The simple and the secret light of Hanukah

The Pardes of Hanukah

1. Pshat-MCA
FACT SHEET
Date: Kislev 25-
Name: Hanukkah=Rededication
The Story:
In the 4th Century, BCE Alexander the Great conquered the entire Middle East. After his death the empire was split and factions fought over Israel. The winner was The Selucid empire which was centered in what is now Syria. In 167 BCE Antiochus (who called himself Epiphanes = God has made manifest) forced all of the peoples under his rule to Hellenize. He outlawed Jewish practice such as the celebration of Shabbat and the ritual of Brit Milah (circumcision). He tried to replace Jewish worship with the worship of Greek gods including the sacrifice of non-Kosher animals, most notorious, pigs.

When the Greeks came to Modi'in and set up an altar, an old priest named Mattathias attacked and killed a Jew who was about to make a sacrifice at the altar. There followed a protracted Guerilla war against the Greeks, led by Mattathias and his five sons. Mattathias passed on the leadership of the rebellion to his eldest son, Judah, who was called "HaMaccabee" (the Hammer).

The Maccabees defeated the Greeks and liberated Jerusalem.
They began the long hard task of cleaning the Temple. They found that they had only one small cruse of oil with which to light the Menorah. But that cruse lasted for eight days (until they could produce enough ritually pure oil).

The Facts:
The literature of Hanukah is found in collections of Apocrypha literature known as the 1st and 2nd Books of the Maccabees, in the works of Josephus and in the Talmud. There is no mention of the story of the oil in any of the Apocrypha literature about the holiday.

The reason given in the works of the Apocrypha for the 8 days of the holiday is because Hanukah was modeled after Sukkot, which the Maccabees could not celebrate during their war with the Greeks.

In Josephus' work on Hanukah, he does not mention the miracle of the oil, though he does call the holiday, the festival of lights.
The Mishnah does not mention Hanukah at all.

The Gemara, the later Rabbinic material that was added to the Mishnah and together called Talmud, mentions the miracle of the oil in relationship to Hanukah (Shabbat 21b).

Hanukah was 1st celebrated as a reminder of the Hasmonean victory over the Greeks and for the rededication of the Temple
Later, due to Rabbinic influence, the miracle of the oil came to "outshine" the military victory of the priestly family and its supporters.

Traditions:
Lighting the Hanukiah (Hanukah Menorah)
The Hanukiah is placed in a spot where it can be seen by passersby such as outside the house and in front of a window. Halacha has it that it should be placed on the left side of the door (as you are entering) across from the Mezuzah, on the outside of the door. The only exception is when there is a fear of persecution. Then the Hanukiah can be placed out of sight of the passerby.

Procedure for lighting:
Candles (or oil lamps) are placed in the Hanukiah from right to left and lit from left to right.
Two blessings are repeated each night (the Shehehiyanu on the 1st night).

People get together for parties.

One of the Dreidle games is played. The dreidle is a four sided top with the letters NUN, GIMEL, HAY, and SHIN. The letters stand for the words NES GADOL HAYAH SHAM, which means "A great miracle happened there". In Israel the Dreidle (called Sivvon) has the letter Peh instead of Shin and means "NES GADOL HAYAH SHAM" which means a great miracle happened HERE". There are many betting games that can be played with the Dreidle.

Some people try to bring together people who have had arguments for a meal of reconciliation.

In the United States (and other places where there has been a strong Christian influence) gifts are given on each night of Hanukah.


2. REMEZ


Hanukah, the holiday that celebrates regularity.
Or
How do you Jew?

When we look at the traditional rationale of a holiday it does not always fit the historical events that created that holiday. Yet they may compliment each other and bring the Sod, the mystery of the holiday to light (pun intended).

Historically it is the celebration of a war fought for religious freedom. We did not revolt when the Seleucids, the Assyrian Greeks conquered us and demanded tribute. We did not revolt when they instituted Hellenistic customs in our land. We rebelled only when they forbade our way of worship, our belief system, our spiritual path and demanded that we accept theirs.

Historically, the holiday commemorates the struggle for religious rights. That, in itself, is unique in that time period and even in our own. But historically, our festival of lights does not celebrate, is not even aware of the story of the miracle of the lights.

In the books of Maccabees, we do not see any reference to the miracle of lights. In the books of Josephus, we do not read of the miracle of lights. The first time that the miracle of the single cruse of oil that lasts for 8 days is mentioned, is in the Talmud. It was composed at least 200 years after the historical holiday.

The Talmud in Shabbos 21b states: "When the Yevanim entered the Sanctuary of the Holy Temple, they defiled all of the oil there and rendered it ritually impure. When the House of the Chashmonaim strengthened and was then victorious over the Yevanim, they searched and found only one flask of oil that had the seal of the Kohen Gadol (High Priest) in tact, enough to last one day. A miracle occurred and they were able to light with it for eight days. The next year they established and made these days into a holiday, for saying songs of praise and thanks."

That is the earliest reference to the miracle. And that is the Remez, the hint to the hidden Light of Hanukah.

Our historical holiday of Hanukah (the word means dedication) refers to our need to be involved Jews. As Reb Zalman might put it, we demanded the right to be allowed to Jew. We fought for our right to Jew on a regular basis in our regular sacred space in our regular way. The Remez question might bubble up: How do you Jew?

3. DRASH

The story of the miracle of the oil that we teach to our children and in which we sometimes forget to find meaning in our own lives, teaches the same point from a beautifully symbolic place.

The Maharal (Ner Mitzvah) discusses the tradition of the miracle of Chanukah. In it he takes from the statement of the Talmud that Chanukah was established in commemoration of the miracle of the oil. The Menorah in the Temple was supposed to be lit every day, and thus this consistency was threatened by the lack of pure oil. A miracle occurred, and the one-day supply of oil lasted eight days.

The Temple Menorah was lit daily. Everyday it was relit and kept lit all day. Indeed Ner Tamid does not need to be translated as we were taught it, “ the eternal light”. It could just as easily be translated as “the regular light”, “the consistent light.” The miracle was needed to keep us consistent. The miracle allowed us to continue our Jewish practice. The miracle kept a little light focused on our spirit path.

The Lamp that our people lit in the Holy Temple every day was the 7-branched Menorah. Today we find a remnant of it in every Synagogue in the world. We call it the Ner Tamid. That term, usually translated as “eternal Light” really means the regular light or the light of consistency. The sacred Menorah of the Temple is the oldest of all Jewish symbols. The Menorah was lit daily and with the sacred oil. It is the symbol of Shabbat, a symbol of creation and the symbol of the Jewish people. A depiction of it can be found on the Arch of Titus in Rome.

The Hanukiah that we light every year was made by simply adding another branch to the Menorah. In a sense, it was adding a little light to our history and our spiritual dimension. Therefore the Hanukiah is a symbol of our desire for spiritual consistency. We are all inconsistent beings. But we strive for consistency within our inconsistency. That is the lesson of the Hanukiah.

As our days are reaching their shortest and the darkness seems to be growing in the world around us, that children’s tale of the miracle of consistency looms large, to light our way through the darkness. We live in a pretty remarkable place. Our religious right is not overtly challenged by the ‘religious right’. Yet the challenges are still out in the world and in our hearts. The story of a war fought for the right to Jew fills us with pride but it also challenges us to practice. The tiny story of the tiny cruse of oil lights up our challenge to discover ways to Jew more often, to Jew more intensely, to Jew with more consistency.

And when we recognize and accept the challenge to Jew, this holiday serves to light up our lives.


When our ancestors added the extra branch, the total number of lights equaled 9 not 8. So one was raised and called the Shamash. Shamash means efficient, minister, attendant, in other words helper. And it also is the word for sun.

In Breashit (Genesis) it says that G created the sun to help us with Mo’adim, the holydays and to delineate the Shanah, the year. Mo’adim also means sacred meeting times with G and Shanah also has another meaning; it means to grow, to change through learning.

The Hanukiah sheds light on the sacred meeting time with G that we call Hanukah. In this interpretation, Hanukah reminds us to create for ourselves sacred meeting times on a regular basis with G and within ourselves. By so doing we create the Shanah of sacred changes that we must make ‘consistently’ (tamid) in our lives. That is one of the reasons why we are not to use the Hanukiah for any mundane purpose. It is there to give light and joy, not to be used to find the car keys.


4. SOD

I challenge us that when we light the Hanukah candles this year, let us take a moment to think of it as a Mo’ed, a sacred meeting time for us to set aside in hopes of making the changes that we want to make, seeking the growth that we want to attempt to build into our lives.

I bless us all that we can seek the consistency in our spiritual growth, in our constant learning and in the changes that make our lives whole.

The Menorah and the Hanukiah

The Menorah and the Hanukiah

They sat side by side, almost twins. But their emotions were as dissimilar as their shape was similar.
“I am so excited!” chortled the Hanukiah. “It is almost that time of year. Soon the house will be filled with the smell of Latkes and the warmth of my favorite holiday.”
“I wonder what that could be!?!?” grumbled the Menorah, standing tarnished and forlorn by her younger sacred symbol.
“Why are you upset, you sound jealous?” replied the Hanukiah with a hurt tone of voice.
“What if I am,” the Menorah responded angrily.
“Why are you jealous? Hanukah comes but once a year. Ok, so I get lit for 8 days in a row!” (He positively shivered with delight). “But you are the most important symbol of the Jewish people. For one night every single week, you are brought out and lit! Songs are sung and prayers are said wonderful food is eaten. I envy you!!!!”
“But that is just it, I am not brought out once a week, or once a month or even once a year. I am forgotten, a meaningless relic, a useless ornament in the breakfront.”
The Hanukiah felt bad. “I…I didn’t know,” he said quietly.
“Well I am not putting up with this neglect, this abuse. I am leaving!!!” And with that the Menorah pushed with one of her 7 branches against the glass of the breakfront.
Don’t do that,” cried the Hanukiah, “the glass will...” and with that there was a crash and a thud as the Menorah broke the glass and fell to the floor. “I told you,” called the Hanukiah.
“Well, I don’t care, I am leaving!” cried the Menorah, tears running down her branches, as she brushed herself off and began to make her way through the living room towards the front door.
“Where are you going?” Cried the Hanukiah.
“Home!” Shouted the Menorah and then again, more quietly, “Home!”
“And where is home?” called out the Hanukiah.
For a moment, there was no response, then the faint sound of brass against brass as the Menorah strived and succeeded with a grunt to open the door. Then as the door swung wide, the Hanukiah heard the answer. “I am headed to Israel. That is where all of this started and that is where I intend to find out where I come from and why I have been so forgotten.
For years The Menorah struggled in its travel. It found its way onto buses and trains, into the trunks of cars until finally it found its way into the suitcase of an Orthodox Jew on his way to Israel. When the Menorah arrived, it climbed out of the suitcase and waddled its way onto a bus heading for the Negev, the desert of wandering. It felt as if it was drawn by an irresistible force to the ancient desert dwelling of our ancestors. Somewhere near Ein Gedi, that ancient oasis in the desert, it threw itself from the bus and struggled through the passes and wadis until, exhausted, it collapsed against a strange looking plant, a sweet smelling plant, a sage plant.
As it rested, dully gleaming in the sun, the plant called to it. “Welcome home my child.”
The menorah was shocked. “How can a plant speak it wondered aloud.”
“In the same way that a Menorah can waddle,” the plant laughed, “Ask the author. Clearly, you are here for a reason. You have returned to your source.”
“Yes, I have come to Eretz Yisrael, my source, where it all began. Maybe I will learn why I am so forgotten, so useless?”
“Yes yes, Eretz Yisrael, the land of Israel, but more importantly, you have returned to me. For I am your source, you were patterned after me. Thousands of years ago, when the people called, Ivrim, Bnai Yisrael, Yehudim, created your ancestor, the Menorah in the Holy Temple, they designed it, and therefore you, to look like me. I am the plant Moriah. Do you know what my name means?”
“No, I don’t.” exclaimed the Menorah in wonder, beginning to examine this strange plant more closely.
“It means the teaching of G. You were meant to remind all Jews of their relationship to G, the source of all, the source of life, the source of holiness, the source of wholeness. You were meant to be a pointer to the great lessons of life. Shabbat, which you also represent, is a time to reflect on life, and love and oneness, indeed all the great gifts that humans take for granted. You were created remind them to seek the light in their life.”
The Menorah laughed bitterly. “Yet I am forgotten. The Hanukiah is shined and used and the children sing songs and play games around it and I am left in the cupboard, forgotten and alone.”
“But don’t you know that the Hanukiah is your spiritual child. It was created to look like you, to remind, as you remind.”
“But that is just it, the Hanukiah reminds the children and their parents of the glory and the power and the spirit that was long ago. But I do nothing, I am nothing, I am only a relic.” And the Menorah wept, droplets of oil rolling down its branches, as it was held by the Moriah in the wilderness of loss.
Meanwhile, there was one in the Menorah’s former home who did notice that the Menorah was missing. Her name was Rinah Tal. She was the youngest daughter of the family who had purchased and then ignored the Menorah for so long. She was 12 and there was excitement in the house as everyone was preparing for their trip to Israel. This was to be her Bat Mitzvah present. Her family was going to travel to Israel and celebrate her Bat Mitzvah at the Dead Sea, near an ancient oasis called the well of the goats, Ein Gedi.
Rinah had always liked the Menorah, been somehow drawn to it, touched by it. She enjoyed looking at it in the breakfront and wondered why it was never used. She had read the stories of the Temple of long ago and the Menorah, the Ner Tamid, that seven branched candelabra that had been lit daily there.
The day finally came, the family had traveled by taxi and bus and plane and private car to the beautiful resort at the Dead Sea. She had done her Bat Mitzvah by the waters of Ein Gedi and everyone had been proud of her and awed by the stark beauty of the place. She had been showered with praise and gifts, yet for her, something was missing. The day after her Bat Mitzvah, she snuck out of the hotel early and caught a bus, by herself up to Ein Gedi, the sight of “her day”. She wandered in and out of the groves that grew along the water. She felt elated and yet…
Then she saw it. Tangled in a sweet smelling plant hidden from view was… a menorah. No, not a menorah, THE MENORAH, it was the one she had loved, the one she had longed for, the one she had missed. She tried to pull it free and as she did some of the plant came away with it. She was ecstatic. She was so happy she wanted to sing and dance. But then she felt a powerful sadness, loneliness. She felt, almost heard the feeling coming from the plant wrapped Menorah, the need to be used, to be lit, to be a symbol once again of the ancient ways that were as new as the new day dawning. She said out loud, not at all embarrassed to be addressing the plant encrusted Menorah:
“My beloved Menorah, you are my Bat Mitzvah gift, my heritage gift, my sacred connection. I will light you every Shabbat as a reminder that I am Bat Mitzvah; I am part of the sacred history and spirit of my people. You are a symbol of my connection to G and to my people and to my soul,” She shouted in joy.
She ran back to the bus and took it to the hotel where her parents were up and worried about her. When she showed them the Menorah they were in shock. They tried to explain away its presence, not willing to accept that this was a place of signs and wonders. But Rinah Tal would have none of it. She insisted that this was her Menorah from back home. She insisted that from that time on it would be lit every Shabbat, SHE WOULD LIGHT IT EVERY SHABBAT. She quietly muttered; “This is my Bat Mitzvah present, this is the meaning of my trip to Israel, this is who I am.” And her soul glowed, filled with the light of an inner Menorah, a Ner Tamid that would never be extinguished. And she insisted that the sprigs of the plant that had attached itself to the Menorah NOT be removed, ever.
Standing in the breakfront, next to the Hanukiah, the Menorah shined with an inner gleam of pride and awareness. Candle droppings covered it as a Talit of Rainbow colors. It was home and it was fulfilled.

The Great Hanukiah and Christmas Tree debate

A strange and wondrous debate was about to begin. The room was filling quickly. The Om of the Hindu faith, the Khanda of the Sikhs, the wheel of the Buddha, Bahai’s nine pointed star, Yin&Yangs of various styles, all vying for good seats. The room was lit by colorful, kwanza candles and Crescent moons hugging stars. The Mateh, that first staff, carved from the Tree of Life itself was to be the moderator.

A hush came over the crowd of symbols as they prepared for this great and unusual debate. It was unusual because of those watching, the symbols of all the different religions. It was unusual because of the participants, the Hanukiah, symbol of the Jewish holiday of Hanukah/dedication and the Tree that had become the symbol of holy birth that was Christmas. The debate was unusual because there was not to be a winner or loser, hardly a debate at all. It was more of a coming out, a sharing of differences; a symposium would be a better word, maybe a colloquium. There was some tension in the room, after all these symbols were of divergent beliefs, beliefs that the two-leggeds sometimes used to create destruction, death and darkness rather than the love, light and life.

The ground rules were based on the old ways of wisdom called PaRDeS, the Orchard. The word was an acronym for Pshat, Remez, Drash and Sod. Pshat is the simple meaning that is never so simple. It is the transparent meaning, the context of things. Remez reveals the pointer hints, the key/clues to deeper understanding. Drash enlightens, reflecting that deeper, more personal understanding. And the Sod, well the Sod peers into the mystery of it all.

In came the two symbols as a hush hovered over the hall. The Tree came in jangling all of her beauteous ornaments carrying the aroma of evergreen. The Hanukiah glided in illuminating each movement with the radiance of her blue and white candles topped with dazzling light.

The two symbols faced each other with good humor complimenting the beauty of their forms. The Mateh sailed to the center of the room in a sinuous manner reminding everyone that this Mateh had once transformed itself into a snake to persuade a recalcitrant Pharaoh of the power of freedom.

And so the symposium began. The Tree was the first to enter the debate in the realm of Pshat. It spoke of its beauty, not with conceit but rather with a deep understanding of the two-leggeds who looked to it for comfort and joy. “The ritual of my existence is touching if a little contradictory,” it chuckled. “I am cut young from the forest of my birth and transported inside a home. And though my life is short it is filled with warmth and meaning. Under my branches lie gift-wrapped dreams. Within my branches are nestled the ornaments of memory, memories of Christmas past. Families decorate me, coming together in joy and laughter and love. By my side is a table laden with cookies and milk for sainted reverie.” The Tree seemed to grow a little straighter, a little taller as it finished its musings.

The Hanukiah complimented the Tree on its erudition and aroma. Then it sang a little song.
“On this night let us light
One little Hanukah candle
It says fight for the right,
One little Hanukah candle.”

It smiled. “Every year as the days grow short and the nights long, I am brought out of the breakfront where I rest for a whole year. With anticipation, I am cleaned and polished. Music fills the air as children watch and choose and count the candles that will fill my cups. Then on the first night of Hanukah, blessings are brought to bear, songs are sung and I am lit. Each night my lights grow brighter. Finally on the eighth night, my cups runneth over and wax flows freely down my stem. The Shamash, lights up my life as my light warms the hearts of the children and parents. Due to our close relationship,” the Hanukiah bows stiffly (how else would a Hanukiah bow) to the Tree, “gifts are piled high around me. Children play games sing songs, and open their gifts in the glow of my light.”

The Mateh now turned the colloquium to the next level within the Orchard, Remez. This time the Hanukiah began. “Hear the hints of my meaning. Blessings are said around me. The first is the blessing of commitment and connection. Families intone a blessing of connection to the light of dedication. It is quickly followed by the message of miracles. It is a blessing of memory. ‘…for what happened at this time in those days!’ Do the hints not cry out the call of commitment? Indeed what is the Mitzvah?” The Hanukiah translated for the audience. “Mitzvah is sacred connection and often refers to acts and paths of the two leggeds who find meaning and motives in motifs such as me. The Mitzvah of Hanukah is to light me up and to put me in a place where I can be seen by all to give joy to all who gaze upon me.” The Hanukiah twinkled. “Yes, Remez abound around my light.”

The Mateh turned to the Christmas Tree. “You have shared the beautiful light of your Remez,’ exclaimed the tree. “Though no verbal blessings surround me, there are blessings inherent in the acts of love and meaning around my status in the home. I am large and my aroma fills the home. There are symbols that hang on my every branch. They epitomize the hope that I represent. Angels that adorn my limbs create castles in the sky, dreams of a better place that dance in the imagination of all who gaze upon me. The songs that are sung are songs of faith and charity. The mood that I enhance is that of beauty and peace. Families join in joy and memory and hope around my trunk. Remez abound in my branches filled with meaning.”

There was poignant silence as the symbols viewed and felt the gentleness of the two totems testifying to the faith of the two-leggeds who sought meaning through them.

The Mateh now moved the discourse to the realm of Drash. The Christmas Tree began by showing the tinsel that hung gaily from its branches. “Just as the two leggeds dangle these strings from my limbs, I am the string around their fingers, memory made manifest of the reason for the season,” it chuckled. “When they look upon me they see the birthday that I represent, the birthday of hope. For those who follow the path of the Cross, I point to that prelude to the path, the humble birth of saving grace. I represent the savior summoned into this sphere of existence. My beauty is an allusion to the spiritual beauty and betterment for all. Those who would follow the path of the Cross are committed to rectifying this realm, repairing wrongs, halting hate and bringing love before they pass to a higher realm.” The emblems, symbols and signs were touched by this tender transport of hope. Each drifted into its own reverie for a moment, until the Mateh brought them back with a rap on the floor.

“And now I will ask the Hanukiah to share its light on the season.” Moved by its spirit sister, the tree, the Mateh, oil weeping gently from its cups, came forward.

“That was quite eloquent; I am moved by your words, as beautiful as your ornaments. By comparison, I am small and plain. For when my candles are not lit I am almost unnoticeable. My power lies in light. My meaning lies in light, for I am light, the lamp of dedication. There is nothing fancy and flamboyant about dedication. And yet when dedication is lit in the lives of the two leggeds miracles may come to pass. When people roll up their sleeves and stand together, dedicated to shedding light on a world darkened with hate and bigotry, my light shines brightly.

The story of a war of liberation is an old one that we each can tell,” the Hanukiah seemed to be directing its light on all the symbols as they nodded or revolved or floated in agreement. But the story of the miracle of a lasting dedication is a marvel. I am the child of the Menorah the ancient eternal light of hope. The holiday that I enlighten and that enlightens me is the holiday of dedication. Those who follow the path of the Menorah, those tribal two-leggeds called the Jews are dedicated to the light. How many times do they talk of freedom for all people, with the refrain; ‘for you were slaves…’ Not only were they slaves in Egypt, but in Babylonia and Persia and Greece and Rome each slavery different and yet oppressive in its darkness.

And I stand for the dedication to fight against slavery and injustice, against intolerance and antipathy, ignorance and apathy. And yet my story does not climax with a victory of arms. It climaxes in brooms and brushes in cleaning and cleansing. My story climaxes in the miracle of a small lasting light. So my sister tree, I too speak of hope and faith, not in a savior come, but in salvation culled. When the tribal two-leggeds of the Menorah speak of Mashiah, they do not speak of the summoned one, nor the saving one, but the anointed one. Mashiah is the one anointed with the same oil that fills my cups that lights my wicks. The Mashiah will be the one who lights the fire of rededication to the values of life and love, of faith and fellowship, of caring and compassion, of justice and freedom. These are the old ways, dimly dreamt but of meaningful memory. That is the meaning found in the Menorah and of which my candles are but small symbols.”

“Not small,” whispered the Tree sap-filled tears forming, “not small at all, sister symbol knight exemplar.” The two symbols, emblems of two faiths stood together in the silence of the room as the Mateh made ready for the final level of discourse, the Sod, the very mystery of meaning. It looked at the two holiday tokens and they seemed to smile as did all the tokens and emblems and representations and signs and symbols that filled the hall. For they all knew that the Sod mystery is not to be investigated it is to be felt and realized. The two symbols in symposium stood in poignant pause, radiating the power of silence. And as the signs and symbols of differing faiths made their way out of the hall to return to their respective resting places they all made contact, touching each other as the discourse had touched them. Not the words alone touched these badges of different faiths, but that they could join and share differences in love and good fellowship. For this day was not about tolerance and acceptance. It was more powerful than that. It was about sharing differences, growing and learning in divergent oneness. As they moved out of the hall in silence, the Mateh wondered; “is this not the Sod of symbols. Is this not the lesson to be learned by the two-leggeds? For the two-leggeds to survive and thrive they will have to learn from us. The Sod, the mystery is so simple. Differences are not to be tolerated they are to be congratulated. They are to be exalted as teachers. For each symbol has a lesson worth learning. Each difference has wisdom to divulge. And the world awaits the Sod, the great mystery of liberty for all the two-leggeds and for peace on all the earth.

The meaning of the month of Kislev

The Month of Kislev
(References include Sefer Yetzirah, Torah, Talmud and the teachings of our Rabbis and my own interpretations.)


Kislev is the ninth of the twelve months of the Jewish calendar.

Kislev is the month of Hanukah, called the festival of lights.

The name Kislev derives from the Hebrew word for "security" and "trust." Both are found in the month of Kislev. Kislev is the Yin and Yang, the Netzah and Hod of doing and being. Hanukah reflects the active, in the war of liberation led by the Hashmonaim (Maacabees). This small group of guerilla warriors stood up to the mightiest nation of the time, Greece. They did not fight for independence; they did not fight to avoid the tribute demanded by the Greeks. They fought for religious freedom. Unlike the terrorists who struck in Mumbai, who fight to inflict their perverted views on others, the Hashmonaim fought only for the right to worship in our own way.

But Kislev is also a month of rest. It is the month in which the days are shortest and the nights are longest and there is a sense of sleep. In much of the USA the earth rests under a blanket of snow. Good rest reflects an intrinsic trust, trust in HaShem. Our morning blessings begin with the words “Thanks (G) for returning my soul!” We wake with a gentle acknowledgement of the trust that allows us to drift into soulful rest.


The letter which symbolizes this month is the sameh. The name Sameh means "to support." When we sleep we feel G’s support. As the pillow supports our head, our faith in G supports our soul. Support requires trust, the essence of the month of Kislev. As it is written in Thilim, Psalms: "G supports (someh) all the fallen and raises the bent over;" "Even when he falls he will not be allowed to fall to the ground, for G will support (yismoh) his hand." It is also related to the word for the ordination of a Rabbi (Smihah).

The shape of the sameh is a circle, which represents the all-encompassing omnipresence of G. The circle is sanctity without end. Our Tzitzit and Tallit have four fringy corners. They symbolize the edges of sanctity. Our tradition suggests that even G wears a Tallit and we cling to the Tzitzit, we cling to the edges of sanctity. The circle is sanctity without corners, without end. The all of the circle represents the all of G. And yet the Sameh is not a perfect circle. There is a tiny tail that stands to the side. Even in G’s completeness, there is room for us to cling to G’s Tzitzit. This is our trust, our security, our ability to cling to faith in the most trying of times.


The astrological sign or Mazal is the "keshet" (Sagittarius--bow). The bow has its double meaning, its own Yin and Yang, Netzah and Hod. On the one hand it is the bow of war, the bow of the fight for freedom characterized by the Maccabees. On the other hand the word Keshet (bow) refers to the rainbow, the first and most visible sign of peace and promise.

We can make a further connection with the Bow. The ‘art of the bow’ is ascribed to the tribe of Benjamin which is attached to the month of Kislev. The Hashmonaem were of the tribe of Levi, the tribe without land holdings. They were the keepers of the Temple; they were the keepers of ritual. Rituals from their time resonate through our modern services. The Temple in which they served was located in Jerusalem which is located within the borders of the tribe of Benjamin, the bowman.

The two bows (semi-circles), the bow of war and the bow of peace unite together to form the complete circle of the sameh of sanctity, the Sameh of Kislev.

The tribe ascribed to Kislev is Benjamin. As mentioned above, Benjamin is the tribe most gifted with the "art" of the bow. In the land given to Benjamin is the Temple in Jerusalem. The blessing of Moses to Benjamin in the end of Torah: "To Benjamin he said: the beloved of G-d, He shall dwell in trust over him, He hovers over him all the day, and between his shoulders He rests" (Deuteronomy 33:12). Here we see that Benjamin symbolizes both trust and rest, the sense of the month of Kislev.


The sense attributed to Kislev is sleep (sheina). Kislev is the month in which the shortest days and longest nights occur. It is not unreasonable therefore that the sense attributed would be sleep. The sense of sleep is the tranquility and restfulness that comes with the security that comes from faith. It is written in the blessings at the end of Leviticus (26:5-6): "And you shall dwell securely in your land. And I shall give peace in the land, and you shall lie down without fear...." This is the dream and hope that we carry even in the darkest of months, the darkest of times.

According to Kyudo, the ancient Japanese art of Zen Archery, the very talent to connect archer, bow, arrow, flight and target depends upon a most tranquil inner spirit. A tranquil spirit is one that releases inner tumult and turmoil before releasing the arrow. The sense of sleep entails the ability to release stress, and the best release of stress is trust and faith.

When one releases the tensions of the material world in trust, good dreams follow. Good dreams at night reflect good thoughts throughout the day, especially the optimistic attitude and consciousness, reflected in the maxim found in Hassidut and in so many like minded, hope filled, faith paths: "Think good, it will be good."

The body part that is related to Kislev is the belly (keiva). Keiva means "belly" in a general sense. It refers to that region of the body, similar to the Japanese Hara or center, where the power of Ki is found. In Kabbalah, this reflects the Yesod. For some the Yesod refers to male genitals or the womb. I find more meaning in the idea that this is our center and centering tool. Again when we find our center, we find rest.

The word keiva derives from kav, which means "measure." A tranquil belly is one who knows its proper measure. By centering, by finding our ‘measure’ we find an inner peace, the tranquility and security of connectedness.

In the Torah portions read during the month of Kislev, we find most of the dreams mentioned in the entire Torah. Throughout the five books of the Torah, we find ten explicit dreams and all in the Book of Genesis. The first dream is that of Avimelech, King of Gerar and it appears in the Torah portion of Vayeira, read in the month of Heshvan. The other nine dreams appear in the Torah portions of Vayeitzei, Vayeishev, and Mikeitz, all read during the month of Kislev. This might be a power point for us. Maybe during the month of Kislev we might journal our dream journeys and reflect upon them, shed some light as it were.

Each month is also assigned a gemstone. That is the stone from the Hoshen Mishpat the breastplate of the Kohanim that included one gemstone for each of the twelve tribes. Kislev’s stone is the amethyst (ahlama in Hebrew). The Radak sees the word Halam or dream as the root of Ahlama. This month is about secure rest, peaceful dreams and deep insight.


Mental and Physical Health are a part of rest and security and so are attached to the month of Kislev. Turn the Hebrew root halam and it becomes hahlama, or general "health" (meaning both mental and physical) as well as "recovery". In thanking God after being sick and recovering, King Hizkiyahu prays (Isaiah 38:16), "restore me (from the root halam) and make me live." Some compare the dream to sweat. In each case there is a process of recovery. The dream brings from the unconscious to the conscious. Sweat brings from inside the body to the outside. Each can be viewed as a part of the process of recovery. The physical sweat signals the beginning of recovery from an illness. The spiritual dream signals something deep inside that needs to be recovered, revealed and, perhaps healed.

The holiday found in Kislev is Hanukah, the festival of lights. May this Hanukah bring healing to our spirit, good dreams of hope to our souls and deeds that will bring rest and security to a troubled world.

Mumbai, Kislev and Hanukah

Kislev is a dark month. The days get shorter the nights longer. In Israel it is cold and wet. And yet Kislev is the month of hope. Within Kislev, at the end of Kislev, falls the holiday unique not only in Judaism but in history. We call it the festival of light. Some think that is because of the Hanukiah the 8 branch Menorah with the bright little Shamash in the middle. But the Hanukiah came later. No the light that is Hanukah has to do with an ideal, the ideal of religious liberty. When the Greeks conquered Israel there was no fight. When they imposed taxes, we did not complain. When they brought their culture to our shores some embraced it. After all who could complain of hot tubs? The Greek games interested some of our people as did the clothing and language and the philosophy shared. Some objected to the price of admission, the libation offering to the Greek gods. Some shook their heads at the proliferation of idols of Greek gods and statues of naked men. But that did not cause the war against the Greeks. We went to war when they entered our Temple, when they sacrificed pigs on our alters to their gods. We went to war when our religious liberty was outlawed. Hanukah celebrates the only war in history fought only for religious liberty. We were not fighting for independence or against Greek culture. We fought for freedom to worship our G in our way without interference.

This year, at the beginning of Kislev they came again to defile our place of worship, this time in Mumbai India. Reports say that there were 9 or 10 places targeted for death and destruction. Only one was a religious institution, the Habad house. In that house were rooms for weary visitors, kosher food for guests, a shul for worship and a couple, 29 and 28 who ran the house and opened its doors to anyone in need of sustenance, physical or spiritual. When, in Mumbai, terror broke out, terror broke into the Habad house targeting Jews. Rabbi Gavriel Holtzberg, 29, and his 28 year old wife Rivka were slaughtered. Their son, Moshe whose birthday came but a day later, was rescued by Sandra Samuel, an Indian nanny who worked there for years. She found him crying beside his parents' bodies, his pants drenched in blood. Some 2000 years after the Greeks defiled our Temple with blood; terrorists came again and defiled our Temple with blood.

Rabbi Yehuda Krinsky, chair of education arm of the Habad movement which includes the shlichim such as Reb Gabby Holtzberg and Rebbetzin Rivka Holtzberg (A’H) gave the Jewish response to the darkness of terror and repression, a response as old as Hanukah itself. He said: “We call upon all Jewish women and girls to brighten the profound darkness the world is witnessing and usher in Shabbat by lighting the Shabbat candles.” When the darkness of Kislev comes, when the darkness of terror, of religious hatred and intolerance threaten our world, we do not curse the night nor do we hide from the fight. We light the lights of freedom and tolerance of hope and holiness.

I know not what your personal custom is. But you might consider adding the lighting of Shabbos lights as a tribute to the people, not just the Jews, but all of the, over 180, slaughtered in the name of religious intolerance. When the darkness falls we must light.

This is the season of Hanukah the festival of lights. Each year we light our candles sing our songs and give our gifts. This year let us reflect the light of the Hanukiah on the events of this month; events from ages ago, events from days ago. Let this Hanukah be a time of renewal and rebirth, a time of hope and a time of light. And let every Shabbat be a small reminder of the great challenge that we face, to light our lives, to lighten the burden of fear and hatred and enlighten a world torn by violence and intolerance.

Mateh of Light: The meeting of Avimelech, the heat and Yitzhak, the light

The Mateh leaned against the wall of the tent to witness this momentous meeting. For though it was indeed, a branch from the Tree of Life/Knowledge, it was not to be the center of this council. If wood could chuckle, laughter would have burst from the Mateh at the thought. For in the center of the tent, the center of the meeting, there was wood, bursting in flame, as it was being transferred from mass to the energy of heat and light. And that was the metaphor for this meeting.

Here sat the tribal chief of Gerar, a man named Avimelech, and his warriors. They were men of heat, the heat of battle the heat of anger and possessiveness. Across from them sat Yitzhak and his herdsmen, Yitzhak the leader of light, the seeker of peace. Avimelech had called the meeting after the challenge of the wells. The Mateh thought back over the events of the past few weeks. Yitzhak and his men had dug a well and struck water. When seeing their good fortune, Avimelech’s men claimed the well for themselves. Yitzhak called the well ‘Esek’ ‘to be deprived.’ But Yitzhak would not fight for the well. He and his men moved and dug another well. Again there was a quarrel and Yitzhak named the well ‘Sitnah’ ‘Enmity’ and moved on without a struggle. Finally Yitzhak dug another well but this time there is no fight. Indeed, now, amazed at Yitzhak’s maze of good fortune, the warrior chieftain Avimelech came to sit in council with Yitzhak. Avimelech, this man of heat and war was sitting in the tent of Yitzhak the man of light and peace. Between the two men was a fire of heat and of light. The Mateh knew that its own role was not that of the burning wood, for it was to bring only light as it lightened and enlightened the burdens of the two-leggeds.

Avimelech the enemy was invited into the tent of Yitzhak and they sat to negotiate, with no preconditions, a path to peace, a way to live together on the earth from which these earthlings were formed. Outside there is thunder and lightning (barak) as these men sat in a tent on a raised platform (bama) and elevated the confrontation of conflict to a gentle journey of justice and hope. These two men, the man of heat and the man of light swore an oath to strive not against each other but to live with one another in harmony.

And so the place of this meeting was given a name of hope for all future history; ‘Be’er Sheva’ the ‘well of the oath’ the well-spring of light and hope and peace.

Blessings and challenges: Jacob and Esau

Sometimes parents are blind. We can be blind to the blessings and failings our children. We want the best for them and, of course, we KNOW what is best for them. Sometimes, when one parent does not see, the other sees clearly. That is our story this week. Yitzhak is blind to the strengths and weaknesses of his two sons. He sees his strong, outgoing, warrior son Esav as the wise choice to become leader of the tribe, to receive the blessing of tests and lessons. He sees his softer, gentler, quiet son Yaakov as the weak choice. He does not see the wily ways of Yaakov blossoming into wisdom. He only sees the hairy strong arm of Esav who will bring meat to the table.

Rivkah sees things differently. She will use the wily ways of Yaakov to secure the blessing of tests and lessons for him. She sees that in the future, the thorny path of Yaakov’s guile will blossom into the thirteen petalled rose(1) of wisdom for the tribe.

Esav has shown his short-sightedness by selling his soulful soul-food birthright to his brother for physical sustenance. This is not the one to lead a people to holiness. And so, Emah(2) Rivkah devises a plan. Yaakov puts on the outer garb of the mighty Esav and Yitzhak, blinded by the might gives Yaakov the blessing/challenge of leadership. Yaakov is promised the dew of Heaven, the ‘do’ of G. If he can teach people the path of blessing, then they will be blessed, but if people can only find the path of curses then they will be cursed. The blessing is the challenge.

There is no getting around the fact that wily ways become thorny thoroughfares on the path to wisdom. This too is part and parcel of the blessing/challenge of Yaakov.

Yitzhak says as much to his older, warrior son Esav. The traditional translation of Gen. 27:35 is: “Your brother came with cleverness and took your blessing!” And the root ‘RMH’ blossoms into a thornbush; ‘Mirmah’. Some will translate this as deceit and delusion. One is aimed outward the other inward. Others will call Mirmah shrewdness, which can be shallow or deep. Rivkah sees the depth that will be, but Esav in his shortsighted seething, sees only the slight against him by his brothers slight of hand.

A father’s torment at the tears of his child, brings Yitzhak to give a blessing to Esav. The blessing starts on a similar path to that of Yaakov, but roars with an anguished anger as he calls out: “By your sword shall you live!” The blessing contains the curse, for if one lives by the sword others must die by the sword.

And so two brothers are given the blessing/challenge according to their ways. And the trails they will follow lead both to the heights and depths of human path.


(1) see the book of the same name by Adin Steinsaltz
(2) Emah means mother

Toldot: A powerful point along the line.

What a word of wonder is the name of our potion this week; ‘Toldot!’ One might simply translate it as ‘The annals’ but that meaning is pale and thin compared to the wondrous, thick, multi-colored, multi-dimensional meaning of Toldot. For Toldot speaks of past and future. Inside that word we find child bearing and childhood. Inside that word we find the opportunity to peruse the pages of the diary of our people. But most of all Toldot calls us to stand at this point and become aware.

I turn back to my dim memories of geometry to energize my understanding of the word and the potion, Toldot. In geometry, there are terms with very specific meanings; ‘line’, ‘line segment’ and ‘ray,’ among others that have long since left my memory.

A line has no end or beginning and the only true line is G who always was, who is in the moment and who always will be. We, the creation of G, exist as line segments, for we have beginnings and endings. We are part of the greater line, we are part of G. We are a segment of the greater line that is G. And yet, when we are young, we see ourselves as a ray, that which has a beginning but no end in sight.

All three concepts share a sameness in that each one is made up of an infinite number of points. Though we are a finite line segment, our lives are filled with an infinite number of moments offering an infinite intimation of meaning. Each point in our lives is a turning point, if only we will see that point and seize that moment.

In our story, in our potion this week, a magic moment is made manifest. It is one point among many to which Torah points. “Look at me,” it cries out, “let this moment move you!” We can stand on this point and we can look back and look forward. We can mount this moment and learn lessons that will ferry us into our future. This moment can be for us a point of powerful proliferation. If we will seize this moment, this point on our line segment, our life segment, it can point the way, a compass along our pathway, with meaningful messages from the line of which we are but a segment.

Mateh of the Midrash: Transcending realms

There is a fourth statement that floats in our potion like a lily pod floating in a tranquil pond. It gently attracts our attention. It is worth our while to sit by the pond and ponder the power and worth of words and tales and tellings. Our spirits are calmed as we hearken back to journals and journeys allowing them to guide our lives and our souls.

“I am a stranger among you (23:4).” The Mateh focused on that line. If it were possible for a staff of wood, even a staff formed by G from the Tree of Life/Knowledge to smile a melancholy smile, that is what would have happened. For something as special as the Mateh, time and space bend and flow in many directions and the Mateh can see downstream and upstream with ease. And it saw and heard and felt the words of a Rabbi some four thousand years later, trying to capture the continuous connection to this verse.

He was teaching that this verse was referring to the Jewish soul and hir(1) relationship to this world. A Jewish soul is part of the physical reality, for it is taught to inhabit and elevate it. Virtually all Mitzvot, all Sacred Connections are connections between this world and the higher realms. Virtually all Mitzvot are actions involving elevating physical objects. The challenge for the Jewish soul is to make a dwelling place for the Shehinah (the dwellingness of G) in the material realm, by making sacred everyday actions and mundane materials. And yet the Jewish soul is a ‘stranger’ in a strange land, the material world. Hir(1) true home, the secret inner home is higher and deeper than the material world. It is in the realm of the spirit. The home of the soul is the world of holiness, the wholeness of harmony. The Jewish soul yearns to return and yet remains through the physical body in the realm of the physical, learning its lessons, teaching its lessons until it is called to separate and return home.

This, the Mateh grokked, it understood. For the Mateh, this piece of staff this piece of wood is the symbol of the residing in, and elevating of the physical. The Mateh was not just a piece or wood. It was a piece of would, a piece of hope. It was the would of elevation. The Mateh is the physical reminder of what the Jewish soul, indeed what all souls could, should and would do and be. The soul would elevate the soporific secular into the stirring sacred. The Mateh felt justifiable pride in its place as the reminder to the two-leggeds of the connection between the material realm and the spirit realm. It felt the heavy weight of the honor of obligation. The Mateh was, is and always will be the symbol of hope. The Mateh of wood: The symbol of would. “Loo Yehi” (That it would be, that it will be)



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(1) I use 'hir' to replace the awkward 'his/her'

Listen, Speak and Act: The quiet power of the hidden Torah

There is so much of import, so much power in our potion. Great tales and deeds leap out at us from the parchment. And yet there are 3 quiet lines in this potion unrelated and unpretentious. They do not but leap from the parchment at us demanding our attention. They float gently on the surface with roots of meaning deep below the surface. And if we sit by the pond and gaze deeply into it seeking these gentle words and their meaning, they refresh and refill. These lines imply import and reach for realms of majesty.

The first is found in the story of Eliezer’s quest for a bride for Yitzhak. He finds Yitzhak’s Bshert (his perfect partner) at a well. He goes to her family to share his story and his desire and his knowledge that Rivkah is the one for Yitzhak. The family sees his wealth and encourage him to eat, drink and be merry and, after resting, to share his story. But he refuses. Dusty and tired and hungry from his journey, Eliezer will not dine nor rest. Lavan the greedy brother of Rivkah requests that Eliezer the servant eat as a guest in his home. Eliezer does feed his camel for, as my wife always says, quoting Midrash HaGadol: “It is forbidden for a person to taste anything until he feeds his animals” But after feeding his camel he replies to the offer of his own comfort: "I will not eat, until I have told my errand." Something comes across the avaricious Lavan. As if mesmerized, as if taken aback, as if rooted beyond reason and avarice, Lavan replies with but one word: "Speak!" (24:33) “Daber!” “Daber,” he says “make something real. Make something or worth with your words!”

Onkelos, in his Aramaic translation/commentary on the Torah, translates the words from Braeshit; "And the human became a living soul," as "And the human became a speaking spirit." In the philosophical and Kabbalistic works of our sages, humanity is called the speaker. The Rabbis taught that the entirety of creation is divided into four realms: ‘domem,’ the silent or inanimate creations; ‘tzomeach,’ growing things; ‘hai,’ the animal world; and ‘medaber,’ the speaker—humanity

Words have power and even Lavan was open to the magic message of the word/things. And this then is a theme of this potion. For here, as we begin the creation, the procreation of our tribe, we reinforce the powerful, potent portent of human potential. We strive for communication, we strive to ‘com’ ‘be with’ ‘union’, the oneness. With the word/things we strive for unity. And so, Eliezer refuses respite until he can put forth the idea formed at the conjunction of Abraham’s desire, his own wise awareness and G’s stream of consciousness. And Torah summarizes the path and the power of our words with the challenge: “Speak.”


The next wondrous words offered, underplayed, downplayed, tossed forth in simplicity, open our souls and our hearts. Again they are put into the mouth of Lavan, the treacherous and avaricious. He simply says: “We will call the girl, and inquire at her mouth (24:57).” This is in response to Eliezer asking that Rivkah accompany him to a strange land and marry a man she has never met. And Torah says; ‘we will inquire of her mouth.” We shall seek the wisdom of women. For in Torah where men are heard so loudly, we have to listen more carefully for the words of women. It requires effort, it requires a willingness to sit in silence and listen in quietude. If humanity is the speaker, the ‘medaber’, then we should also be good listeners, we should ‘Shema!” If, in Torah, as I have written before, the influence of the feminine is ethereal, light, flowing, muted, gentle, understated and sometimes hidden, then the other half of being human, the speaker is to be able to listen. The teaching of women (in part) is that we human beings, we living souls, who are called the ‘speaking souls’ must also be “listening souls.” We must listen to the voices of women.



My last choice, the last little line that wafts up from Torah and over our soul is taken from the burial scene at Mahpelah. “And his sons Isaac and Ishmael buried him in the Cave of Machpelah (25:9).” Two estranged brothers stand together in grieving silence and bury their father. Two brothers put away differences and pick up shovels. They sweat and strain as they dig a separate peace. We almost hold our breath in the belief that this might last. 4000 years later we still wait breath bated, for the children of Abraham to make that separate peace. But if we take the gentle lessons, the quiet lessons the floating lessons of Torah to heart, if we will speak and we will listen and we will act, then maybe, just maybe we will reach a level of fulfillment of our dream as earthlings; not just to rest in peace, but to live in peace.


To be fully human we must learn our power. We must speak our power. We must listen to the power of the word/things of others. And we must act on the power of the truths that we speak and that we hear.

We are the ones who speak, we create a body of word/things to teach and grow our future.

We are the ones who listen, we hear the quiet voice of the wind in the willow, we hear the still of the night, we hear in each other the promise for tomorrow.

We are the ones to act. We will live the spoken promises of yesterday, we listen to the hopes for tomorrow and we must act upon them both today.

HAYEI SARAH: Sarah lived

The name of our potion is Hayei Sarah, usually translated as “The Life of Sarah!” Strangely enough, the potion begins with the story of her death. If we look at this name of the potion as a beginning, it seems very strange that it discusses the end. On the other hand if we view the name of this potion as the end, then it is a remarkable beginning.

As the beginning of the potion the words “The Life of Sarah” introduce her death. But if the title is a reminder to look back, or look deeper before we continue, then the power punches through the potion. Sarah the quiet, Sarah the brave, Sarah the giving, is passing on. One might even translate the words as “Sarah Lived!” Indeed she did. She is our fore-mother. She was a wife who elevated the path of her people. Her influence, as with the influence of most of the feminine in Torah is ethereal, light, flowing, muted, gentle, understated and sometimes hidden. It is our challenge to gaze through the gauze of the Mehitzah and glean the glow of their teachings.

Hayei Sarah, Sarah lived. Sarah gave life, not just to her son Yitzhak but to her husband Avram. And she is mother Sarah who gives life to us all. Her husband eulogizes this Aishet Hayal, this valorous woman. Her son Yitzhak takes no comfort until he can marry “a girl just like the girl that married dear old dad.” Sarah lived: Sarah gave life to a people, she gave succor to her husband and she laughed with G. This potion begins with her passing from this realm and into our soul journey. And Torah is our journal of the journey.

Barak Obama, a gleam in the gloom.

Eight years ago our President spoke of shock and awe. Now we stumble in shock and dismay through an ever-weakening economy. We have moved from having the largest surplus in American history to the largest shortfall in American history. We have seen our growing economy shrink in stagnation. As jobs have left our shores, we have become the country from which Emma Lazarus imagined us emigrating. We are rapidly becoming “your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore… the homeless, tempest-tost (sic).” No longer are we the shining beacon, we are becoming the shadowy bastion of corporate self-interest.

In these dour days, there is a hint of hope. We might call him the great white hope, except that he is black. And more amazing than the fact that he won, or maybe part of the fact that he won is that we are finally getting it. What is the ‘it’ that we are getting? That ‘it’ does not matter! In a time of fiscal free-fall, we are unfettered of our intolerance. In a race to remain a viable power, race is not an issue. In a time of economic despair, ecological dismay and executive distrust, our country looks to a different paradigm of promise.

Hope is a seed. It is not the end but rather the beginning. For the first time, in a long time, hope blossoms. In this country that has become a parched plane of broken promises and broken dreams, the blossom of hope appears. In this country where fear has become a force of nature, the bud of hope is being nurtured. But if hope is not watered with its compliment, action, then hope dies on the vine.

We need action! But the action that we need is not the action of the movie cowboy. It is not the shoot-from-the-hip, knee-jerk reaction to stress and strain. We must always remember that no matter what the result, the perpetrator of a knee-jerk reaction is, by definition, a jerk. Action must be planned and purposeful. Our action should be well-informed and well-advised, in contrast to the ill-informed and ill-advised actions of the past eight years.

Soon, Barak Hussein Obama will take office. Mr. Obama is an intelligent and inquisitive, man. He is conscientious and he is conscious. He is not a caricature of mediocrity. Nor should he be. When my plumbing backs up, I want the best plumber, not the average Joe. When my country is backed up, I do not want an ordinary person as president. I want someone extraordinary. I pray, Mr. President, that you are he.

What is in a name: VaYera (Genesis 18:1-22:24)

Sitting outside his tent, Avraham sees three strangers. Maybe this was unusual for him, living in a lonely wilderness. But we see people passing by everyday and though we may see them, they are not apparent to us. They do not register in our minds. People pass into and out of our lives without our inner sight ever registering them as sacred guests in the hotel of our soul.

The name of our Torah Potion invites us to open our inner sight. The name of our Torah Potion challenges us to leave the light on for the sacred guests. The name of our Torah Potion this week calls us to ‘awe-awareness’. VaYe’Ra derives from the Hebrew root Resh Alef Hey, meaning ‘to see’. That root itself does not assert awareness. But the way in which the letters are placed engages us, evoking a higher meaning. This word, the first word of the potion, VaYera, intimates the intimate process of elevating sight into awareness. The word VaYera is related to another root; Yod Resh Alef which means awe. Indeed our Potion title is spelled Vahv Yod Resh Alef. The Remez key/clue here is that sometimes we see things with only our eyes, that is, our limited sight. But sometimes things appear to us, appear to our inner sight, and we become ‘awe-aware’. That is the teaching of the title of this week’s potion: “Awe-awareness!” In the story we see three strangers treated with kindness and compassion, with affable accommodation. Avram runs out to greet the guests pleading that their stopping for food and rest would be a great compliment to him. He washes their feet, hot from travel, in cool waters. Food and drink are placed before the guests. Avram even interrupts a discussion with G to accompany the guests a little way, to give them a good send-off.

Avram treated these strangers as if they were messengers from G and indeed they were. The question now arises, are not all guests messengers from G. Are not all people who come within our ‘sight’ in potential, messengers from G. How would the world be different if we did not just RO’EH (see) people, but they all Ye’Ra (appear) in our inner sight. Every person who passes has an important message for us if we will only let it appear to us. And when the message becomes apparent to us, the awe-awareness blossoms brightly. If we learn not just to see other people but to let them appear to us let them become manifest in us, we take one step towards making our world more Mashiah ready.

Shock and Awe: Not the answer. Filled with Awe is awful, some awe is awesome

Over the past eight years terms have crept into our vocabulary, such as “homeland security,” and “weapons of mass destruction.” Words have meaning and words have power. They have power to harm and power to heal. One phrase that bubbles up in my consciousness when I look back over these eight years and when I read this week’s potion is “Shock and Awe!”

Shock can fill us with awe and that idea intimidates me. I am uncomfortable with being filled with awe. I do desire some awe in my life. I want some awe. When the foothills appear over the horizon I want to feel some awe. When I see my children, I feel some awe. When I pray in the morning and the quiet calms my soul, I feel some awe. But I am wary of being filled with awe. I am wary of losing my reason to awe. I am wary of awe filling me to such an extent that I can no longer think or decide or use my judgment. And shock fills me with awe. When I am in shock, reason wants to flee and awe wishes to fill.

In this week’s potion we are taught the lesson through two of Avram’s tests. Avram is tested by G in relation to the cities of Sdom and Amorah and in relation to Avram’s precious relation, Yitzhak. In the first, G informs Avram that these cities are so evil that every last human resident must be destroyed. Avram feels the awe of G at hearing this news. And yet Avram, unlike No’ah before him is not shocked into silence. Avram’s awe is tempered with his awareness and he stands up for justice, even to the Source of Awe. Avram challenges G; “Would you destroy the righteous with the wicked?” “What a curse it would be for the Judge of the world not to use judgment!” (Gen. 18:23, 25). Every time that I read this potion, my breath stops for moment. Avram bravely, brazenly, brashly, stands up to G for justice. Avram can do this because he is reasonably awed, he is awed into reason, he has some awe but is not filled with awe to such an extent that all reason falls away. We are in awe of Avram.

Later in our passage, G seems to ask Avram to slaughter his own son. Can you imagine the shock of such a concept. Avram is shocked into silent. It is his shock and awe. Avram is so shocked that he filled with awe, all reason, all righteousness fall away in the furor of fundamental extremism. In response he does not say a word but saddles his donkey and takes his knife. He takes his son to a mountain and so filled with awe, that he would have fulfilled the awful command. If only the shock had not filled him with awe, he would have realized that G was not telling him to kill his son, rather G told him to take his son up to the mountain and teach him of the sacrifices (see Rashi on Gen. 22:3).

In the case of Sdom, Avram is not shocked out of reason. He has some awe and his response is awesome. In the second case Avram suffers from shock and awe. He is so shocked by the thought of what he thinks that G has commanded him that he is filled with awe. And the result of being filled with awe could have resulted in something awful.

And that is the transcendent teaching of shock and awe. Shocked into awe and the results will be awful. If our awe is reasonable, that is if we carry with us on our life journey some reason and some awe, our responses can become awesome.

Misrash of the Mateh: Tests and Lessons

Surely this is the tested people thought the Mateh, resting in it’s usually place by the entrance of the tent. What a time this has been. First G emanates to this two legged to
“. . .get going.” That in itself is such a test. This two-legged and his wife and family walked south out of Syria and into a new country to settle. Then came the visit. It’s an honor to be visited, but to be visited by G’s messengers is mind blowing. And yet, what does one do with that information of mass destruction. There is going to be a mass destruction of a neighboring town. Now it is true that the people were pretty evil. But to destroy everything indiscriminately is a response of shock and awful. It is shocking and awful to kill the innocent with the guilty. One might even call it overkill. And there stood Avram standing up to G standing up to that test. Avram spoke out for justice. That is a first in history. No where in my wanderings do I recall someone standing up for justice especially not before G, thought the Mateh.

But the two-leggeds will learn from tests even when they do not do well. How many times over the millennia will people look to the heavens and ask: “Oh G, is this a test?” And, of course G knows that not everyone is an “A” student. Even Avram is not an “A” student. G tested Avram again with an emanation that was not clear, especially when one considers where Avram lives. Avram lives near people who have some pretty extreme beliefs and harsh practices. They even sacrifice their first born sons. So when G emanated to Avram; “Take your son for a sacrifice!” Avram misunderstood. He did not do so well on that test. He was actually considering sacrificing his son. Thank G that G stopped him.

After every test there is a lesson. The lesson here is that if you are one of the two-leggeds and you feel that G has told you to do something, stop, wait and think. Avram’s test teaches that G never requires death as a proof. G never requires death as a sign. G requires love, G requires compassion, G requires faith. G requires awe. And G requires reason. All life is chosen by G. But no one asks for what s/he (1) was chosen. The answer is, as all answers are, easy. All two leggeds are chosen to be tested. Even the word, in Hebrew, is the same. To be chosen is to be tested. And why should one be tested, so that one can learn. The two-leggeds learn from their tests and grow from them.

The Mateh sighs as only a Mateh can, as it looks upon this family of mother, father and son. Yes it is the beginning of the never-ending story of tests and lessons.
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(1) I use s/he to avoid the awkward "she or he" or the more awkward choosing one sex over another

Our Constitutional Process

“We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.” Thus begins a covenant made by the leaders of that new experiment in liberty. Representatives from 12 of the 13 new states came together and crafted a document signed in Philadelphia on May 1787.

Our Torah is also a covenantal document. While the Constitution is for the nation called the United States, the other is the Constitution of the Jewish People. As with the Constitution of the United States, Torah has amendments. We call them commentaries, midrashim and Takanot. Indeed the Talmud might be viewed as amendments to Torah. No matter how we call them or what we deem are their origins, they serve the same function as amendments and judicial interpretations. As with the Constitution of the United States, Torah is interpreted and argued and lauded loudly or with quiet pride by we who are signatories to it.

In this potion of our constitution, our Torah, we discover the manner in which we sign our constitution, sign on to our Torah. Unlike the original signatories to the Constitution of the United States, who wrote with quill and ink, we sign our constitution in blood. In our parsha there is outlined for us the way for every generation to sign on and to carry a sign on our bodies. That tradition has been carried on by Jews around the world throughout every generation Indeed the words “to cut a contract” may originate with Avram and Yitzhak (we should remember that Yishmael also, was a signatory of blood to the covenant). That is how we signed our covenant our constitution, we signed in blood taken from a symbol of the lineage of our legacy (Gen 17:-15). And just as with the constitution of the United States, we Jews have struggled in modern times to make interpretations of equality for women in the signing of the contract. We call the signing of the constitution by men; Brit Milah, the constitution of circumcision. For women there are many names, including Brith Bat, the woman’s constitution and, my favorite, Brit Levanah, the constitution of the moon.

The United States is celebrating our constitution as we make history by electing the first African American President of the United States. We are justifiably proud of ourselves. In Judaism with every child we celebrate the chance that history will be made. But, as an American I ask the question, what do we know of our Constitution. I suggest that, as citizens we should all take a look, periodically at parts of the Constitution and engage in discussions and spirited debates. As Jews I suggest that we take a look, periodically at parts of the Jewish Constitution, the Torah and engage in discussions and spiritual debates. That is the purpose of my little weekly messages. They are the starting point for exploration into our spiritual constitution, the one signed so long ago by the family who heeded the call to ‘get going’.

Midrash of the Mateh: A new leader for a new time

Oy vey, it has been a long time coming. I have waited for the right person to make the quantum leap of history. I floated along until Noah plucked me from obscurity, but he was not the right man. I was passed on to Shem to Arpachshad to Shelah to Eber to Peleg to Reu, to Serug to Nahor to Terah and then it happened. I knew he was the one. I knew that this person was destined for greatness. He was going to change the story.

It started with me in a rather humiliating position. Terah had not recognized what I was, that I was The Mateh. To him I was just a stick. He attached straw to me and used me as broom. Me, whose origins are from the Garden of Eden itself, who came from the Tree of Life and Knowledge, I was a broom. And what did I sweep everyday, I am ashamed to admit it. I swept our Terah’s idol shop. If a Mateh could blush, I would be blushing. Then one day Terah left the shop in the hands of his son, Avram.

It was so amusing when that woman walked in all self-important, looking down her nose at Avram son of Terah who was minding the store for his father.

“Oh, boy,” she exclaimed. “Fetch me a nice idol for the niche next to my door!”

Avram was confused. He asked the lady politely: “Madame, didn’t we sell you one of our finest idols only last week?”

“None of your lip boy,” she responded harshly. “Well, if you must know, my cat jumped up into the niche and knocked it over. I need it replaced.”

I noticed the gleam in Avram’s eye, he was coming to one of those revelations that changes lives. He asked again being very polite; “Madame if the idol could not defend itself from a pussy cat, how will it protect your entire home from harm. Isn’t the idol merely an ‘eye-doll,’ something you keep to please your eye and assuage your superstitions!”

The woman was in shock and walked out in a huff, or maybe it was a minute and a huff. No matter, she left. And then I saw Avram do the most amazing thing. He grabbed me pulling off all the straw. I am so glad that he did, that stuff itched. Then he swung me again and again, shattering all of the idols. I knew he was going to get it for that. His father might find another demeaning use for me, in the woodshed as an implement of retribution. But then I noticed that Avram left one idol, the largest, intact. He rested me in the arms of the idol. I did not understand until later when his father came home. Terah was livid. “What have you done,” he screamed. “I didn’t do it,” replied Avram (this is not your George Washington and the cherry tree story). “Then who did,” cried his father. Avram pointed silently at the idol in whose hands I lay. I wish at times that I could laugh and that was one of them.

• Breaking 20 idols: $100.
• Ruining a broom: $10.
• The look on Terah’s face: Priceless.

Well needless to say Avram never was allowed in the store again. And soon after that. G emanated to Avram: “Get going from this your homeland to a land that I will show you. You will become the father of a nation!” I felt so good, such a fit when Avram picked me up and with me led his wife and friends out of his father’s shadow and into history, the beginning of the history of the Jewish people. Now I was truly on my path with the two-leggeds. I would be able to serve. I would become an implement of mass construction.

Heshvan The Magic of the Messiah

In Jewish Mysticism, Kabbalah, each Jewish month is assigned a letter of the Alef Bet, a sign of the zodiac, a tribe of the amphyctyony of Jewish tribes, one of the senses and a part of the body. The manner in which these come to light is fascinating and filled with the inner light of involvement in text and commitment to life.

This month is called Heshvan. It is the eighth month of the Jewish calendar.

In the Bible, Heshvan is called Hodesh bul, from the word mabul, "the flood." According to Jewish tradition the flood began on the 17th of Heshvan, and ended the following year on the 27th of Heshvan. The following day, the 28th of Heshvan, No’ah brought his sacrifice to G and G swore never again to bring a flood upon the earth to destroy all the earthlings, and then revealed the sign of that covenant with the world, the rainbow. Also, the story of No’ah is read right before the month of Heshvan begins.

Heshvan is the only month which has no holidays or special mitzvot. We are taught that it is "reserved" for the time of Mashiah, who will inaugurate the third Temple in Heshvan.



Letter: nun.
In Kabbalah the letter Nun symbolizes Mashiach, because of a rather clever interpretation of T’hilim 72:17: (Literal translation) “May G’s name be forever, as long as the sun exists, may G’s name be bright and may all nations bless themselves with G’s name and praise G.” But the mystery of the words flows through in a different way. The word for bright is Yod Nun Yod Nun (or Yod Nun Vahv Nun). This is interpreted as the letter Nun (spelled Nun Vahv Nun) preceded by the Yod of G’s ineffable name. The Midrash of T’hilim refers to the Mashiah as YahNun. The translation becomes a hint that the Mashiah will spread the sacred light of enlightenment to the nations. The eighth month is the month of Mashiah. If we look to the traditional view of Creation we find 6 days of physical creation followed by the creation of the spiritual on the 7th . Therefore the 8th day is that step into the mystical, that which starts with the rational reaching into the spiritual and stepping off into the realm of all mystery.

In a play on the shape of the nun, in this realm it has a flat bottom נ, confined by the boundaries of nature. With the coming of Mashiah, the nun "straightens out" (the shape of the final nun ן), breaking through the boundaries of physical nature, and descends "below the line" into the all realms of reality revealing G's all-encompassing Infinite light, the light of the first day of creation, the light of enlightenment which is the end of all duality.



Mazal: akrav (Scorpio--scorpion).
Our sages teach us that the scorpion is the most deadly member of the general category of poisonous creatures whose archetypal figure is the primordial snake of Eden (whether or not this has scientific validity, it has poetic value). The word akrav is similar to the word akev, "heel." And so the mystics make the connection to Genesis 3:15 "and you (snake) shall bite the human at the heel." The Mashiah is the soul that overcomes the curse of the snake from Eden, ending the good and evil duality of life. In the Gematria game Mashiah and Nahash (snake) both equal 358. Also the root of Heshvan, which is Het Shin Nun when moved around spell Nahash, Nun Het Shin. And because Nun is the last letter in Heshvan, it is straightened out symbolizing again breaking through the barriers of physical nature and duality. And just for fun, King David, the ancestor of the Mashiah spells his name Dalet Vahv Dalet = 14 and nun is the 14th letter of the Alef Bet. What more proof could one seek?



Tribe: Menasheh.
In the realm of the Jewish mystery, Menasheh the firstborn of Joseph symbolizes the month of Heshvan. Menasheh derives from the root Nun Shin Hay which means "to forget" (literally "to slip away"). There is a story at the end of Braesheet (Braesheet 48:13-20) in which Manasheh is slighted when his grandfather blesses his younger brother Efriam on a higher level. Menasheh, unlike his uncle Esau does not seek revenge and is not even perturbed. Perhaps that is why the mystical view of Menasheh is that he implies the power of the tzadik, to forgive and forget. The teaching is that we, in the time to come we will let slip away all residual anger and hurt readying the world for the coming of Mashiah. In the name of Menasheh, all jealousy and anger, pettiness and spite will slip away inaugurating the Messianic era. The name Menasheh, when we scramble the letters, spells Neshamah, "soul." Peeking out from within the gentle egoless nature that we ascribe to Menasheh, our soul opens up to the Divine. It is of interest and maybe of great meaning that the name Moshe is similar to Menasheh. Menasheh has an additional nun (the last letter in Heshvan as we have discussed above). The Midrash claims that Moshe “is the first redeemer and he is the final redeemer" (Shemot Rabbah 4:2; Zohar 1:253a; Sha'ar HaPesukim, Vayehi; Torah Or, Mishpatim). The Sod, secret, of Menasheh is that his name is Moshe+nun. In the Zohar we are taught that when Moshe first passed from this world he received the "50th gate" (of secret knowledge) and was "buried" in the Mishnah. Mishnah, when the letters are scrambled becomes Neshamah ‘soul’ which is also Menasheh and Moshe+nun. Imagine if we were to study Mishnah through the opened eye of Rational Kabbalah. We might discover our collective Neshamah and open the door for Mashiah to enter our lives and our realm.



Sense: smell.
The word for smell in Hebrew is Ray’ah. It shares a root with Ru’ah, the wind spirit of our soul. As we have seen, another word for soul is Neshamah, the permutation of Menasheh. The sense of smell is the only of the five common senses that is not implicated in the exile from the Garden. Our sense of smell is used in Mitzvot and there are several blessings for the smell of the wonders of this realm. TaNaCh hints that the sense of smell will be the first sense with which we recognize the Messianic Era. "And he shall smell in the awe of G"…"he shall judge by smell" (Isaiah 11:3 and Sanhedrin 93b). One could go so fare as to translate Ru’ah HaKodesh (Holy Spirit) as ‘The sacred aroma.’


Body Part: intestines.
Jewish mystics are masters of connection. They connected the intestine to the sense of smell and the Mashiah. It works like this. The word intestines is dakin. Its root is, arguably Dalet Koof. Dak (DK) is ‘particle, subtle, thin’. It seems to point to refining, making fine. What bubbles up in one’s mind is the process of preparing the incense for the Temple. How is the Mitzvah of incense activated, through the Ray’ah Nechoah, the satisfying smell? This was part of the service when the Temple stood. When preparing, we are told, the priests would repeat again and again "grind well, grind well" (hadek heitev, heiteiv hadek: hadeik comes from DaK). And so the intestines are connected to the sense of smell and our soul. Now for one more goody.

Our sages interpret the phrase Ray’ah Nechoah as "a satisfying smell for G. And when do we first hear of such satisfaction, such a relationship between the Divine and the earthling? We find it within No’ah, the passage that we read last week. According to tradition, when did the sacrifice of No’ah take place. According to eye witnesses or the calculations of the sages, it was the 28th of Heshvan. On that date, G swore to No’ah never again to destroy the world by flood. In the way of sacrifice, it is the fats of the intestines that are a source of the Ray’ah Nechoah the "satisfying" aroma for G-d. Yet one more way in which intestines are connected to the sense of smell.

• The intestines are connected to the sense of smell.
• The sense of smell is connected to the soul.
• The soul is connected to Menasheh.
• Menasheh is connected to study and Moshe and Mashiah.
• Mashiah is connected to the Nahash and therefore to the Scorpion Akrav.
• Mashiah is also connected to the letter Nun.
• The letter nun is connected to Heshvan.
• Heshvan has no mitzvot because it represents the coming of Mashiah which symbolizes the end of duality.

The month of Heshvan is the hint and hope for a better world. Heshvan points to a world where anger slips away, where we smell the awe. Heshvan is the hope that duality will snake away, as we connect to each other, in this realm and all others.

May this Heshvan and the election that takes place in it bring the hint and hope to life.

Thanksgiving, the Jewish spin,

FROM WHERE I SIT

My Dear Friends:

Thanksgiving is, in many ways, the American equivalent of Sukkot and Pesah and Shavu'ot, the three "Hagim", Pilgrimage festivals of our tribe. In ancient times we would congregate at the Temple to give thanks and to remember.

Thanksgiving, too, is a pilgrimage festival. For over 50 years, my family congregated, in Rhode Island, for Thanksgiving. In the beginning it was to honor my paternal grandmother, Sadie Davis (z’l). After her death, we returned to honor her memory. Then, when my father (zt’l) passed away, we returned to the synagogue where he grew up to remember. And though it has become difficult to return, it is not difficult to remember. We will remember.

Our Hagim are filled with ritual foods and ritual actions. On Sukkot we wave the Lulav and build a Sukkah, on Pesah we eat Matzah and have a large family meal called a Seder. On Shavuot we stay up all night in study, recalling the giving of Torah.
And we remember.

Thanksgiving also is filled with ritual foods such as Turkey and Pumpkin pie. There are other traditional foods, but I am a purist. By purist I mean that a traditional Thanksgiving includes the things I grew up liking and eating. To be sure my Aunt Hannah prepared and supplied many more goodies. Cranberry sauces, stuffings and other things that were, I am told, delicious. But I was and still am only interested in the Turkey and pumpkin pie. The rest is just window dressing. By the way, the menu for the first Thanksgiving went something like this:
• Seethed [boiled] Lobster
• Roasted Goose
• Boiled Turkey
• Fricase of Coney
• Pudding of Indian Corn Meal with dried Whortleberries
• Seethed Cod
• Roasted Duck
• Stewed Pumpkin
• Roasted Venison with Mustard Sauce
• Savory Pudding of Hominy
• Fruit and Holland Cheese

For many, there is the ritual of the football game that is played over that weekend and watching Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. For our clan, it was always an evening of cards (bridge and poker) with one memorable exception when we played Trivial Pursuit.
And we taste and remember.

Our three Hagim (also called the Shalosh Regalim) began as harvest festivals. We still remember that aspect of each holiday with foods and prayer, songs and stories. Thanksgiving also began as a harvest festival for our American ancestors after surviving their first harsh winter due to the great kindness of the Native American tribes around us.
And so we remember.

Our Hagim are imbued with the historical memory of our growth from slavery to freedom. During Pesah we remember the Exodus from Egypt, Sukkot commemorates the wilderness experience and Shavu'ot celebrates the giving of Torah at Mount Sinai. Thanksgiving also has a historical aspect to it. The early settlers would have starved if their Tribal neighbors had not come to their aid. Our American ancestors were, in fact, giving thanks for the Native Americans who had saved their lives. And we all know how the Indians were repaid for their kindness to the strangers in their land.
The children of the Pilgrims did not remember.

We gather each year for Thanksgiving with our families and friends. It is a time for playing catch up. We look at pictures of Thanksgivings past, while we coo over the children who will be our future.
And we hope that they will remember.

We Jews added to our Hagim a moral imperative. In countless verses we read the refrain,"because you were strangers in the land of Egypt". "Love your neighbor as yourself because you were strangers in the land of Egypt". "You shall not glean the corners of your fields, you will leave them for the widow, the orphan and the stranger because you were strangers in the land of Egypt". So on each of our harvest holidays, on each of our Thanksgiving Days, on each of our agricultural times we give Tzedakah to those who are in need. Thanksgiving has the implied Mitzvah of remembering that the Pilgrims were strangers in a strange land and through the kindness of strangers they survived. Today, Thanksgiving should be a time of learning more about and seeking to be of service to those Tribal Folk who insured our survival and were rewarded so poorly.
It is time that we remember.

This month, when families join together to celebrate the American Thanksgiving, how will we remember. We will remember with food and fun. We will remember by looking to our elders and our young. But let us take a moment to take Thanksgiving at its word, at its name. Let us give thanks with a Jewish flare. Let us give thanks by remembering the 3 pillars of all Jewish thanksgivings. Torah, Tfilah, Tzedaka. Let us give thanks through study. Let us give thanks in prayer. Let us give thanks by giving to others.
And so we will always remember.