Torah & more… תורה ועוד

We first met when my article “40 plus and Screwed” was published at eJewishPhilanthropy this past summer. The storm around the article, and my immediate firing, has subsided, however, the issues raised then, further enforced by comments and conversations on and off line, did not go away and still need our attention.

Current trends and aging patterns, partially expressed in the recent Pew study again speak to the fact that the 40 plus age bracket, otherwise known as “boomers”, is the largest generation we currently have in our community. At the same time, it is bracket that gets most of the demands (pay for this or that, sit on the committee, board etc) and is least “purposefully served”, namely there is no “PJ Library” or “Masa” to engage and support this age group in its Jewish journeys, even though for many are just coming into their Jewish awareness, making first steps towards peace with exploring that part of their identity. Talk about Birthright for 40 or 50 plus and you’re met with laughter, and it’s not the money. We haven’t even made it that far. We just don’t think of investing in this age group. Yes, when the JCC brings in a speaker, the audience is largely over 40, but not because they were sought after; simply because they showed up.

Some of the reasons for that are obvious: we’re busy; we’re taking care of those younger and older. And yet, without understanding why we’re here, why we’re still needed, it will be hard to give that to others. In our “youth worshiping” culture, we tend to make sure our children have it all. They are the future, the promise! But this kind of structure is not sustainable on many levels, expressed (if flamboyantly) in the previous article. The Mishna in Pirkei Avot (5:25) offers us a different system where there is something new and relevant awaiting for each age group; something you can’t get before your time on credit. You have to be 40 for certain wisdom, 50 for certain understanding, 60 for certain honors, and so on. The spiral keeps going and growing, giving everyone a respectful place. Rambam in Mishneh Torah (Laws of Torah Study 1:4) insightfully writes: “If a parent wished to study Torah, and he has a child who must also learn, the parent takes precedence… the parent must not ignore his own study, for just as it a Mitzvah to educate the child, so, too, is the parent commanded to teach himself”. Now, as then, there is still a need and place for creating unique, meaningful engagements with Judaism for all.

My article last summer was a blog; it was “raw” as some said. It definitely needed to be followed up by a professional response. Towards this end, I created “reJewvenate”, a website that has just been launched last week, and is designed to serve as a hub for the 40 plus in the Jewish world and. Its purpose is to have a platform to share information and resources, primarily regarding learning, service and travel opportunities. But more than the specifics, it’s a first step to put this discussion somewhere, to brainstorm what is already happening, what needs and can be done, what ideas, partnerships and programs are out there that one can to join, where is a place to create something new is, and more.

So – let’s reJewvenate. It now needs you. I look forward to continuing our conversation.

* This article has appeared this morning in eJewishPhilanthropy

We lit Hanukkah candles and listened to Arik Einstein. In spite of his surprised passing, we too have a few disks of his songs encompassing dozens records, cassettes, albums and disks he left. Especially in light of recent headlines, this can sadly be “compared and contrasted” with the (rightful) outrage around singer Eyal Golan – and his father – seducing 15 year old girls. The nice thing is that Arik Einstein was not flawless, not pretentious. He got involved in his share of shtuyot (nonsense). But when he sang about “seeing her on the way to the gimnasya (“The” Tel Aviv high school), you knew it was just that: a longing for an impossibility anyone could smile and identify with, rather than a pick-up at the curb. Arik Einstein sang about the good old Israel we knew and love, about how you and I can change the world, about funny characters. Couple relationships in his songs were complex, tender and insightful. Expressions from his songs, skits and movies made it into Israeli slang (like sa le’at – drive slowly, the name of one of his albums).

One of the “fires” he found himself in, involved the song “Yechezkel”, about the life of Ezekiel, the Biblical prophet. It included words (by Haim Hefer) that were considered controversial, how Ezekiel is a “hella prophet”, and the “chicks” that follow him (in Hebrew, chatichot, the slang for “good looking girls” and “pieces” is the same word, referring to the dry bones vision). Sadly, the song offended the religious sects and was banned for a number of years, symbolic of walls that went up between some of the Israeli Jews and Judaism, walls that are now being challenged from any sides: Charedim (Ultra-Orthodox) in the IDF, open batei midrash (Jewish learning centers) and more.

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Last night, driving back from a Thanksgiving-Hanukkah dinner, we got into a conversation about how parents (not me, of course) should not treat their all grown-up kids as kids. Well, the sad cycle of life is that as a parent, you can remember yourself being 16 or 23 and thinking just that; as a child, you have no idea yet that one day you’ll be a parent who does exactly that to your own kids… That is because parenting isn’t a job that can be compared to anything else, and the relationship is a one and only in one’s life. “But my friends treat me differently” they say, and you go dah. After all, when you as parent, offer a cookie to your friends, they don’t think you’re babying them, they just say ‘thank you’. “My friends trust my driving” explains your baby as he gets behind the wheel, tsaring in disbelief as you clutching the seat with white knuckles, and  praying more fervently than in any High holy Days service. Of course, these are imaginary examples, but one way or another, at the end of the day, while parents and their children can be friendly, and on occasion can behave as good friends, they are not friends. The problem is we’re like the Syrian-African rift: we’re missing each other by an average of 25-35 years. Is there really a way to explain that to each other? Express that in a PC manner?

This week’s Torah potion gently shares an example of this fragile and careful balance. The reading of Miketz (always on Hanukkah) begins with Joseph in Egypt, solving Pharaoh’s dreams. Soon he’s whisked from prison to becomes second to the ruler, managing the resources of the rich country in times of famine. Then the brothers come to buy food and they meet for the first time in 17 years. In a complicated plot, Joseph orchestrates a situation where the brothers can “lose” Benjamin, like they got rid of him. Or not. This is not revenge, but an opportunity for tshuva (repentance). It has to happen before they can move on.

Here’s what’s interesting to our drive last night: Up until chapter 43:6, every time Jacob is mentioned, he appears as Jacob, Yaakov. But all of a sudden his name Israel, Yisrael is used. Jacob is a the “lower” aspect (see older post), while Israel is the higher one. The first one feels more depressed (especially in this situation), doubts, drags along. The latter is “higher”, inspired, intuitive, courageous, faithful, determined to do what is right.

Each one has both aspects too, but when do we use one or the other? That’s the dance of life (which sometimes can be viewed more as a tight-rope walk over an abyss…). Jacob himself struggles with it. We shouldn’t feel too bad if we do too.

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Thanksgiv-ukah, Saint Pat-urim, Suk-lloween Same’ach and the rest of what we still come up with – maybe enough. As an opportunity to learn more about the Jewish calendar, it’s great. It’s also fun to look for parve suganiyot to go with the turkey, but that’s about it.

The very first thing that happened with creation is distinction: this here is one thing, and this there – another. The water below was separated from the sky above; man was separated from the earth; woman from man. They kept interacting through their core roles and tasks but each had enough trouble dealing with its unique essence and expressing that. It’s not about better and worse. It’s about each person, each entity, each “thing”, and that goes to each holiday as well, being who and what he/she/it is, without making them all into a mushy tchulent… which reminds me…it’s time for Shabbat prep.

Shabbat Shalom & Hanukkah Same’ach.

In another life, I would have liked to be a family therapist to Jacob. “See”, he might say, slumping in the straw chair that I have right near the window, overlooking the Judean hills, “my grandpa tried to kill my dad, which that pretty much shut him off to the world. Yes, they never spoke again. We didn’t even live near him, especially after he remarried Hagar. What was he thinking? Anyway, not like my dad started out like a talkative guy, but seeing the knife? That really did it. And my mom? Just the opposite! She never takes no for an answer. If she wants to know what’s going on, she’d get G-d Himself to talk to her! Ah, four wives, and I still miss my mommy”.

We should wait because Jacob didn’t come to talk about his mom, or dad. There are other issues on his mind, but Jacob comes from a family that doesn’t talk emotions much. His dad, who loved his mom dearly, is not recorded speaking to her at all, while she only spoke to him once: on the verge of taking her life, Rebekah told Isaac that she’s had it (Genesis 27:46). His brother, likewise, could never quite express how he really felt about what was important to him. Notice, Esau only despised the birthright after he lost it, not before (25:35). Then why did he not say anything sooner? Maybe if the two brothers worked it out then, we would all have peace on earth by now.

By the time it came to Jacob’s own sons, he too followed his grandfather and father, and for his own reasons, favored the younger ones. In this week’s Torah portion Jacob opts to give Joseph a beautiful multicolored coat, a move that isn’t received well by his brothers, as if it’s not enough that the guy is walking around, telling everybody his dreams where all his family bows down to him. Someone should have maybe warned Jacob, but he’s like the rest of the family: once something pops into their head, that’s it. Some would say, stiff-necked; others would say, determined. Isn’t it funny how the same thing can be our greatest obstacle and our greatest strength at the same time.

We might wonder, what was it about joseph that made Jacob give him the coat? Why not anything else?? Jacob might have not known it but clothing around Joseph’s life becomes a significant matter. The first thing his brothers do when he comes to them is remove the embroidered coat which he was wearing. When Re’uven, the elder, comes back and sees that Joseph is gone, he tears up his own clothing. Later the brothers take the famous coat, and dip it in a slaughtered goat before sending it to their father, who in turn tears up his clothes in mourning.

Once Joseph was brought to Egypt, he was bought by Potifar, Pharoh’s court official, the chief of the cooks, and became successful. But behold, one day, Potifar’s wife “caught him in his garment and said: Lie with me! but he left his garment in her hand, fled and went out” (Genesis 39:12). Potifar’s wife told a different story to her husband: “The Hebrew servant whom you brought to us came to me to be playfully intimate with me, but when I called our loudly, he left his garment next to me and fled outside” (39:17-18). One again, Joseph was thrown in prison, and in the beginning of next week’s section, when Joseph will solve Pharaoh’s dream, he will be whisked from the pit, shaved and given a change of clothes. As he rises in power, he will receive new garments of fine linens.

Clothing is a complex matter, and not only for Joseph. The Hebrew word for it is begged, and the same root is used for both items to wear (bgadim) and treason (b’gida). That’s because clothing only represent outer appearance, which is often deceptive. The Torah specializes in things that are complex and thus dedicates much time to dress: Adam and Eve were naked and the first set of clothing was a gift to them from G-d, and much later, the Jewish people receive the mitzvah of tzitzit reminding us that the same things that can be a barrier can also be an opportunity to connect, for Joseph and for us.

Shabbat Shalom.

I’ve begun to think of the Hebrew alphabet as a combination of Chinese and English. It could be that this reflects the fact I do not know any Chinese. Nevertheless, what I mean is that just like in Chinese or old Japanese, the letters are pictures rather than sounds, while in English the letter migrated to be mostly sounds irrelevant of any original picture they represented, so too, one can see the Hebrew alphabet is a mix of pictures and sounds. On one hand, you can learn the Hebrew letters as just sounds: here, this is a Bet. It makes a “B” sound. Great! On the other hand, you learn that each letter started out from a picture, and as such, represents a whole idea that stands behind that symbol. The Bet therefore, is not just “b”. It is a “bayit”, a house. If you look at it carefully, you can see the walls, floor and roof, as well as the porch on the right side. In many words, it represents building something, like in the words av, ben & bat, all building family and continuity(wait, how come em / ima – mom – then has no bet? Next time…)

If we knew what each letter stands for, we could create a word, and indeed, this is what made the roots system. The challenge is that sometimes, the sometimes, those roots grew to such amazing trees, that some of their branches are too far to easily figure out what connects them.

Ya’akov is one such name. When he was born, we learned that his name comes from akev, heel, because he was holding his brothers foot. Were so used to it that we don’t think anymore how strange it is to name your child ankle, though it doesn’t make sense. Then we read about Yaakov & Esau and notice that Esau is using Yaakovs name as a verb: “vaya’akveni ze pa’amayim” – “and he deceived me twice already” (Genesis 27:36). We keep reading through the Torah and come across the Torah portion of “Ekev”, translated as “because”, and then we end up in Isaiah (40:4) who says, “vehaya ha’akov lemishor” – loosely translated as ‘the crooked will become straight, or flat’. In Modern Hebrew, ikvi means – regular, consistent, walking step by step. All these words come from ayin, kof, bet.

The letters making Ya’akov’s name can be scrambled to make other possibly related Hebrew roots: kof, ayin, bet makes the word keva – permanent, steady, while the root bet, kof, ayin, placing the bet for building first, makes the root for baka, breaking through, as in a plant sprouting (a flower bulb is a pka’at). We get the idea of something over all low and grounded.

Let’s leave this for a moment and explore Ya’akov’s second name.

In this week’s parasha, Ya’akov’s name is changed to Yisrael. Notice, that while Avraham only goes through a slight name change (Genesis 17:5) and Yitzchak’s name stays the same throughout his life, Ya’akov gets a whole new name: The angel he struggles with names him Yisra’el “ for you have become the commanding power before G-d and men, and you have prevailed” (Genesis 32:29). Some say Yisra’el comes from S.R.H – to rule or lord, while others say, it comes from Y.Sh.R – the root for straightforward.

Either way, when we put both names side by side, they help us understand each other: one relates to lower elements: a heel, a deception, a chain reaction, a crooked road or area. You read the list, and it makes you want to bow your head down. The other relates to higher and exalted feeling: victory, royalty, straight and open. Reading it, I want to lift my head proudly. Which way is it?

Rabbi Dardik in his drash on Shabbat Vayishalch at Beth Jacob, Oakland expanded on this, bringing in the Kotzker rebbe’s voice. The latter said that in the opening verse of this week’s reading, “And Jacob sent angel before him (lefanav)” the text really wanted to say “milfanav”, away from him. Rabbi Dardik then connected it to Rashi’s commentary of Genesis 18. There, three angels visited Abraham and only two visited Lot. Why? Because an angel is a being who can only fulfill one mission at a time, therefore, the one who told Abraham about the birth of his child, completed his task and stayed behind. Back to Jacob, if indeed, angels are one-tasked, Jacob from this point on, can no longer accept these beings in his life, as his life has become fully human, fully complex, fully multidimensional. This is expressed in his names.

Unlike others in the Torah, Ya’akov’s name change is not permanent or compete. From here on till the end his life, he will be called both, Ya’akov & Yisra’el, reminding us that like him, we also hold two, often conflicting aspects of ourselves within us. The pain and joy of experiencing and juggling them both, is what life is made of.

Shabbat Shalom.

The couples of the Torah continue to fascinate me. This week, we are visited by Isaac and Rebekah, the only couple of the forefathers who maintains a complete monogamous relationship. No maidservants, no second wives, and even in times of hardship, when they cannot conceive, they do not seek alternatives, but pray for each other. Did they learn from the previous generation? If we look at the psychological construct of our forefathers, we can notice the careful dance between continuity and change: the things they adopted from the parents and the things they’d rather not. This might be symbolized in Isaac, re-digging his father’s wells, before digging his own.

Isaac and Rebekah’s first meeting must be auspicious too: She is brought to him after carefully being picked by his father’s servant with special signs. How come he didn’t look for her by himself? We can guess, but the bottom line is, he didn’t. Isaac remains the more passive of the two, and she – the outgoing one. When she sees him, she falls off the camel. Notice the interesting order of things: first the text says she saw Isaac; then she fell off, then she questioned the servant: “Who is this man, walking in the field towards us?” (Genesis 24:65). But she knew already! Did the servant just confirm that it is indeed his master? And then she takes her shawl and wraps herself up, which means, she wasn’t wrapped in it during the journey?

I’m trying to picture the convoy, riding for some time now, approaching the Land of Canaan. Rebekah, probably sent with some of her maidservants, and at least with her nurse, Devora, carried on top. The days are long, and filled with lovely Mediterranean views, sort of like riding through present-day Italy and Greece (I don’t think they rode through endless desert. Based on geo-botanic research, the Land of Israel back then was covered in oak forests, on top of its fame as the land of ‘milk and honey’). Regardless, even that gets old after a while. Being Rebekah’s friends, I want to think the girls must be having some fun, chattering and joking, trying to each other’s scarves, playing housewives, guessing what life has in store, playfully teasing each other about the future and what would it be like.

Then they see this guy (giggle, giggle)! A guy! Walking in the field! In the middle of nowhere! Ooo, look, look, Rebekah, is that him?? Yoohoo, one calls mischievously; another maybe whistles, and another one yet, pulls Rebekah’s scarf and waves.

Isaac lifts up his eyes, and sees camels (verse 63); Rebekah lifts her eyes and sees Isaac (64). It might be because of the convoy’s size that he sees the whole, while he is just one, easier to identify. And yet, already then, she sees what escapes him, distinguishing critical details from a complex scene. This pattern continues this week, when Isaac is described as blind; so blind that he misses the meaning of the differences between his sons, leading to this week’s drama. If you’d like to join us, come for our monthly Shabbat afternoon chamin and chavruta as we explore this further.

Shabbat Shalom

Sarah passed away and Abraham takes matters into his own hands, looking for a wife, first for Isaac and later in this Torah portion, also for himself (and some major commentators will tell us he got back together with Hagar).

Funny thing, we know how some of the Torah couple met (consider Adam & Eve; Jacob and Rachel) but not how Abraham and Sarah met. Since she was his niece (his brother’s daughter), and them being ten years apart, they probably (almost) always knew each other. Sarah was his wife, sister, soul-mate, but now, what about Isaac, who grew up alone in the “new land”?

In chapter 24 Abraham therefore sends his servant to go find a wife for his son. It’s an interesting exchange, that detail with the strange custom to place a hand on the thigh as a sign of a vow, or maybe even the whole ordeal – the fact that Isaac, now in his late thirties, almost 40, can’t go by himself to find his own wife but instead needs papa to send his own most trusted servant with his countless precious gifts?

But something else caught my eyes (and heart). Abraham gives the servant very clear instructions: “And if the woman be not willing to follow you, then you are cleared from this oath of mine; just do not bring my son back there” (8).

And also: “God… who took me from my father’s house and from the land of my nativity, and who spoke unto me, and who swore unto me, saying: to you l I give this land…” (7).

For hundreds of generations we wrote poetic midrashim, love songs and prose to the Land of Israel. How beautiful it is, how wide and spacious, how lush with trees, milk and honey! Since forever, we called going away from Israel, “going down”, and coming to Israel, “going up”, even if one moves to live at the shores of the Dead Sea from the Himalayas – and vice-versa! Our love has never been doubted! At the same time, I can’t help but share a few words by Amos Oz, who wrote in his book “A Story of Love and Darkness):

“… Europe for my parents was a forbidden promised land, a longing district … The words “cabin”, “meadow”, “geese-herd girl “, enticed and moved me throughout my childhood days. They had the touch of a sensual real world, complacent, far from the dusty tin roofs, spikes junkyard and parched hillsides of Jerusalem suffocating under a world of bleached summer….”

So where is home? I remember hearing two men conversing in the aisle during a flight from NYC to Israel. “My daughter is now back here”, one told the other. Here, he said, while we were flying over Greenland… Here?

One of the questions I often dread is, ‘where are you from’?… but maybe it’s safe to say that the split personally that simultaneously calls two places home – we inherited directly from Abraham.

 Shabbat Shalom.

The publication of the recent Pew survey has brought us back to the number game: how many are we? How may on us in the U.S.? In CA? How many of us are Israeli? Russian? Under 18? Under 40? Over 40?

Digging into the 214 pages of the survey (and I admit, I didn’t read it all), reveals discrepancies between it and previous studies re Bay Area population: A 2004 demographic study commissioned by the SF based Jewish Community Federation cited about a quarter of a million Jews in the (west) Bay and a similar East bay federation study in 2011 added another 120,000 to a total of 360,000 in the immediate area. Yet, the current study claims the Bay Area to have about 122,336 Jews.

Who’s right? Well, at least some of that depends on who is counting who and how. We can really only count those who “show up” (attend anything Jewish: shul membership, subscription to PJ Library, Jewish newspaper, attendance at film festival, donation to federation), which of course leaves room for error. Some of us might be counted twice (in spite of some efforts, we do not have one central list like a local Jewish Community phone book). In addition, there is also a famous claim that those of us “affiliated” are only 20% of the total Jewish population. Hence, another 80% invisibles are often added to come up with a final “count”. That might be funny if it wasn’t so sad. Counting those who are involved is already difficult enough. But counting those are not? By definition, we don’t know how many people we don’t know about, and the estimates and guesstimates flourish. As we say in Hebrew “kol hamarbe – harei ze meshubach”, loosely translated to “the more- the merrier”.

When the Children of Israel left Egypt, the text says “vechamushim yatz’u”… (Exodus 13:18). Chamushim is usually translated as “armed”, but we have no proof that the this band of slaves had any weapons. Therefore, Rashi and others connect “chamushim” to the Hebrew – chamesh, the number 5, telling us that only a fifth of the People left Egypt. Since this would be too embarrassing, the text hid this piece of information in a hint. And would you know, we’re dealing with the same “hidden” ratio today.

One of those curious numbers is the number of Israelis in the U.S. Pew survey claims to 2% of the Jewish population was born in Israel: 2% of about 6 million is roughly 120,000. This is a far cry from the Israeli consulate and others who claim there are at least half a million (yes, 500,000) and maybe even up to one million Israelis in the U.S (more like 10% and up)! In the Bay Area alone there are supposedly more 40,000 Israelis, mostly in the Silicon Valley, and scattered throughout Nor-Cal. Along with 250,000 in LA and at least that many in greater NYC, not to mention the Boston area universities, Miami region and more.

Again, most of the Israelis are supposedly “unaffiliated”, a myth I once bought into too and now believe in less and less, because davka (especially) Israelis are, in general, a very connected people, hence leaning towards affiliation of some sort, and while they don’t necessarily want to join an organization, especially not a fundraising one, most – and I know I’m generalizing – sooner or later, rarely live without some communal connections. Again, this might not be the conventional Federation list and synagogue memberships but they do show up. On Yom Hazikaron and Yom Ha’atzmaut, at a Meir Shalev lecture, at a friends’ party when their kid join Gari’n Tzabar (lone soldiers pre-program) and at a dinner a friend helped organize, when they had no idea it was Hadashah’s annual gala.

Looking back again at our history, the children of Israel were counted going to and from Egypt. They were also counted in the desert early in the journey and before entering the land. The system was practical and spiritual: each person was to bring a half shekel coin; half a shekel to symbolize the fact that each individual is incomplete without another, without a community. Only those who were present were counted, because one cannot build a community with those who aren’t around in case one day they show up. Of course, we prepare some extra chulent for friends who might decide to stop by, but usually not to the tune of 80%. This kind of margin is impractical and rarely realistic. We cannot live in suspense that someone might one day show up.

In the opening of Genesis, and throughout the Torah, G-d Himself generally only works with one person at a time: first Adam, then Noah, and this week – Abraham. The Talmud later teaches us that anyone who saves one person saves a whole world. Then, in Genesis 12:5 we’re told about the “nefesh” (souls) that Abraham and Sarah made. The commentators say that “he was converting the men and she – the women”. What happened to all those “nefesh”? We don’t know. Maybe because we are not about the numbers. We are not about building community as an amorphous endeavor with a nebulous crowd. We are about the real person right next to us.

Seven is a favorite number — the seven weeks between Passover and Shavuot, the seven branches on the menorah, the seven days of Creation. But how about the first verse of the Torah, which has exactly seven words, and the first word, which has exactly seven letters? A coincidence? Perhaps.

But wait. Are there really seven days of Creation, or just six? Was the seventh day merely for doing nothing, or was Shabbat a creation in itself, bringing to the world a new concept, the idea of making space for a soul day?

And what about the fact that the first two chapters of the Book of Genesis don’t seem to make sense together? Chapter 1 tells the story of Creation in a very orderly manner: On the first day, there was light; on the second day, a separation of the water below and water above, mayim (water) and sham-mayim (literally “there water” but it’s the Hebrew word for the skies); then on subsequent days dirt and plants; a pretty starry sky; fish to swarm the seas and birds to fly in the sky; mammals; and humans. The world by the end of Genesis 1 is as perfect as can be, and God, described as “Elokim,” presides over the masterpiece. We would expect Chapter 2 to take it from here.

But instead, we’re thrown back to yet another beginning: “These are the generations of the heavens and the earth when they were created … When no bush of the field was yet in the land and no small plant of the field had yet sprung up — for the Lord God had not caused it to rain on the land, and there was no man to work the ground … then the Lord God formed the man of dust from the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living creature” (Genesis 2:4-7). Indeed, a different beginning, and God here has a different name.

How can that be? Not only is there now nothing after Creation, but once man is created he is formed out of dust! Hasn’t he already been made in God’s image? And then there is the mystery of the woman. First, she’s created along with the man — “male and female He created them” (Genesis 1:27) — but then all of a sudden God takes flesh and builds her up from the “man’s rib” (Genesis 2:21-22).

Seeing the seeming contradictions, it’s tempting to label these and other more complex Torah sections simply as stories written by different authors that are not for our sophisticated mindset, maybe more suitable for small children. But it would be much more beneficial for us to give the Torah, its readers and commentators of thousands of years (all of whom surely noticed these issues before us) the benefit of the doubt and dig a little deeper to find greater meaning.

It would have been easy to write a book that made sense, or at least one that was more consistent. Lots of people, ancient and modern (not to mention other religions), have done so successfully. If Hamlet and Harry Potter can tell a good story, why can’t we?

Perhaps because we’re asked not to treat the Torah as a “story,” not to think simply with this text, not to settle for easy answers and a quick way out, and not to hand it to our kids without honestly opening our hearts and struggling with the challenges first.

The first word of the Torah might shed some light. “Beresheet,” often translated as “in the beginning,” literally means “in a beginning.” It therefore implies more than one start. When we unscramble it, we get the words “alef betishrei,” which is the Hebrew date for Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. Alef betishrei is the day we celebrate the beginning of the year, the birthday of the world and Creation itself.

The opening letter of the word “beresheet,” the bet, is closed to three sides and open toward the left side, the side of the text. It asks us to look ahead with a fresh gaze as we renew our learning.