Kol Rina An Independent Minyan Parashat Vayetzei November 17, 2018 *** 9 Kislev, 5779

Transcription

1 Kol Rina An Independent Minyan Parashat Vayetzei November 17, 2018 *** 9 Kislev, 5779 Kol Rina An Independent Minyan, is a traditional egalitarian community. We are haimish (homey/folksy), friendly, participatory, warm and welcoming. We hold weekly services in South Orange as well as holiday services and celebrations which are completely lay led. We welcome all to our services and programs from non-hebrew readers to Jewish communal and education professionals. Today's Portions 1: 31: p : 31: p : 31: p : 31: p : 31: p : 31:51-32:3...p : 31: p. 184 maf: 32:1-3...p. 187 Haftarah: Hosea 12:13 14:10...p. 189 Vayetzei in a Nutshell Jacob leaves his hometown of Beersheba and journeys to Charan. On the way, he encounters the place and sleeps there, dreaming of a ladder connecting heaven and earth, with angels climbing and descending on it; G-d appears and promises that the land upon which he lies will be given to his descendants. In the morning, Jacob raises the stone on which he laid his head as an altar and monument, pledging that it will be made the house of G-d. In Haran, Jacob stays with and works for his uncle Laban, tending Laban s sheep. Laban agrees to give him his younger daughter, Rachel whom Jacob loves in marriage, in return for seven years labor. But on the wedding night, Laban gives him his elder daughter, Leah, instead a deception Jacob discovers only in the morning. Jacob marries Rachel, too, a week later, after agreeing to work another seven years for Laban. Leah gives birth to six sons Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Issachar and Zebulun and a daughter, Dinah, while Rachel remains barren. Rachel gives Jacob her handmaid, Bilhah, as a wife to bear children in her stead, and two more sons, Dan and Naphtali, are born. Leah does the same with her handmaid, Zilpah, who gives birth to Gad and Asher. Finally, Rachel s prayers are answered and she gives birth to Joseph. Jacob has now been in Charan for fourteen years, and wishes to return home. But Laban persuades him to remain, now offering him sheep in return for his labor. Jacob prospers, despite Laban s repeated attempts to swindle him. After six years, Jacob leaves Charan in stealth, fearing that Laban would prevent him from leaving with the family and property for which he labored. Laban pursues Jacob, but is warned by G-d in a dream not to harm him. Laban and Jacob make a pact on Mount Gal-Ed, attested to by a pile of stones, and Jacob proceeds to the Holy Land, where he is met by angels. Haftarah in a Nutshell This week's haftorah mentions Jacob's flight from home to the "field of Aram," an episode that is recounted in this week's Torah reading. The haftorah begins with the prophet Hosea's rebuke of the Jewish people for forsaking G-d. Nevertheless, Hosea assures the people that G-d will not abandon them: "How can I give you, Ephraim, and deliver you [to the hands of the nations]?... I will not

2 act with My fierce anger; I will not return to destroy Ephraim." The prophet discusses the misdeeds of the Northern Kingdom of Israel, and the future degeneration of the Kingdom of Judea. He contrasts their behavior to that of their forefather Jacob who was faithful to G-d and prevailed against enemies, both human and angelic. The haftorah also makes mention of the ingathering of the exiles which will occur during the Final Redemption: "They shall hasten like a bird from Egypt and like a dove from the land of Assyria; and I will place them in their houses, says the Lord." Food For Thought When the I is Silent (Vayetze 5779) This week s parsha relates a powerful, primal vision of prayer: Jacob, alone and far from home, lies down for the night, with only stones for a pillow, and dreams of a ladder, with angels ascending and descending. This is the initial encounter with the house of God that would one day become the synagogue, the first dream of a gate of heaven that would allow access to a God that stands above, letting us know finally that God is truly in this place. There is, though, one nuance in the text that is lost in translation, and it took the Hassidic masters to remind us of it. Hebrew verbs carry with them, in their declensions, an indication of their subject. Thus the word yadati means I knew, and lo yadati, I did not know. When Jacob wakes from his sleep, however, he says, Surely the Lord is in this place ve anokhi lo yadati. Anokhi means I, which in this sentence is superfluous. To translate it literally we would have to say, And I, I knew it not. Why the double I? To this, Rabbi Pinchas Horowitz (Panim Yafot) gave a magnificent answer. How, he asks, do we come to know that God is in this place? By ve anokhi lo yadati not knowing the I. We know God when we forget the self. We sense the Thou of the Divine Presence when we move beyond the I of egocentricity. Only when we stop thinking about ourselves do we become truly open to the world and the Creator. In this insight lies an answer to some of the great questions about prayer: What difference does it make? Does it really change God? Surely God does not change. Besides which, does not prayer contradict the most fundamental principle of faith, which is that we are called on to do God s will rather than ask God to do ours? What really happens when we pray? Prayer has two dimensions, one mysterious, the other not. There are simply too many cases of prayers being answered for us to deny that it makes a difference to our fate. It does. I once heard the following story. A man in a Nazi concentration camp lost the will to live and in the death camps, if you lost the will to live, you died. That night he poured out his heart in prayer. The next morning, he was transferred to work in the camp kitchen. There he was able, when the guards were not looking, to steal some potato peelings. It was these peelings that kept him alive. I heard this story from his son. Perhaps each of us has some such story. In times of crisis we cry out from the depths of our soul, and something happens. Sometimes we only realise it later, looking back. Prayer makes a difference to the world but how it does so is mysterious. There is, however, a second dimension which is non-mysterious. Less than prayer changes the world, it changes us. The Hebrew verb lehitpalel, meaning to pray, is reflexive, implying an action done to one- self. Literally, it means to judge oneself. It means, to escape from the prison of the self and see the world, including ourselves, from the outside. Prayer is where the relentless first person singular, the I, falls silent for a moment and we become aware that we are not the centre of the universe. There is a reality outside. That is a moment of transformation. If we could only stop asking the question, How does this affect me? we would see that we are surrounded by miracles. There is the almost infinite complexity and beauty of the

3 natural world. There is the divine word, our greatest legacy as Jews, the library of books we call the Bible. And there is the unparalleled drama, spreading over forty centuries, of the tragedies and triumphs that have befallen the Jewish people. Respectively, these represent the three dimensions of our knowledge of God: creation (God in nature), revelation (God in holy words) and redemption (God in history). Sometimes it takes a great crisis to make us realise how self- centred we have been. The only question strong enough to endow existence with meaning is not, What do I need from life? but What does life need from me? That is the question we hear when we truly pray. More than an act of speaking, prayer is an act of listening to what God wants from us, here, now. What we discover if we are able to create that silence in the soul is that we are not alone. We are here because someone, the One, wanted us to be, and He has set us a task only we can do. We emerge strengthened, transformed. More than prayer changes God, it changes us. It lets us see, feel, know that God is in this place. How do we reach that awareness? By moving beyond the first person singular, so that for a moment, like Jacob, we can say, I know not the I. In the silence of the I, we meet the Thou of God. A Dvar Torah for Parashat Vayeitze by Rabbi Heidi Hoover (AJR'11) At the beginning of this week's Torah portion, Jacob leaves home. He doesn't leave by choice, though. He has to leave because his life is in danger--his brother wants to kill him. He runs away, ending up in the wilderness, alone, with nothing, it seems, except the clothes he is wearing. He sleeps with his head on a rock. He's headed in the direction of Haran, where his mother's family lives, but he has never met them. Jacob is not an immigrant. He is a refugee. In that desolate night when he is so alone, Jacob has a dream of a ladder to heaven, with angels going up and down the ladder. God assures him that he will be protected and have countless descendants. It is an amazing experience for Jacob, who says after he awakens, "God was in this place, and I didn't know it!" (Gen. 28:16) He was not so alone after all, though the encounter leaves him filled with awe and fear, and he seems unready to fully trust God. When he arrives in Haran and meets Rachel, he finds out who she is, rolls a heavy rock off a well so her sheep may drink, then kisses her and bursts into tears. Often this is explained as his reaction to falling in love with her at first sight, but I'd like to suggest a different interpretation. I think that despite God's promise, Jacob was feeling lost and unsure of where he would find safety and a place to live. When he meets Rachel and realizes she is his relative, he knows that he has found a safe haven. He knows his relatives will take him in, and he will not be alone anymore. In his overwhelming relief, he finds the strength to roll a heavy stone from the well, bursts into tears and kisses Rachel. This flood of relief at arriving at a place that feels safe, after having to escape death and undergo a lonely, perilous journey, is one that immigrants and refugees often feel, if they are fortunate enough to arrive at a safe place. There is a caravan of desperate people fleeing violence, crime, and poverty in their countries. Imagine how bad life must be in Honduras for people with small children, for women who are pregnant, for anyone to walk away from their whole life toward the United States. They must know that the president of the U.S. doesn t want them. They have no idea what s going to happen, but they are going anyway; I can only imagine because they feel it can t be worse than staying. Negative rhetoric about refugees these days often focuses on fears of violence. The president has characterized those who cross our southern border as criminals or terrorists. There are other fears, though, too, which are less frequently spoken. These fears have to do with people who we perceive as different from ourselves. What if a lot of refugees come to our country and change it? What if they are more socially conservative

4 than some of us, and over time they influence government policy in a direction we don t like? If they come here and get jobs, does that mean some of us won t be able find jobs? Are they anti-semitic, and if so, how will that play out? Underlying all of the fears is the deepest fear of all: Will I or my loved ones lose our lives if these strangers come here? Not just our physical lives, though that is part of the fear, but also our way of life. These fears are real, and they matter. With the possible exception of the fear of terrorists, they are also fears that accompanied the arrival of every group of new immigrants to our country. And our country has changed because of the people who have come here, and it will continue to change. We can t prevent that. It isn t always comfortable, and it doesn t always go in a direction that we feel is positive. This is reality. In our Torah portion, Jacob is a fleeing victim under threat of death, but we can t describe him as an innocent victim. He coerced his brother into giving up the birthright, and deceived his father into giving him the blessing that rightfully should have gone to his brother. That s what brought his brother to the point of wanting to kill him. Even though he doesn t fit the model of the innocent victim, he still is worthy of help; he should still have a place to live and be safe. He finds that place in his uncle s household, and it changes because he is there. Jacob marries into his uncle s family, fathers many children, and changes the flocks through the way he breeds them. It is fortunate for him, and for us, that his uncle was willing and able to take a chance on him, and accept whatever would come from it. Every day we pray for peace, and every day there is violence in the world. Peace is very far away, and full peace is likely unachievable there will always be those who attack and kill others. Perhaps we should pray for acceptance not acceptance of violence, but acceptance that we are never fully safe, and each of us will, one day, die. Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese Buddhist monk and peace activist, speaks of the fear of death as our most basic fear, the one that ultimately lies under all other fears. He writes and speaks about facing our own fear with love and compassion, practicing mindfulness so that we are not fearful of the future or burdened by the past, but living always in this moment. The words are simple, but the practice is very difficult. We are surrounded by news that makes us horrified, sad, and always more fearful. Many of the teachings of our tradition foster the building of community, which is one of the bulwarks against loneliness and fear. We are told over and over and in many different ways to pursue justice, to show hospitality, to care for the poor and the stranger. A midrash on the creation story asks why humanity was created starting with just one person, Adam, and answers: To teach that each one of us is like a whole world, because each one of us is made up of a unique set of DNA and life experiences. Therefore, one who saves a life, it is as if he or she has saved a whole world. And one who takes a life, it is as if he or she has destroyed a whole world. (Mishna Sanhedrin 4:5) Living in fear is really an unhappy way to live. It casts a shadow over all that we do, and fear turns easily to anger and hatred, which leads to more violence, which leads to more fear. Our lives are better when our compassion is bigger than our fear. Our lives are better when we can believe this truth: that the majority of people are not out to hurt others, certainly not out to kill others. We might encounter one of those who does want to hurt and kill, but it is unlikely and out of our control. Living in fear only brings pain into the life we have, even while we are safe. This is one of the reasons people talk about trusting in God. Trusting in God means recognizing that we cannot fully control what happens to us. Rather, we live in hope and compassion, trying to bring more love into the world, trying to diminish fear, anger, and hatred. Practicing gratitude toward God, or toward the universe, or just in general is another way to increase positive thoughts in our lives, and we ll have an opportunity for that next week at Thanksgiving. Perhaps there are a few criminals among the refugees in the caravan, or among the

5 millions of other refugees from Yemen, from Syria, from other war-torn places. I m not trying to minimize the damage criminals do, but to recognize that the vast majority of refugees are just regular people. In some ways they are different than we are, and they are trying to find a place to be safe. Is our fear so great that it overcomes our compassion? Perhaps it is. Each of us has to decide how we want to live, to what extent we will make decisions out of fear, and to what extent we are able to make decisions out of compassion. Cultivating compassion and working to reduce our fear leads to more happiness than allowing fear to make our lives smaller as we try to control or eliminate danger. I pray that we will all stay safe. It is so hard not to be overwhelmed by fear when we see the news. I pray that we can be not only physically safe, but that our spirits may remain hopeful and loving, even in the face of evil and violence. May we not be overcome. May we continue to believe in redemption, in the possibility of peace, in connection between human beings, including those who are different than we are, recognizing that most of us want the same thing: safety for ourselves and those we love. May the day come when all those who are alone and in danger experience the relief that Jacob feels in our Torah portion upon meeting Rachel and feeling that he will soon be in a safe place. May we have less fear and suffering. Though we lack peace in our world, may we find peace. Though we are fearful, may we love and support each other. (Rabbi Heidi Hoover (AJR 11) teaches Conversion at AJR. She is the rabbi of Temple Beth Emeth v Ohr Progressive Shaari Zedek and Progressive Temple Beth Ahavath Sholom in Brooklyn, NY.) Why Religion: Vayetzei by David Hoffman Big picture: What is religion trying to do in the world? Maimonides claims that the aim of Torah is the creation of lives and communities that manifest mercy, loving-kindness, and peace (The Laws of Shabbat, 2:3). All of the commandments, the entirety of our wisdom tradition, seeks to create people who through their actions bring more love, sensitivity, and peace into the world. It is in this context that I share my favorite line in the entire corpus of Abraham Joshua Heschel's writing: Indifference to the sublime wonders of living is the root of sin (God in Search of Man: A Philosophy of Judaism, 43). Heschel argues that the principal characteristic of the religious life is a sense of wonder. This posture toward the world is an attempt to cultivate a way of seeing and relating to all of Creation. Wonder broadens our awareness to include concerns beyond the self. It pushes us to be attentive to the quiet call of God asking us to enter into partnership for the betterment of the world. Wonder keeps aflame our awareness of what Heschel refers to as the great fellowship of all beings. Religion asks that we attempt to identify the blessings and wonders present in our own lives, despite any of the real personal challenges that we may face. For Heschel, a blindness to the mystery of being constitutes the essence of sin. In this regard, sin should be understood as any type of behavior or thinking that impedes the aims of the religious life. Put in plain language, an unwillingness to identify the wonders and acts of kindness present in each of our lives creates an obstacle for us to bring more loving-kindness and peace into the world. This connection between the acknowledgement and appreciation of the blessings in our lives (which we would call gratitude) and the creation of loving-kindness and peace in the world is not self-evident and deserves more attention. I want to begin to consider the relationship between gratitude and loving-kindness by looking at a moment in this week's Torah reading that is deeply painful but, I hope, also instructive. Right from the beginning of the narrative of Rachel and Leah s lives, the Torah hints at the tragedy about to unfold. The Torah introduces Leah in an unfavorable physical contrast to her younger sister Rachel. Rachel is shapely and beautiful, while Leah is described in the same sentence as having weak eyes that is to say, lacking luster

6 (Gen. 29:17). Comparisons between people are never productive, but comparisons between siblings have particularly damaging consequences. Immediately after this description of Rachel and Leah, we learn that Jacob loved Rachel (vaye ehav Ya akov et Rahel) (29:18). This fact accentuates feelings of inequity between the sisters. Jacob arranges to work for Laban, Rachel s father, for seven years in return for permission to marry her. Seven years by all accounts is a real block of time, yet the Torah tells us it seemed to Jacob but a few days because of his love for her (29 20). A love affair that began with a kiss at a well (29:11) is about to become tragically complicated. Laban substitutes Leah for Rachel, and Jacob now weds the older, less attractive daughter. Was Leah a willing participant in this plan? Did she hope that what would begin in deception might end with Jacob's falling in love with her? Was this her attempt to grab for herself the blessings that seemed to naturally flow to her younger sister? The Torah is silent regarding these questions, but what is clear even at this point in the story is that this deception would have terribly painful human consequences. Leah enjoys one week with her new husband before Jacob corrects the course of events and marries Rachel in exchange for another seven years of work for Laban. The joy that Leah may have hoped for with her new husband quickly gets quashed, and Leah is pushed into the old emotional space where she exists in the shadow of her sister: He (Jacob) loved Rachel even more than Leah (29:30). God saw that Leah was unloved (29:31): the plan had tragically backfired, and God felt Leah's humiliation. Leah tries desperately to capture her husband's attention and love. It is in this context of intense rejection and feelings of inadequacy that the next verses of the chapter should be read: Leah conceived and bore a son, and named him Reuben (re'uven); for she declared, It means the Lord has seen (ra'ah) my affliction; it also means, Now my husband will love me (ye'ehavani/re'uven). (29:32) This sentence is less a declaration and more of a prayer. We feel Leah's desperation for her husband's love. However, the birth of Reuben does not win her Jacob's attention, so she tries again: She conceived again and bore a son, and declared, This is because the Lord heard (shama) that I was unloved and has given me this one also"; so she named him Shimon. Again she conceived and bore a son and declared, "This time my husband will become attached (lava) to me, for I have born him three sons." Therefore, he was named Levi. (29:33 34) The pleas become more urgent and raw, ultimately giving voice to the simple but painful question: "What can I do to get my husband to love me?" Three sons later, something is different with Leah's new child: She conceived again and bore a son, and declared, This time I will praise (odeh) the Lord. Therefore, she named him Judah (Yehudah). (29:35) This time something is different. With her fourth son, whom she calls Judah, Leah does not focus on her relationship with Jacob. Gone are the times where she prayed for his attention and love. Apparently, she has made her peace with the reality of her life: Jacob did not love her as he loved Rachel. She would never have the marriage that she once dreamed of having. Yet, with an awareness of the reality of her life, she still has the desire to express gratitude (odeh) to God. Indeed, the Babylonian Talmud records a statement made by Rabbi Yohanan in the name of Rabbi Shimon ben Yohai observing that Leah was the first person in the history of the world to express gratitude to God (BT Berakhot 7b). Gratitude is introduced into the world from such an improbable source. Leah, perhaps the most challenged of the patriarchs and matriarchs, offers God appreciation for the wonders of her life and the birthing of a family. Gratitude in spite of the fact that there was so much that she did not have. I suggest that Leah teaches us one of the more profound lessons of the religious life: the

7 ability to express wonder and gratitude about our own lives with the reality of the imperfections and disappointments of our lives. She is able to feel God's intimacy and kindness in a moment where she could have been consumed in anger and the frustrations of her own existence. At the moment that Leah transcends the limitations of her particular condition, when she feels the real pain and the wonders of her own life, the name for the Jewish people is born. Yehudah, ultimately, is the source for the term Yehudim: Jews. The religious life of the Jew is born in the awareness of something outside of oneself. Leah knows that despite the failure of her own marriage, her children will birth a nation. As she transcends her own personal drama, Leah becomes able to experience God's compassion and kindness in her own life. The nation that is born in the experience of God's lovingkindness is now tasked with the command to create more loving-kindness in the world. Fifty years ago, Heschel presciently warned: the human being will not perish for want of information but for want of appreciation. With our Torah reading this Shabbat and in these weeks before Thanksgiving, let us learn from Leah and renew a daily practice of gratitude. (David Hoffman is Vice Chancellor and Chief Advancement Officer at JTS) Thank G-d by Mordechai Dixler Upon the birth of her fourth child, Jacob s wife Leah proclaimed, This time I thank G-d Odeh es Hashem. She gave her son a name derived from Odeh, thanks: Yehudah, or Judah. The Sages of the Talmud comment that this is the first time in Biblical history someone said thank you to G-d. How could that be true? Noah brought an offering of thanks after being saved from the Great Flood. Abraham s servant Eliezer gave thanks when he so quickly found a wife for Isaac. The Patriarchs all gave thanks for the miracles done for them so why is Leah credited as the first? When Leah s predecessors thanked G-d, it was after experiencing an obvious miracle. Leah s expression was categorically different in this regard. She did so after giving birth, a fairly common occurrence. Thanking G-d for that which seems natural was Leah s innovation. She understood that there is no need to wait for G-d to alter the natural course in order to say Thank You. Even if I m blessed with a child, that is a gift from G-d for which I must express gratitude. G-d wants us to take notice of Him, and sense His presence in our own lives. Many of us have experienced what clearly seems miraculous in retrospect and we are right and of course we should express our gratitude for those unique experiences. But we should strive, like Leah, to recognize and thank G-d more often. Each time we express gratitude, we take notice of our constant relationship with the Almighty. He doesn t need our thanks, but we need to cultivate our connection with Him and to feel that need to be thankful. If we ponder the regular stuff, the fact that we have shoes to wear, and indoor plumbing, we quickly find countless opportunities to thank Gd! (Rabbi Dixler is program Director at Project Genesis) Yahrtzeits Neal Fox remembers his father Hyman Fox (Chaim) on Wed.Nov. 21st (Kislev 13) Amy Cooper remembers her Uncle George Israel Stieglitz (Yisrael) on Fri. Nov. 23.(Kislev 15) Roni Bamforth remembers her father William Gelfond on Fri. Nov. 23rd (Kislev 15)

8