Noah, his wife and some

Posted on October 17, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Noah’s wife. Perhaps the most unsung hero of the Bible. “Hi Honey, how’s your day? I just got great news! you and me with our three lovely children and daughters in law, are going on a dream cruise! I’m just going to take the next 120 years to build this “thing”, which looks like a box the size of a football field with no windows, and bring 2 of every animal – at least – into it, and then, any minute, we’ll be on our way…”
How was dinner at their home on, let’s say, Sunday night, week 18, year 29 into the project? She packs him some snacks as he heads out the door to look for a rare something or another… “text me when you get there!”, she can’t say, “I did see in the news that stormy weather is expected in only 90 years, and by the way, don’t worry about me, the children, the house, the neighbors or anything else I wanted to talk with you about…”
Her name is not known and the word for love has not appeared in the Bible and yet, Noah’s wife has to be one of the most loving people ever.

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Parashat Noah must also be the saddest Torah portion for the animals: In the Garden of Eden everybody was a vegan and now, humanity is officially starting to eat meat. Of course, there is a practical reason to doing so, for nothing will growing on the ground when they exit the ark, but then the habit – lingers, and the compromise gets established as a way of life. Rav Kook and others (including my daughters) speak in length about this: there can’t be peace in the world as long as creatures eat each other. While we too work with our compromises, let’s remember the ideal.

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I must be spending quite a bit of time in kita alef (1st grade) because slowly the whole world starts looking like their playground: it’s always someone else’s fault when someone is crying. Us teachers watch the constant “he did it”, “she did it”, as so often the same kids, in a variation on same situation, over and over again, as if trying to resolve something very deep within them – but doing so with another. We try to teach them to stop and say please and thank you and let’s share and please and thank you and let’s play nicely and please and thank you…. I wish we could go into the sandbox of the world and suggest a little nicer play there too.

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Trader Joe’s a few minutes before Shabbat at the end of a long week and long day. The cashier says, “oh, looks like your bag is broken; here, take one, it’s free (Alameda county charges 10 cents per bag now), I’ll double bag it for you, and I hope the rest of your day and your weekend is better”. I almost start crying. There is nothing like a small act of kindness, one human seeing another and offering a hand, for seemingly absolutely no reason at all.

Shabbat Shalom.

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Few Thoughts for Rosh Hashana

Posted on September 13, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

I spend Shabbat rummaging through a box of old letters from the mid-late 1980’s to mid 1990’s, real letters, thin paper, bluish aerograms, (a word that Microsoft Word doesn’t even know), glorious postcards from around the globe, colorful cards, beautiful stamps. There must be hundreds of writings between my mom and me; thoughtful words from my brother on official office paper; best wishes for a holiday, a birthday, a simcha (happy occasion) from my aunts, uncles, the kids’ grandparents, cousins; drawings from my nephews; fuzzy photos that didn’t get a second, third and hundreds’ take; dear friends from Israel who didn’t give up on me in spite of the distance and any choices I’ve made; people I’ve met around the world; someone who just drove by, just visited, and still, reaches out  to say hello.
There’s more than two decades between me and these letters. Many of the writers are no longer alive. I recognize the handwriting as soon as I see it. I know what’s inside. They are all various degrees of love letters, letters with so much love in them, if only for the effort that went into getting the card, sitting down to write, going to the post office to stand in line, mailing it, then waiting for a reply….
I think about them today, erev Rosh Hashana, as my inbox floods with brief wishes where I am one of tens and hundreds of “recipients” all carefully hidden in the “bcc”. And don’t get me wrong: I too will post something, semi-generic – at best, on facebook. Sure, I really do want to wish each of my 600+ “contacts” a heartfelt Shana Tova.
And yet.
It makes me wonder about what happened to time and friendship. I’m thinking, maybe in honor of this New Year, I should go get myself a book of stamps.
* * * * * * *
Friday was 9/11. Like with other tragedies, the horrific events of the day also opened a window to a world of good. Rosh Hashana is considered the birthday of the world, and so I hope this story is extra appropriate. It’s long enough so needs no additional introduction. Just this: it’s worth the read, and there are lots of meals. If not now, maybe print and share later.
* * * * * * *
Parashat Nitzavaim which is always read on the Shabbat before Rosh Hashana, includes so many beautiful teachings. The whole idea of “nitzav” (translated standing, but really means being attentive and ready to do something useful; used elsewhere for the pillars of the Tabernacle and G-d Himself); the idea of our ability to choose between good and bad; the idea of “teshuva” (literally, coming back or finding an answer), the push to use our time, and the idea of “lo bashamayim” – it is not in the heavens, but close to our hearts to know what is right to do. I especially like 29:27 (Deuteronomy, that is): “the hidden (things) are to our G-d and the revealed to us and our children to do the words of this Torah”. And the question is, where is the comma??? Is it before “and the revealed” or after?? Worse yet, the Torah trope, which suppose to help us know how to break a sentence, leaves “the revealed” hanging with an unattached marking, as if, well, you know, it can go either way. At first I think, hey, I want an answer! And then I think, yeh… maybe that is exactly how it is. The hidden are things are obviously hidden, but even the revealed. There are days we have an illusion that we know what’s going on, but then, there is so much mystery in the world. I have to remind myself not be so haughty to think that even what seems obvious, is really known.
* * * * * * *
My students and I talk about tefilla (prayer) before the High Holidays. Services are so long! Why??!… tefilla is so hard!! And yet, it’s the easiest thing in the world. The book is there to help you, not for you to help it. Don’t worry about long paragraphs and incomprehensible words in a foreign language. Just sit for a moment and let the whole thing wrap you. The melodies have the power to sink into the soul like water into end of summer parched, cracked soil.

Shana Tova u’Metuka!

 

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Alef and new beginnings

Posted on August 29, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

The first graders end the first week of school with a circle of the floor. I ask them to think of something they are thankful for, before leaving for Shabbat. Some are thankful or P.S., some for math. Some are thankful for “surviving” and even enjoying this first week of schooling. I can hardly begin to tell them all the things on my mind, and stay with being their teacher, which includes jumping rope with them at recess. JUst when I think we’re done, one who has been thinking for a few moments says in a triumphant voice, Hebrew! That’s it, I can go home now.

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Alef is all we do. We’re in Kita Alef (1st grade), and it’s our first letter. We write it, read it, cut it, paste it, draw it, paint it, sing it, march it, whisper it, almost yell it. By the end of the week, surely we know it. But Alef must be the most mysterious of the Hebrew letters. Try to pronounce it without vowels. It has no sound. The first letter of the Hebrew alphabet, the letters that according to our tradition G-d created the world with, is silent. Maybe even the alphabet is humbled. After all, how much can you say with words.

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Alef is also the first letter in the name of this month -Elul. Until the Babylonian exile the Hebrew months were counted numerically, first second etc. The months’ names came later, accordingly, Elul is from the Akkadian word for “harvest”. But tradition has it that it’s an acronym for “ani ledodi vedodi li”, meaning – I am to my beloved and my beloved is to me, symbolic of the upcoming High Holy Days, and yearning for tshuva, “return”, finding an “answer”, coming home.

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This Torah portion is loaded with do’s and don’ts. One of them is “hashavat aveida“, returning a lost object, and there are many beautiful commentaries and stories associated with it. Rav Hirsch adds and says that this mitzvah is “naturally” connected to the previous one, which is attending to the burial of the dead, for “a corpse is nothing but an aveida (lost property), the person’s fallen-off physical frame”.

The sun is setting and my thoughts are still incomplete, but I’m wondering if and what is the connection between this “hashava” – returning of lost objects and “tshuva“, our return to the right place for us. Maybe G-d models this “hashavat aveida” by bringing us back when we lose our right path for a new beginning.

Shabbat Shalom

 

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On Seeing, Flow and More

Posted on August 14, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

We open our eyes each morning, and see.
But then, if it was so simple, there would be no need to actually command us to do so.
Re’e, see, says the Torah in its first word of this week’s section (and the word has its own, stand-alone trope!). Stop, for G-d’s sake, and actually notice what’s in front of you!
Today. Each day.
There’s “blessing”, and there’s “no blessing”.
And that’s it.
There’s nothing in between. There’s nothing that 50-50, and everything else is by default, one or the other.
Wow.
There is a midrash based on the space between the verse, “and Abraham lifted his eyes and saw that place”, and the next verse, when he instructs the lads with him to stay with the donkey (Genesis 22:4-5). What happened that’s missing from the text? Supposedly, Abraham saw G-d’s presence on the mountain. He checked in with Isaac, who told him he too saw the same thing. Then he asked the lads accompanying them who said they saw nothing. He then told them to stay with “donkey”. The word for donkey in Hebrew, chamor, comes from the same root as chomer, materialism. Real seeing is therefore much deeper than just noticing “stuff” around us as is.
And what are “blessing” and “curse” (in the singular)?
We can look at the root for bracha (blessing) & klala (curse), respectfully. Rav Hirsch connects the b.r.ch root to p.r.ch and p.r.k. Without getting overly technical, a number of the Hebrew words starting with p.r. have to do with things coming apart. The b.r. have a similar connection but with a motion forward, a flow. Thus we find bara, create; barak, a flash or lightening; berech, the knee joint; and brecha, a pool of water, all related.
Bracha, says Hirsch, is “a condition of unarrested development, of progressive prosperity”. This is what psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi in his 1990 book describes as Flow, the optimal experience.
What would be its opposite? The Hebrew for klala is related to kilkel, to spoil or ruin something, and klokel (spoiled, but also empty). We can learn about this from another “opposite”: kavod, honor, comes from the same root as weight, heavy. For things to matter, they have to have presence and take some space. So the opposite to blessing is not only stagnation, which maybe still implies a struggle to move ahead, but more like apathy, emptiness. The worst thing is to be nothing while the ultimate happiness, “blessing”, is to be part of Flow.
And one more word: the word following the opening re’e, see, is anochi, a fancy way to say “I” (like in the Ten Commandments). Originally intended for G-d, some commentators stretch to suggest that the seeing depends on the “I”, like when holding our hand, or a coin, in front of our eyes, and a small object can cover the whole view. What’s between us and that which we see? The Torah is big on choice: we can choose, today, every day, who we are, how we see things and what’s in our life.
Shabbat Shalom.

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1 Bus, 4 weeks, 42 teens, and more than 2500 miles…

Posted on August 1, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Turns out, the most common question is not – ‘when are we going to get there’? But rather – ‘what are we doing tomorrow’? On the climb uphill, they want to know exactly, what are we doing tomorrow, and is the hike next week more difficult than this one, or maybe comparable to the one the day before yesterday?? I ask them not to worry, not to think at all. They look at me like I lost my mind. it is the hardest thing, to just be where we are.

The opening of the last Torah portion in the Book of Numbers has a great rhythm: “and they journeyed from… and they encamped at…” is the chorus (Numbers 33:5-37), repeating more than 30 times (!) and weaving in the different sites and events. So redundant and boring! Why not hand us a straight list of attractions? Why go over the same names again and again in a style of – ‘we traveled from Seattle to Olympic National Park, and stayed there. And then traveled from Olympic National Park to Portland, and stayed there. And then traveled from Portland to Ashland and… ‘? If it’s so much work to write the Torah and each word matters, just say where you’ve been!
But just like music is made of notes and of the spaces between them, the journey is made of going, and of stopping; of experiencing and processing, of doing and of being.

       * * * * * * *
What would we do with almost endless amounts of money? Building a toilet is probably not the first thing that comes to my mind, but it does to Bill and Melinda Gates. After all the amazing views and natural wonders, visiting their Foundation in Seattle is definitely one of the most inspiring high points of the trip.
* * * * * * *
You can sleep right through the 16.2 sqm town of Tonopah NV with its mostly monotonous desert views, but a tall sign stands out: Mitzpah Hotel. Built in 1907, the history of the Mizpah Hotel began during the great Nevada silver boom and was known to be called the “Grand Old Lady” for its elegant service, comfort, and amenities. The five-story hotel was the tallest building in Nevada until 1929 and featured the first electric elevator west of the Mississippi. But what about its name??
In one of the sites, I find that “Mizpah” is a biblical reference meaning ‘to come back together with those you love’ – not exactly sure how they came up with this. Rav Hirsch translates it as watchtower, where it appears in Genesis 31:49 a mark between Jacob and Lavan, his father in law, when Jacob journeys back to the Land of his forefathers. The Ga’on from Vilna points out that Jacob and Lavan built a couple of monuments: a gal-ed and the mitzpah. Gal-ed from the root of g.l.h. – to reveal, and mitzpah from tz.f.n. to hide (like the section tzafun in the hagada of Passover which is the time to hide the afikoman), maybe symbolic of the need to put boundaries in things that are obvious and less obvious, known and unknown. I’m still impressed that a reputable hotel in NV has a Hebrew name, but then again, we are on route to Zion…
* * * * * * *
The fast of Tish’a Be’av catches us as we travel from Zion, Utah south. Temperatures creep to over 100F, and the bus a/c starts failing. Then we regain and hour entering Arizona… Some have never heard about this day before, and can’t fathom what’s so bad about losing “a temple”; some try it out, abstaining from solids; others skip breakfast and lunch. Few of us fast tenaciously, encouraging each other through the day. The drive continues. With the dizziness of late afternoon, we lean back and tell stories we barely hear and won’t remember. I find an article about Tish’a Be’av being all about confusion which in a strange way, that’s the only thing that makes sense. Finally we arrive safely. This is one evening that everybody shows up for dinner – at 8:03pm – on time.

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Last campfire of the trip under the desert starry night sky. The question before the group is, ‘if you could have lunch with someone who is no longer alive, who would you invite’? most ask to meet their grandparents and great grandparents whom they barely met or missed completely. One asks to meet Moses and hear about other journeys through the desert. What would Moses say to us, fellow travelers, some 9000 miles away and more than 3000 years in the future? pack light; be kind; bring food that everybody can eat; use your time well.  There will be lots of times when there is “no service”; talk to your neighbor; input is welcome but don’t complain too much. Enjoy the views along the way. It will be over before you know it.

Shabbat Shalom.

PC.7.2.tamanawas falls

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The Art of Kvetching

Posted on June 25, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Kvetching is an art. How to combine the right amounts of nagging, whining, flattery, with a good cause that needs attention? As we’ll see, the recent film “Inside Out” provides us with a great illustration: It’s the difference between Sadness just coloring all the golden balls “blue” (she really really wants to!!), and Joy running the show, where on occasion, purposefully, she even decides to invite Sadness to take over, as needed. Ok, if this does not make sense, just watch the movie!
By this week’s Torah portion, Chukat, we might be deaf to the “we need water”, “we need bread”, “oh, if only we went back to the yummy cucumbers and eggplants of Egypt”, “I do not like stale bread”!! We also might be confused: sometimes the people ask for water, and get it. They ask for food, and get manna, but this time, the complaints are met with snakes! Like any parent who hadn’t had enough sleep and his child is tagging at her dress again? has G-d just had it and is lashing out, grabbing the first creature He could get His hands on and tossing it at the people?
As a parent, I generally believed that if my kids are complaining, there must be a reason for it. I remember one time when nothing seemed obvious: the baby was just changed, fed, burped, all should have been well, but the whimpering continued. The general advice in such cases is often, oh, they are “spoiled”; they just want to be held; let them cry it out, but I did not – and still do not – believe that this is a right and beneficial tactic. On the contrary: I always wanted my kids to know that someone is going to be there for them; that attention is not a luxury you have to vie or fight for; that being held is not a “bonus” for obscurely being “good”, but a natural part of life; and mostly, that they matter and their voice – valued. So at this time too, I double checked again everything. Do you want to eat, I asked the speechless child? Do you want to be cuddle? Your diaper is not smelly, what is it?
But then, just in case, I did recheck the diaper, which – due to all sorts of ecological convictions, was a cloth diaper and to my horror, I discovered, that the safety-pin was not fully closed, and therefore, in certain positions, slightly scraped the baby’s skin. It wasn’t bad and two kisses and a tickle on the tummy took care of it then and there, but I can’t imagine how I would have felt had I let the baby “cry it out”, and later found out what was going on. It was a very reassuring lesson for the young mom I was.
Sadly, I’m sure that there are other times I’ve missed things, was overwhelmed, overloaded, over-everything. Luckily, G-d has no such issues, and can meet our complaints head-on, every time. Indeed, it turns out that when there is a plausible cause for the people’s complaints, they are answered, even if the presentation is whiny and not polite. Sure, we should strive to speak nicely, but when there is something to it, the presentation can be overlooked, and the content should be attended to. Thus, when there is no water, and they ask for water – water is provided; when they are hungry – they are given food, but here the complaint is different: “נפשנו קצה בלחם הקלוקל” – “we’re sick and tired of the stale bread”, meaning, there was bread!! But, just not good enough. Oh, if only we had donuts!!
G-d doesn’t give them donuts or better bread, and instead, also sends snakes. Why snakes? The nachash (serpent, snake) shares its Hebrew root with nachesh, to guess. Nechoshet, copper, is likewise, soft and malleable. On the upside, Nachshon, was the prince of the tribe of Yehuda who, according to the midrash, walked into the water at the Sea of Reeds so the sea would split. He was a leader who could change his predictable actions, and thus change the foreseeable future. Being flexible is good, at times. In the Book of Genesis, the nachash symbolized death, even though the first humans do not physically die, but they do lose a key component in their spiritual connection with G-d: There and here, the nachash’s “guessing”, slithery nature stands for separation, insecurity, uncertainty and lack of faith. Further, the snake often doesn’t bite because it is hungry, also symbolic of the complaint which goes nowhere, just bites for nothing.
Although G-d is not a “vending machine”, S/He is very generous with us when we need something, and – I believe – we are welcome to ask, and do so in any way we can verbalize our wishes: polite, well articulated words might be nice, but crying and whining are fine too, as long as we have a valid reason. However, if we are taking the gifts we already get for granted, and are dwelling on this and that being just “not good enough”, things might get progressively worse. Not only won’t the “this and that” be improved, but “snakes” will be added to our life too.
This is a daily exercise, which takes no gym fees, no running shoes, no special schedule, just a mental switch: to look around and notice the wow in G-d’s gifts.
Shabbat Shalom.

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The Dilemma of the Oaklandish – Israeli Expat and more

Posted on June 20, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

The Dilemma of the Oaklandish-Israeli Expat
Due to family circumstance, I ended up this past Tuesday evening, in one of Oakland’s “taverns”. The place, reeking of deep fried oils, meat and beer, was packed with “loud and proud” Golden State Warrior fans, cheering and screaming. We walked in when the first quarter ended, and the tension was unmistakable. A victory for the Warriors was not just about “a” game; not even just about the NBA championship. It seemed that everything that Oakland is, was, could be and is known for – was at stake. It was hard not to get swept away. I sadly admit, it wasn’t until one of the fans asked another, how do you pronounce what’s his name, coach of the Cleveland Cavalier, and man, does he have an unusual name, that I remembered.
55 year old David Blatt, is one of the most successful American coaches in European basketball history. As a coach, Blatt has been the Israeli League Coach of the Year four times (1996, 2002, 2011, and 2014). Most recently, he led Maccabi Tel Aviv, winning the Israel League, Israeli Cup and the Euroleague Championship. But all this paled. It was not about comparing sportsmanship. It was a pure recognition that now, on the screen, this is my landsman, and if my landsman is fighting for something, anything! so must I. Aren’t we taught that “kol Yisrael arevim ze laze” (all Israel / Jewish people are interlinked wth each other)?! And yet, cheering for the Caveliers here? That can be pikuach nefesh (endangering a soul)! And what about Oakland, where our home is; the beautiful, soulful city that captured my heart??
In that one moment, 2000 years of Jewish diaspora experience flashed before my eyes, forever torn between loyalties: What are we to do?

Oakland Hebrew Day School brings together so many things I love: Strong Judaic studies, taught by a super committed team; a “Pardes-like” Beit Midrash, and a location that can’t be beat, in the beautiful Oakland hills overlooking an amazing view.
Rabbi Leubitz, head of school, shared his thoughts following graduation. People, he said, long for connectivity and meaning, and the road there leads through gratitude. Gratitude is like any other muscle. We have to deliberately exercise it, daily, with intent. You can let it go and it won’t be there for you when you need it; or you can practice it, strengthen it, grow more appreciative and thus, find yourself living a life that is more connected and more meaningful. He gave all us summer homework: everyday say thank you. Write it down if you think you’ll forget; look for opportunities; reach out and lift your “spiritual weights”.
There is not enough time to say all my thank-yous (and surely not right before Shabbat), but with that in mind, I especially want to thank all of you who donated to my campaign for ReJewvenate. Your support means the world to me. If you haven’t had a chance and would like to participate, the campaign is still going on for just shy of 2 more weeks, and you can follow the link here. Again, thank you, thank you.

The Book of Numbers is full of exciting stories, condensing the period of 40 years in the desert. This week, we read about Korach and his people. As we know, Korach, himself a Levi too, challenges Moses’ leadership and becomes a model to contention in the community, but before we rush to make modern conclusions about who are the current Korachs and who is Moses, we read a strange verse (Numbers 17:5): “… and there won’t be like Korach and hi people”… what does that mean? No more challenges to our leaders? No more arguments? No more ego battles??
Rather, says one of the commentators (Rabbi Brot, the Rabbi of Brisk), such a dispute where truth was all on one side, and falsehood is all on the other – won’t happen again. In disputes that we encounter, we are asked for a measure of humility: each side has a little bit of truth and a little bit of untruth, and from there, we can sit down and seek solutions.
Shabbat Shalom.

lake merrit, oakland

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ReJewvenate – check out my campaign on Jewcer!

Posted on June 2, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Linkedin is announcing it’s time to celebrate my work anniversary: 2 years since I’ve become a freelance writer, educator and some (dance teacher, tour guide, public speaker, student in a PsyD program and more…); 2 years since the “infamous” publication of my article “40 Plus and Screwed“, raising an issue that is still needs attention, therefore under my “and more” of above.

Which brings us to today: ReJewvenate is now one of the chosen campaigns for one of the month long Jewcer campaigns. The link is attached below. This is a comptetion for a match that can help further ReJewvenate’s cause strengthening two primary prongs: 1. Creating  stronger website for ReJewvenate, and 2. Creating a stronger “ReJewvenate @ Pardes” grant, allowing those who had not experienced immersive Jewish learning a summer at Pardes.

Please take a moment to check it out. Your support is greatly appreciated!!

http://jewcer.com/project/rejewvenate-life-begins-at-40-plus

rejewvenate @pardes

 

 

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Shabbat before Shavu’ot – זמן מתן תורה

Posted on May 23, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

It’s a few minutes to Shabbat which will run into a holiday. The cashier at the grocery store wonders if we’re getting extra challah for Memorial Day weekend. We tell her, it happens to also be – Chag Shavuot.
Shavuot is preceded by the Torah reading of Bamidbar, in the wilderness. We closed Leviticus and are opening a new book. That is already nice. A new beginning. The “midbar” reminds us of an openness, space – internally and externally. But Bamidbar has more. For one, it’s called “Numbers” in English. Because it includes a couple of counts of the people. We’re told that there were more than 600,000 men over the age of 20, and yet, it was not a “roughly estimated” count as is done in outdoor events and concerts nowadays. A careful read details exactly how many people were in each tribe. As said here before, we count every one, because every one counts.
This was true also with sfirat ha’omer, the counting of the days between Pesach and Shavuot. Here too, we count each day, because each day counts. Who we are matters. Time matters. Or so we hope. So we “hold”.
Then comes Shavuot, another holiday with 4 different names: The Festival of Weeks; The Festival of the First Fruits; The Harvest Festival, and The Time of the Giving of the Torah, with an emphasis on “time” and “giving”, not receiving. We are not celebrating our acceptance of the Torah. It’s not a time to focus on us, especially when our acceptance is not always reliable. But we’re celebrating our gifts. Like counting to a big birthday, we’ve been waiting patiently. Tomorrow night, in a custom that has grown so prevalent it’s taking place now in communities throughout the world, Jews will stay up all night, commemorating the greatest moment of our existence.
In our shul, we plan to study Mishna all night and I’m honored to share a few thoughts on Pirkei Avot. Wrongly translated as “Ethics of the Fathers”, it is really “chapters”, thoughts of, parts of their lives.
Come tomorrow for more, but for now, I just love the opening: “Moses received the Torah from Sinai”… Didn’t he receive the Torah at Sinai?? But the Hebrew clearly says “misinai“, and not “be-sinai“. What do we mean by “from”? The midrash tells us that Sinai was the most humble of all mountains and Moses learned from the mountain how to be, thus receiving the Torah from it. Moses, our greatest leader, learns our holiest book – from a mountain. Hint: torah is everywhere. It we feel like we are not “getting it”, maybe we need to check ourselves, rather than blame the writer or the content. Then the text continues: “He gave it to Joshua, and Joshua to the elders; elders to prophets and prophets handed it to the men of the Great Assembly”, and then?
2000 years have gone by. Anything could have happened. And everything did happen. This could have been an ancient, shredded, lost manuscript laying around somewhere, but it’s alive and well. On this erev Shabbat and chag, I’m wondering, who did I get my Torah from? How did it travel to my hands, my mind, my heart throughout the generations? Who were all the people who, like me, prepared a Shabbat table, lit candles, said the same prayers, sang the same songs? Who were all the fingers that fumbled the silver Kiddush cup my grandmother gave me? Who were all the souls who stood at Sinai, with me, saying “na’ase venishma”? Celebrating the Giving of the Torah is not just between us and G-d but perhaps mainly between us and all those before us and all those after us. In so many ways, it’s a miracle, and we’re it.

Shabbat Shalom & Chag Same’ach.

shavuot

 

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FOMO & Pesach Sheni

Posted on May 3, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Turns out, people suffered from FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) already in Torah time. Numbers 9:6-14 gives us the details: “those people” came and asked Moses: What if, through no fault of our own, we didn’t get to bring the Pascal offering? Suppose we came in contact with a dead body, thus encountering spiritual impurity, or have been away on a journey? Did we miss out?
Moses after checking with G-d comes out with a great solution: exactly one month after Passover, those who did not have a chance to celebrate and bring the Pascal sacrifice, can do so today, the 14th of Iyar.
It’s a great idea, Pesach Sheni, “a second Pesach”, and in recent years, it caught on in certain circles. We all love the idea that we always have a second chance, and that FOMO? No worries. Just wait a month and you can redo whatever you missed. And even better! If you missed Pesach and have to commemorate it today, you do not need to clean your house of chametz, switch dishes etc. You can eat some matza, and basically, go on with your life.
But then, we must wonder: is there a Hanukkah sheni? Or the more needed, a Yom Kippur sheni? Suppose I didn’t get to sit in the sukkah, may I build one a month later?
And here’s the other side of this “second chance” story: while we can always do teshuva, and we can always make latkes, some things really do not have a second anything. In the business world it’s often said, ‘you don’t get a second chance at making a first impression’. And that’s just one example.
For me, as mentioned before in this blog, today also marks my father’s yahrzeit. My father died young, which meant that certain things would never happen: he couldn’t be at my Bat Mitzvah; he couldn’t be at any of my graduations, from grade school to college; he couldn’t wait for me when I came home for Shabbat from my army service; we couldn’t discuss what my professors at the university taught; he couldn’t read my postcards from my travels; he couldn’t come with my mom to visit; we could never study Torah and Talmud together. worse: my kids have never met him, never listened to his stories, never enjoyed his immense knowledge in music, history, law, cultures of the world, never went hiking with him, never sat on his lap while he played the piano, never heard him sing Kiddush on Shabbat, never held his hand while walking to shul.
What would Moses say if I asked him about all the things I missed out on? I’m afraid he’d say, too bad, darling, and look on the bright side. I’m wondering now if perhaps the reason the people posed the question to Moses in the first place is because they too knew how rare “second chances” are. If anything, today is a reminder to use our time and do what we’re called on when we can.

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