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.
He was an old man, and in many ways came from a very different world than I. And yet he taught me more than anyone else ever did. One of the things he taught me was that no one suffers as much as a parent who loses a child.
There was a time when I would only go out of my way to listen to speakers who were older and more experienced than I. Recently, however, I have changed my preferences and have begun to seek out speakers, rabbis and teachers, who are young and relatively inexperienced. I find their ideas fresh and often very much on the mark. After all, they are in much better touch with our fast-changing world than I am.
Last week, we finished the Chumash of Shemos and learned about the construction of the Mishkan. Much effort and very much cooperation was involved in that difficult but necessary and important process. We were able to appreciate the ethical and spiritual benefits of giving, of the importance of the participation of every individual if a community, however large and gifted, is to achieve its goals.
I often get questioned about the title I’ve given to this ongoing weekly column. “Who is the person in the parsha?” readers ask. The answer takes me back to the time many years ago when I began to write the column. My original intention was to focus on a person in the Torah’s narrative who frequently is ignored by most commentators and who rarely appear in sermons from rabbinic pulpits. Devorah, Rebecca’s nursemaid, is one such example, and another is Ahaliav ben Achisamach, the amazingly skilled artisan who deserves our admiration for his role in crafting the aesthetic grandeur of the Mishkan.
This week’s Torah portion, Vayakhel, (Exodus 35:1-38:20) begins on a familiar note. After all, it was just last week, on Purim, that we read Queen Esther’s dramatic response to Mordechai’s request that she personally intervene with King Achashverosh on behalf of the Jewish people. Initially, as you will surely remember, she is quite hesitant to accede to his request.
As a person who likes to see the connections between the Jewish calendar of holiday celebrations and the weekly Torah reading, I have long been perplexed by the proximity of Purim to this week’s Torah portion, Ki Tisa (Exodus 30:11-34:35).
This column is a product of my experience with two of my mentors, one who passed away relatively recently and the other who passed away long before I was born.
It was at a post-graduate seminar many years ago that I first became aware of the distinction many make between “religion” and “spirituality.” The members of the seminar were all PhDs in psychology with varying degrees of experience and expertise. They were of a wide range of religious persuasions. Some identified with a specific faith system or denomination. Others claimed allegiance to no formal religion but insisted that although they were not particularly “religious,” they were “spiritual.”
Famous men have said, “Youth is wasted on the young.” There are various opinions as to whom to attribute this wise saying, but it seems quite clear that it originated with the Irish playwright, George Bernard Shaw.
Back in the days when I was a pulpit rabbi in Baltimore, Maryland, I made it my business to meet with every bar mitzvah boy and girl several weeks before their big day. It was my way of becoming familiar with these youngsters. We would discuss their interests, hobbies, favorite books, and what they were studying in school.
This week, we read Parshat Beshalach (Exodus 13:17-17:16). It narrates the miraculous splitting of the sea and the sublime song of praise composed by Moshe and sung by all of Israel, including his sister Miriam and the women who joined her with music and dance. This Shabbat is, therefore, known as Shabbat Shira, the Sabbath of Song. It is an occasion to reflect upon the central role of music and song in Jewish religious tradition.
There are questions that people ask when they have experienced great disappointment. One such question, a theological one, is, “What did I do to deserve this? What sin have I committed that warrants such a painful punishment?”
In preparation for this week’s parsha column, I did a search for famous quotes about success. I found hundreds of examples of high-sounding praises of success, ranging from Winston Churchill’s, “Success consists of going from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm,” to Benjamin Disraeli’s, “Success is the child of audacity.”
We know him as Moshe Rabbenu, Moses our Master, Moses our Teacher, Moses our Master Teacher. Such a title certainly tells us a great deal about Moshe and qualifies him for the title “Person in the Parsha.”
Chanukah is now more than a week behind us, so I figure that I can share with you some of the sequels of the Chanukah story. Sorry to say that even though we have all recently glorified the martial, spiritual, and political successes of the Chashmonaim, or Hasmonaeans, all did not go very well in the long run.
October 7, 2023, Shabbat Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah, was a horrible day for the thousands of victims, for the State of Israel, and for the Jewish people all over the world. The immediate reaction to that tragic day took many forms, since the events were indescribable even for the most articulate and fair-minded observers. Given the extent of the horrors of that day, we are at a loss for how to react.
It is only in recent years that individuals in important public roles wore special garments. Kings and queens wore royal garb, important government figures wore top hats, and judges wore black robes and wigs. In those now bygone days, the adage “clothes make the man” may have had some truth. Things are different nowadays.
It was in the second or third grade that I began to study Chumash. I remember beginning at the beginning, with Parashat Bereshit. It must have been in third, or perhaps even fourth, grade that we reached this week’s Torah portion, Vayeshev (Genesis 37:1-40:23).
This phrase occurs in the very first blessing of the Amidah, the eighteen blessings commonly referred to as Shemoneh Esreh, the centerpiece of the prayer service recited in the synagogue at least three times every day. The blessing praises the Patriarchs, Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov, and calls upon the Almighty to take account of their benevolent deeds and to bring us the redemption that we seek as the descendants of the men whose entire lives were models of exemplary loving-kindness.
Quite some time has gone by since we celebrated the holiday of Sukkot. Frankly, there is much about that holiday that I have already forgotten. But one memory remains etched in my mind, one biblical phrase that was part of the Sukkot service that continues to haunt me.