Oakland

Posted on November 26, 2014 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Oakland, the evening after Ferguson; Oakland after Michael Brown; Oakland after Trayvon Martin; Oakland after Oscar Grant; Oakland after the Super Bowl of 2003. And that of 2009.

My son and I take Zoe, our golden-lab for a walk and join the crowd. It’s after 10pm but the area around Lake Merritt swarms with people. Cars are held back. The 580 just opened after protestors lay on the freeway blocking all westbound traffic. Four or five helicopters circle pretty much right above our home when I finally do manage to park there.
By the time we get to the Grand and Macarthur intersection, only smoke remains from the fire set there. The fire trucks flash their lights and sirens, and head elsewhere. The mixed crowd is mostly quiet and somber, unsure what to do next. We are not well versed in riots. We didn’t come with signs. We’re in our semi-slippers and sweats. We have nothing on us short of house keys and a phone. And a bag in case Zoe needs to go. People around us look like a variation of the same.
“The whole Oakland Police Department is here tonight”, says one bystander with a sad smile, “there must be no crime anywhere else around”. The long line of well armed, fully geared police force is facing the protestors from a nearby though safe distance. There are “whites” and “blacks” on both sides. When the police instruct their men and women to stand together “shoulder by shoulder” and start sweeping the street, marching towards downtown, we retreat to the grassy area. The beautiful lights around Lake Merritt reflect in the water and glisten.
Oakland has been our home for almost three years now. What started out as a “coincidence” (‘how about this house?’) turned into a love story. Aside from the lake, the stairs, the shops, the art walk, the endless food options, the bike path near the bay and the trails among the redwoods, it’s the people. One day I walked out to the bus stop at the corner to go meet my daughter for lunch. The man waiting there, an older, tall gentleman in a suit started a conversation. “Are you headin’ to downtown? We should be just in time for the concert”. Needless to say, I had no idea there were weekly lunch time concerts in the summer, but for the next 10 minutes I learned about that, saw his grandchildren’s pictures and heard stories about his army service. The concert (a Beatles imitation) was fun; no pretense, just 30 minutes of old rock. The crowd, cheering enthusiastically, again was very mixed: Young mothers with strollers; tourists; artists; business men and women; a homeless pushing a cart. The atmosphere was pleasant. Most people smiled. As is often the case, the sun was out.
In a way, that chance (“-“) encounter became symbolic for me of Oakland: that very friendly, flowy, mostly harmless, yes, hipster too, city. It might be a bus, Bart, post office line, slack-line line; it’s the student trying to sign you up on a petition and ending up chatting for a while, regardless of how many people walk by; it’s the council member taking time to talk in the street; it’s those who sit on their stoop and call out ‘great smile’ and ‘what a beautiful dog’ (yeh, I confess, anybody can buy me with that). People here live with people.
Some looting occurs later in downtown as a “group of hardcore” break into a couple of store, but where we are people are walking peacefully. Oakland is pained, and it doesn’t take much to turn a healing scar into an open wound. I look around and hope for the mayor / newly elected mayor / both mayors / someone! to show up and say something like –
‘Tomorrow, we’ll get up “as usual”. Buses will run. PG&E will take care of our electricity. The garbage will be collected. Coffee will be served. Joggers will go out for a run. Teachers will wait for your child at school. But tonight, it’s ok to hurt. Let’s all sit together and light candles, one by one. Let’s sing soul songs. Let’s stay here all night and cry over the police officer who is faced with an impossible job; the jury who has to opt for an impossible verdict; the mother and father who are scared to send their son to the store because he’s young. And black. And over us too, slightly lost and still hoping for a better tomorrow’.

Of course, no one shows. We continue to walk some more and then head home. I’m reminded of the words of Hillel, and the Lorax too, that change won’t come from any outside magical place, that there is no “they” out there, that it’s up to us.

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Isaac: not the usual strength

Posted on November 21, 2014 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Isaac and Rebecca are only with us for one, not-too-long Torah portion. We already met them last week: him in his walking, silent meditation; her, working hard at the well to water the servant’s camels, chatting happily, making bold decisions. They have such different energies, and yet they fall in love, or better yet, she falls off the camel; He brings her into his mother’s tent and finds comfort. It is the first time in the Torah that the word “love” appears in conjunction with a man and a woman. Until now, couples “knew” each other; they walked with each other; they argued with each other; they dealt with their offsprings, family, animals and immediate environment with each other; but there was no love between them, not until Isaac and Rebecca.
The psychologists of the Bible will tell us that Isaac suffers from PTSD after the binding, and even the midrash tell us he was blinded then by his father’s knife, shining and glimmering in the sunlight, and something very deep snapped in him forever. He’s a “wimp”, a mama boy, a yes-man to his wife, a gullible old man; the weak link between Abraham and Jacob, a space holder. Next…
But then, right in the middle of their story, we meet a very different Isaac which sheds a very different light on everything else.
“And Isaac sowed in the land and in that year, and he reached one hundred markets (gates), and G-d blessed him” (Genesis 26:12) G-d, by the way, only speaks to Isaac once, but the meditating Isaac walks with G-d all the time. G-d blesses him, and he feels that blessing. Maybe Isaac does things right and G-d doesn’t need to chat with him; besides, he has Rebecca. So then comes the next verse: “and this mentch grew, and he kept on growing more, until he was exceedingly great” (26:13). Rav Hirsch says grew here means he became prosperous. One way or another, the word “grew, big” etc, repeats within 9 words – 3 times. Further, the Torah opts to call him an “ish”, not only a man, but a real mentch. And it goes on to tell us he acquired great possessions, and that the Philistines were jealous of him. Chances are the Philistines wouldn’t envy a weak old wimp. But they envied Isaac.
Let’s go back again: After the binding, Isaac went back to Hebron, where Sarah died and where her tent – where he later brought Rebecca to be his wife – was. Abraham, however, went to Be’er Sheva and remarried, had more kids and went on with his life. Some say, that Isaac, after the binding and his mother’s death, wanted nothing to do with his father, therefore, we don’t hear them talk again. In fact, though Abraham grew wealthier, since Isaac wanted nothing with him, Isaac didn’t really get of that wealth until Abraham died. That is also why Jacob cooks the lentil porridge, a poor people’s food, and why they are so dependent on Esau’s hunting for their food. According to this view, Isaac was not at all rich, but he still felt blessed and the Philistines still envied him, maybe they envied him exactly because of that feeling. Later, earning his neighbors’ respect, they will call him, bruch hashem, the one blessed by G-d.
It’s not easy being Abraham’s son, and Isaac has to create that careful balance between doing his own thing and being his father’s successor. According to our tradition, Abraham smashed his father’s idols. If Isaac did the same, and smashed his father’s god, we wouldn’t be here today. But he could also not be his father. He had to be himself. This comes across in the story of him digging and re-digging his father’s wells – and some would say, learning his father’s Torah, because Torah is likened to water. And he calls the wells names – the names that his father called them.
The shepherds in the region fight with him over the water and the wells, as Hirsch says: (it’s as if they say): “yes, you dug the well; the hole is yours but the water is ours”. This goes on until Isaac digs his own well. Then, there is no fighting. Isaac goes to Be’er Sheva (yes, where Abraham lived), and that is the one and only time that G-d officially appears to him, and gives him His blessing.
There is one more interesting encounter between Isaac and G-d, when G-d grants him his wish, to have children. The midrash portrays the picture of Isaac and Rebecca, each in another side of the room praying for each other. Unlike his sons and father, the idea of taking another wife doesn’t even enter the discussion here. Whatever it is, they will do together. Some say, that there were moments when Rebecca already gave up. She said, I don’t want to be the mom of the Esau; let someone else birth him. I’ll just be Jacob’s mom, but Isaac, perhaps because he lived through that with his mom, dad, Hagar and Yishma’el, was not going to let that happen again. And yes, maybe they pay for that elsewhere, but then, that is who they are.
The Kabalistic sfirot identified him with gvura, bravery: quiet, solid, reliable kind of Jewish bravery, no flare, no looking for rewards. Even his name is in the future tense. Twenty years of waiting, but he has time.

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Opposites Attract – or complementary opposites attract: An Intro to Isaac & Rebecca

Posted on November 14, 2014 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Sometimes the Torah is so stingy with words, and sometimes it goes on and on… We know close to nothing about Abraham’s first 75 years, but the longest chapter in the Torah is dedicated to one afternoon in the life of his servant. And not only do we hear of every detail in the meeting between the servant and Rivkah, Isaac’s future wife, but the whole story also repeats word for word just a few verses later, when the servant retells it all to Rivkah’s family.
Well, word for word – almost, and davka because of the scarcity of words in the Torah, those details and that repetition can shed some light on a few insights.
For example, when the Torah tells the story about their meeting at the well, it says that the servant gave her the golden jewelry, and only then asked her, who she is and who is her family (Genesis 24:22-23). But, when he told her brother and father what happened, he says: “Then I asked her, saying, whose daughter are you?… then I put the ring… and bracelets… (24:47).
Why change the order? There is a statement in the Talmud: “… just like it is a mitzvah to say something that will be (or can be) heard, so it is a mitzvah to not say something that can’t be heard (Yevamot 65,2)
אמר רבי אילעא משום רבי אלעזר ברבי שמעון:
כשם שמצווה על אדם לומר דבר הנשמע, כך מצווה על אדם שלא לומר דבר שאינו נשמע” (יבמות ס”ה ב’).
Commentaries suggest that Abraham’s servant changes the order of things because he knows that those around him wouldn’t be able to hear nor share in his excitement – finding a wife for Isaac per his master’s request, and so, he prefers to tell the story in a way that would make sense to his listeners, even if slightly rearranged to their liking.
In doing so, the servant shows great sensitivity and wisdom, which – some say – he learned from Abraham, teaching us how important our immediate environment is. Rivkah knew that too, and therefore when her family asked her, will go with this man? She said, I will, as if she knew that she, like her future father (and mother) in law, needs to leave home and travel far in order to really become who she is called to be.
The chapter also gives us a quick intro into the next couple of the Torah: she is lively, beautiful, kind, caring, out-going; she’s social, street smart, and has initiative. We meet him walking in the field at dusk, alone, meditating. He should have been the one traveling with a convoy of camels to bring her home! He, who according to tradition was already 40, should have been the one asking his father for a wife, making a minimal effort! But he doesn’t.
Some say, he was traumatized at the binding, and of course, the binding “didn’t help”, but a careful read reveals that he was passive long before the binding. His mother fought his battles against his brother; his father decided on him as potential sacrifice. Indeed, Isaac is very different from him father, who rose against his own father. Isaac is different – and lucky for us, he is, because if Isaac was like Abraham, and “smashed the gods” he found in his father’s home, there wouldn’t be Jews in the world today.
But let us not mistake his passivity for weakness, for he will exhibit his own kind of strength next week, digging and re-digging his father’s wells.
For now, he is happy with Rivkah. She is nothing like him, and so very perfect for him. And at the end of the chapter, we come across another verse which might look to us mixed-up: “And Isaac brought her (Rivkah) into the tent of Sarah, his mother; he married Rivkah and she became his wife, and he loved her, and then Isaac was comforted after his mother(‘s passing)” (Genesis 24:67). First marriage, then love? This might be surprising in our society, but then, Isaac and Rivkah are also the only couple among our forefathers who doesn’t add a maidservant, a second wife, no one else, in spite of challenges that threaten to tear them apart. Again, the Torah is scarce when sharing information about their life, and some say that is because except for a couple of incidences we’ll hear about next week, their life together was set right from the start and they lived ‘happily ever after’ together.

Shabbat Shalom.

rebekah-at-the-well

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Part II: The 1st Marriage Counselor and other Family Matters

Posted on November 7, 2014 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Abraham and Homework
The Torah devotes lengthy chapters to Abraham, and in all of them, “forgot” to tell us, why did G-d choose him in the first place. After all, when we met Noah, we heard about how righteous and whole hearted he was, but when G-d called on Abraham, He just says, go, and Abraham goes.
The midrash adds flavor and color, telling us about the idol-making father and his workshop; young Abraham’s discoveries about the sun and the moon; the test with king Nimrod and the fiery furnace. And yet, the more they tell us, the more it’s obvious that they too, are deeply bothered because the Torah itself is silent.
There is one hint in this week’s parasha (Genesis 18:19): כי ידעתיו למען יצווה את בניו
Accordingly, G-d chose Abraham because He “knew Abraham will teach his children”, a verse which is good for about 10 seconds and then, just raises more questions, because if G-d “knows things” about us in the future, what’s the use of our free will and efforts to do good? Why test the poor guy with the toughest test of all at the akeida, if G-d already “knew it”? And mostly, where is the rest of the verse? It’s great that Abraham will teach his children, but what? What is it that Abraham will teach his children?? Where is there even one thing that Abraham tells Isaac to do?
Recent studies show that what we do with our kids matters less than who we are (no surprise and no pressure! :). All those hours we spend dragging them to fascinating museum exhibits and weekly story hour in the library turn out less critical in their upbringing than whether we have books in our own home.
Likewise, Abraham was not to teach his children anything in particular. It didn’t matter what exactly he was doing, whether he was fighting kings, caring for his nephew, traveling abroad, trying to resolve home front disputes, arguing with G-d, or opening his home to unknown guests. In all his doings, he was the same incredibly caring, devoted, committed man of the One G-d. Abraham was to be who he is, and by doing so, teach us how to be too.

“All that Sarah says listen to her voice” (Genesis 21:12)
As noted in last week’s comments here, G-d never speaks to Abraham without Sarah. Their partnership is so complete that when Abraham says, let’s go, she goes, and when they open their home to spiritual wanderers, she takes on supporting him and teaching the women. When they go to Egypt, he guards her and she plays along as sister; when they return and bid farewell to her (selfish!) brother, we hear of no complaints from her, and when strangers appear in their tent, they host them together.
Likewise, when she, who according to our sages, posses greater spiritual insights than he does, tells him to have a child with Hagar, he complies. Is it because the task is pleasant and easy to say yes to? Because they have no idea what they are facing? or because they do everything together for the sake of a greater mission?
We just know that he goes and does her bidding, just like she does his, without a qualm. Then comes the moment that Sarah says, ‘ok, this is not working for me anymore’, and Abraham balks. It is then that G-d has to show up in their tent.
I used to like this scene and even be a little envious; I thought that Sarah must have felt very powerful to have connections with such an ally; it would be so nice if G-d showed up in my house to resolve disputes so neatly, and in my favor!!
Then it dawned on me how weak it feels to not be able to explain yourself and communicate with our nearest and dearest, to need someone else to explain for you and intervene on your behalf; to have G-d Himself show up! At the binding, an angel was sufficient. Abraham was so attuned, so expecting someone, Something to stop him! but not here. A little tap on the shoulder is not enough, nor a quick reminder with a wink from the other side of the room, not even an ‘hey Abe, in children matters or home matters, listen to what she says; I’ll make it up for you elsewhere’, nothing, but a booming voice that says, “all she says”!
How does she feel? Does she say to herself, ‘I’m so great!’? or, ‘oh, that’s ok, I understand, must be hard for him’? or does she feel an ache that he can’t hear her? that he doesn’t trust her to know to do G-d’s bidding, to direct him to what’s right for him? For both of them?
Rav Hirsch points out that the text even says, “listen to her voice” rather than ‘her words’. Her words didn’t matter, whether they appealed to him or not; he should have trusted her judgment: “her insight are deeper than yours, for women generally have penetrating insights into human character”, says the 19th century (Orthodox!) Torah giant.
After this, Abraham and Sarah never speak again (in the Torah).
Commentators will point out to the fact that he got up “early in the morning” (Genesis 22:3) to take Isaac to the binding before Sarah woke up, so he won’t have to deal with her again. They continue and say that Satan told her that Abraham is taking her beloved baby (age 37) to be bound on the altar and her heart just gave out and she died; some say, that Satan told her than both are coming back, thus she knew her life mission failed because in order for both, Abraham and Isaac, to come back, one of them had to object G-d’s commandment.
But I don’t like either option: the image of Sarah as feeble or self-centered old lady doesn’t work for me; the image of their relationship as a couple who betrays each other, goes behind each other’s backs, sneaks out “early” – and all that after G-d already showed up once in their tent – also doesn’t work for me.
I want to believe that G-d had to intervene for the same reason He always does: to put things back in order; to help us move along the right path. Once that was done, they could continue their joint work. That work was complete at the binding, when it has become widely known that there is a true heir to their way of life, and that the heir has a potential bride (Genesis 22:20-23). At that point, their mission as a couple was complete.
This makes sense because we know Abraham to fulfill G-d’s commandments and just the same, he would keep this instruction too; but maybe it’s just me and my need to know that “happily ever after” is not fairy-tale material, but belongs to real role models of our tradition, that we too can emulate.
Shabbat Shalom

ClayDetailAbrahamSarah

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And G-d spoke to Abraham & Sarah saying…

Posted on October 31, 2014 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

עשרה נסיונות נתנסה אברהם אבינו עליו השלום ועמד בכולם להודיע כמה חיבתו של אברהם אבינו עליו השלום
“With ten tests our father Abraham was tested” – The rabbis tell us in Pirkei Avot (5:3) – “and he withstood them all–in order to make known how great was our father Abraham’s love [for G-d]”.
The “tests” aim to answer some questions (why did G-d choose Abraham; why does it say ‘all of a sudden’ (in Genesis 22:1) that “G-d tested Abraham”) and leave many more unanswered (there is no agreement on what exactly are the ten tests; we struggle to explain why would G-d “test” anyone, let alone Abraham), but they do all agree that the last one was the akeida.
After the akeida G-d doesn’t speak to Abraham again. Some say that this is because Abraham failed, and G-d doesn’t want anything to do with those who are willing to sacrifice their children; and others says that Abraham passed all the tests with flying colors, and therefore, G-d didn’t need to give him anymore instructions.
I would like to offer a third option.
We’re used to thinking that the first time we hear about Arbaham’s life is in the opening verses of this week’s Torah portion, Lech Lecha, but that is no so. Abraham is introduced at the end of last week’s parasha, Noah (Genesis 11:26-32). There is no “Action” and not much is told except for who are the main relatives in his family. We tend to ignore it, eager to get going with the story, although this is all information we will soon need. One detail should especially stand out: his marriage to Sarah. A careful reading reveals that G-d only speaks to Abraham after he marries Sarah, and indeed, the last time G-d speaks to Abraham is at the akeida, which coincides with Sarah’s death.
Thus, G-d never speaks to Abraham without Sarah.
In my metaphor, Abraham and Sarah can be likened to a radio and antenna. He might be the one doing all the talking, but without the antenna, there is no reception at all. Alternatively, he might be like paint and she – like the canvas. He can be colorful and active, but without a good surface, he won’t be able to truly express who he is.
In the beginning of Lech Lecha, the Torah tells us: “And Abram took Sarai his wife, and Lot his brother’s son, and all their substance that they had gathered, and the souls that they had gotten in Haran; and they went forth to go into the land of Canaan; and into the land of Canaan they came”. Rashi explains that the “soul they made (some translate asu as “had gotten”) are people they converted: Abraham teaching the men, and Sarah – teaching the women”.
Abraham and Sarah provide a unique model. To each other, they are family relatives, husband and wife, and parents. But as we know, those are challenged again and again. Ultimately, Abraham will have another wife and more children. But what makes them so successful is their joint spiritual, life-long mission and their complementary work towards it. Abraham & Sarah are the like the Adam & Eve of the Jewish people: the first human was formed from dust and filled with G-d’s breath, perhaps symbolizing the beginning of physical beings; Abraham & Sarah start their journey with G-d’s call. Adam & Eve are placed in the garden; they have no choice in the matter. They are also kicked out, which is a sad ending to a short story. Abraham & Sarah are not passive. They have the ability to respond to the call. When they pick up and go, it’s a good thing, and perhaps a tikun (repair) for a previous departure as they will work to create their own “paradise” somewhere else. This is how the Jewish people begin.
Shabbat Shalom.

abraham.journey

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Life Begins After Simchat Torah…

Posted on October 24, 2014 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

A friend of mine says that “life begins after Simchat Torah”, and in a way, by the time the holidays are over, there is an eagerness to get back to “normal”. But for me, especially that last afternoon in the sukkah, is also full of sadness. I try to think, what is the first “real” thing I should do this year? I contemplate ways to stretch that feeling of “high” from the “high holidays”, do something super special and never let it go, but as it turns out, the daily routine is much more powerful than my best intentions, and it’s so easy to get sucked in.
Noah in this week’s Torah reading has the same challenge: the whole world has just been wiped clean. Only he – and his immediate family – get to start from scratch. What should he do? The verse is not clear which, not surprisingly, allows different commentaries to view it differently: ויחל נח איש האדמה ויטע כרם
Rabbi Shimshon Rafael Hirsch translates it as: “Noah begun to be the man of the soil (or earth), and he planted a vineyard” (Genesis 9:20). He bases his translation on the fact that the Hebrew says “man of the soil” rather than simply “soil-man” which would be farmer (“field man” elsewhere is hunter). He thus looks at it as two separate things that Noah did: 1. He started being the “man of the world”, and 2. He also planted a vineyard. He explains that Noah now begins to feel some ownership over the earth, as if by his survival, the earth is now entrusted to him. And as “proof”, he planted the best fruit possible: a vineyard that produces grapes. “Is it a wonder that the first wine filled him with ecstasy? Is it too hard to believe that he was already drunk with joy”? asks the Rav. He connects the word “kerem”, vineyard with “gerem” as in “gerem madregot”, a flight of stairs, perhaps because vineyards are planted in terraces, and perhaps, as he explains later, he grows the choicest of plants as a sign of the renewed blessing.
The Kotzker Rebbe (1787-1859) is less forgiving. He borrows from the Yerushalmi, which in this case is not the Talmud, but an Aramaic translation of the Torah. The other translations to Aramaic (Yonatan & Onkelos) call Noah גבר פלח בארעא – a farmer or worker man of the land, and still today, the Arabic word “falach” is a farmer. But the Yerushalmi calls Noah גבר צדיקא gvar tzadika, almost like in the beginning of the story: Noah is a righteous man, a tzadik. Comes the Kotzker and says, yes, a tzadik but an earthly tzadik, a tzadik among people, in the midst of the city and he became drunk, perhaps from real grapes but perhaps just from him thinking that he is so great. As we say, it all went up to his head. Of course, we can question the Kotzker, what city are you talking about?? Everybody was lost in the flood!! But the message is, Noah was no longer the ish tzadik-tamim, a whole hearten righteous, but a worldly man who might even think too highly of himself.
Rashi, in the name of the midrash, says something else: “asa atzmo chulin, shehaya lo la’asok tchila be’neti’a acheret” – “he made himself mundane, for he should have busied himself with other plantings first”. Rashi here doesn’t justify the drunkenness as joy, but likewise doesn’t criticize. Rashi, among other things, also happens to be a vintner. And he surely knows how powerful and tempting wine is. He just says, eh, Noah, you could have done so many better things with all this energy, and instead… oy.

Usually, we compare Noah to Abraham and Noah comes out so-so since he doesn’t argue with G-d etc, but what is we compared him to any survivor of any other major disaster? We might find that all the reactions we see in him are common and even appropriate: the immense joy, the potential arrogance and still, the tremendous guilt and sadness, thus seeking familiar escapes (commentaries also point out that is says “hayayin”, the wine, telling us the Noah knew about wine drinking – and being drunk – before the flood; hence he also knew to go into the tent and sleep it off).
Rashi, to me, brings the saddest voice: Noah, he wants to say, you survived the flood! The greatest, biggest Flood! Ever!! And you do what now?? For G-d’s sake, busy yourself with something better! There are other things to plant. Choose one! Any one! Start small and grow on, but pick the right thing to start from!
Perhaps this also is the call to us after the chagim: we survived! And it’s tempting to run back and do what we always do, but maybe we should pause for a moment; not drink it off, not sleep it off, but find a way to take something from those 3 plus weeks of opening wow and bring that into the year.
The month of Cheshvan, the second month in the Hebrew calendar starting this Shabbat, is also known as Mar-Cheshvan, mar being bitter. This month is bitter, some say, because there are no holidays in it. But, there is one special day; a day that repeats weekly – Shabbat. Some commentators connect the colors of the rainbow with the six days of creation (you can play with which color is which day :), pointing out to the fact that both the rainbow and Shabbat – the culmination of creation – are referred to as signs of the brit, the covenants between G-d and people. This is only one of the many things we can learn about Shabbat.
The truth is, we don’t need more holidays right now. We survived, we got our new chance and that’s great. We have to build ourselves up again, almost from scratch. We can start small and go from there.

noah

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Back to the Beginning

Posted on October 15, 2014 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

This evening is shmini atzeret. What is Shmini Atzeret? Eh… just come over. There will be wine and drinks and food, although nothing uniquely dedicated to this day, no matza, no apples in honey, no blintzes or latkes; there is no artifact, no symbolic ritualistic anything, no menorah, no special branches. Some of us sit in the sukkah, some don’t; some do so with a blessing, some do so without. In Israel, it coincides with Simchat Torah there is one extra prayer we add on this day, but neither were part of the original commandment. So what is Shmini Atzeret??
Oy, it’s such a Jewish day! When I think about it, it might be the most Jewish of them all. It’s that moment that we get up to leave after a wonderful visit, standing at the door almost longer than we were at the table and finally the hosts say, perhaps another cup of tea? And before we know it, we’re sitting down again.
Shmini Atzeret comes from 2 words: shmini – 8th and atzeret – a gathering, from the Hebrew “to stop”; in the Hebrew numbers, seven usually represents what’s good enough, what’s “just right”. Eight – shmone, which also relates to sha-men, fat, represent the little extra, the above and beyond. After this long holiday season, it’s one more day for us to “be together” – with ourselves, with each other and with G-d before rolling into the New Year.
With time, a special prayer has been added to this day – “mashiv haru’ach umorid hageshem”, a line that will be added to each amida we will say from now until Passover, declaring that G-d is the one who makes the wind blow and drops down rain. This line is added everywhere, even though for the Jewish communities in the Southern Hemisphere, spring is just starting. This is because we pray constantly for the wellbeing on Israel. But, of course, I’d like to see in it an extra meaning, for ru’ach also means breath and spirit and geshem shares its root with hagshama, hitgashmut – fulfillment, realization and even gashmiyut, materialism; mashiv – means to blow wind (from n.sh.b) but with a slight change, it can be “meshiv” (from sh.v.b) which means to bring back, related to teshuva, repentance; morid (from y.r.d.) is to come down, or – cause to come down, but in its original Biblical expression (see Genesis 1:28) it shares a root with r.d.h, which means to rule). All this, is to share the grammatical justifications I have to read it as a prayer for the achieving – or better, working towards – the difficult balance between the spiritual and physical, between the tshuva of the ru’ach and the presence of the geshem in our lives.
Shmini Atzeret is also in Israel Simchat Torah (and here often the day after) – when we finish the cycle of reading the Torah and start a new one. Therefore, the Torah reading of this Shabbat is Beresheet, Genesis and “in the beginning”… Rashi, in his famous commentary on Genesis 1:1, questions why does the Torah begin here. After all, if the Torah is a law book, why not start with the first commandment given to us as a people (Genesis 12:1); if it’s a book about G-d, why not start like Maimonides starts his Mishneh Torah, describing G-d and His qualities.
It seems that the Torah purposefully directs us to what this book is really about from its first verse: This is not a book about G-d. And it’s not a book about man – or the world – either. Neither one will stands in the middle of the story. I will go as far as to say that neither one by him (her) lonely self matters here. What does though are the interactions, exchanges, debates, misgivings, happiness and hopes – in short, the relationships between them. This is what it’s still all about, our constant dialog with G-d through our daily interactions with everything around us.
Chag Same’ach & Shabbat Shalom.

creation

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And after the New Year…

Posted on September 24, 2014 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

The way a couple tells their story predicts divorce or marital stability with 94 percent accuracy. Turns out there is high correlation between an eventual break up and divorce, and low scores in fondness among the partners, high scores in negativity, the absence of positivity in problem solving, low in “we-ness”, high in chaos, low in glorifying the struggle, and high in disappointment of the marriage.
This (“coincidentally”) flew into my desk as I was thinking about this week’s reading of Ha’azinu, and it made me wonder, if our relationship with G-d through this Jewish way of life – however we define both of them – can be likened to other couple relationships and issues, which Kabala would say of course, it would follow that how we tell our story might have a lot to do with us still being here, still getting up to celebrate yet another new year, together.
Rosh Hashana is big, but, like in any other relationship, it’s not about the occasional “wow”. It’s about the daily investments. And when we finally get out of the holiday and walk into the next Shabbat, we’ll be coming to Moses’ last song, Ha’azinu.
Thinking about my writing this week, I could not get past the first word: Ha’azinu – listen – asks Moses of the heavens before he begins to speak, “listen and then I shall speak”, he says. In our modern-day hectic life, bombarded with millions of messages and attention grabbers, we might think, ‘start speaking and if you have anything useful to say and / or otherwise get my attention, maybe I’ll stop clicking and try and catch the rest’, but Moses knows it’s not so. Real, on-going listening must be one of the biggest commitment one can make. It’s like preparing a vessel to hold what another will put in. When there is no listening, there is no giving input and sharing, whether verbal or otherwise. This in turn takes us out of what we crave most, the flow in life.
Ha’azinu is one of the first instructions we’ll hear in the New Year. There are details in this grand song that are incomprehensible. No matter what language you read it in, it makes no sense. So what. Many of us go to Operas or listen to foreign chants without understanding a word of Italian or Hindi. To paraphrase a great teacher or mine, “life is not a cognitive experience”. A lot, but not everything can be grasped mentally. Sometimes we just have to stop and listen. Even Moses had to ask the heavens, who, we might think, have anyway nothing better to do! All the more so, when it comes to us.
But turns out, listening has to do not only with increasing the “flow”, but also with how we will retell our stories later. Studies show, the more details in the story – the better we’ll remember. But, if we go back to the beginning of this post, it’s not only about the amount of details but also about the content. What do we remember? Being slaughtered in Europe or being saved against all odds? Nazi soldier or righteous gentiles? The amazing miracle and joy of being Jewish or the burden of 613 do’s and don’t’s plus untold amount of extra sub categories?? All are true so it’s not about the “truth”; it’s about the story. That is our choice. So what do we choose? What do we tell? Further: is it possible that some of the troubles and “challenges” we see in the current state of the Jewish world (disengagement, assimilation etc etc) is due to the fact that we’re telling a depressing story rather than a happy story? That no one wants to “stay together” in a relationship that is all about gas chambers, a seemingly unsolvable Middle East conflict and an angry G-d??
Maybe that’s good for a New Year resolution – listen better and tell a happier story. Today, that’s all it’s about.
Shana Tova & Shabbat Shalom.

real listening. it's a commitment.

real listening. it’s a commitment.

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Stably-Moving towards Rosh Hashana…

Posted on September 19, 2014 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Don’t get me wrong: I love the upcoming Holy Days, but I can’t shake the feeling of shear fear when thinking about Rosh Hashana. Rosh Hashana is like going through an airport metal detector with a Swiss army pocketknife, a can of pepper spray, a small handgun and a suitcase full of 5oz shampoo bottles, hoping security won’t catch you because of your beautiful smile… You know there is no chance – and no reason anyone should let you do that, and yet, you pray – to the same One who made these rules, mind you – to spare you just this time, because you really, really – really – want to get on the flight.
How can we do that?
Let’s picture the airport conversation: “Step aside, ma’am. You have some illegal luggage here”. “Eh, officer, it’s just some small stuff, don’t make such a fuss!” “Are you planning to use any of it, ma’am?” “Probably. I mean, I’ve used it before but not that much; at least, I think it was not that much; and besides, I couldn’t help it. It happens. Would you let get to my flight already?!”
I hear the sirens wailing in the distance.
There is no way to do it anywhere in “real” life and yet, we do it every year. Maybe because our security guard isn’t just a security guard; she also happens to be our parent, and suddenly the picture changes completely. We’re no longer a high-risk criminal with repeated offenses, traveling with master weapons and a crazy plot, but a little child, who sheepishly sneaks up to his mother’s apron with a chocolate-smear smile on his blushed face and chocolate smeared fingers, who when asked sternly, what happened here, says, ‘I don’t know’ and really believes it.
The duality of our complex relationship with G-d is best expressed in the High Holy Days liturgy’s Avinu Malkenu, but it repeats itself constantly in Jewish life (in fact, I’ve now decided, based on my private, not-yet-founded research that the reason we see so many Jews especially in the field of behavioral economics is that we’re taught to think “like this” all through our lives. More of that at another time -), and the last Torah reading before the New Year is no exception.
It’s a double Torah portion this week, Nitzavim-Vayelech. It recalls the covenant and affirms that our ability to fulfill it (or at least enough of it to not disappear); it reminds us that doing right is not beyond us. In its second part, it tells us about Moses’ last day, about his teachings as a role model in action and words; it asks us to do right again, and warns us from the dangers of “too much”: too much fat, too much anything; how we become haughty, thinking we can do it all, taking G-d’s gifts for granted, and causing our own downfall.
It’s a great reading with many powerful verses and messages but I like their names best: Nitzavim (nitzav in the singular) means to stand, tall and erect. It is used for the pillars in the Temple; for Abraham serving his guests (as in standing above them, ready to do their bidding). In Modern Hebrew today it’s used for answering the call and going to enlist in the army; and the same root is used for the matzav, the situation, when we sadly think there is no change. It denotes stability and preparedness.
Then there is Veyelch, from the root h.l.ch, to go. The first scene begins with Moses “going to” the People. It’s one of my very favorite scenes in the Tanach: 120 year old Moses, on his last day, going to see the people. Normally, we would assume, people come to him. If not because he cant walk, then just to honor him. But not Moses. He gets up and goes to his beloved people.
As is usually the case, on the Shabbat before Rosh Hashana, we read them together. We affirm that we’re about both stability and motion – at the same time. Which way is prayer supposed to be, keva or kavana? Right. Are we about doing or learning? Yes. On and on.
Picking a side and asking the either-or question expecting it to be answered with one or the other, is like wanting to surf only down the high waves down, but without carrying the surf board back. We can – and should, why not – find tricks, physical and spiritual, to make the process easier, but we have to know we can’t eliminate just one aspect. It is life. Our goal is not to chose one side of the pushmi-pullyu, but to learn to ride it, and enjoy the ride!
Nitzavim-Vayelech is one such reminder, so that on Rosh Hashana we don’t ask to sneak through a security check-point. We ask to be seen for – and celebrate – who we really are, and G-d knows, there is no machine that can do that.
Shabbat Shalom & Shana Tova.

walking-amongst-pillars

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תקנו את הכלים וכן משחקים – fixing the vessels – parashat ki tavo

Posted on September 11, 2014 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

“Shavru et hakelim velo mesachakim” – שברו את הכלים ולא משחקים – (they) broke the vessels and there’s no (more) playing” – is a famous, common line Israelis use. It comes up in kids’ games but it’s can generally mean “I’m done playing with you” or “not dealing with you anymore”. I’ve translated it very literally and purposefully so, because suddenly I realized that I have no idea what I’ve been saying for… well, quite a few decades.
I tried to look up what are the origins of this phrase. Most everyone quotes a children song; one person writes that “kelim” (vessels) means “klalim” (rules). Well, maybe. But reading this parasha, it dawned on me that there can be much more to this. Please bear with me for a moment and we’ll try to come full circle.
Parashat Ki Tavo is hard to read. It starts nicely with a detailed account of how we bring the first fruits, or bikurim, which is included, still, every year, in the Passover Haggada. Then it shifts to “the Blessings and the Curses” better translated as “consequences”, the latter overpowering the whole reading with the harsh, horrible description of what will happen if…
Is there a connection between the first fruit, the blessings & curses, and that kids’ saying?
Let’s start by trying to understand the process around bringing the first fruit to the priests in the Temple. It’s hard to compare it to anything nowadays because we live in such a “fast-food”, “fastrack”, even “peace now” – ‘everything must be immediately if not sooner’ society (‘what! It’s been 20 min and no answer to my text’?!). But in order to bring the first fruit, you couldn’t just get up in the morning and go; you couldn’t even start a week ahead of time. You had to start the moment you noticed the first fig ripening on your tree, when you would mark it with a special ribbon. You then had to guard it throughout the season, making sure it keeps growing nicely, then pick it, wrap it safely, put it in the basket and travel all the way – with everything that can happen along the journey – to Jerusalem, then say: this is it!! This is the fruit of my partnership with the amazing, endless, wonderful gifts G-d gave me and family.
At any moment, this process might be disturbed. If you really want to be there, at the Temple, in front of the priest, with your basket, you need to work at it throughout the whole year, and even before: prepare your soil, plant your tree, grow it, care for it; care for your animals, feed them, take them out, clean after them; sow your field; harvest your grain. It’s a lot of work, and by the time it’s done, it would be so easy to think we did it all! Drum roll please!! It’s me! Me! by myself!
But the Torah, davka then, wants us to acquire a different attitude; to not be haughty about me, me, me and to also not be depressed as if I’m a worthless nothing. But rather, that we should know that we are not in this alone; that we are partners; that we use the bounty that is given to us and together, make these beautiful creations.
This is where (a moment of) Kabala comes in. Kabala says that there is bounty coming to the world all the time, just good stuff pouring down from the heavens, but without a “something” on earth to catch it, it just flows on. We need a vessel to collect it, like a reservoir for rain. And in a sense, we are that reservoir; we are that vessel.
When our vessel is broken – for any reason – we can’t “play”, we can’t participate in this partnership, because we cannot bring the bounty. We can only bring the vessel.
And our “vessel” needs prep. We want to just jump out of bed one day and be “ready”, but it’s not possible, no more then it’s possible to jump out of bed with the fig or sheep and run to the Temple, unless we did all the necessary prep long before hand.
It is customary to read Ki Tavo before Rosh Hashana, during this month of Elul which is intended for reflection because Ki Tavo can help us think back about where we’ve done well, where we’ve erred, and how to proceed in our partnership on earth, with others and with G-d. Blessings and curses don’t just happen randomly. They are about us, and, hard as it is, we can work at them every day to maximize our chances.
And then, the Torah tells us – then you will be happy. Is that a mitzvah or a simple statement of facts? Maybe it’s an expression of how we feel in those moments when we just “are”, what some call “flow”, moving about knowing what is our place what’s our role as partners in this creation.
Shabbat Shalom.

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