Chag Sameach -- Happy Hanukkah! This Shabbat is the last night of our Festival of Lights. I invite you to bring your Hanukkah Menorahs to the synagogue for a wonderful celebration.
Chag Sameach -- Happy Hanukkah! This Shabbat is the last night of our Festival of Lights. I invite you to bring your Hanukkah Menorahs to the synagogue for a wonderful celebration. Dave Lewy will be leading us in a Hanukkah Song Fest of all your favorites. (If you ask, he might even play the Adam Sandler song at the Oneg.) We have dreidles and gelt for everyone.
The most significant theme of Hanukkah is that of religious freedom. Distinct from religious tolerance (which suggests an aura of anathema coupled with an endurance of the distasteful), religious freedom is an idea that links diversity with an air of welcomed pluralism. As we look about our community these next few weeks, we will be witnesses to public expressions of private faith identities. Count among your blessings that we live at a time and in a country which fosters such freedom. It is a precious treasure.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Joseph M. Forman
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Will the Real Hanukah Please Stand Up
What is the meaning of Hanukkah? There are many answers. Some are filled with the myths that entertain children; some are scholarly treatises on the history of the Greco-Assyrians and the Kingdom of Judea. No matter the comprehensiveness of the answer, every year I am asked by adults and children if the oil really lasted for eight days.
What is the meaning of Hanukkah? There are many answers. Some are filled with the myths that entertain children; some are scholarly treatises on the history of the Greco-Assyrians and the Kingdom of Judea. No matter the comprehensiveness of the answer, every year I am asked by adults and children if the oil really lasted for eight days. I have been discussing the real meaning of Hanukkah with our religious school students and Kup O’ Joe attendees and wanted to share what they have been learning with our entire congregation. Rabbi Hara Person, the editor of the URJ Press, has written a wonderful synopsis of this topic. I share it with you in its entirety here.
Shabbat Shalom and Chag Hanukkat Sameach,
Rabbi Joseph M. Forman
P.S.: Next year I’ll discuss how to spell the holiday in English.
P.P.S.: DON’T FORGET TO BRING YOUR HANUKKAH MENORAHS TONIGHT!
Will the Real Hanukah Please Stand Up
Hara Person
Hanukah can be a confusing holiday. There are two basic versions of the story of Hanukah, at opposite ends of the spectrum. There is the nice kid's story about brave heroes, miracles, good guys and bad guys.
And from the history books, there is a story that involves violence, warfare, Jew fighting against Jew, and lots of ugly politics. So what do these two stories have to do with each other? What is the real story of Hanukah?
Both stories are the real stories of Hanukah. One is the historical story, the version that got recorded in both eye-witness accounts and second-hand by the next generation in first century BCE sources like the Book of Maccabees I and II, and in the writings of Josephus. It is a bloody account filled with politics, rebellions, violence and vengeance. It is a holiday that enters the repertoire of Jewish festivals at a relatively late period in Jewish history, and is not mentioned anywhere in the Tanach, the Hebrew Bible. The focus is on historical events, and not, in its origins, on God.
The other version, the one about miracles and oil and righteous warriors, is not a conflicting story, but a later story, another layer added on by the rabbis to the original Hanukah story to meet different needs at a later point in Jewish history. In the earliest versions of the Hanukah story, God is not part of the picture. But the next mention of Hanukah, in Pesikta Rabbati, a collection of material compiled sometime after 200 CE, stays true to the military theme of the story while attributing all the victories to God.
By the next mention of Hanukah, in Shabbat 21b of the Babylonian Talmud, compiled around 500 CE, suddenly a miracle has been written into the story. What is emphasized here is not the military victory at all, but God's victory in making the oil last for eight days. The politics are no longer important. In this later period of history, God is the central issue. Politics, self-rule, and military prowess are not the glue holding together Judaism any longer. In the diaspora world in which the Jews were then living, God is the glue. The story has been transformed by the rabbis to meet the needs of a different time.
The historic setting of the story of Hanukah is one of instability and insecurity. By 198 BCE, the Greek-Syrians controlled the Jews of Judea, and while the Jews had not had political freedom since Judea had become part of the Greek Empire under Alexander the Great, they were still able to experience a degree of religious freedom.
However, the situation drastically changed in 167 BCE Antiochus IV, the Greek-Syrian ruler, abolished religious freedom for the Jews of Judea. With very dramatic gestures and decrees, he banned Jewish worship and the reading of the Torah. All Torah scrolls were to be destroyed. It became illegal to observe Shabbat and the rite of circumcision. The price for disobeying any of these new laws was death. And, in an act that was perhaps the most hurtful of all, his soldiers took control of the Temple in Jerusalem, where, under his orders, pigs were to be sacrificed to the Greek god Zeus.
All of this was going on at a time when within Judea itself there was a great deal of unrest. The Jews themselves were not in agreement over how to respond to what was going on around them. It was to a certain extent a class war, as well as an argument over politics and tactics.
One group was made up mostly of urban-dwelling Jews, for the most part middle class and wealthy, as well as some of the Temple priesthood, who welcomed Greek culture and customs. The opposing group was mostly made up of rural, agriculturally-based Jews, who opposed the adoption of any aspects of Greek culture and saw it as antithetical to Judaism.
The point of dispute between these two groups was essentially the question of assimilation. How much could the Jews become like the Greeks without actually abandoning Judaism altogether? This was not a theoretical issue. Fighting erupted in the streets between these two groups, and the spectre of civil war loomed.
Meanwhile, Antiochus IV instructed his troops to deal with the civil unrest in Jerusalem by massacring Jews. He commandeered the money in the Temple treasury, which had served as a bank for the populace. And perhaps worst of all, Antiochus entered the Holy of Holies, the part of the Temple which only the High Priest was allowed to enter, and even then only on Yom Kippur. Antiochus' army then entered Jerusalem on Shabbat, set the city on fire, and tore down the walls.
Antiouchus insisted that all Jews swear their loyalty to him. The way to do this would be to give up Judaism and Jewish life, and become like the Greeks. They would have to worship Greek gods, participate in Greek culture, dress in the Greek manner, study Greek subjects, and take on Greek names. The only other option was death. In 167 BCE Judaism was officially outlawed. Most Jews, afraid of the consequences of rebellion, complied with the new laws.
However, in the village of Modi'in, outside of Jerusalem, a man named Mattathias decided to rebel. Taking his five sons with him, he fled to hills surrounding Jerusalem. There they formed a small band of guerilla fighters. Others joined them. Mattathias soon died and his son Judah took over leadership of the group. Though they were a small group, they managed to hold their own against the soldiers and cause real damage to the ranks. Judah's military prowess earned him the nickname Maccabeus, which means "the hammer."
Judah wanted the Jews of Judea to be free to practice Judaism once again. But his first goal was to restore a Jewish presence in the Temple in Jerusalem. Finally, in 164 BCE, Judah and his rag-tag army were able to retake the Temple.
Much of what happened at this time is recounted in the First and Second Books of the Maccabees. The First Book of the Maccabees was written in Hebrew around the time of the events that it describes. The Second Book of the Maccabees was written about sixty years after the events that took place. The book was written in Greek for the Jews who lived in Alexandria and other parts of the Greek Empire. Both books discuss the same events, but from different perspectives. These books were not included in the Hebrew Bible, but they are part of the Apocrypha, a group of Jewish writing from this period that were preserved by the Christian Church.
According to the Second Book of Maccabees, Judah and his band purified the Temple and rid it of all traces of Greek desecration. The date was the 25th of the Hebrew month of Kislev. The celebrations of rededication and renewal lasted eight days, as a kind of delayed commemoration of the holiday of Sukkot. Sukkot had occurred two months earlier, but they hadn't been able to celebrate it properly because they hadn't had access to the Temple. And it was decided that every year at the time, for eight days beginning on the 25th of Kislev, the Jews should celebrate the rededication of their Temple. The new holiday was called Hanukah, which meant "dedication."
Antiochus IV had died before Judah's victory in Jerusalem. He was succeeded by his son, Antiochus V. The new ruler allowed the Jews to have religious freedom. They were once again free to practice Judaism.
Sounds great, right? But of course nothing is so simple, and the story does not end there. What it meant to practice Judaism continued to be a source of contention between Jewish groups. And there was still no peace in the region. While the Maccabees had gained the right to control the Temple and to it restore Jewish ritual, they had not managed to maintain military control of Jerusalem. What Judah and his followers now wanted was to have an independent Jewish state. After much fighting, and after the deaths of both Judah and his successor, his brother Jonathan, the last surviving brother, Simon, was able to regain Judea's independent status.
Nowhere in the early accounts of Hanukah does a miracle of oil occur.
That aspect of the story was written in later by the rabbis of the Mishnah who were uncomfortable with the emphasis on politics and violence. But perhaps the real miracle of the Hanukah story is that what began as a struggle for religious freedom and self-determination on the part of a small group of people on the fringe became a large and successful movement that won not only its initials goals but ultimately the larger goal of political freedom. They fought for and won the right of self-rule, which lasted for one hundred years until Judea was conquered by the Romans. It was not until 1948 that there was once again Jewish self-rule, when in another battle of the few against the many, the State of Israel declared its independence.
What is the meaning of Hanukkah? There are many answers. Some are filled with the myths that entertain children; some are scholarly treatises on the history of the Greco-Assyrians and the Kingdom of Judea. No matter the comprehensiveness of the answer, every year I am asked by adults and children if the oil really lasted for eight days. I have been discussing the real meaning of Hanukkah with our religious school students and Kup O’ Joe attendees and wanted to share what they have been learning with our entire congregation. Rabbi Hara Person, the editor of the URJ Press, has written a wonderful synopsis of this topic. I share it with you in its entirety here.
Shabbat Shalom and Chag Hanukkat Sameach,
Rabbi Joseph M. Forman
P.S.: Next year I’ll discuss how to spell the holiday in English.
P.P.S.: DON’T FORGET TO BRING YOUR HANUKKAH MENORAHS TONIGHT!
Will the Real Hanukah Please Stand Up
Hara Person
Hanukah can be a confusing holiday. There are two basic versions of the story of Hanukah, at opposite ends of the spectrum. There is the nice kid's story about brave heroes, miracles, good guys and bad guys.
And from the history books, there is a story that involves violence, warfare, Jew fighting against Jew, and lots of ugly politics. So what do these two stories have to do with each other? What is the real story of Hanukah?
Both stories are the real stories of Hanukah. One is the historical story, the version that got recorded in both eye-witness accounts and second-hand by the next generation in first century BCE sources like the Book of Maccabees I and II, and in the writings of Josephus. It is a bloody account filled with politics, rebellions, violence and vengeance. It is a holiday that enters the repertoire of Jewish festivals at a relatively late period in Jewish history, and is not mentioned anywhere in the Tanach, the Hebrew Bible. The focus is on historical events, and not, in its origins, on God.
The other version, the one about miracles and oil and righteous warriors, is not a conflicting story, but a later story, another layer added on by the rabbis to the original Hanukah story to meet different needs at a later point in Jewish history. In the earliest versions of the Hanukah story, God is not part of the picture. But the next mention of Hanukah, in Pesikta Rabbati, a collection of material compiled sometime after 200 CE, stays true to the military theme of the story while attributing all the victories to God.
By the next mention of Hanukah, in Shabbat 21b of the Babylonian Talmud, compiled around 500 CE, suddenly a miracle has been written into the story. What is emphasized here is not the military victory at all, but God's victory in making the oil last for eight days. The politics are no longer important. In this later period of history, God is the central issue. Politics, self-rule, and military prowess are not the glue holding together Judaism any longer. In the diaspora world in which the Jews were then living, God is the glue. The story has been transformed by the rabbis to meet the needs of a different time.
The historic setting of the story of Hanukah is one of instability and insecurity. By 198 BCE, the Greek-Syrians controlled the Jews of Judea, and while the Jews had not had political freedom since Judea had become part of the Greek Empire under Alexander the Great, they were still able to experience a degree of religious freedom.
However, the situation drastically changed in 167 BCE Antiochus IV, the Greek-Syrian ruler, abolished religious freedom for the Jews of Judea. With very dramatic gestures and decrees, he banned Jewish worship and the reading of the Torah. All Torah scrolls were to be destroyed. It became illegal to observe Shabbat and the rite of circumcision. The price for disobeying any of these new laws was death. And, in an act that was perhaps the most hurtful of all, his soldiers took control of the Temple in Jerusalem, where, under his orders, pigs were to be sacrificed to the Greek god Zeus.
All of this was going on at a time when within Judea itself there was a great deal of unrest. The Jews themselves were not in agreement over how to respond to what was going on around them. It was to a certain extent a class war, as well as an argument over politics and tactics.
One group was made up mostly of urban-dwelling Jews, for the most part middle class and wealthy, as well as some of the Temple priesthood, who welcomed Greek culture and customs. The opposing group was mostly made up of rural, agriculturally-based Jews, who opposed the adoption of any aspects of Greek culture and saw it as antithetical to Judaism.
The point of dispute between these two groups was essentially the question of assimilation. How much could the Jews become like the Greeks without actually abandoning Judaism altogether? This was not a theoretical issue. Fighting erupted in the streets between these two groups, and the spectre of civil war loomed.
Meanwhile, Antiochus IV instructed his troops to deal with the civil unrest in Jerusalem by massacring Jews. He commandeered the money in the Temple treasury, which had served as a bank for the populace. And perhaps worst of all, Antiochus entered the Holy of Holies, the part of the Temple which only the High Priest was allowed to enter, and even then only on Yom Kippur. Antiochus' army then entered Jerusalem on Shabbat, set the city on fire, and tore down the walls.
Antiouchus insisted that all Jews swear their loyalty to him. The way to do this would be to give up Judaism and Jewish life, and become like the Greeks. They would have to worship Greek gods, participate in Greek culture, dress in the Greek manner, study Greek subjects, and take on Greek names. The only other option was death. In 167 BCE Judaism was officially outlawed. Most Jews, afraid of the consequences of rebellion, complied with the new laws.
However, in the village of Modi'in, outside of Jerusalem, a man named Mattathias decided to rebel. Taking his five sons with him, he fled to hills surrounding Jerusalem. There they formed a small band of guerilla fighters. Others joined them. Mattathias soon died and his son Judah took over leadership of the group. Though they were a small group, they managed to hold their own against the soldiers and cause real damage to the ranks. Judah's military prowess earned him the nickname Maccabeus, which means "the hammer."
Judah wanted the Jews of Judea to be free to practice Judaism once again. But his first goal was to restore a Jewish presence in the Temple in Jerusalem. Finally, in 164 BCE, Judah and his rag-tag army were able to retake the Temple.
Much of what happened at this time is recounted in the First and Second Books of the Maccabees. The First Book of the Maccabees was written in Hebrew around the time of the events that it describes. The Second Book of the Maccabees was written about sixty years after the events that took place. The book was written in Greek for the Jews who lived in Alexandria and other parts of the Greek Empire. Both books discuss the same events, but from different perspectives. These books were not included in the Hebrew Bible, but they are part of the Apocrypha, a group of Jewish writing from this period that were preserved by the Christian Church.
According to the Second Book of Maccabees, Judah and his band purified the Temple and rid it of all traces of Greek desecration. The date was the 25th of the Hebrew month of Kislev. The celebrations of rededication and renewal lasted eight days, as a kind of delayed commemoration of the holiday of Sukkot. Sukkot had occurred two months earlier, but they hadn't been able to celebrate it properly because they hadn't had access to the Temple. And it was decided that every year at the time, for eight days beginning on the 25th of Kislev, the Jews should celebrate the rededication of their Temple. The new holiday was called Hanukah, which meant "dedication."
Antiochus IV had died before Judah's victory in Jerusalem. He was succeeded by his son, Antiochus V. The new ruler allowed the Jews to have religious freedom. They were once again free to practice Judaism.
Sounds great, right? But of course nothing is so simple, and the story does not end there. What it meant to practice Judaism continued to be a source of contention between Jewish groups. And there was still no peace in the region. While the Maccabees had gained the right to control the Temple and to it restore Jewish ritual, they had not managed to maintain military control of Jerusalem. What Judah and his followers now wanted was to have an independent Jewish state. After much fighting, and after the deaths of both Judah and his successor, his brother Jonathan, the last surviving brother, Simon, was able to regain Judea's independent status.
Nowhere in the early accounts of Hanukah does a miracle of oil occur.
That aspect of the story was written in later by the rabbis of the Mishnah who were uncomfortable with the emphasis on politics and violence. But perhaps the real miracle of the Hanukah story is that what began as a struggle for religious freedom and self-determination on the part of a small group of people on the fringe became a large and successful movement that won not only its initials goals but ultimately the larger goal of political freedom. They fought for and won the right of self-rule, which lasted for one hundred years until Judea was conquered by the Romans. It was not until 1948 that there was once again Jewish self-rule, when in another battle of the few against the many, the State of Israel declared its independence.
"What's in a name?”
William Shakespeare was not impressed by names. "What's in a name?” he penned for Romeo and Juliet. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." But the Bard lived in an era when a name was not only something others called you, but was something that told others about you.
Names have had great significance in our Jewish tradition. In this weeks’s Torah portion, Vayishlach (Genesis 32:4- 36:43), Jacob gets a name-makeover. Jacob received his name from the way in which he was born: clinging to the heel of his twin brother. Yaakov, the Hebrew for Jacob, literally means “heel”. And that was the kind of person Jacob was through much of his young life – a heel clinging to his mother; a heel cheating his uncle; a heel duping his father; a heel stealing from his brother. Not the kind of person you’d want your kids hanging around.
In the story in Genesis, Jacob does some (pardon the pun) soul-searching and finds himself engaged in a mysterious encounter with an unnamed individual. Emerging victoriously from the battle, he receives a new name: Israel. Israel, according to the text, means: he struggles with God. And indeed, Jacob’s struggle with seems to have transformed him into a more righteous character.
What’s in a name? Apparently a whole lot more than a cursory glance might indicate.
I invite you to discover the origins of your name. Perhaps you, too, will emerge with a new-found identity. Oh, and about the word rose? Check this out! http://www.answers.com/topic/rose
Names have had great significance in our Jewish tradition. In this weeks’s Torah portion, Vayishlach (Genesis 32:4- 36:43), Jacob gets a name-makeover. Jacob received his name from the way in which he was born: clinging to the heel of his twin brother. Yaakov, the Hebrew for Jacob, literally means “heel”. And that was the kind of person Jacob was through much of his young life – a heel clinging to his mother; a heel cheating his uncle; a heel duping his father; a heel stealing from his brother. Not the kind of person you’d want your kids hanging around.
In the story in Genesis, Jacob does some (pardon the pun) soul-searching and finds himself engaged in a mysterious encounter with an unnamed individual. Emerging victoriously from the battle, he receives a new name: Israel. Israel, according to the text, means: he struggles with God. And indeed, Jacob’s struggle with seems to have transformed him into a more righteous character.
What’s in a name? Apparently a whole lot more than a cursory glance might indicate.
I invite you to discover the origins of your name. Perhaps you, too, will emerge with a new-found identity. Oh, and about the word rose? Check this out! http://www.answers.com/topic/rose
search for a religious community
The search for a religious community that satisfies both the spiritual needs of the soul and the intellectual demands of the mind is a challenge for the 21st person. The Jewish community has been all over the spectrum in this endeavor over the millennia. As the community of Jews who make of the Reform Movement has changed...
The search for a religious community that satisfies both the spiritual needs of the soul and the intellectual demands of the mind is a challenge for the 21st person. The Jewish community has been all over the spectrum in this endeavor over the millennia. As the community of Jews who make of the Reform Movement has changed over the past several decades, both the leadership of the rabbis at the Central Conference of American Rabbis and the leadership of the congregations at the Union for Reform Judaism have moved in step with what they perceive as a growing demand for more food for the soul.
This new direction has, sadly, in my opinion, meant less food for the mind. It has not always been an either or situation. The Prophets of Biblical times knew the importance of both in equal measure. The rabbis of the Talmudic era were devout in their intellectual pursuits even as they were diligent in their ritual commitments. Medieval philosophers and poets sat side by side in the synagogue. The earliest Reform Jews distinguished themselves in their renewed pursuit of a meaningful religious expression that compromised neither head nor heart.
In this week’s Torah portion, Vayetse (Genesis 28:10 – 32:3), we find Jacob waking up in the wilderness from a dream in which he has a great realization. He is amazed by his realization and states: “Surely God is in this place and I, I did not know it.” (Gen 28:16) The Biblical authors are attempting to teach us a profound truth about the God of Jacob: there is no place where God is not. Despite his earlier beliefs that God is only in the land of Israel, only with him when he curries favor with God, or only there when goodness is present, Jacob comes to understand that his God is not a sometimes here, sometimes absent deity. Such a belief can transform how we conceive of religion, too. It can be present in every moment of life if only we open ourselves to it.
This Shabbat I encourage you to dream a bit. Perhaps the God you will discover in those moments will surprise you, too. And most surprising of all may be discovering a God there for those who hope, those who reflect, those whose needs are for a God of reason and those whose faith is reassurance enough.
The search for a religious community that satisfies both the spiritual needs of the soul and the intellectual demands of the mind is a challenge for the 21st person. The Jewish community has been all over the spectrum in this endeavor over the millennia. As the community of Jews who make of the Reform Movement has changed over the past several decades, both the leadership of the rabbis at the Central Conference of American Rabbis and the leadership of the congregations at the Union for Reform Judaism have moved in step with what they perceive as a growing demand for more food for the soul.
This new direction has, sadly, in my opinion, meant less food for the mind. It has not always been an either or situation. The Prophets of Biblical times knew the importance of both in equal measure. The rabbis of the Talmudic era were devout in their intellectual pursuits even as they were diligent in their ritual commitments. Medieval philosophers and poets sat side by side in the synagogue. The earliest Reform Jews distinguished themselves in their renewed pursuit of a meaningful religious expression that compromised neither head nor heart.
In this week’s Torah portion, Vayetse (Genesis 28:10 – 32:3), we find Jacob waking up in the wilderness from a dream in which he has a great realization. He is amazed by his realization and states: “Surely God is in this place and I, I did not know it.” (Gen 28:16) The Biblical authors are attempting to teach us a profound truth about the God of Jacob: there is no place where God is not. Despite his earlier beliefs that God is only in the land of Israel, only with him when he curries favor with God, or only there when goodness is present, Jacob comes to understand that his God is not a sometimes here, sometimes absent deity. Such a belief can transform how we conceive of religion, too. It can be present in every moment of life if only we open ourselves to it.
This Shabbat I encourage you to dream a bit. Perhaps the God you will discover in those moments will surprise you, too. And most surprising of all may be discovering a God there for those who hope, those who reflect, those whose needs are for a God of reason and those whose faith is reassurance enough.
gift of religious freedom
Every Shabbat is an opportunity to express appreciation for the blessings that the past week brought to us. This Shabbat is an opportunity to express thanks not only for the rest that our Sabbath provides, but also to acknowledge the gift of religious freedom and abundance that America affords us as Jews. No other nation in the history...
Every Shabbat is an opportunity to express appreciation for the blessings that the past week brought to us. This Shabbat is an opportunity to express thanks not only for the rest that our Sabbath provides, but also to acknowledge the gift of religious freedom and abundance that America affords us as Jews. No other nation in the history of our people has been as welcoming and supportive, a fertile ground upon which Judaism has not only survived, but thrived, developed and advanced. America has been what our earliest Jewish settlers called a New Zion.
I hope that this season of Thanksgiving brings you and your families the choicest of blessings.
Shalom,
Rabbi Joseph M. Forman
P.S.: Here is a link that explains much about the earliest history of Thanksgiving and the Jewish community in America.
http://www.ajhs.org/publications/chapters/chapter.cfm?documentID=240
Every Shabbat is an opportunity to express appreciation for the blessings that the past week brought to us. This Shabbat is an opportunity to express thanks not only for the rest that our Sabbath provides, but also to acknowledge the gift of religious freedom and abundance that America affords us as Jews. No other nation in the history of our people has been as welcoming and supportive, a fertile ground upon which Judaism has not only survived, but thrived, developed and advanced. America has been what our earliest Jewish settlers called a New Zion.
I hope that this season of Thanksgiving brings you and your families the choicest of blessings.
Shalom,
Rabbi Joseph M. Forman
P.S.: Here is a link that explains much about the earliest history of Thanksgiving and the Jewish community in America.
http://www.ajhs.org/publications/chapters/chapter.cfm?documentID=240
"What is required of us?" asked the prophet Micah.
"What is required of us?" asked the prophet Micah. "Only to do justly, love mercy and walk humbly with our God." (Micah 6:8) It sounds simple enough. Doing it, though, is challenging work. Not to mention that finding time...
"What is required of us?" asked the prophet Micah. "Only to do justly, love mercy and walk humbly with our God." (Micah 6:8) It sounds simple enough. Doing it, though, is challenging work. Not to mention that finding time for such lofty goals amidst all the quotidian tasks of life is difficult, and the work is never complete.
In the book of Ecclesiastes we encounter the lament that there is nothing new under the sun. As another mid-term election finds us wondering not only when those campaign signs will be removed but also whether our newly elected and re-elected representatives will be better able to fulfill their charge to uphold the highest values of our nation - values shaped by words and ideas from the prophet Micah, we might also muse on whether Ecclesiastes had it right. The work does remain constant. The frustrating challenges of a democratic government continue. The wheels of government are never still, hopefully turning for justice, as well.
This Shabbat's Torah portion, Chayei Sarah, has an important message for all of us who are both inspired by the work of our elected officials and sometimes weary of the ongoing process. Chayei Sarah tells of the death of Sarah at the age of 127. It recounts the tale of Abraham's purchase of a family burial plot, the need to find a wife for Isaac and the second marriage of Abraham to Keturah. The uniqueness of the Jewish people has really just emerged, and despite the enormity of establishing a new religion, the death of a dear one, the need to plan not one but two weddings, despite the fact that life goes on for our first Patriarch and his family as they struggle to do what is required of them, Abraham and his family cannot rest. The noblest challenges facing every one of them need to be met - as we discover in the unfolding of the Biblical story of our people.
Such dedication is inspiring, as Biblical accounts should be. But Genesis does not attempt to portray our Patriarchs and Matriarchs as royalty freed from the burdens of life as they work to further the advance of the Jewish People. In fact, quite the contrary is true. They are subjected to the routine, the tragic, the joys and essential tasks of life. And they endure and even flourish.
This Shabbat, I encourage all of you to spend a few moments realizing that yes, Ecclesiastes may be right when he voiced that the tasks go on and on.
But so too is Micah. We are all called to greater endeavors. May this Shabbat enable you to discover a moment to focus on yours.
"What is required of us?" asked the prophet Micah. "Only to do justly, love mercy and walk humbly with our God." (Micah 6:8) It sounds simple enough. Doing it, though, is challenging work. Not to mention that finding time for such lofty goals amidst all the quotidian tasks of life is difficult, and the work is never complete.
In the book of Ecclesiastes we encounter the lament that there is nothing new under the sun. As another mid-term election finds us wondering not only when those campaign signs will be removed but also whether our newly elected and re-elected representatives will be better able to fulfill their charge to uphold the highest values of our nation - values shaped by words and ideas from the prophet Micah, we might also muse on whether Ecclesiastes had it right. The work does remain constant. The frustrating challenges of a democratic government continue. The wheels of government are never still, hopefully turning for justice, as well.
This Shabbat's Torah portion, Chayei Sarah, has an important message for all of us who are both inspired by the work of our elected officials and sometimes weary of the ongoing process. Chayei Sarah tells of the death of Sarah at the age of 127. It recounts the tale of Abraham's purchase of a family burial plot, the need to find a wife for Isaac and the second marriage of Abraham to Keturah. The uniqueness of the Jewish people has really just emerged, and despite the enormity of establishing a new religion, the death of a dear one, the need to plan not one but two weddings, despite the fact that life goes on for our first Patriarch and his family as they struggle to do what is required of them, Abraham and his family cannot rest. The noblest challenges facing every one of them need to be met - as we discover in the unfolding of the Biblical story of our people.
Such dedication is inspiring, as Biblical accounts should be. But Genesis does not attempt to portray our Patriarchs and Matriarchs as royalty freed from the burdens of life as they work to further the advance of the Jewish People. In fact, quite the contrary is true. They are subjected to the routine, the tragic, the joys and essential tasks of life. And they endure and even flourish.
This Shabbat, I encourage all of you to spend a few moments realizing that yes, Ecclesiastes may be right when he voiced that the tasks go on and on.
But so too is Micah. We are all called to greater endeavors. May this Shabbat enable you to discover a moment to focus on yours.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Shabbat Message from Rabbi Joseph M. Forman-10-10-06
To be considered the "salt of the earth" is to be characterized as one
of the best in our society. Such a designation refers to someone
genuine, unpretentious, noble in every way. This phrase derives its
origin from the days when salt (the only rock we eat), rather than
gold or oil, was the most prized commodity on earth.
Being the salt of the earth has its downsides, too, though,
particularly when it's not that you're CALLED the salt of the earth,
but you BECOME salt itself.
of the best in our society. Such a designation refers to someone
genuine, unpretentious, noble in every way. This phrase derives its
origin from the days when salt (the only rock we eat), rather than
gold or oil, was the most prized commodity on earth.
Being the salt of the earth has its downsides, too, though,
particularly when it's not that you're CALLED the salt of the earth,
but you BECOME salt itself.
Such was the (forgive me) lot of Lot's wife. In this week's Torah
portion, Va'era, Lot's family is fleeing the evil cities of Sodom and
Gomorrah. Turning back to watch the city as it is consumed, she
violates the one demand requested of her. Her punishment? She is
turned into a pillar of salt. Our lesson? An evil town is destroyed;
a curious or compassionate woman is turned to salt. Both great evil
and minor infractions face similar fate in our ancient story.
Much has been written over the centuries on why bad things happen to
people. This week's Torah portion raises many questions on the
concept of punishment and evil - both deserved and underserved. What
is justice? What does our tradition have to say about it? I invite
you to our Torah service tonight when we will begin our conversation,
and I encourage you to attend Kup O' Joe next Sunday the 19th at its
new time, 9AM, when we will continue our conversation.
Rabbi Joseph M. Forman
Friday, October 27, 2006
Shabbat Message from Rabbi Forman - 10/27/06
Long before there were clocks, the Psalmist wrote: “The days of our years are three score years and ten, or even, by reason of strength, four score years…. They pass by speedily, and soon we fly away.” (Psalm 90:10) Time has a way of...
slipping by us, unnoticed. An hour at the computer, sitting behind the wheel, raking the leaves – these all steal precious minutes from our day. Keeping track of where the time goes is not just a matter of paying attention to what we do with our days, but having a clock to help us remain aware of the unyielding passage of time is today equally important to that task.
The creation of clocks, the invention of the minute hand and devising a reliable methods for calculating time at sea have filled the hours and days and even years of many men and women over the centuries. Understanding the motion of the stars, the sun and the moon paved the way for our modern instruments to tell the precise time down to mere fractions of a second. And our desire to control time has led us in this century to imagine that we can actually give (and take) hours from the day.
This weekend, as Daylight Savings Time ends, we are granted an extra hour in our day. True, it arrives when most of us are sleeping, and we will likely use it for an additional sixty minutes of rest. While seventy or even eighty years is a lengthy time to achieve tremendous goals, and a mere hour is hardly noticed on such a grand scale, still, a full hour will be loaned to us.
This Shabbat, as you hopefully take some time to relax and refresh yourself for the coming week which is a bit longer than usual, I encourage you to consider what you might do with your hour. It will pass by speedily, and soon we will all fly away.
slipping by us, unnoticed. An hour at the computer, sitting behind the wheel, raking the leaves – these all steal precious minutes from our day. Keeping track of where the time goes is not just a matter of paying attention to what we do with our days, but having a clock to help us remain aware of the unyielding passage of time is today equally important to that task.
The creation of clocks, the invention of the minute hand and devising a reliable methods for calculating time at sea have filled the hours and days and even years of many men and women over the centuries. Understanding the motion of the stars, the sun and the moon paved the way for our modern instruments to tell the precise time down to mere fractions of a second. And our desire to control time has led us in this century to imagine that we can actually give (and take) hours from the day.
This weekend, as Daylight Savings Time ends, we are granted an extra hour in our day. True, it arrives when most of us are sleeping, and we will likely use it for an additional sixty minutes of rest. While seventy or even eighty years is a lengthy time to achieve tremendous goals, and a mere hour is hardly noticed on such a grand scale, still, a full hour will be loaned to us.
This Shabbat, as you hopefully take some time to relax and refresh yourself for the coming week which is a bit longer than usual, I encourage you to consider what you might do with your hour. It will pass by speedily, and soon we will all fly away.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Shabbat Message from Rabbi Forman - 10/20/06
Beginnings are laden with the excitement of the new and the uncertainty of the unfamiliar. This week's Torah portion, Bereshit, is the very first one in the book of Genesis. It opens with words "In the beginning…." This brief phrase has, for millennia...
been the paradigmatic expression linked with any new endeavor. Not surprisingly, both of the words “Genesis” and “Bereshit” suggest what the book or portion contains: stories of beginnings. Not only is the myth of six-day creationism presented, but so, too, does Genesis contain stories describing the source of rainbows, the origin of language, the birth of the quest to understand God, and the foundation of the Jewish people.
Some beginnings, though, don’t turn out as planned. How true this was for Primo Levi, an Italian Jew born in 1919 who shortly after training to be a chemist was interred in Auschwitz by the Nazis. After his liberation, he became one of the most widely read authors on the Holocaust. Before he chose to end his own life in 1987 he wrote the following poem.
“In the Beginning”
Fellow humans, to whom a year is a long time,
A century a venerable goal,
Struggling for your bread,
Tired, fretful, tricked, sick, lost:
Listen, and may it be a mockery and consolation.
Twenty billion years before now,
Brilliant, soaring in space and time,
There was a ball of flame, solitary, eternal,
Our common father and our executioner.
It exploded, and every change began.
Even now the thin echo of this one reverse catastrophe
Resounds from the farthest reaches.
From that one spasm everything was born:
The same abyss that enfolds and challenges us,
The same time that spawns and defeats us,
Everything anyone ahs ever thought,
The eyes of every woman we have loved,
Suns by the thousands,
And this hand that writes.
[13 August 1970 - Translated from the Italian by Ruth Feldman and Brian Swann]
These searing words endure as reminders to us that in the briefest moment of beginnings everything that now is was created at that same first moment. So much is contained in a beginning!
been the paradigmatic expression linked with any new endeavor. Not surprisingly, both of the words “Genesis” and “Bereshit” suggest what the book or portion contains: stories of beginnings. Not only is the myth of six-day creationism presented, but so, too, does Genesis contain stories describing the source of rainbows, the origin of language, the birth of the quest to understand God, and the foundation of the Jewish people.
Some beginnings, though, don’t turn out as planned. How true this was for Primo Levi, an Italian Jew born in 1919 who shortly after training to be a chemist was interred in Auschwitz by the Nazis. After his liberation, he became one of the most widely read authors on the Holocaust. Before he chose to end his own life in 1987 he wrote the following poem.
“In the Beginning”
Fellow humans, to whom a year is a long time,
A century a venerable goal,
Struggling for your bread,
Tired, fretful, tricked, sick, lost:
Listen, and may it be a mockery and consolation.
Twenty billion years before now,
Brilliant, soaring in space and time,
There was a ball of flame, solitary, eternal,
Our common father and our executioner.
It exploded, and every change began.
Even now the thin echo of this one reverse catastrophe
Resounds from the farthest reaches.
From that one spasm everything was born:
The same abyss that enfolds and challenges us,
The same time that spawns and defeats us,
Everything anyone ahs ever thought,
The eyes of every woman we have loved,
Suns by the thousands,
And this hand that writes.
[13 August 1970 - Translated from the Italian by Ruth Feldman and Brian Swann]
These searing words endure as reminders to us that in the briefest moment of beginnings everything that now is was created at that same first moment. So much is contained in a beginning!
Friday, October 13, 2006
Shabbat Message from Rabbi Forman 10/13/06
"Turn it and turn it again for everything is contained within." (Pirke Avot 5:25)
As the festival of Sukkot draws to a close , we turn our attention to Torah and the celebration of Simchat Torah. Sukkot reminds us of the frailty of life, the seasons' never-ending rotation, that all that lives must some day die....
On Sukkot we read the words of Ecclesiastes who painfully reminds us that "the eye is never filled with seeing nor the ear with hearing. What has been is that which will be. What has been done is that which will be done again. There is nothing new under the sun." (Eccl. 1:8-9) With its emphasis on the fall harvest, Sukkot is a time for us to reflect on how we fill our days -- knowing that we, too, are part of the unending cycle of life.
Simchat Torah echoes the idea that the rotation of the seasons of the year is ongoing. Summer turns to fall and then to winter and spring and back again to summer. So, too, do we turn the Torah again and again. As a scroll made of many pieces of parchment sewn together, the Torah is literally turned each week to a new section. This Friday night is both Shabbat and Simchat Torah. At our Family Service we will read from the last bit of parchment, the last column, and the last words. Seemingly, the Torah is at its end. But the Torah does not end there. It continues. How? Where?
No sooner do we conclude reading from the book of Deuteronomy than we turn the scroll back to its beginning. We read from the opening passages of Genesis and the story of creation, as we ourselves enact the very process of creating a new beginning for our cycle of Torah reading. Have we been here before, done this before, read this before? Yes. And the words are the same every year. But as we turn it, again and again, we discover new insights into our traditions and new meanings for ourselves. Everything IS contained within.
As the festival of Sukkot draws to a close , we turn our attention to Torah and the celebration of Simchat Torah. Sukkot reminds us of the frailty of life, the seasons' never-ending rotation, that all that lives must some day die....
On Sukkot we read the words of Ecclesiastes who painfully reminds us that "the eye is never filled with seeing nor the ear with hearing. What has been is that which will be. What has been done is that which will be done again. There is nothing new under the sun." (Eccl. 1:8-9) With its emphasis on the fall harvest, Sukkot is a time for us to reflect on how we fill our days -- knowing that we, too, are part of the unending cycle of life.
Simchat Torah echoes the idea that the rotation of the seasons of the year is ongoing. Summer turns to fall and then to winter and spring and back again to summer. So, too, do we turn the Torah again and again. As a scroll made of many pieces of parchment sewn together, the Torah is literally turned each week to a new section. This Friday night is both Shabbat and Simchat Torah. At our Family Service we will read from the last bit of parchment, the last column, and the last words. Seemingly, the Torah is at its end. But the Torah does not end there. It continues. How? Where?
No sooner do we conclude reading from the book of Deuteronomy than we turn the scroll back to its beginning. We read from the opening passages of Genesis and the story of creation, as we ourselves enact the very process of creating a new beginning for our cycle of Torah reading. Have we been here before, done this before, read this before? Yes. And the words are the same every year. But as we turn it, again and again, we discover new insights into our traditions and new meanings for ourselves. Everything IS contained within.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Shabbat Message from Rabbi Forman - 10/5/06
As John Wayne might have said it: "Chag Sameach and Shabbat Shalom, Pilgrim." This Friday night we celebrate not only Shabbat, but also the beginning of the first of our three...
festivals: Sukkot - the week- long celebration of the fall harvest. The other Chaggim (festivals) are Shavuot and passover. Chaggim are not like the other holidays on the Jewish calendar. So what makes one Jewish holiday a Yom Tov/holy day (like Rosh HaShana) and another a Chag/festival (like Sukkot) and another just a holiday (like Chanukka or Purim)? Glad you asked....
One important idea embedded in a Chag/Festival is the real meaning of Chag: Pilgrimage. In Biblical times, the ancient Israelites would literally pack themselves for a long journey to Jerusalem where they would remain for the entire week of the Sukkot festival. You may be familiar with the annual rite in the Moslem tradition of going to Mecca. Making that trip is called Haj. Haj and Chag both have the same meaning: to make a pilgrimage.
Perhaps you are thinking that for the past few weeks you have been making several pilgrimages to Or Chadash for the High Holydays. Those were merely journeys. Now, during this fall festival of Sukkot, you, too, have an opportunity to be a real pilgrim. See you in the Sukkah!
Rabbi Joseph M. Forman
festivals: Sukkot - the week- long celebration of the fall harvest. The other Chaggim (festivals) are Shavuot and passover. Chaggim are not like the other holidays on the Jewish calendar. So what makes one Jewish holiday a Yom Tov/holy day (like Rosh HaShana) and another a Chag/festival (like Sukkot) and another just a holiday (like Chanukka or Purim)? Glad you asked....
One important idea embedded in a Chag/Festival is the real meaning of Chag: Pilgrimage. In Biblical times, the ancient Israelites would literally pack themselves for a long journey to Jerusalem where they would remain for the entire week of the Sukkot festival. You may be familiar with the annual rite in the Moslem tradition of going to Mecca. Making that trip is called Haj. Haj and Chag both have the same meaning: to make a pilgrimage.
Perhaps you are thinking that for the past few weeks you have been making several pilgrimages to Or Chadash for the High Holydays. Those were merely journeys. Now, during this fall festival of Sukkot, you, too, have an opportunity to be a real pilgrim. See you in the Sukkah!
Rabbi Joseph M. Forman
Friday, September 29, 2006
Shabbat Message from Rabbi Forman - 9/29/06
For this I waited? It better be good. On Shabbat, during the Amidah section of the service when we read of our ancestors Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Leah and Rachel, we might come across a tiny asterisk that has the following words placed next to it: "On Shabbat Shuvah insert". Guess what? Shabbat Shuvah has arrived, and we get to read that extra line which we have been skipping
all year long.
So what does it say that is so important that we only read it on Shabbat Shuvah, this Sabbath that falls between Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur? The words are: Remember us for life, Ruler who delights in life, and inscribe us in the Book of Life, for Your sake, God of life.
For such a short sentence, it's striking that the word "life" occurs four times. That's a lot of life squeezed into a little package. Not surprising then, is the notion that life is the highest value in Jewish living. Not martyrdom. Not adherence to Mitzvot. Not learning or even good deeds. Living is.
Staying alive and keeping others alive. What is surprising, though, is that not all religious traditions share this ultimate value. Perhaps that is how religious fervor gets a bad name. If being religious meant you were committed to something as universal as life, how different our world might be.
On this Shabbat Shuvah, the Sabbath of turning, perhaps we all might reconsider what religious living might mean for us. There might be something to it, after all.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Joseph M. Forman
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all year long.
So what does it say that is so important that we only read it on Shabbat Shuvah, this Sabbath that falls between Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur? The words are: Remember us for life, Ruler who delights in life, and inscribe us in the Book of Life, for Your sake, God of life.
For such a short sentence, it's striking that the word "life" occurs four times. That's a lot of life squeezed into a little package. Not surprising then, is the notion that life is the highest value in Jewish living. Not martyrdom. Not adherence to Mitzvot. Not learning or even good deeds. Living is.
Staying alive and keeping others alive. What is surprising, though, is that not all religious traditions share this ultimate value. Perhaps that is how religious fervor gets a bad name. If being religious meant you were committed to something as universal as life, how different our world might be.
On this Shabbat Shuvah, the Sabbath of turning, perhaps we all might reconsider what religious living might mean for us. There might be something to it, after all.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Joseph M. Forman
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Email This Page
Printable Version
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Thursday, September 14, 2006
Shabbat Message from Rabbi Forman - 9/14/06
Selichot - literally: forgivenesses - is the name of the service traditionally held at midnight on the Saturday before Rosh Hashanah. Often this service features diminished lighting and solemn music to imbue a sense of the upcoming drama of the High Holydays. Selichot repeats a phrase that readies us for the New Year: "Hasheveinu Adonai,
v'Nashuva -- Renew us, O God, and we shall be renewed."
If only it were that easy. To show up, read a few prayers from a book and express a desire to change is not quite how transformation really occurs - despite the insistence of the Selichot liturgy. Intention, as a recent TV commercial brilliantly relates, is not really enough. Neither is lip-service. Acknowledging the need to change parts of our behavior is difficult enough without the added burden of actually changing! Ah, the challenges of being human . . . .
So what are we to do? Are the words of our tradition useless? Hardly. They can instill in us a vision of our highest aims. That is the primary purpose of all worship. The words of prayer speak of our highest image of ourselves.
On this Shabbat, as the Jewish world readies itself for a New Year, we might take a few moments to consider the year that is about to end. What were its high points? How did we excel at the tasks we value most? And where might we have bettered ourselves? Such introspection is not easy. This Shabbat of Selichot, of forgivenesses, is a
wonderful occasion to begin looking within - not merely encouraging others in our lives to forgive us our failings, but recognizing that we are at once imperfect and blessings to all of them.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Joseph M. Forman
v'Nashuva -- Renew us, O God, and we shall be renewed."
If only it were that easy. To show up, read a few prayers from a book and express a desire to change is not quite how transformation really occurs - despite the insistence of the Selichot liturgy. Intention, as a recent TV commercial brilliantly relates, is not really enough. Neither is lip-service. Acknowledging the need to change parts of our behavior is difficult enough without the added burden of actually changing! Ah, the challenges of being human . . . .
So what are we to do? Are the words of our tradition useless? Hardly. They can instill in us a vision of our highest aims. That is the primary purpose of all worship. The words of prayer speak of our highest image of ourselves.
On this Shabbat, as the Jewish world readies itself for a New Year, we might take a few moments to consider the year that is about to end. What were its high points? How did we excel at the tasks we value most? And where might we have bettered ourselves? Such introspection is not easy. This Shabbat of Selichot, of forgivenesses, is a
wonderful occasion to begin looking within - not merely encouraging others in our lives to forgive us our failings, but recognizing that we are at once imperfect and blessings to all of them.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Joseph M. Forman
Friday, August 11, 2006
Shabbat Message from Rabbi Forman - 8/11/06
You are privileged. You are blessed. You didn't get here alone, though. Where did the help come from? Diverse places or few. Many people or one. Much effort or little. But you, as do I and everyone about us, rely on the gifts of the world that come from outside us.
This Shabbat we read in the Book of Deuteronomy words that have inspired our Jewish tradition to recite blessings both before (the Motzi) and after every meal (Birkat HaMazon). "When you have eaten and are satisfied, you must bless" (Deut. 8:10).
Every week and, I hope, every day, you will eat a meal. I hope they are all good ones. Nourishing. Delicious. Prepared with love. And I also hope that you will be satisfied by them. But I implore you to remember that you are among the few in this world who live so gently. You might say a blessing (the Motzi) before you eat to consider that the food you are about to eat not only took the efforts of others to bring it to you but the mystery of its creation, as well. You might say thanks or Birkat Ha Mazon (grace after meals) to acknowledge that those efforts and creative mysteries are appreciated. And then, then I
hope you will help those who missed that meal or the one before it or the one after. There are far too many such individuals out there.
Next Shabbat we will have a basket for you to fill with non-perishable foods. Every time you come to Or Chadash it will be there as a reminder to you that we at Or Chadash have a responsibility to better the world about us. Let's start by feeding a few of the hungry. And lest I forget: B'teavon (Bon Appetit) and Shabbat Shalom.
This Shabbat we read in the Book of Deuteronomy words that have inspired our Jewish tradition to recite blessings both before (the Motzi) and after every meal (Birkat HaMazon). "When you have eaten and are satisfied, you must bless" (Deut. 8:10).
Every week and, I hope, every day, you will eat a meal. I hope they are all good ones. Nourishing. Delicious. Prepared with love. And I also hope that you will be satisfied by them. But I implore you to remember that you are among the few in this world who live so gently. You might say a blessing (the Motzi) before you eat to consider that the food you are about to eat not only took the efforts of others to bring it to you but the mystery of its creation, as well. You might say thanks or Birkat Ha Mazon (grace after meals) to acknowledge that those efforts and creative mysteries are appreciated. And then, then I
hope you will help those who missed that meal or the one before it or the one after. There are far too many such individuals out there.
Next Shabbat we will have a basket for you to fill with non-perishable foods. Every time you come to Or Chadash it will be there as a reminder to you that we at Or Chadash have a responsibility to better the world about us. Let's start by feeding a few of the hungry. And lest I forget: B'teavon (Bon Appetit) and Shabbat Shalom.
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