue’ fast and mourning was always there, which is one of the reasons why the rabbis instituted a “backwards process” into mourning (in contradiction with personal mourning, where one goes from extreme sadness slowly back out to the world, the “three weeks” create a system to go “in”, ending with the worst day).
The answer the prophet delivers is fascinating. G-d says something like, ‘wait a minute, are you fasting for me??’
Fasting is not something we do in order to make G-d better. We’re supposed to fast in order to make the world better – in order to feel others pain, remember that there is suffering, brokenness, disconnectedness. We’re supposed to fast in order to step aside to think about what we can do to fox the disconnectedness around us; to be motivated to do better.
Ah, you might say, how can my fasting possibly help with anything??
And the answer – in question, of course – would be: ‘ok, fine; fasting might not help. But, if our fasting doesn’t help, does our eating, or doing anything else, help’??
In other words, let us be careful with the ‘nothing I do matters’. We should not let ourselves get off easy and think that our actions don’t manner’. Tish’a Be’Av is an opportunity to do some soul searching reexamine what it is that we can do that does make a positive difference. The sages emphasize “ahavat chinam”, love unconditionally, which is a grand goal, but even just small acts of kindness can make a big difference. Then, says the prophet, all these fasts will eventually become days of joys, gladness and cheerful seasons (there 8:16-19).
** * * * * *
I have always liked the image of Moses in the Book of Deuteronomy, giving his last loving words of wisdom, some rebuke, some warnings, lots of advice, family memories, poetry and blessings, like a parent talking to his child as the latter takes off to a new adventure. I have identified with it in the past here, as my kids went off to summer camp, college and Israel. I almost got used to that role, except today, on the eve of my last Shabbat in Oakland, (at least for a while ), I am noticing that it flipped: I am the one with the journey ahead and my family and friends are the ones with the advise and the good byes (and the warnings, and the advice and the poems and the blessings…).
I have lived in California so long now – longer than anywhere else, including Israel – that at a recent conversation, someone told me I am “such a California girl”. I came for a short visit more than 30 years ago, and that turned into a long love affair. The views f the Golden State became my home. The beaches, mountains, country roads, oaks and redwoods, flowers and animals, from the mother and babies skunk who lived under our house to the deer at the window and on. I now can fluently babble about which highway to take where, and talk about other “stuff” that Californians think everybody in world cares about like avocados and wine, different kinds of yoga, skiing in a t-shirt at 68F, “the surf”, slack-lining, volcanoes, rain, water, drought and so much more. Most of all, I have been blessed by the people I met here. I think of so many dear friends I made, not excluding my kids who were all born here. On this last Shabbat, I’m in my friends’ kitchen, cutting onions with goggles (great invention!) but my eyes are teary anyway. I already miss you.
Shabbat Shalom and tbc…

 

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Torah Portion: Journeys

Posted on August 6, 2016 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Martin Buber said, “all journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware”. I first heard it on a job, but maybe that whole job’s purpose was to learn that saying… it took hearing it more than once to remember, look it up, write it down… We think we’re going from point A to B in order to do X, yet on route, “coincidentally”, we come across something – or someone – different we had no idea of before, and end up elsewhere, physically, emotionally, spiritually.
Why is it so?
This week’s Torah reading is called “journeys”. It’s actually a double portion here and a single one in Israel, so we’re finally “catching up”. Our “meeting place” is at the end of the Book of Bamidbar (Numbers), at the end of our journeys.
Wait, journeys?? Why is this word in the plural form? Wasn’t it one journey, just going from Egypt through the same desert? And while we’re on it, actually why did the Children of Israel have to wander around in the desert? What was the merit of going from one place to another, if they were given the same manna and same water anyway? Once the decree was made to stay in the desert for 40 years (38 and a half), why not just sit somewhere and wait for time to go by, play cards, watch TV, whatever, till the new generation is ready?
The early Chasidic master, the Ba’al Shem Tov, said, “All these 42 journeys are with each one of us, from the day we are born till the day we pass to the other world… just like the Exodus from Egypt”: In the beginning, we are part of the Eternal, but then we’re placed in a narrow place (Egypt’s Hebrew name is Mitzrayim which comes from “narrow”, “trouble”). Our whole existence becomes tight – all we can focused on is ‘me myself and I’. Then slowly, we emerge into the world. At first, we are well cared for, fed and sheltered, but that’s not enough. Our goal is to get to the “Promised Land”. In some way, this is one journey, but in others, each stop along the way is critical, because on it hinges the next stop. Therefore, the text describing the journey is very explicit. It could have said something like; ‘they traveled from Haifa to Tel Aviv, Jerusalem and Eilat’, but instead it’s more like: they traveled from Haifa to Tel Aviv and camped there; then they traveled from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem and camped there’.
Kabalistically, each stop is an opportunity to repair something, to “fix the sparks”. This is true for the individual as well as for the people. Another ‘proof’ here is that then as now, individually and communally, we stay a different length of time in different places, supposedly, since in each we need to do different “work” on ourselves before we’re ready to move on. No doubt, there are moments of great frustration, but often when we look back, ‘it all makes sense’, or almost all… this is also the reason why “camping” in each location was important. It tells us we need to pay attention to where we are and the “lessons” we’re handed, and send real time in each stop. Rabbi Yitzchak Meir of Gur said, “In every generation there is a new understanding of the Exodus from Egypt; and not just in each generation, but in each person, there is a point of freedom / redemption which is an explanation to the Exodus from Egypt. That point a person must find out between him and himself”.

*******
As I was writing these “lofty” words, I took a break, browsing through facebook. Sadly, strangely and other adjectives, this is where now new is. To my horror, I learned through posts, of the sudden, heartbreaking death of David Moglen, my Bar Mitzvah student and family friend some 25 years ago.
Tragedy is no time for theories. Theories are good, and can be helpful, but as a dear teacher and friend of mine used to say, “life is an emotional experience, not a cognitive one”. We know things in our mind, and still must have time to process and grieve. In such times, there is no way to explain.
*******
The school I’m going to for the Maharat program is in “hot water” with the “OU” (Orthodox Union) over the issue of “women rabbis”. And what do I think? I think it’s time for the conversation to enter the ‘grey’; it’s no longer a black and white. Women within Orthodoxy are coming forward, like the daughters of Tzlofchad, and some Moses needs to thoughtfully answer in some form of affirmative. They / we are not asking to be men; they / we are not asking to replace the men; But to have recognition and respect for acquiring knowledge, and a way to serve the community with that.
Shabbat Shalom.

 

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Making Connections – Then & Now

Posted on August 1, 2016 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

I was honored to deliver the “Shabbat U” (short for “Shabbat University” – main learning) at Beth Jacob Oakland this past Saturday. Here’s a summary and sources:

Back from my 3rd summer of tour guiding through almost 5000 miles in the pacific north and south west, there are so many good things about travel, and one of them is definitely people watching; just to step aside from our own story and look at another. I notice the family next to me, arguing in fluent Japanese, maybe, with their teen daughter about being in the family portrait; the Indian, maybe, grandparents with their grandchildren trying to match their pace on the walk; the Dutch, maybe, father, with his daughter at the checkout stand the American dad with his sons, roasting marshmallows on our campfire with an amazing “marshmallow fishing pole” for perfect flavor and consistency. And somehow, they all look extremely familiar: They are parts of me and I could have been each and every one of them.
In those moments, the Kabalistic way of seeing the world needs no further proof, and is all right there. It’s obvious that we are part of a One; that “soul matter” spilled into different, separate “vessels”, and that those are artificial boundaries we strive to overcome. Hence, we yearn to go “back”, we yearn to “connect”.
In that sense, the Torah can be viewed as a very binary manual: it tells us about ways to connect – with G-d and other humans, whether individuals or community; and ways by which this connections is severed. In this week’s Torah reading, Matot, we see Moshe struggling with a new disconnect he’s never seen or imagined can happen when two tribes decide to “disconnect” and stay in the eastern side of the Jordan, rather than go into The Land. Throughout the Torah, there is a lot of talk about “knowing”, “not knowing”. “Knowing” – lada’at – is a form of connecting – and we see that in the first use of “knowing”, when Adam “knew” Hava, in Genesis 4:1, having the deepest connection with his wife, and she bore him a son.
But connecting is often obstructed. At times, interactions between humans are like a meeting between two porcupines, trying to find a soft spot… In the Jewish calendar, the three weeks we’re in, are a special time to look at our communal interactions, judgments, per-conceived notions and so on, and the negative ways they have impacted us in the past and present. In conjunction, we have learned the following Talmudic story, where we come across two famous rabbis, each a leader in his won right, who nevertheless, need to learn the lesson of what helps and what harms – making real connections.
The story can be found in Baba Kamma 117a-b: Rav Kahana, who lives in Babylonia, gets in trouble with the law. His teacher, Rav, who is the head of the academy and also happens to be his step father, advises him to go to the Land of Israel, to Rabbi Yochanan’s yeshiva. Rav makes one condition: that Kahana should not get into arguments with Rabbi Yochanan. Interestingly, and not so different from our modern era, we see that already then, Eretz Yisrael was considered a refuge and haven for someone in trouble, and that those outside assume themselves a little greater in learning.
Rav Kahana goes. He gets into some arguments with Rabbi Yochanan’s students so the latter “warn” their master with the words: “A lion has come up from Babylon; you should prepare your lesson well”. When Rav Kahana comes to class the next day, he is seated in the honorable front row, but as he keeps his promise and silence, he is moved all the way to the back, where the “bad students” sit. Yochanan now smirks, saying: “That lion turned out to be a fox!”, and so Rav Kahana starts asking his questions, moving up front row by row, and then eventually, Rav Yochanan has to get off his pillows, until they sit at the same height (yes, physically and symbolically).
Rabbi Yochanan asks to see this man who is asking such poignant questions, and as he is old, his students prop his eyes open with silver pincers. He see Rav Kahana’s lips parted in a sort of smile, and assumes he (Yochanan) is being mocked by the Babylonian. His (Yochanan’s) mind weakens and he causes Kahana to die. The next day, he realizes his mistake when his students tell him that this is the way Kahana’s face is, with his lips slightly parted, so Rabbi Yochanan goes back to Kahana’s grave-cave to bring him back to life.
But at the cave, a snake (yes, more symbolism) is coiled on the door. Rabbi Yochanan says: ‘let the master come (see) the student!’ but the snake doesn’t move. He tries again: ‘let the colleague come (see) his colleague’ – and again, nothing. Last, he says: ‘let the student come (see) the master’, where upon the snake moves, and allows Rabbi Yochanan to enter and revive Rav Kahana. Rabbi Yochanan’s beautiful, humble, statement then is – ‘had I only known (that this is how his face is)’…

*******
I’ll add two more to this mix – each a very different, yet in some ways similar reminder to focus on what brings us together, rather than that that tears us apart:
The first is Yehuda Amichai’s poem – Tourists:

פעם ישבתי על מדרגות ליד שער במצודת דוד. את שני הסלים הכבדים שמתי לידי. עמדה שם קבוצת תיירים סביב המדריך ושמשתי להם נקודת ציון. “אתם רואים את האיש הזה עם הסלים? קצת ימינה מראשו, נמצאת קשת מן התקופה הרומית. קצת ימינה מראשו”. אבל הוא זז, הוא זז! אמרתי בלבי: הגאולה תבוא רק אם יגידו להם: אתם רואים שם את הקשת מן התקופה הרומית? לא חשוב: אבל לידה, קצת שמאלה ולמטה ממנה, יושב אדם שקנה פֵּרות וירקות לביתו.

Once I sat on the steps by the gate at David’s Tower,
I placed my two heavy baskets at my side. A group of tourists
was standing around their guide and I became their reference point: “See
that man with the baskets? Just right of his head there’s an arch
from the Roman period, just right of his head.” But he’s moving, he’s moving!
I said to myself: Redemption will come only if their guide tells them,
“You see that arch from the Roman period? It’s not important: but next to it,
to the left and a bit down, there sits a man who’s bought fruit and vegetables for his family.”

And then, there’s the Chasidic teachings of Menachem Nahum of Chernobyl, a student of the 17th century Ba’al Shem Tov which I find in a brand new book, “Me, Myself and God” by Rabbi Jeff Roth that miraculously came into my life along the way:
“What is the world? The is G-d, wrapped in robes of G-d so as to appear to be material. And who are we? We are G-d wrapped in robes of G-d and our task is to unwrap the robes and thus dis-cover that we and the entire world are G-d”.

And with that, shavua tov /a good week to you and yours.

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With Balak & Bil’am – at Zion Ponderosa

Posted on July 23, 2016 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Why give so much space to the story about Balak and Bil’am??

Balak- a little like Pharaoh – is scared of the people and devises how to interfere with their journey. Bil’am the magician tries to curse them, three times to be exact. It doesn’t work. The end. Here, the whole story in 2-3 sentences. Why the lengthy description?

The answer might be found in the Haftara as the prophet Micah says (6:5): “my people, remember… Balak and Bil’am… In order that you may know G-d’s righteous ways”.

Where is G-d’s kindness?

To begin with, a careful read of the nuances of the interaction between the two – Balak and Bil’am – is fascinating. For example, when Balak “insists” even after Bil’am says no, why?? Didn’t Bil’am say no already??

But Bil’am’s no is not a no. He hangs his know not on himself but because G-d doesn’t let him (numbers 22:13). It’s very clear that their communication is not about the actual words but what’s beyond it. This happens again and again.

But back to G-d’s kindness: today I think it’s about turning bad things to good. Bil’am tries to curse the people and the curses turn to blessings like the famous “ma tovu”.

We who are created in G-d’s image, have opportunities to do that too. Today, hiking at Zion National Park, on a most strenuous hike, a couple going down said to us: are you guys good on water? Take ours”!

It was 108F and that afternoon sun was beating on the trail. The heat was heavy and oppressive. Yet two strangers going down just emptied their water into our (thirsty) containers. “Maybe this is why this trail is called Angel’s Landing”, I told my surprised and happy (and quenched!) group, “because of the Angels along the way”.

Shabbat shalom.

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Bay Area Friday Traffic (Chukat)

Posted on July 17, 2016 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

 
Tech challenges on Friday, apologies for delay. Shavua Tov 🙂

* * *

Bay Area Friday afternoon rush-hour crawl, can be a very trying time for anyone, let alone a group of teens, some of them still jet-lagged, on east coast time; others exhausted from days of traveling, hiking, eating different foods, sleeping at odd hours and places, listening to me excitedly point at anything from interesting buildings to amazing trees and what not. It’s hot on the bus after the a/c died – again, but the kids are in good spirt, ask (mostly) good questions, and don’t complain.

I think of other times and other travels…

This Torah portion this week skips 40 years ahead to the end of the long desert journey. The Children of Israel complain about the lack of water (Numbers 20:3-13). There are “consequences” to Moses’ behavior there, discussed by many commentators, as this is the moment that G-d decided not to let him into the Land; but, no consequences to the complainers, who get what they’ve asked for. Then there is another incident: this time, the Children of Israel complain about the lack of bread and water, then they specify – “our soul is sick of the ‘yucky bread’” (Numbers 21:5), and this time, G-d sends fiery serpents who bite them.

Is G-d just this erratic, unpredictable Being? Is He, like any parent, just “had it”, and is “tired already”? or is these something else going on?

On the chance that there is something else going on here, let’s look at the difference between the two incidences: in the first, there was actually no water. According to the midrash, the people enjoyed the benefits of a traveling well in the merit of Miriam. Once Miriam died (20:1), there was no water. In this case, they were right to complain. However, in the second incidence, there is mana, for bread, but, it’s just not good enough. Especially since according to the tradition, the mana could taste like anything, this does not seem to be a justified complaint. Hence the punishment.

So, it turns out, we’re allowed to complain all we want, when there’s a real reason. Sure, we think it’s better not to whine and be polite and ask nicely etc, but G-d is G-d and He can handle a little kvetching. We should be able to approach Him like a parent to whom we can come anytime; like a best friend, to whom we can tell anything; like a king who can give us everything. And yet, at the same time, we have to be appreciative of what we have. “Stam” complaining, just for nothing, won’t get us anywhere and will even set us back. And where’s the line? That’s the challenge of life.

  

 

This week’s reading opens with the “Red Heifer”, a chapter (Numbers 19) that gets more peculiar the more you read it. The commentators make it worse: they explain that the strange purification sacrifice of the Red Heifer atones for the Golden Calf, as if the Heifer is the Calf’s mom and needs to clean up after it. What??

Rabbi Hirsch, looking at the Hebrew roots, helps make sense of it: egel, the word for calf, is related to igul, circle. The calf, he explains, is like someone who goes nowhere, just round and round in circles, naval gazing at himself. Para, the word for heifer, is related to pri, fruit, and lifrot, to be fruitful, to grow. toThe antidote for going in circles, heading nowhere, being busy with oneself, is to be useful, caring, creative; to go out and do good in the world, and in this way, it is its atonement.

In this way too, traveling, for me, has always been an amazing opportunity; and a very humbling experience. It means to step aside from my story, my route, my habits, my concerns, and really “see”, beyond the views, trees, mountains etc, the people; the individuals, couples, families, friends, colors, shapes, gender preferences, languages, talents, abilities, stories, lots and lots of stories. And to wonder, how we all intertwine, how we make each other’s lives better.

Shabbat Shalom from Berkeley CA.

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Korach & all his people- Shabbat Shalom from rainy Oregon

Posted on July 8, 2016 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

In Salem Oregon’s capitol gift shop, I notice the following sign: “it may be that your whole life is to be a warning for others”… if no one else, Kovach whom this week’s reading is named after, is a classic example for this.

Korach incites a mutiny challenging Moses’ and Aaron’s leadership, claiming “everybody is holy”. Korach is further accompanied by Moses’ foes, Datan and Aviram. Joining them are 250 distinguished members of the community, who offer holy incense to prove that they are worthy of the priesthood. You might think Moses and Aaron felt relieved to have so many willing helpers, but instead, the earth opens up, swallowing the mutineers and a fire consumes those who offered the incense.
Who is Kovach? Aside from being Moses’ first cousin, much can be learned from his name  in Hebrew,Korach is spelled ק.ר.ח. kof.resh.chet. Rabbi Hirsch points that the same root is used for the word for balding (karcha: check Leviticus 21:5), a smooth interior of a garment (karachto, check Leviticus 13:55) and frost (kerach, Genesis 31:40), which is also the word for ice in Modern Hebrew. The root means “cohere”, which the dictionary says means- 1. to stick together; be united; hold fast, as parts of the same mass. 2. Physics (of two or more similar substances) to be united within a body by the action of molecular forces. 3. to be naturally or logically connected: 4. to agree; be congruous.

I was excited to find a letter by letter analysis of his name (ah, the things that make me excited!):
According to kabala, the ideal balance between thought and action is hinted in the letter heh. The letter heh is made of three parts: the top – for thought; the right side – for speech and the left – for action. Notice, that the left side is shorter than the others and that it stands sort of “under” the top, indicating that action is subject to thought.
Each of the letters is Korach’s name is very similar to the heh, but is different, and how it’s different is significant to what happened and what we can learn.
The letter kof is like a heh except the left line goes down lower than the right, indicating a situation when those who act are not under those who think, which drags the former lower.
The letter resh is like heh except it has no left side at all, parallel to Korach’s dmand to separate thinking from doing.
The letter chet is like heh, except the left side is closed, making all three aspects – thought, speech and action – equal.
Just from his name, we see that Korach demanded often conflicting things: to be “equal” as in “kulam kdoshim”, everybody is holy, and yet, to be a leader, unique above everybody, so which way is it?

In Pirkei Avot (the Sayings of the Fathers 5:20), we’re told: “Any dispute that is for the sake of heaven will have a constructive outcome; but one that is not for the sake of heaven will not have a constructive outcome. What sort fo dispute is for the sake of Heaven? The dispute between Hillel and Shamai. And which was not for the sake of Heaven? – The dispute of Korach and his entire company”.

Wait, if we want to use these role models, shouldn’t the parallel to Hillel and Shamai, two giants of two different opinions and ways of thinking, be Korach and Moses?
But the Mishna chose to say, Korach vechol adato, Korach and all his crowd, to say, the dispute was not at all between Korach and Moses, but rather, it was internal, between Korach and his very own people. In its funniest form it probably sounded like our bus, except it wasn’t funny.

Professor Yishayahu Leibovitz says that the big difference is that Kovach thinks the community is already holy without thru need to do anything, while for Moses its all about the journey towards holiness, not an automatic arrival. Korach becomes the prototype of divisiveness and destruction. His criticism, even if it had some valid points, is not constructive. He is not interested in fixing or improving things. It is all about glorifying himself and only himself. His priorities are messed up, and mess up others; his “gang” is united by who they are opposing, not positive input and desire for anyone’s well being; and their “togetherness” is only temporary. He is a role model and warning for how and thus is not sustainable. Like ice (kerach), Korach and his group break apart and melt away when light shines on them.

Next stop Ashland. Shabbat Shalom.

 

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The 10 Spies & Me, onward and upward

Posted on July 2, 2016 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Earlier this week, I packed our Oakland residence into boxes in preparation for the move later this summer to NY. I closed the door, not to return (to Oakland, yes, to this house – no), heading for a one month summer tour through the Pacific North – and South – West.

The packing thing turned out to be more like an archeological dig, as I was combing through layers of “stuff”, from school notes, notebooks, binders, text books, readers, enrichment material, report cards, diplomas and beautiful photos of everybody smiling at great achievements; arts and crafts projects, scribbles, drawings, sculptures, figurines, vases, sewing projects, crochet and knitting scarves’ projects, sleeves of future sweaters, photography experiments, and what not. I had no idea how much we enjoy thrift shop “treasure hunting” until I saw the bags for give away. Then there were writings, shi’urim, source sheets, divrei Torah… and of course, books. How can anyone leave their books behind? Why, it’s like leaving a friend…

And so it went.

Around 2am, sweeping an – almost – empty bedroom, I was reminded of Golda, Tevya’s wife, from Fiddler on the Roof, cleaning her house before the Kozaks are coming, ‘not wanting to leave a mess’ (ok, the metaphor is not great, but it was 2am…). I thought of my grandmother, leaving Berlin in 1933, with a 5 year old, a 13 year old (my father) and an 18 year old while riots and book burnings already start in the streets; resourceful enough to get, not only the family, but the family’s piano, all the way to then Palestine, bidding farewell to a whole world, never to return. And my other grandmother, packing her lovely house into a couple of suitcases, saying good bye to her mom, who was sure that because her husband, my great-grandfather was an officer in WWI, she’d be safe and not end up in Tresienstat, as she did. I think of my own kids, when will we open which box, what will we find, what will it mean then, did I choose the right items, did I forget, overlook, choose the wrong thing??

It seemed endless. I felt like tar has been smeared on my wings. I thought I’ll just never get out the door. Then I thought of this week’s Torah portion, and the story of the Spies, the people who said, we can, and those who said we can’t do this, it’s too much.

My attention was always on Caleb and Joshua, the ones who said, ‘let’s go’. I used to not pay much attention to the 10 other leaders. I liked the two who “easily” stood up and did the right thing, and not the “others”. Who were those “others” anyway? Their names are practically unknown. But the Torah calls them “anashim”, mensches, namely, they were good, upstanding people. Some say that they were the new up and coming leadership; Moshe wanted to get them more “engaged” and sent them on a “birthright” mission that was bound to be successful. He excluded himself since he either knew how good it was, or maybe didn’t want to seem persuasive and just let them see for themselves, or maybe, didn’t even care what the place is like. After all, not like there were a lot of other alternatives! We’re going and that’s it! It’s The Land of Milk and Honey! The Promised Land! What can possibly go wrong??? Right, everything.

It’s only this week, when at the end of all the packing, sorting, cleaning (and not sleeping), my car keys disappeared and I could literally not go anywhere, that I realized how strong can be the power that pulls us down. Me and the 10 spies just sat on the floor and wanted to say, forget it, it can’t be done; this one is not happening. For the first time I had deep compassion to those leaders, who probably went ahead with good intentions, and for those who the next day, seeing the damage, said, actually let’s go. While I always thought of Caleb and Joshua, all of a sudden I realized, had I been there, I might have been one of the ‘others’…

But the Psalmist says, ‘He will charge His angles to guard you… they’ll carry you on their hands, lest you trip along the way’. At the point where I was not sure I could make one more step, others were there to brush the dust off my wings and help me soar, or at least, get out the door and catch my flight.

So here’s my thought this Shabbat eve: what really happened on the way back from the spies’ visit to the Land? What did they talk about? Did Caleb and Joshua not know that the other 10 are worried, anxious and not feeling ready? What was the conversation like? Perhaps we should not too quickly judge the 10 spies who “obviously” and “foolishly” got scared “of nothing”. And perhaps, the reason, the whole community got punished, and not just them, is because it was not just ‘them’. Rather, when they could not go further, there was no one there to help them through.

So here’s to  those who help us journey on. With thanks, appreciation and best regards from Seattle WA, Shabbat Shalom.

 

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And the journey continues…

Posted on June 24, 2016 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Hand in hand we are walking up the smooth brownish limestone stairs; a canopy of dusty pines and bright bougainvillea above us, tasty honeysuckles leaning over the fences and red geraniums in the windows above. I bend down to pet another stray cat, mewing in the bushes. Somewhere behind us, the sun is setting and the traffic dies down. The Haifa neighborhood of my childhood smells like soup, and potatoes and chicken. I have my pretty, white, flowery dress; black shiny shoes that buckle on the side with a strap, and a pinkish bow in my hair. My dad is wearing his white shirt, dark slacks and jacket; the blue velvet kippa in his pocket. People greet us with Shabbat Shalom: the shopkeeper who sweeps the last flower petals; the lady shaking the rug, waving from her balcony; the group of Bnai Akiva youth rushing to the minyan at the big synagogue on the hill; the family returning from the beach, sandy and barefoot, plastic buckets in hand, towels draped over their shoulders, just off the last bus, which shuts its noisy engine with a huff.

At Moria, the Conservative / Masorti synagogue on the Carmel, we are greeted warmly. My dad is one of the founding members, and is often the gabai, ba’al kore, chazzan, chatan Torah. Early on, I become familiar with these terms, which would be mostly outside my otherwise “normal” upbringing. The tall usher at the door is ready with a job for me, and I stand there, handing out small siddurim (prayer books) in brown cover to those coming in. Once I know how to read, I am invited up to the bimma to lead the ve’ahavta and when I’m really good, the hashkivenu prayer too. People nod their head at me. They smile and tell my dad I’m a little rebetzin.
I spend my teen years in a youth group, where, interestingly, I do a lot of the same things I do today: talk, sing, learn, argue, teach, write, volunteer, hang with friends, and wrestle with Torah and life. Sometimes, I’m asked to chant the Torah reading or haftara; my scribbles become drashot, and at times, appear in the synagogue’s newsletter. People lean over to my mom, and whisper that she’s has raised a real rebetzin.
No one bothers telling me that rebetzin is actually the wife of the rabbi, not the woman in the front of the shul.
As an adult, this pattern continues. Torah in its broadest sense is essential in my life, and I find myself in various community leadership positions, many of which you are all part of. I seriously consider the rabbinate, and reconsider when my then 4 year old son tells me he’s going to be a fireman, because ‘rabbi is a job for mommies’, trying to juggle and balance my “ima on the bima” roles.
This week’s Torah portion, Beha’alotcha, starts with a beautiful description of Aaron, the High Priest, lighting the menorah in the mishkan, the mobile Tabernacle. Except that, the Torah does not use the word for ‘light’. Rather, it uses a very unusual term, which translates to something like ‘when you bring up’, hence beha’alotcha, from al, on top, and aliya, going up, and also aleinu, it is on us (to do something).
Variations on this root, a.l.h. repeat over and over in the reading. The direction is upwards. We are at a very pivotal place in the desert journey: up until the end of Numbers, chapter 10, we’re heading forward to the Land. In fact, this should have been the last portion in the Torah! Ok, maybe Moses would review the commandments once again in a much shorter version of Deuteronomy, but other than that, we have everything we’ve come for: freedom, the Law, a place to connect with G-d, a structure how to run our society, physically (the camp), legally and spiritually. Next stop Israel!
And then, right on the verge of entering the Land, the people start complaining: ‘remember those zucchinis we ate back in Egypt?? The watermelons and eggplants? And the leadership? That board needs refreshing; and I tell you, the view? Enough already with this cloud and pillar of fire!’ What are they complaining about? Anyway they’ll be in the land in a day or two!! They’ll grow their own food; leadership structure will be different; everything will be great, great!
But, for whatever reason, the people are not ready. What starts on chapter 11, is the beginning of what ends up being a 40 year detour, before the eventual arrival at the Promised Land. Yes, we know they were slaves, but as always, the story is not just about them. It’s mostly about us. And we too, sometimes, take yet another detour. Maybe the conditions are not yet right for us; maybe we’re a bit scared; we need some more time; we need space to grow. And yet, the underlying message is that throughout it all, the direction is always upwards, be’aliya.
Which is my hope for my own journey too.
In 2009, a new program was launched by Rabbi Avi Weiss and Rabba Sara Horwitz, offering the title Maharat, which an acronym for מנהיגה הלכתית, רוחנית, תורנית: leader (in) halacha (Jewish law), spirituality and Torah. For the first time women have an official path for gaining the skills, training, and certification they need to become spiritual leaders within the Modern Orthodox community. This program has been for me like a lighthouse, twinkling in the distance for the ships to come in. This past winter I finally applied. I am honored to have been accepted, and plan to start this coming fall.
Wait, what?! You’re moving?? Yes. CA has been my home for longer than anywhere else, even longer than Haifa, and I’ll no doubt miss everything about it. And yet, it seems like the seeds for this “sudden move” have been there since those Shabbat afternoons, walking up the path with my dad, and so it continues.

There will be an opportunity to learn and celebrate together on Shabbat, July 30 before I head east. Message me for more details. Until then, enjoy the journey with all its detours, for they too are part of the way.

Shabbat Shalom.

 

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The Seed of a Cactus

Posted on June 7, 2016 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

“A Seed of a Cactus” – is the literal translation of “Garin Tzabar”, the IDF lone soldier program. “Garin” can also mean ‘a core group’, but as native born Israelis are often referred to as “sabres” (cactus), I’m beginning to see more meaning in referring to my own child(ren) as  “seeds of a cactus”… This past Sunday was the send-off ceremony of this amazing group of teens as they are heading to Israel this summer. Here’s my speech: 

As I was thinking about this evening, I remembered, about 5 years ago, I was asked to speak at a Tekes Garin Tzabar. At the time, I worked for the SF federation. Garin tzabar was part of my department and this all seemed like a “great and very worthwhile program”.
Fast forward, and meanwhile, I’ve become a parent to one Garin Tzabar soldier, already in Israel, serving as tatzpitanit in the Shomron, and another one here, on route.
It’s hard not to notice the irony of life. I’m guessing, most of us, did not imagine that we will speak with our children in English, and that davka, thousands of miles away from what we – still and in spite of everything – call home, they’ll opt to go back and walk in many of our footsteps.
Back then, 5 years ago, I spoke to the parents, the behind the scenes heroes of this adventure; now I get to speak AS a parent, and as such, how about a few words of advice to you, our dear children (yes, you’ll be soldiers and for us, you’ll be our children, sorry!).
First, we have a special gift for you: a sharpie. It looks silly right now, but you too will soon be introduced to the famous army tradition of hashlamat tziyud. This means, that when you find you’re missing a helmet, you borrow someone else’s. This also means that anyone can borrow yours. With this important tool, at least you might see yourself coming if your helmet is on someone else’s head. Alternatively, one day when you’re the chief of staff, a new tiron – soldier in basic training – might be walking around proudly with your name of his stuff. Shortly, claim your territory and write your name on everything, starting with the plastic bag your sharpie is in.
Second: Hebrew school was nice and Ulpan is nice too but the army doesn’t speak Hebrew. Therefore you need to familiarize yourself with terms like chapash, tash, afutz, nadbar and more, which can be found on tzahalopedia – a page on the website “shavuz”, which is also an acronym that if you haven’t, I can’t tell you here what it means but you’ll soon get to know.
3. If you come across a word you don’t know and can’t read, chances are it’s in English. Like kitbag, check-post and After. Remember, they are pronounced in Hebrew accent. This is also the case for car parts. So, for example, the front axle is called – “back axle kidmi” [literally – front back axle].
4. Get a good packing list. Leave the un-essentials: your guitar and ipad can stay in the kibbutz for basic, but do remember kafkafim / flip-flops, headlamp, pocketknife, a good book – yes, pen and paper to write on – also, yes, and “talc”, which you know better as baby powder, and which you have no idea why would be on this list and don’t want to be without when you need it.

5. Remember that list of things – all I ever needed to know, I learned in kindergarten? Most of it is still good for the IDF too: nap when you can, wash hands before you eat, and share. Nothing’s worse than someone eating crunchy bisley alone, or worse, dunking vaflot in leftover cold coffee so their friends don’t hear them consume the package they got from home. We know to send extra. Be there for each other. Be there for each other, and each of you will be stronger that way too.
6. We know how smart and strong you are and still, in the right place and time, ask. Ask – in both meanings of the word: don’t assume. Ask questions and find out what you need to know. And ask for what you need. Oftentimes, “no” is only the beginning of a conversation. So ask. No one will guess it for you. Asking is its own wisdom and strength.
7. Last: know that we think – It is very admirable and we are so inspired by your choice and motivation to follow your heart and be a part of the IDF. We have faith that this unique experience will contribute to your success in your future.
In the words of the famous Israeli song:
עוף גוזל, חתוך את השמים
טוס לאן שבא לך
רק אל תשכח, יש נשר בשמים,
גור לך.
Fly, little birdie, cut through the sky
Sly to wherever you feel like.
Just don’t forget, there’s an eagle in the sky, and please, take care.
We wish you much hatzlacha and all our love.

p.s. along with the sharpie, we’ve placed “kisses” and a golden nugget: Kisses – obvious, and the nugget so you also don’t forget this golden state, where you’ve come from, and what we think of you. Inside the nugget, there’s “stuff”, so you remember, it’s not always how it seems from the outside. Stay open, and look around. We wish you best in your journey.

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