There is something special about meeting up with an old friend that one hasn't seen in years. I recently had just such a special experience, when I spent a weekend in a community where a friend I hadn't seen in 10 years resides.
As I recall, it was at the end of a particularly long and grueling day for me. I had a series of rabbinical meetings, delivered a talk during lunch which provided me no opportunity to eat, and was involved in an unsuccessful attempt to keep the marriage of a young couple from breaking up. I was looking forward to the respite of some quiet time on the return trip to my home in Baltimore, but even that luxury was denied to me that evening.
Veteran readers of this column are familiar with my paternal grandfather, Chaim Yitzchak Weinreb. He was an old-school Jew, with roots in the region of eastern Poland known as Galicia. He had studied under renowned Talmudists back in the old country, and his fervent wish was to see his grandchildren grow up to be dedicated Talmud students.
Jews live their lives within the framework of the Jewish calendar. At this time of year, we identify strongly with the narratives contained in the weekly Torah portions that we read in the synagogue. Our thoughts are with the biblical characters of the current parshiyot. We live in the company of Abraham and Sarah, Lot, Hagar and Ishmael, and Isaac and Rebecca.
Most people do not give much thought to their ancestral origins. But some do, and I am one of them. I often wonder about my grandparents and their grandparents. Who were they? What was their world like? Most of all, I wonder about the decisions that they made, and whether those decisions had any bearing upon my life. Suppose they had made different decisions? Would my life be any different? Would I even be here to wonder?
Why did I choose the title “Person in the Parsha” when I began to compose these weekly columns many years ago? I hesitate to tell you the truth; namely, that I had several reasons for doing so. But one reason was the fact that almost every parsha has in it a central human figure, Abraham or Moses for example, and often several such figures. Surely, a weekly column must include some comment about that person’s heroic achievements or occasional frustrations.
Fear and trembling. Those have been our primary religious emotions during the past several weeks. Although Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are referred to nowadays as the High Holidays, traditionally they were known as the Days of Awe, Yamim Noraim. Frightful days, fearful days. During this recent time none of us escaped a sense of insecurity. Recognizing that these days are days of divine judgment, we could not help but wonder as to how we were being judged. We felt vulnerable, insecure, and anxious about what the coming year has in store for us.
We met in a Jerusalem café, and I must admit that, although they recognized me, I neither recognized nor even recalled any of them. That is, until they began to reminisce about their common experience as students of mine. Suddenly, the many intervening years evaporated, and I felt as if I was back in that classroom of so long ago.
For some time, certain ideas have dominated my consciousness. Don't worry, these are not obsessive thoughts, and I am not a candidate for a psychiatric diagnosis. Rather, whenever I prepare a speech lately, or sit down to write a column such as this, I can't help but think about a particular set of political principles.
There was a time when the literary treasures of the Jewish people were accessible only to those with a reading knowledge of Hebrew. This is no longer the case. I know of no major Jewish religious work which has not been translated into English in recent years and, in most instances, into many other languages as well. The past several decades have witnessed the publication of multiple editions of the Bible and the Talmud, commentaries ancient and modern, liturgical works, historical tomes, biographies, and even cookbooks with recipes of our ancestors.
For many of us, the first pieces of wisdom which we learned were from nursery rhymes and schoolyard jingles. Sometimes these childish lessons had value, but more often they were off the mark and had the effect of distorting a truer perspective on life.
I begin this column with two distinct goals in mind. On the one hand, I want to familiarize you with the complexity of a brief verse in this week’s Torah portion, Shoftim (Deuteronomy 16:18-21:9). On the other hand, my second goal is to introduce you to the use a rabbi made of this verse in a sermon to his Brooklyn congregation long ago.
Young Jewish students who are just beginning to study world history are often surprised to learn that early theorists of socialism and communism were Jews. Having been raised in essentially capitalist countries, they cannot fathom the fact that a large percentage of early supporters of those movements, especially in Russia and in Eastern Europe, were Jews themselves.
The first verse in this week’s Torah portion, Ekev, (Deuteronomy 7:12-11: 25), presents a difficulty for those who choose to translate each word literally. Indeed, many translators simply avoid translating the word in question. I refer to the word ekev, which literally means the heel, the bottom of one’s foot.
I have kept my time-worn copy of Roget's Thesaurus in my personal library since I was in the seventh grade. It was given to me by my teacher, a Mr. Zeller, who introduced me to the beauty of language and who first stimulated my fascination with words. He taught me to use this thesaurus in order to use language effectively and with precision.
It was a typical park bench conversation. I hadn't seen my friend for quite some time, and we both were delighted when we ran into each other by chance that afternoon.
I’ve always considered it to be the ugliest word in the Hebrew language. The word is gaavah, generally translated as arrogance, haughtiness, or even insolence. And yet, it sometimes carries the opposite meaning: greatness, loftiness, or even grandeur.
Several months ago, I came across an interesting biography of Maimonides (Rambam). It is entitled Maimonides: His Life and World, and the author’s name is Joel Kraemer. I learned many facts about Rambam’s life, relationships, travels, political involvements, and far-reaching leadership activities.
Last week, on the 25th day the month of Iyar, we commemorated the 55th anniversary of his death. He was my grandfather, my mother’s father, but we, my sisters and cousins and I, called him “Dad”!
This week, we read one of a series of double parshiyot, Behar and Bechukotai. Both parshiyot are rich in verses which lend themselves to diverse explanations and elaborations, many of which are to be found in the vast Midrashic literature with which we are blessed.
In every group, there is one person who stands out as special. In childhood, it is often the kid with the greatest athletic prowess. Later in life, different attributes begin to qualify a person to become the group’s star.
It is no secret that many liberals and progressives are permissive regarding biblical proscriptions. This is especially true in the case of the recent weekly Torah portions in which a wide variety of intimate relationships are forbidden but are viewed in many sectors of modern society as archaic and no longer relevant.
He was a character straight out of the novels of Charles Dickens. Scholars have long found Dickens' attitude toward Jews problematic. The character Fagin in the novel Oliver Twist is certainly a negative stereotype. But many are unaware of the character named Riah in Dickens' last completed novel, Our Mutual Friend. Riah is portrayed as a proud Jew, honest, wise, compassionate and courageous.