Caron Glickman – D’var Torah

Rebecca read a prayer earlier in our service by Rabbi Norman Hirsch called “Becoming”. It starts: “Once or twice in a lifetime a man or a woman may choose a radical leaving, having heard Lech lecha—Go forth.

Our parashah makes it clear that Abraham chose this “radical leaving” of an incredible journey away from his home and the only land that he knew, but was there more to this leaving than meets the eye?

“Lech lecha” was the command that God gave to Abraham, so that he would start his physical journey from Haran to the land that God would show him. Our sages have taught us that “Lech lecha” can also be translated as “get to yourself”, or find yourself, or embark on a spiritual journey. So maybe Abraham had more than one “radical leaving”?

I propose that he had at least three, which may be more than most men and women, according to Rabbi Hirsch’s poem. There was the spiritual journey early in his life when he concluded that there was only one God, counter to what his father, Terah, an idol worshipper, and most others at the time believed—around the same time that he smashed his father’s idol statues. Then there was the physical journey of which I read, away from his home, to a place he did not know, with the trust in God’s promise to make of him and his descendants a great nation. I believe, and many of our rabbis teach, that a third journey of his was spiritual also. Abraham continued to faithfully trust God throughout his long life, while at times enduring hardship and pain, and lived his life in a manner which would allow for the making of a great nation, the People of Israel.
Certainly, Abraham is special—he is the first Jew and the progenitor of all Jews. But he is not the only one who has chosen a radical leaving. People do this all the time. Refugees flee terror and war and poverty for promise of a better life. People make huge sacrifices so that their lives and the lives of their loved ones, or even strangers, will be better.

I bet if you looked at your own lives, or the lives of your parents or grandparents, you could identify instances of “radical leaving” or significant physical or spiritual journeys taken. I, for one, would be interested in hearing your stories, because they can reveal a lot about your core values and your authentic selves—and I find that fascinating.

I have a few stories of journeys myself. How about if I briefly share the three most impactful in my life?

First, I’m the eldest of two children, born to parents who were not even old enough to vote, one with a high school diploma and the other with a GED certificate, struggling to make ends meet, both of whom were from abusive families. They worked hard to improve my lot—mine was a mostly loving but moderately dysfunctional family. As a teenager, I decided that was not the kind life that I wanted, so I found a well-respected college that offered excellent financial aid and boasted high acceptance to professional school. I applied and was accepted. My father knew that Mills College (where Donna Ree-back attended), in Oakland, CA, was a good school, as his sister wanted to attend there, but their family couldn’t afford it. I had never been to California before, and thus had not visited Mills prior to the road trip with my parents to drop me off, towing a U-Haul trailer with all my possessions. They waved good bye, and I prayed I had not made a huge mistake. Thank goodness it all worked out. Three years later, in fulfillment of my life-long dream (albeit a short life thus far) I was attending dental school at the University of Washington, in Seattle. I would call that time in my life my first real physical journey, with a sprinkling of spiritual journey thrown in, as I was trusting in God to help me make it through. I did though, try to do my part by being president of the Mills College’s Interfaith Council as well as an active member of the Catholic club. This journey helped provide me with a solid foundation for what was to come later in my life by giving me a feminist focused education and extra confidence that came in handy during some really difficult times.

My second journey was definitely a spiritual one—100%. I had become disenchanted with Catholicism for many reasons. I’m happy to explain over tea sometime—a loonnnggg tea. I wanted my children to have a religious foundation in their lives, and I wanted a faith that would help me grow personally in a deep and authentic way. When my children were small, about 23 years ago, I embarked on a quest to find that religion, and found Reform Judaism. It was a practically perfect fit for me, and my children came along for the ride. So did my mother. Twenty-two years ago, in the year 5757, my mother and I, as well as my children Taylor and Kyleigh, with their father’s support, were converted at Temple de Hirsh Sinai in Seattle, WA. Coincidentally, that is the same synagogue that both Jacob and Shoshana work at today, but I would not meet them, or their father for 5 more years. And incidentally, I have a couple of friends here from Seattle who I met at that time in my early Jewish life.

The second part of Rabbi Hirsch’s poem reads: “God disturbs us toward our destiny by hard events”. Abraham experienced some hard events, like the ordeal with Sarah, Hagar and Ishmael, and the binding of Isaac. I’ve definitely had some hard events in my life, just as many of you have. But I think for Abraham, and I know for me, and I hope for you, that the good times outweigh the difficult times, and that our destiny, or destination was worth the hardship to get there.

Now for my third and most recent journey. I would say that it’s mostly physical but with a significant portion of spiritual mixed in—and it’s not entirely completed yet—or at least I hope not. A little over three years ago, my husband mentioned that he was applying for the permanent rabbi position at Temple B’nai Tikvah in Calgary, Alberta. I knew that Calgary was somewhere between Vancouver and Toronto, but that was about it. Our friend, Rabbi Jordan Goldson told us that it was a nice place with nice people, and personally, I was ready for a “radical change”. Plus, Mark had been willing to put his career on ice for several years, while I ramped up mine, and I figured that now it was his turn.

And what a wonderful journey this has been. I have found a city that is beautiful and fresh and lively and a temple community that is warm, welcoming, authentic and stimulating. I am exceedingly grateful and I’m really loving this destination!

Rabbi Hirsch’s poem ends: “We don’t like leaving, but God loves becoming”. What this means to me is that change can be difficult and painful at times, but that it is necessary for us to grow into the people that God knows we can be, and wants us to be. That “with letting go and trusting” we can find ourselves at amazing destinations or situations or lives—even beyond our wildest dreams. Had Abraham not veered from his father’s beliefs and not formed his own belief of monotheism and not trusted God and taken the journey, we might not have Judaism at all—not to mention today–thousands of years later. Had I not trusted God on my sometimes-scary journeys and to get me through my difficult times, I may not have met a most amazing man who has always helped me be the best person I could be and gave me more family to love and then, later, made it possible for me to become your Rebbitzen and friend. God loves becoming, and I think I do too.

Shabbat shalom!

 

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Roz Mendelson – D’var Torah

When I signed up for the Bat Mitzvah class, I was looking for an intellectual, educational and social experience. What I did not anticipate was the personal challenge of trying to reconcile the rational side of myself with which I am very familiar, with the more hidden spiritual side.

In the verses that I chanted, God appears to Abraham for the fourth time, and despite the previous encounters, God provided Abraham with an introduction. “I am El Shaddai—walk before me and be pure of heart.” God then offered Abraham a covenant, explaining that Abraham would be the father of many nations, that God would give Abraham and his descendants the land, and will be our God.

My first reaction to having to write about God’s covenant with the Jewish people was panic – If I am to talk about God, what do I say about my belief in God? The rational side of me says I don’t know who or what God is. Even so, it seems that I live my life as if there is God. Jewish ritual is important to me, especially at the most meaningful moments in my life. My children were named in synagogue and David and I had a Jewish wedding. In times of crisis, I find myself praying, with the rational side of me wondering if I am reaching out to God or just trying to comfort myself or perhaps just wishing. Nevertheless, I pray for people’s healing and feel these prayers deeply; and I am comforted by the prayers of others. None of this seems rational.

So hence the panic. Given my uncertainty, how can I talk about Abraham’s encounter with God? Well, the parashah gave me insight. Later in the parashat, in this discussion between God and Abraham, God promised Abraham and Sarah a child. In response, Abraham laughed and thought/wondered how can he and Sarah have a child, given their ages. The rabbis interpreted this laughter as joyous. That may be true, but it is also possible that Abraham’s laughter demonstrated disbelief or perhaps both joy and disbelief. Yet despite questioning God’s promise, Abraham did what he was asked, and lived his life as God asked him. This suggests to me that ambivalence about belief in God dates to Abraham, which makes sense to the rational me because as humans we cannot fully understand the Divine.

So let’s look at the verses I chanted and what they tell us about God. These verses begin with God’s introduction to Abraham, “I am El Shaddai.” El Shaddai is often translated as God Almighty, but it literally means God of my breasts, which I learned makes Israeli children giggle when learning Torah. However, what El Shaddai or God of my breasts really means is that God is a nurturing God. So, at the time that God wants to create a covenant with Abraham, God presents as a nurturer and demonstrates nurturing by saying: Walk before me. This conjures an image of parents walking behind their children so they can watch them and make sure they are ok. This gives children a sense of security and an ability to find themselves- which in fact is the overall theme of this parashah – Lech L’cha, go forth to find yourself. It is always easier to go forward if we know that someone is watching over us or has our back.

And then God said “and be pure of heart.” Why? It seems that God accepted Abraham’s imperfections, but also asked Abraham to be pure of heart; to be the best that he can be.

I really like it that God provided Abraham with a choice about entering the covenant. An all-powerful God could have threatened, commanded or coerced, but instead, God approached Abraham by saying this is what I will do for you, and I will take care of you. I will ask things of you, but you will gain from this relationship – and we will have an agreement that is sacred. God looked to Abraham to choose this agreement freely, without coercion or threat.

So in this parashah, God’s approach to Abraham serves as a model of good, even sacred, human relationships: that is relationships that are nurturing, entered into willingly and with respect, where our imperfections are accepted but we are asked to be our best selves. I see these qualities in the most important relationships in my life. For example, just as God – El Shaddai – was a nurturer, so too did my mother nurture us and accept us unconditionally. Just as God established a mutually respectful covenant with Abraham, so too were honesty and commitment of utmost importance to both of my parents. My father’s handshake was his word, and his word was a binding contract. And just as God called Abraham to be of pure heart, to be a good person always, so too was being our best selves important to both of my parents. After my mom had a stroke, words did not come easily to her. When we would say goodbye after a visit, her struggling parting words to all of us were “I love you. Be good.” To me, this meant, “Be pure of heart,” just as God instructed Abraham.

In my husband David, I have found these very same qualities. This is part of what accounts for me falling in love with him, and it is with these values that we have striven to raise our own daughters. Having studied for my Bat Mitzvah, I conclude – No, I may not understand God fully, but I do believe that by living these values – nurturing, honesty, commitment and goodness – we adhere to our side of our covenant with God.

Shabbat Shalom.

 

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Carla Atkinson – D’var Torah

I was particularly drawn to take part in this adult Bnot Mitzvah when I found out the portion would be Lech Lecha; Go forth …
For many reasons it resonated with events in my life both past and present.
In my portion, Sarai speaks to Abram and offers her slave, Hagar, to him as a wife. She justifies this by saying she hasn’t had a child. When Hagar becomes pregnant there is friction between the two women. Hagar runs off and an angel “finds her”.

This is the start of a story about 2 mothers who each become the mother of a nation. Sarai treats her slave like an object, even though they have lived together for more than 10 years. I am a little embarrassed to admit this as a psychiatrist, but it was hard for me to empathize with Sarai’s plight.

I struggled to find learning with this story, becoming overly concerned that ancient customs don’t connect to the 21st century. Over time, I realized there are some things that never change. This family is not so different than the dysfunctional families of the present. People make mistakes and can be surprised by their reaction to events. the other is that, even though the bible often emphasizes men’s stories, many times it’s the women who really make things happen.

When Sarai gives her slave to Abram because of infertility, she didn’t anticipate her feelings when Hagar quickly became pregnant. Perhaps when she made her offer, she expected to raise Hagar’s child as her own. Torah says that for Hagar “her mistress became an object of scorn”/contempt. Like modern surrogates, perhaps Hagar changed her mind once she became pregnant. She ran away to keep the baby for herself, like some modern novels, not considering that the baby needs a father.

It’s curious to me that God made a covenant with Abram, but it is the women who each became mothers of a nation. In this story, divine intervention affects the course of the narrative. Abram seems to be “following along” with God while Sarai takes some initiative.

Studying this portion showed me that the Torah is not a chronological narrative and big events are shrunk into short verses.

In the end, I’m not sure if I found what I was searching for, but I have become more accepting of the journey and this “new normal”.

 

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Rebecca Krel – D’var Torah

Everybody lies. That’s even the title of a book about big data. But of course, there are all sorts of lies. In Lech Lecha, Abram goes to Egypt with Sarai. Once there, he asks her to lie for him and pretend to be his sister so Pharaoh’s henchmen won’t kill him; he is afraid he might be killed if they know she is his wife.

So they do lie, and Abram is well rewarded by Pharaoh (as Sarai’s brother), but eventually the truth comes out when G-d strikes Pharaoh and his household with various afflictions.

So I started to wonder: were they right to lie? And more generally, is it OK to lie?

Although we all tell our children not to lie, this question doesn’t have a straight-forward answer. There are several sorts of lies:

• A lie someone tells for their own benefit
• A lie someone tells for someone else’s benefit
• “White lies” and/or lies to preserve peace

First, let’s talk about lying for your own benefit. That could be the merchant who has not calibrated the scale properly, or the child who says, “The dog ate my homework”. In these cases, when the lying is done to gain an advantage (in the case of the merchant, extra money, and in the case of the child, an exten-sion to return the homework), it is morally wrong to lie.

In Exodus 23:7 (parashat Mishpatim), the Torah says “Keep free from a false charge; do not bring death on those who are innocent”. This is the extreme ex-ample of this type of lie, where an innocent person is wrongfully accused and/or convicted. Because truth and trust are the cement that binds communi-ties, you can see how this type of lie could be very harmful.

Then there is the lie we tell for someone else’s benefit. When my mom was a baby in France during WWII, she was hidden with a French Christian family. If the Nazis had come to the door and asked “Are you hiding any Jews?”, of course I would have wanted these people to have lied and said “no”. They would have been lying to save my mother’s life, and I’m deeply grateful to them that they did lie, in actions if not in words, by hiding her among them so she could be safe. In this case, lying is the (morally) right thing to do. You’re not lying to gain any benefit for yourself, you’re lying to protect or save some-one (and it doesn’t hurt anyone else).

Finally, there are the “white lies” we all say all the time. For example, when you ask your husband “Does this outfit make me look fat?”, he may say “No, it’s fine”, regardless of what it looks like, because he wants to preserve Sh’lom Bait (peace in the home) and make you feel better. By the way, Mel, please don’t do that, when I ask, I really want to know how I look.

Or, and that’s an example from our own rabbi, when you’re at a wedding, you may say “what a beautiful bride!” when she is not really beautiful. (I thought all brides were beautiful, but when I mentioned this to our rabbi, he told me he’s been to a lot more weddings than I have, and he wasn’t totally sure). That’s permissible, because you’re preserving somebody’s dignity without hurting anyone else.

In Lech Lecha, Abram did ask Sarai to tell a lie to potentially save his life. This would appear to put it in the “righteous lies” category. What is troubling, though, is that he’s asking Sarai to lie to save himself from possible harm, but at the same time, he’s putting her in harm’s way: Pharaoh ends up taking her for his own wife, and he could mistreat her or rape her. Another troubling point is that Abram is well rewarded as a consequence of this lie: he receives cattle, and flocks, and servants, as some kind of dowry, as he’s assumed to be Sarai’s brother; in essence, he profits from the lie.
And finally, it’s Pharaoh who suffers the consequences of Abram’s lie, although he was (obviously) totally unaware of it.

In the end, I think Abram doesn’t show himself in a good light in this portion, and Sarai and Pharaoh are both the victims of his lie. Abram may originally have thought of the lie in order to not be killed, but in the end, he’s the one en-joying the profit of the lie, while Sarai and Pharaoh both suffer the consequences. This would put Abram’s lie in the “lie for your own benefit category”.

So the Torah, in this parashah, is teaching us that lying to get out of a sticky situation is not the answer; lies may have devastating consequences, even if they were created out of fear and without any bad intentions.

Yes, everybody lies. But while some lies are permissible, or even right (like ly-ing to save someone’s life or preserve someone’s dignity), lying for your own benefit is wrong, and can have very serious unintended consequences.

Shabbat Shalom!

 

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Tracey Rumig – D’var Torah

Shabbat Shalom.

The verses I read today described the details of the covenant between God and Abraham, and really the whole of the Jewish people. More specifically, God tells Abraham that he will have to circumcise himself, all the males in his household, and all of the generations after him.

Now, before I begin in earnest, I wanted to share Rabbi Glickman’s recipe for a most savoury and delectable dvar torah. The first ingredient is, of course, a joke. So I searched high and low for a joke about circumcision and could not find one – books, Google; I even looked in my wallet, the one that turns into a suitcase?, but to no avail. Finally, I asked the Rabbi and he gave me a few tips.

The second ingredient is to disclose why you chose the particular verses you’re addressing in your d’var Torah. At first glance it might have seemed it was because my four classmates got to the good verses first.

But upon reflection, I know I chose these verses purposely because, as a feminist, I wanted to know if, and how, women fit into the covenant, if at all.

And second, I wanted to know why God put Abraham, his first and most loyal follower, through so many trials, and why at 99, God would ask him to circumcise himself and then give him a child at 100. Yes, a child is a blessing – but at 100? So, I looked at my own life and the things I have asked of people.

I concluded that I have asked the biggest things from Steve, my husband. I asked him to commit his life to mine, I have asked him to take care of me, to love me even when I am mean to him, to rescue me from a crisis and to wear the sign of his covenant to me with a ring. I think it is true of everyone: we ask the most from the ones closest to us and whom we love the most. So, then I can see why God asked all that he did of Abraham: he loved him the most.

But why did God wait until Abraham was 99 to demand his circumcision? Now you may not know this from the way I chanted my Torah portion, but I wasn’t born Jewish. In fact, I did not become Jewish until I was 32. What I take from my waiting and Abraham’s as well, 3 times as long, is that it is never too late to find your true self. to become a Jew. You might be born a Jew or you might decide to convert when you are 99. The key is when you know it, when you embrace it. Are you more jewish for having been born a jew, or for being a jew by choice? I don’t think that is the important question, the important question is have you committed to God and are you striving toward being a better jew.

Then, I asked myself, why did God ask Abraham to circumcise himself? Cruel and unusual punishment? It’s almost like asking a woman to deliver a child…

After some reflection, I thought about the hard things I have done in my life; being a mother, earning a degree, working at a job, keeping a home. While recognizing these may not be as difficult as self-circumcision, they are all things that increased their worth because I did them myself. Having done those things does not, however, make me a perfect person now. I need to keep working on being a good person and a good Jew, physically, mentally and spiritually.

Perhaps God is teaching us that in order to truly become a good or better Jew, each of us needs to do the hard work ourselves. We need to commit to it, we need to work through the difficult challenges ourselves, and we need to persevere and continue towards being better Jews if we want to reap the rewards. In Abraham’s case, the reward was God’s covenant and the first Jewish child. We can never become perfect human beings or perfect Jews, but we should never stop striving to be.

Now back to my first question. Why are women not explicitly included in this covenant?

Much has been written on this question and I wanted to avoid subjecting you to all of the scholarly arguments so I chose the one that makes the most sense to me.

Rabbi Elyse Goldstein writes that “women know the incredible bonding that occurs through the act of giving birth…no matter how sensitive, how involved, how sympathetic, a man can never physically participate in that mystical encounter.” There ought to be, she suggests, a moment when the birthing experience is shared, when men birth through blood, when they connect as physically as women do. If a father is able to “give birth” at least symbolically to his child, he takes equal responsibility as a giver of life. The act of circumcision could be God’s way of giving men that opportunity.

It’s also just possible that since God created women as they are and made no attempt to change them in any way, that shows us women are created as they should be and it is men who need to work on themselves to achieve the same standard. But maybe that’s too obvious an answer?

And finally, the last ingredient for a great dvar torah, especially when you are the fifth bat mitzvah, is brevity, so I will conclude mine here.

Thank you, and Shabbat shalom.

 

Featured image by Edna Miron Wapner.