New Light on Darkness

This is the week of Winter Solstice, the day with the least amount of daylight. As the recent flurries of snow demonstrate, we are fully in winter now. We are in a season where darkness is more common than not. As John Donne described it dramatically, “Tis the year’s midnight.” Even as we light the Chanukah candles, we also by contrast highlight (!) the surrounding darkness. 

It’s easy to resent or dread the dark, an attitude captured well by a saying from the sages, “Woe to the house whose windows open into the dark” (Exodus Rabbah 14). 

In our Torah portion, Miketz, our current protagonist Joseph begins the chapter still in the dark windowless dungeon of Egyptian prison. But his fortune soon flips. Pharaoh has mysterious dreams, and his chief cupbearer who had once had his dream interpreted by Joseph in prison recommends that Pharaoh seek out Joseph’s talents. So Joseph is “rushed from the pit”, soon to become Pharoah’s trusted adviser (Genesis 41:14). The commentator Sforno adds that every miraculous event is like this - it happens very swiftly. 

I sometimes find myself wanting to be rushed from the pit of winter, a swift and miraculous return to spring or summer. (Of course people do take important reprieves through the modern miracle of plane travel to sunnier regions!) The cycle of the seasons, however, is a very different kind of miracle, one whose blessings can only be discovered with patience and presence. 

Rabbi Adina Allen writes, “According to the account of creation found in the Torah, darkness is the place from which all life comes. In the opening verses of Genesis we read: “When God began creating the heavens and the earth, the earth was chaos and void and darkness on the face of the depths.” Darkness pre-exists all. It is from the chaos and void, the darkness and depths, that humans and hummingbirds, rainwater and red-tailed hawks, pine trees and the Pyrenees, eventually arise. The darkness, depths and waters of the world recall the darkness, depths and water of the womb from which each of us came. Without darkness, there would be no light, no life. Darkness allows for creativity and generativity. Rather than a lack of something, darkness is that which contains and gestates the seed of everything and the spark of the light.”

Darkness sustains restorative rest and contains creative potential. If you are in search of new ways into winter darkness, here are a few ideas for perspective and practice:

1. Read Katherine May’s fascinating and kind book, Wintering.

2. Spend some time with the prayers for light and darkness, Yotzer Or (recited in the morning) and Maariv Aravim (recited in the evening). What images or phrases catch your attention? 

3. Follow Adina Allen’s suggestion of pausing before lighting the Hanukkah candles and bringing awareness to the darkness first.

Ultimately, while Joseph emerges from his place of darkness, he does so through his skill with dreams, a creative experience associated with sleeping and darkness. May this season nourish our rest, and nurture our dreams. 

Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi Jay LeVine

Dreams and Vulnerability – A Message from Avital

This week’s parsha, Vayeshev, begins the epic telling of the life of Joseph. He is born into a complicated family, with his father Jacob’s legacy of favoritism, jealousy, and general toxicity. During the course of the parasha, we learn about Joseph’s famous multi-colored coat, his ever-problematic and harmful siblings, and finally, his forced exile to Egypt, where this chapter ends with his imprisonment at the hands of Pharaoh. 

Joseph’s relationship with his brothers is hostile at best -- he is clearly the favorite of the children, and he dreams of allegories where he is ruling over his family, much to the annoyance of his brothers. His brothers, overwhelmed by hatred, plot to kill Joseph, and eventually sell him to passing Midianites in the desert. This is the beginning of Joseph’s journey that culminates in his role as leader of Egypt, and the start of the Jewish people’s era in Egypt (sorry, spoiler alert!). 

In re-reading the parasha this year, I found myself curious about the power that dreams hold in this story. Without Joseph telling his brothers of his dreams over and over again, they might not have loathed him so. Without Joseph’s interpretations of the dreams of his fellow prisoners later in the story in Egypt, the chain of events that would eventually allow Joseph to be freed and rise to power in Egypt would not have happened. Dreams are found at key moments in this story, and are a driving force in many of the characters' actions. 

One might argue that at its core, dreaming is one of the most human things that we do. It’s a mighty interesting phenomenon, where our brain activity during sleep causes us to experience almost-life-like movies within our own minds, with our lives serving as the main backdrop. Even if folks don’t remember their dreams the morning after, it’s largely believed that we all do indeed experience dreams. Everyone dreams – so why are Joseph’s dreams so special? Why do his dreams in particular hold so much power?

The power of Joseph’s dreams lies in his saying them out loud. He elevates a common experience by sharing it with others. Many, if not all of us, know how vulnerable our dreams might be. They hold our deepest memories, our deepest feelings, and they have the capacity to unveil truths that we might not even know we hold. In the act of sharing his dreams, Joseph pulls back the curtain on this human experience and shares his own truths. We know that these truths, in fact, were not socially palatable, as they revealed an unappealing opinion that he holds - that he believes he is rightfully meant to lead his brothers.

Human commonality is at the core of relationships. We make friends, find community, and relate to people based on how similar we deem ourselves to be. And, we discover our commonalities through the act of storytelling. Without the impulse to tell stories about ourselves, we would not and could not make genuine connections and form deep relationships. I believe that Joseph’s retelling of his dreams was a radical form of relationship-building. Not only did he instigate relationship-building by sharing his dreams with his brothers, but in doing so he also revealed a controversial belief. He exposed a deeply vulnerable and controversial stance in two different dreams, not once, but twice!  He opened the door to an awkward conversation with his brothers, arguably as a way to find further commonalities and shared human experiences, and was swiftly shut down. 

In understanding this, I realized that the brothers’ harm of Joseph started long before they sold him into slavery. It began the moment they chose not to engage with him, and at the moment they became unwilling to participate in building a relationship with their challenging brother. As a passionate practitioner of relational-based engagement, I believe in the power of relationships, especially in the face of strife and disagreement. I believe in the power of curiosity, in being faced with uncomfortable facts or opinions and probing deeper rather than facing the other way. 

Joseph’s continuous attempts to be relatable and relational were not successful. Indeed, many of us read this story and can only see how blatantly degrading Joseph is towards his brothers. But If we see his act of sharing his dreams as an attempt to build deeper relationships with his brothers, it may very well sadden us to think about him as someone simply trying to find and deepen community within his family, and not being given a chance to do so.  

I hope that Joseph can be an example for each of us. To use vulnerability as a tool to build relationships. To share our dreams more willingly with one another. To recognize the human experience that connects each of us, and to empathize with each other even when it feels like it’s impossible. And, I hope that when we do feel called to share our truths, we do so intentionally and thoughtfully. 

Shabbat Shalom,

Avital Krifcher, Director of Community Engagement

Why Name

One of the most striking images in the entire Hebrew bible appears in this week’s Torah portion. Jacob is finally returning home, but he will have to face his estranged brother Esau. On the eve before the encounter, Jacob crosses a river, and in the middle of the night wrestles with an anonymous person. We never learn who exactly this person is, but as a result of this wrestling, the figure blesses Jacob with a new name, Yisrael, “one who wrestles with God”. Most of the classical commentators assume this figure was an angel. But Jacob, like us, was curious to know who he had been wrestling with. “Jacob asked [the angel], ‘Please tell me your name.’ But [the angel] said, ‘Why do you ask about my name?’ And [the angel] took leave of him there (Genesis 32:20).

What is the significance of Jacob wanting to know this person or angel’s name? Here are a number of the medieval scholars, offering us clues to why names and naming matter:

1. Rashi, Identity, Essence: We (angels) have no fixed names; our names change, all depending upon the service we are commanded to carry out as the errand with which we are charged (based on Genesis Rabbah 78:4).

Rashi’s opinion suggests that angels are not nameable, or rather that their name is their function, which swiftly changes. Angels are not entities the way we think about a human, or a dog, or a tree. They are energies summoned for a purpose. One Talmudic teaching (Chagigah 14a) suggests that angels are created anew every morning from a fiery river, sing a song to God, and then dissolve back into the flow. Their separateness, the specificity necessary to name them as one distinct from another, is mostly an illusion. 

2. Ramban, Calling on (like a parent): There is no advantage to you in knowing my name for no one possesses the power and the capability other than God alone. If you will call upon me I will not answer you, nor will I save you from your trouble…

Ramban sees the angel refusing to share their name because they don’t want Jacob to mistakenly think he can call on the angel for help later. Knowing a name is necessary for us to summon or seek help from something. 

3. Sforno, Problem solving: [Jacob said: I want to know a name] which would describe your essence, your function, and how you would go about performing the same. This would enable me to understand why you attacked me in the first place. I would then be able to do penitence for my sin, something I cannot do as long as I do not know what precisely my sin consists of.

Sforno helps us remember that naming the problem correctly is often the first step in solving it. 

4. Bechor Shor, Reputation: Because the winner wants to publicize his name in order that his power be remembered, but the loser does not want to publicize his shame. 

Although the wrestling match ended in a tie, perhaps the angel was embarrassed to admit they couldn’t defeat a human! In any case, we want our name attached to achievements rather than failures. 

5. Or HaChaim, Usefulness: Whereas it made sense that the angel asked Jacob's name seeing he intended to change it to Israel, or at least, to inform him of that impending change. Jacob's asking the angel for his name did not have such a purpose, however. The angel therefore wanted to know the reason for Jacob's enquiry.

The Or HaChaim points out that often we don’t need to figure out something’s name unless we have a need for it. I haven’t the foggiest clue what most surgeon’s tools are called, because I am not in a position to need to ask for them. 

Naming is deep in our human nature. In the Torah’s tale of how everything began, God gives humans uniquely the task of naming all of the creatures (Genesis 2:9-10). Presumably, this meant naming each species, lion and tiger and bear and so on. 

But Kathryn Hymes, writing for the Atlantic, discusses how humans are hard-wired to name things personally, not just referring to them by category. For instance, some of us at least give personal names to our cars, boats, phones, stuffed animals, mugs, potted plants, etc. Naming is a form of connection building. Hymes notes that with this act of naming even inanimate objects, we remember them better, bond with them more, and are less likely to replace them the moment they have the slightest flaw. Naming shifts our stance towards others. 

Perhaps there was a good reason the angel refused to be pinned down by a name. But when we look around at the world, we may not be able to afford letting plants and animals remain anonymous to us. We need to be building deeper relationships with not just birds, but House Finches and Stellar’s Jays (and maybe even with Finn the Finch or, Sally the bluebird, if we are lucky enough to see one regularly). If we collectively name the trees and plants around us, either personally, scientifically, or by indigenous names, we will help ourselves invest even more in preserving and conserving our habitat. 

Local author Lyanda Lynn Haupt, in her book Rooted, writes: “Try these things: Keep field guides everywhere. And topographical maps. Read them like novels, like holy texts, like poems. Learn the names of new-to-you wild beings or landmarks in your home region, then create your own living names for these same things. Respect Indigenous names. Listen for the earth to whisper a new name for yourself, and tell it to everyone or to no one. When you are at a loss, put your ear to the forest floor, or the bark of a tree, or tilt it toward the clouds. See what wordless language points you along your path.” 

Let’s name ourselves into belonging, and name ourselves into love, and name ourselves into hard-won commitment to hope. 

Rabbi Jay LeVine

Vayetze: Rapid Growth for Jacob, and for Kavana!

It's striking just how much happens in this week's Torah portion! The opening/title word of the parasha, "Vayetze," means "went out" (as in: "Jacob went out from Beersheva and headed towards Haran" - Gen. 28:10). And indeed, this Torah portion tells the story of the patriarch Jacob, having just emerged from the intense sibling rivalry with his twin brother Esau, now going forth to find his own place in the world. In Parashat Vayetze, Jacob moves through a rapid growth phase in his life: he establishes a connection with the Divine, seeks loving relationships, secures his own territory, and brings the next generation into being (12 children are born and named in this parasha alone!).

It was fun for me to re-read this parasha this week and reflect on how Kavana, too, is moving through a rapid growth phase right now. Over the course of the many years since 2006, we have built this community up intentionally and carefully... assembling wonderful people, articulating our shared values and strategic priorities, and creating programs to meet our community's needs. For the past several years, the limitations imposed by the Covid pandemic kept the lid on this pot and slowed Kavana's natural growth. But now, this year, we're feeling a new palpable energy and seeing an uptick in numbers to match. Some 750 people joined Kavana for the High Holidays this year (including 150 who were attending for the first time!), we've witnessed a >10% jump in the number of Kavana partner households in the last few months, and there's high demonstrated interest in programs, life cycle events, and community connections across multiple demographics.

Kavana has never chased growth for its own sake, but when new people show up eager to engage actively and meaningfully in Jewish life, we want to be able to say yes. And, as we continue to grow, we are also committed to deepening relationships within our community and supporting our partners more fully than ever before! As such, when we were approached and invited to apply for Project Accelerate last year -- a program that supports capacity-building in Jewish non-profit organizations that are poised for growth -- we knew the timing was right. Being accepted into their cohort was a big honor, and it offered external validation for what we already knew to be true: that Kavana is a unique organization and a leader in Jewish communal spaces!

As you hopefully saw in yesterday's special email announcement, we are launching the "What's Your Why" community campaign to raise funds that will help us unlock a matching challenge grant from Project Accelerate (click here to learn more about the campaign). These funds will help Kavana strengthen our organizational capacity (think: create all the systems and structures we need in place behind the scenes -- staffing, tech infrastructure, training, etc.), which will, in turn, result in new avenues for connection and meaningful Jewish engagement, for Kavana partners both old and new.

For Jacob, it's important that even as he "goes out" to begin a new chapter of rapid growth, he hears an echo of the blessing God had bestowed upon his grandfather Abraham: "through you, all families of the earth shall be blessed" (Gen. 28:14). For Kavana, too, this chapter of rapid growth we've embarked upon is exciting and new, but also represents continuity with where we've come from and who we've always been at our core. 

On this week of Parashat Vayetze, it's exciting to think about Kavana experiencing its own "going out" moment, and about all the possibilities that this new chapter of growth will bring for our community! Thank you for being part of this unfolding story... a source of blessing, indeed.

Shabbat Shalom,Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Grief and Gratitude

What we see when we look at a picture depends so much on its framing. Often the snapshot of this week’s Torah portion, Toldot, is framed as a story of sibling rivalry. The twins Jacob and Esau struggle with each other in the womb, each one becomes the favorite of one parent but not the other, Jacob cheats Esau, Esau plots murder in revenge, and eventually Jacob flees. The picture we see here is grim, frustrating, and painful. 

In a week that holds remembered tragedy (Nov. 20 was National Transgender Day of Remembrance) and present tragedy from yet another shooting, this time targeting LGBTQ+ community in Colorado Springs, this Torah portion tires me. I don’t want to read about more manipulation and violence. My heart yearns for images of a better world. 

And yet, there is another frame to the Torah story. Rabbi Elie Kaunfer notes that the word “bless” appears 32 times in Toldot, more than in any other parashah. What if this is a story about blessing, rather than a story about conflict? What if - in the face of hate and violence - we can keep naming the full range of gender and sexuality as blessing, holding each other with care and admiration?

This week Americans observe Thanksgiving, a holiday whose title frames it in one way as a much needed moment of rest, connection, and gratitude; and whose history reveals an uglier story of conflict, manipulation, violence, and oppression. Much like our Torah portion, our experience of this week will be filtered through our interpretive frame. 

If we can hold the tension of multiple frames, we might be able to both deepen our gratitude for what is good and nourishing, and sharpen our criticism of what is broken and needs repair. 

Rabbi Marcia Prager, in her book The Path of Blessing, offers some beautiful insights into the function of a blessing, or brakha. 

Jewish tradition teaches that the simple action of a brakha has a cosmic effect, for a brakha causes shefa, the “abundant flow” of God’s love and goodness, to pour into the world. Lake a hand on the faucet, each brakha turns on the tap…

A brakha completes our energy-exchange with God. We are partners in a sacred cycle of giving and receiving in which we are not only “on the take.” When we offer our blessings, we raise up sparks of holiness, releasing the God-light housed in our world back to its source…

Imagine if at every moment we each embraced the world as the gift it is: An apple is a gift, the color pink is a gift; the blue sky is a gift; the scent of honeysuckle is a gift. Hidden in every experience is a gift, obligating us to heart-filled appreciation, to songs of gratitude.

We are called not merely to notice casually now and then that something is special and nice but to sustain and deepen a profound and sustained gratitude. Indeed, the more we acknowledge our gratefulness, the more we temper our tendency to be users, despoilers, arrogant occupiers…

With our brakha we participate in the flow of divinity in the world.

Rabbi Prager teaches that from a place of gratitude, we are less likely to cause harm. One additional blessing feels needed here, from Rabbi Denise L. Eger, in Mishkan Ga’avah: Where Pride Dwells:

Bless those who need healing from their wounds - a healing of spirit, and a healing of body. And teach us, Source of the universe, to be messengers in this world of justice, truth, love, love, love, love, and love. 

May you move through this week with love and blessing, and may gratitude be a trusty guide.

Rabbi Jay LeVine

Negotiating Hebron: Then and Now

As this letter lands in your inbox, the Israeli military is scaling up their presence in Hebron in preparation for this weekend. Hebron is a city in the West Bank, located just about 30 kilometers south of Jerusalem. It is home to over 200,000 Palestinians, and -- since 1968 -- a small enclave of right-wing Jewish settlers as well. On a typical day, Hebron's 850 Jewish residents are guarded by some 650 to 1000 Israeli soldiers (about a 1:1 ratio of IDF soldiers: residents). This weekend, however, is the Shabbat of the year when Jews around the world will read Parashat Chayei Sarah, the Torah portion in which Abraham purchases the Cave of Machpelah as a burial place for his wife Sarah. Over the coming days, some 40 to 50,000 Jewish pilgrims are expected to converge on Hebron to pray at the Cave of Machpelah (also known as the Tomb of the Patriarchs), and also to march through the streets of Hebron -- with Israeli military escorts -- to loudly assert Jewish control over this holy site.

Modern day Hebron certainly isn't the only locale of the Occupation, but it is arguably among the harshest, most extreme examples. An entire section of the city has been declared a "sterilized" zone -- that is the terminology the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) uses to indicate that it's been cleared of Palestinian residents and businesses. The Jewish residents of Hebron are citizens of Israel, who vote, pay taxes, and benefit from the services and rights due to them as Israelis. In contrast, Palestinian residents live under military occupation, which means they can be searched, arrested, and held by IDF forces at any time and for any (or no) reason. This summer, the most painful and challenging day of our Kavana-Mishkan Israel trip for me was the day when we toured Hebron with Breaking the Silence and met with Palestinian activist Issa Amro there, who described the harrassment he experienced regularly at the hands of both his Jewish neighbors and Israeli soldiers. (Amro is mentioned in a Guardian article from this week, "Hebron's Jewish settlers take heart from far-right polls surge in Israel").

This week's Torah portion, Chayei Sarah, details the story of how Abraham negotiates to secure a burial plot for Sarah. Ephron the Hittite, the previous owner of the land in question, seems quite willing to grant Abraham use of the land for free so that he can bury his wife. However, Abraham insists not only on buying the property, but on paying top dollar (400 shekels of silver) for it. (Click here to read the full text of Genesis 23.) Various commentators from across Jewish history have underscored this point to emphasize the permanence of Abraham's transaction. For example, Nachmanides, who lived about 800 years ago in Spain, points out the careful steps that Abraham took to establish ownership of the land, both in paying an exorbitantly high price and in ensuring that the transaction happens in front of witnesses, all of which helps to establish the transaction as legal and binding. Despite the millenia that have passed and the number of times the land has changed ownership since Abraham's days, the tens of thousands of Jews who will spend this Shabbat in Hebron still look to Abraham's real estate deal to legitimate their claim to the land.

This past Monday evening, Benzi Sanders -- a former IDF soldier who now works for Breaking the Silence and who served as our tour-guide in Hebron this summer -- spoke to a group of Kavana and New Israel Fund (NIF) supporters here in Seattle. Since 2004, Breaking the Silence has been trying to expose the Israeli public to the reality of everyday life in the Occupied Territories, through the testimony of veteran soldiers who have served in the Israeli military since the start of the Second Intifada. Breaking the Silence writes: "We endeavor to stimulate public debate about the price paid for a reality in which young soldiers face a civilian population on a daily basis, and are engaged in the control of that population's everyday life."

At the event, we watched Rona Segal's film "Mission: Hebron," which features testimony from six IDF veterans. Although it is very painful and challenging to confront these truths head-on, Kavana showed this film, invited Breaking the Silence in to speak, and incorporated a trip to Hebron into our community's Israel trip this summer because we believe that it is incumbent on us to create spaces within the Jewish community where -- from a place of deep and abiding love for the Jewish people, and precisely because we care about the future of the State of Israel -- we can talk about evils of the occupation. (If you missed Monday evening's event, I highly recommend carving out 22 minutes to watch the film linked above, and a few more minutes to learn about our partner organizations Breaking the Silence and the New Israel Fund.)

Towards the end of Monday night's program, Benzi reflected that -- in the wake of the recent Israeli election -- he sees a new opening. With the ascendancy of the far right in Israel, sentiments that once could be dismissed as representing only fringe and rogue elements of Israeli society (e.g. the idea that Jews are the "baalei ha-bayit," the rightful "landlords" of greater Israel/Palestine) now move into the light of day, which opens them up to public scrutiny and debate.

I perceive a new opening here in the U.S. too. Votes from some of the closest races of our 2022 Midterm Elections are still being tallied, but a clear picture is emerging: that overall, American voters are beginning to push back against Trumpist fascism, conspiracy theories, and white supremacy. This leaves a gap between the political directions that Israel and the U.S. are moving in, and it's precisely into this gap that we may now have the opportunity to begin to carve out space and change the culture and discourse. Here in the U.S., we can push on our elected officials to advocate for American support for a democratic state of Israel AND an end to occupation and a full stop to settlement expansion in the West Bank.  

As we move towards Shabbat, I pray for a calm and quiet weekend in Hebron. I pray that the descendants of Abraham's younger son Isaac (i.e. our fellow Jews) will remember that the Cave of Machpelah is also a holy site for the descendants of Abraham's older son Ishmael (Muslims). I pray that Torah will be used as a force for good in the world and not a justification for oppression and evil. I pray that from our corner of the world, we can help put an end to the occupation, and support the strengthening of a State of Israel that represents our highest values and ideals. Ken yehi ratzon, so may it be.

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Nourished on the Knife's Edge

I write this as we are on the knife’s edge of an election... and, with ballots still being counted in some close races and at least one important runoff to come, we will likely remain here for some time. As I sit here keeping company with just about every emotion I can name, I’m drawn to knife imagery and metaphor. In my inner living room, they gather: fear packs a knife, anger unsheaths it, hope dances with a glint of silver light, patience whittles a toy or totem, joy carves out a bite to eat, and love and sadness together etch their initials deep into the heartwood. 

I write this as we are on the knife’s edge of an election... and, with ballots still being counted in some close races and at least one important runoff to come, we will likely remain here for some time. As I sit here keeping company with just about every emotion I can name, I’m drawn to knife imagery and metaphor. In my inner living room, they gather: fear packs a knife, anger unsheaths it, hope dances with a glint of silver light, patience whittles a toy or totem, joy carves out a bite to eat, and love and sadness together etch their initials deep into the heartwood. 

Of course for each of us, there is the daily life.

Let us live it, gesture by gesture.

When we cut the ripe melon, should we not give it thanks?

And should we not thank the knife also?

We do not live in a simple world. (Mary Oliver, from At the River 

Clarion)

We do not live in a simple world. 

There is a seductive fantasy in our Torah portion, Vayera. The people of two towns, Sodom and Gomorah, appear to be entirely evil (with the lone exception being Abraham’s nephew Lot, a decidedly mediocre person). Abraham argues with God on behalf of theoretical innocents in their midst - should 50, or 40, or 30, or 20, or 10 innocent people be destroyed if God goes through with a plan to wipe the cities off the map? But once Lot and his family are rescued, no one remains to merit any mercy. 

The seductive fantasy for us today is that as political sorting continues to play out, we can imagine the “other side” as completely unredeemable, like Sodom and Gomorah. It is rather convenient that all the wicked people are “there” and not “here”. That mentality weaponizes us as we imagine cutting out the “infection”. What a world we would be in if those whose beliefs threaten our existence simply vanished! 

But Emily Dickinson picks up the knife metaphor and she too reminds us the world is not simple.

Surgeons must be very careful

When they take the knife!

Underneath their fine incisions

Stirs the Culprit — Life! 

In the hands of a surgeon, a knife is meant to be a tool for preserving life. But the neatness of a surgical mentality that identifies what harm to cut out maps poorly onto society. Sodom and Gomorah don’t exist - not because they were destroyed, but because humans are humans wherever they live, a messy mixture of care and cruelty. The same Culprit - Life! that gives rise to wonder and beauty and goodness also brings us pain and pettiness. How we come to terms with that condition marks our spiritual path. How we live it out with others is what we call politics. 

Later in the Torah portion, our ancestor Abraham picks up a knife, following God’s awful command to sacrifice Isaac, Abraham’s son. Before he can use the knife, though, an angel stops him and points out a ram to offer instead. A commentary collection called Daat Zkenim from the 12th/13th century reads the knife in a surprising way. 

Genesis 22:10 

וַיִּשְׁלַ֤ח אַבְרָהָם֙ אֶת־יָד֔וֹ וַיִּקַּ֖ח אֶת־הַֽמַּאֲכֶ֑לֶת לִשְׁחֹ֖ט אֶת־בְּנֽוֹ׃

And Abraham picked up the knife to slay his son.

Daat Zkenim

The word for knife (ma’achelet)  is used metaphorically (based on the meaning of achal“eating,” as the root of the word). It is the instrument that since that time has been feeding Israel throughout history as we all still benefit from Avraham’s having passed this test.

The knife in Abraham’s hand represents at least two things - first, certainty of action, but second, knowing when to pause. Abraham wields faithful certainty with an alarming ease, and yet remains open to new information. What does it mean for this knife to nourish us? 

This is my two-fold hope for us in this moment: (1) that we channel Abraham’s conviction for the values we hold dear, through voting, deeper learning, advocacy, however makes sense for you to follow through on what matters; and (2) that we remain sensitive enough to what we don’t know that we can change course wisely as needed. 

Because the world is not simple.

Dust, Stars and Democracy

Election Day is quickly approaching (PSA: don't forget to fill out and return your ballot by Tuesday!!), and like many of you, I'm feeling anxious about our country's future. With lies and conspiracy theories swirling, a backdrop of violence and white/Christian/male supremacist ideologies, and many political races looking like all-out battles between democracy and fascism, it's clear just how much is at stake right now, locally and across the United States.

Election Day is quickly approaching (PSA: don't forget to fill out and return your ballot by Tuesday!!), and like many of you, I'm feeling anxious about our country's future. With lies and conspiracy theories swirling, a backdrop of violence and white/Christian/male supremacist ideologies, and many political races looking like all-out battles between democracy and fascism, it's clear just how much is at stake right now, locally and across the United States.

In this week's Torah portion, Lech L'cha, Abraham, too, feels highly anxious about the future. As the parasha begins, he leaves his home and his family behind, setting out -- as God has commanded him -- for "the place that I will show you." Although God has promised Abraham offspring, he and Sarah find themselves unable to conceive. At a couple of different points in the parasha, God issues powerful promises, intended to reassure Abraham about the future:

• Genesis 13:16 says: "I will make your offspring as the dust of the earth, so that if one can count the dust of the earth, then your offspring too can be counted."

• Genesis 15:5 reads: "And [God] took [Abraham] outside and said, 'Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them'—continuing, 'So shall your offspring be.'"

At face value, both of these promises are about the number of offspring Abraham will someday have: they will be as impossible to count as the grains of dust on the earth, and as numerous as the stars in the heavens. Throughout many centuries, though, there's a long history of Jewish commentators who read these lines against the grain of the text, insisting that God's reassurance to Abraham goes far beyond just a quantitative promise, to a qualitative one.

So, for example, Rav Yaakov Tzvi Mecklenburg (a 19th C. German commentator) explains that the word used in the first verse above for “to count” (“limnot”) actually means “to ascribe importance to.” God blesses Abraham’s descendants, not that they will be as numerous as the dust of the earth, but rather that they will be important to the world in the same way that the earth is important... that their contribution to the world should be significant and tangible. About the second verse above, Rav Naftali Zvi Berlin (a 19th C. Lithuainian scholar) similarly interprets that, like the stars, Abraham’s descendants will have a special power to illuminate the world, their contribution radiating across history and pointing the way forward for human progress.

Rav Kook -- one of the founders of religious Zionism (late 19th/early 20th C.) -- comments on both of these verses, and also Genesis 22:17 (which isn't in this week's parasha but contains yet another similar promise), interpreting:

"The comparison of Abraham’s descendants to stars indicates the importance and greatness of every member of the Jewish people. Every soul is a universe unto itself, as the Sages wrote, ‘One who saves a single soul of Israel, it is as if he has saved an entire world’ (Sanhedrin 37a). But the Jewish people also have a collective mission, as indicated by their comparison to sand. A single grain of sand is of no particular consequence; but together, these grains of sand form a border against the ocean, establishing dry land and enabling life to exist. Israel’s collective purpose is to bring about the world’s spiritual advance, as it says, ‘This people I have created for Me [so that] they will proclaim My praise’ (Isaiah 43:21)."

Today, adding to my anxiety about the upcoming U.S. midterm election is my consternation over the results of this week's Israeli election. One headline I saw this morning read "Far-right extremism is the real winner of Israel's elections," and that (sadly, terrifyingly) feels like an apt summary. While details of the new coalition are still being hammered out, it appears almost certain that former Prime Minister Benjamin ("Bibi") Netanyahu will be returning to power even while under indictment, and that one of the most powerful players in the right-wing coalition will be Itamar Ben Gvir, leader of the Jewish Power Party. Ben Gvir has a long history of violence, a track record of being racist, misogynist, and anti-LGBTQ, and he openly incites against Palestinians and calls for their transfer. His win -- even in a democratic election -- is sadly a win for facism and "Jewish supremacy" over democracy in Israel, and this scares me (even more than I was scared before) for the future of Israel and the Jewish people.

I believe that we -- the Jewish people -- have a unique history and mission, and special responsibilities to act in the world as a force for goodness, and yet my inclination is to re-read Rav Kook's commentary on God's promises to Abraham in a way that could take into account not only the Jewish people, but ALL of Abraham's descendants. If we were to do that, we might interpret God's promises -- the ones about being like the dust of the earth and the stars in the sky -- as reminding Abraham (and, by extension, us) that:

1. every single human being is important and infinitely valuable, and

2. collectively, we can work together to bring about progress in the world.

Rav Kook's two statements -- taken together and read in this more expansive way -- also sound like a beautiful re-definition of the system of government called democracy. Democracy is premised on the equality of every single individual* (*or at least every individual eligible to vote... a category that generations before us have fought to expand throughout U.S. history), and the belief that collectively, the whole population has the ability to make the best overall decisions on behalf of society.

Viewed through this lens, voting, participating in our democracy, and working to protect democracy (both close to home and far away) can all be seen as manifestations of our core Jewish values. It is incumbent upon us to uphold the ideals that all voices should be heard, that elections must remain free and fair, and that truth matters. We have an obligation to strive towards a vision of "liberty and justice for all."

Throughout Parashat Lech L'cha and beyond, Abraham's anxiety has to be allayed many times, as God's promises don't come to fruition immediately. For us, too, at a time such is this, it is helpful to keep in mind that as we work towards "the world's spiritual advance" (as Rav Kook described it), this is long-term work. And so, as we move through the final lead-up to the 2022 U.S. midterm elections and grapple with the results of the Israeli election, let us look to both the dust of the earth and the stars in the sky for inspiration, reassurance, and hope.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Noah's Missing Lion

One of my greatest fears (and one I am pretty sure will come true) is that people I care about in the future - maybe even the near future - will look back at how I moved through this era and wonder, Why didn’t he do more?

One of my greatest fears (and one I am pretty sure will come true) is that people I care about in the future - maybe even the near future - will look back at how I moved through this era and wonder, Why didn’t he do more?

Why didn’t he do more to save the planet, to champion human dignity, to protect democracy?

If I could be in chevruta (study pair) with anyone on that question, the biblical figure Noah would be my first choice. What a complicated honor to be chosen by God to survive otherwise certain destruction! What was going on in his mind as he slowly built a solitary ark to save only his immediate family and a minimal number of animals? Was he relieved that his terrible neighbors were finally going to get washed away in the flood? Did he wonder if any of them would spend their final moments regretting their violent ways?

Could Noah have done more to save his world and all the people and creatures inhabiting it?

Torah says Noah was chosen to survive because he was “righteous (tzaddik) in his generation” (Genesis 6:9). Later sages pondered this phrase (Talmud Sanhedrin 108a), trying to understand the implication of righteousness in a generation. Reish Lakish suggests that being righteous when all of your peers are violent, deceptive thieves is remarkable, and such a person would be righteous “all the more so in other generations.” But Rabbi Yochanan asserts that righteous is a relative term, and only applied to Noah because the bar was set so low in his generation; Noah wouldn’t have even registered among the righteous in other generations. As 11th century commentator Rashi adds to this Talmudic discussion, why couldn’t Noah have been more like Abraham, willing to challenge God for the sake of justice?

The Chassidic master Levi Yitzchok of Berditchev (1740-1809) helps us understand how Noah could be called a tzaddik while meekly accepting widespread destruction.

There are two types of righteous leaders (tzaddikim) who serve the Creator. There is the tzaddik who serves the Creator and has no other desire than to do so. This one believes that her power can influence the uppermost realms, as our Sages taught… “The Holy Blessed One decrees and the tzaddik transmutes the decree into goodness.”

But there is another type of tzaddik who serves the Holy Creator. This one is exceedingly humble in his own eyes and thinks to himself, “Who am I that I should pray to cancel a divine decree?” And so, he doesn’t… This is as Rashi commented, “Noah was of little faith.” That is to say, Noah was little in his own eyes - he did not have faith in himself that he was a tzaddik who could cancel a decree, for he did not think anything of himself at all. (Translated by Josh Feigelson in his excellent new book Eternal Questions.)

Humility, generally speaking, is highly appreciated in Jewish tradition. In fact, it was the first middah (soul-trait) that our Mussar Jewish virtues class on the book Orchot Tzaddikim studied just last week. “Humility is the root of Divine service, and a small deed of the humble person is a thousand times more acceptable to the Blessed One than a great deed of the arrogant person.” We can see how, if Noah was so humble, God might have chosen him to survive the flood.

But, Orchot Tzaddikim cautions, “one must remove oneself from this trait in order that one not be humble and self-effacing before evil… If you have the ability within your grasp, you must fight evil-doers for God’s sake, and oppose them like a roaring lion to rescue the robbed from the robber.”

Humility at a time when moral courage is required isn’t Godly, it’s deadly.

These past few weeks, the evil of antisemitism has surfaced in clear and painful ways. A former president berated U.S. Jews for not lining up docilely to support him because of his policies on Israel - and issuing a warning that we Jews should get our act together before it is too late.

And a rapper with a large following has made threats against Jews on Twitter. (It is worth noting that in addition to their antisemitic comments, both of these individuals also have a record of misogynistic and racist comments and behaviors.)

While there has been heartening pushback in these cases, we know how much comments like these from public figures will continue to amplify hatred and potential for violence. We have an obligation to not shrink and hide, but to fight hatred and lies with confident love and clear speaking. Some helpful links for keeping ourselves informed and articulate (thank you Rabbi Rachel for directing me to these sources):

• MRC corporate statement ("Shelving of our Kanye West Documentary and Two Important Lies")

• This episode on anti-semitism from the Freedom Road podcast, with host Lisa Sharon Harper and guests Rabbi Sharon Brous and Rabbi Jill Jacobs.

• A recent interview with Rabbi Angela Buchdahl.

In addition to bringing our attention to anti-semitism, Kavana partners are hard at work rousing our inner lions to fight for important environmental policies through Dayenu: A Jewish Call to Climate Action (see the photo below of the group that gathered for a legislative phone-a-thon); and a new team is forming to find ways to support immigrant communities and advocate for humane immigration policies. Please reach out if any of these issues of concern align with your energy and capacity to get involved!

I wonder if Noah didn’t challenge God because he and his family were spiritually alone in their generation. He didn’t see anyone around him modeling holy chutzpah (audacity), nor did he have any models of effective activism or ethical teaching. Later in the Talmudic discussion about Noah, he is pictured as going around rebuking people for their violent ways, but they just laugh at him. Even before he gets on the ark, he is isolated. Ultimately he has no muscle memory for togetherness, no deep sense of belonging and interconnectedness.

But in our generation, while it is true there are many things to fear and fight, we understand that the most powerful force that exists isn’t hate or violence, nor is it natural disasters. When we connect deeply with each other - within Kavana or any other communities you may belong to, or between communities - there is nothing we cannot accomplish. As Rabbi Rachel mentioned to me, being righteous in our generation is figuring out how to stand up for ourselves and for others.

The 20th century Rabbi Chaim Friedlander once taught that Noah’s primary task while aboard the ark was to learn and practice chesed, connective kindness. Let’s figure out how to do that now, before we need another ark. Humility - so we can learn from one another. Lovingkindness - so we can weave ourselves into connection. And moral courage - so we can stand up for what matters and do everything we can for ourselves and our world.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Jay LeVine

Bringing Fire & Water Back into Balance

Each fall, my sukkah serves as my personal "weather station." Some years, my family is able to eat all our meals outside, and other years, heavy rains make that impossible. In several recent past years, fall storms have brought winds strong enough to blow the schach (branches that form the roof) off the top of our sukkah and to mangle our decorations.

Each fall, my sukkah serves as my personal "weather station." Some years, my family is able to eat all our meals outside, and other years, heavy rains make that impossible. In several recent past years, fall storms have brought winds strong enough to blow the schach (branches that form the roof) off the top of our sukkah and to mangle our decorations.

Not this year. This Sukkot, our sukkah didn't lose a single branch to wind; on the contrary, the air was eerily still for most of the week. There was zero rainfall (in fact, since late June, we've received only about a half-inch of rain in total, making this one of the driest stretches in Seattle's history!). And yet, there were several days when we could not eat outside, because of the smoke-filled air that hung over the metro area. This smoky "weather" has ebbed and flowed for weeks, producing beautiful/awful sunsets (see image below), hazardous health conditions (for all, but especially for sensitive groups), and an overall ominous effect. The campfire smell and my burning eyes have served as a daily reminder of climate change, and how our world is out of balance.

This coming Shabbat, we will read Parashat Bereishit, which features the story of the creation of the world. I've been preparing a short Torah reading for the Shabbat Minyan -- and as such, have been reading a few verses over and over, Genesis 1:6-8:

God said, “Let there be an expanse in the midst of the water, that it may separate water from water.” God made the expanse, and it separated the water which was below the expanse from the water which was above the expanse. And it was so. God called the expanse sky. And there was evening and there was morning, a second day.

From ancient times, commentators have noted the similarity between the Hebrew word for "sky" or "heavens" -- shamayim -- and the word for water -- mayim. The midrash, in Bereishit Rabbah 4:7, records a creative etymology:

"And God called the firmament heavens (shamayim)." Rav says, [shamayim means] fire (aish) and water (mayim) [mixed together]. Rabbi Abba the son of [Rav] Kahanah said in the name of Rav, the Holy Blessed One took fire (aish) and water (mayim), joined them together and made the heavens ((ai)sh+mayim = shamayim).

On one level, this midrashic interpretation feels sweet and a little quaint. It's easy for me to imagine that our ancestors in ancient times marveled over the "miracle" that both fire (e.g. the sun) and water (e.g. rain clouds) could exist simultaneously in the sky, without the water extinguishing the fire or the fire evaporating the water. As the commentary in the Etz Hayim Chumash says, "God works a daily miracle. Fire and water agree to co-exist peacefully so that the world can endure." (Incidentally, this interpretation also lies behind Oseh Shalom, in which we pray these words: "May You who established peace in the heavens [teaching fire and water to get along] grant that kind of peace to us and to all the people of Israel.")

After several consecutive days of being choked by terribly unhealthy air, this reading of "shamayim"/ the skies -- as representing the interaction between fire and water -- feels more true and profound than ever. Thankfully, tomorrow's forecast calls for abundant rain... and hopefully this barrage of water will, in fact, extinguish the fires blazing east of here and put an end to our smoke (for now at least). But, the smoke has been a reminder that the balance of our "skies" is radically out of whack.

We cannot just wait passively for the balance of Bereishit to be restored. True to the responsibility placed on the first humans in this week's parasha, we must step up and act as the custodians and guardians of the world, and as God's partners in creation.

This coming Tuesday, we have an opportunity to participate in phone banking with Dayenu: A Jewish Call to Climate Action. While our personal decisions and actions do matter, we know that what makes a far greater impact is working collectively for change and putting elected officials into office at every level of government who will acknowledge what's transpiring before our eyes and enact policies to address these realities. (Parenthetically, I'll say that the same elected officials who share our values on climate change are likely to share our values on a wide range of other issues our community cares deeply about too.) Please join us for this phone banking, and stay tuned for more activities from Kavana's Dayenu Circle throughout the year.

I took my sukkah down today. By the time we put it up again next fall, I pray that together, we will have made progress in addressing climate change, if not by effecting repair of our environment (yet), then by making this a legislative priority, on election day and beyond. Parashat Bereishit reminds us that we human beings are part of the created world, and bear special responsibility to "tend the garden."

May we find the power to bring fire (esh) and water (mayim) back into balance, for the sake of heaven (shamayim).

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

The Holiday Home-Stretch

We hope you are having a wonderful Sukkot holiday! Between Sukkot celebrations and preparations for the launch of Kavana's program year, our staff team has been busy reflecting on this spectacular High Holiday season.

We hope you are having a wonderful Sukkot holiday! Between Sukkot celebrations and preparations for the launch of Kavana's program year, our staff team has been busy reflecting on this spectacular High Holiday season.

Over Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, over 750 of you(!!) entered into the warm and spiritual container we built at Kavana this season. Together, we heard shofar blasts from every direction on Rosh Hashanah day, brought in Yom Kippur with a beautiful acoustic Kol Nidre, and so much more. We gathered in body and spirit throughout the 10 yamim nora’im, Days of Awe, for learning, praying, meditation, singing, and connection. We connected with old friends and made new ones in the moments between our packed schedule, where we engaged our minds and bodies in yoga, discussions surrounding Jewish ethics and the Book of Jonah, reflective art and writing, and so much more.

One of our goals this High Holiday season was to create an atmosphere where everyone would be able to pick and choose the experiences that would provide them with spiritual nourishment, whatever that may be. We were only able to accomplish this by collaborating and co-creating with each and every individual who participated. If you attended Rosh Hashanah and/or Yom Kippur services/programs at Kavana this season, we invite you to take this High Holiday survey and share feedback and reflections with us about the experience.

Rabbi Jay LeVine delivered a Rosh Hashanah sermon entitled "Healing Regret” during Kavana's Erev Rosh Hashanah services. You can find that sermon here. Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum’s Yom Kippur sermon – “Cultivating a Steadfast Heart” – is available to read (click here for the pdf) or to listen to (click here for the audio file). At the end of the pdf, Rabbi Rachel has listed some text sources for further study and reflection. And finally, the link to watch our Kol Nidre Instrumental Prelude can be found here. Thank you once again to Kavana teens Eva Friedman and Emma Kvart for sharing this beautiful music with us!

The magical moments of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur would never have come together were it not for the efforts of so many individuals. A huge THANK YOU to the  volunteers and staff members, who worked side-by-side to produce our incredible multi-access High Holiday retreats. (These are the names of all the individuals who signed up for volunteer slots through our spreadsheet, and/or who led services and programs, blew shofar, played music, read Torah, etc.):

Lastly, many of you have already shared how touched and inspired you were by these beautiful High Holidays with the Kavana community. We hope that the magic will continue throughout the entirety of Jewish calendar year 5783! To that end:

• We invite your continued participation in services, programs, and community gatherings. To echo the language from above, what’s so special about this community is that all of our offerings come to life through collaboration and co-creation! Please be in touch with your ideas, and to contribute your energy and talents.

• If you are not yet a Kavana partner but are interested in making Kavana your Jewish home, click here to learn more about partnership at Kavana and be in touch by email.

• Pulling off experiences as deep and robust as these High Holidays have been, and for so many people, requires financial resources. Kavana welcomes donations of all sizes throughout the year… and we are grateful to the hundreds of supporters who make Kavana happen! Over the coming months, in particular, Kavana will be launching a fundraising campaign – with a challenge match from Project Accelerate – to support capacity building and ensure Kavana’s future! All new and increased gifts will be eligible for these matching funds. Click here to donate anytime, or email us if you’d like to speak with a member of our Fundraising committee about making a larger gift!

We hope that your New Year is off to a wonderful start, and we can’t wait to see how you choose to engage with Kavana throughout the year. Again, thank you for joining us for these spectacular High Holidays, and we look forward to seeing you again soon!

Sincerely,

Avital Krifcher (Director of Community Engagement) and The Kavana Team

Kavana Newsletter from Between the Holidays

What a glorious High Holiday season this has been at Kavana! It was lovely to gather with so many of you for Yom Kippur this week... some participants have described the experience as "most amazing" and "transportive." We will have more to say on this topic next week -- including a long list of volunteer and staff leaders to thank, and a follow-up survey to share with everyone who attended over Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. For now, here are a few glimpses below.

What a glorious High Holiday season this has been at Kavana! It was lovely to gather with so many of you for Yom Kippur this week... some participants have described the experience as "most amazing" and "transportive." We will have more to say on this topic next week -- including a long list of volunteer and staff leaders to thank, and a follow-up survey to share with everyone who attended over Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. For now, here are a few glimpses below.

Meanwhile, though, the Jewish calendar marches on! The next festival, Sukkot, begins this Sunday evening. Through this holiday, we embrace the vulnerability of life, dwelling in temporary booths that offer minimal protection from the elements. And yet, this is called "z'man simchateinu," the season of our great joy. So many of the themes of Sukkot -- harvest, hospitality, and the precariousness of our human circumstances, to name a few -- come together as we head to Oxbow Farm this Sunday for our community's annual gleaning event, where we'll be picking green beans and cherry tomatoes to be distributed through local food banks. It's not too late to register to join us!

Finally, the Kavana office will officially be closed for each of the next two Mondays and Tuesdays, in observance of Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret/Simchat Torah. Expect to hear from us again during the intermediate days of Sukkot, in the second half of next week.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom and a Chag Sameach,

The Kavana Team

Touching Base from inside the Days of Awe

When our small but mighty staff and lay team began planning for this year’s High Holiday season, we articulated goals around striving towards a new “newness,” rediscovering and reinventing norms, and finding more and innovative ways to connect with one another this year.

When our small but mighty staff and lay team began planning for this year’s High Holiday season, we articulated goals around striving towards a new “newness,” rediscovering and reinventing norms, and finding more and innovative ways to connect with one another this year.

These goals served us well when we came together in record numbers earlier this week for Rosh Hashanah! We've heard from many of you that celebrating the New Year with Kavana felt like attending a festival or being at summer camp: the joy of being together, the rich and diverse options of services and programs, the gorgeous weather and the beauty of being in nature! There was such a positive buzz in the air, as community members connected, reconnected, and deepened relationships with one another! Thanks to all of you who showed up and engaged so deeply in the work of the season, and especially to those who volunteered for the many different roles that it takes to run such a large and complex gathering. Here are just a couple of the many sweet comments we've received so far:

"I mean, the whole scene was incredible. Loved the location, the options, the warmth of the community."

"I think it may have been one of the best spiritual experiences I have had. It felt to me like a spiritual retreat. I loved the choice of so many different services and I definitely strolled over to all that was offered. The musical service nestled in the trees and the zen little enclave where the yoga and mindfulness was offered... talk about going with the times and thinking out of the box."

We can't wait to be back together this coming week on October 4th and 5th for Yom Kippur!

In the meantime, we thought we'd share Rabbi Jay's Rosh Hashanah sermon ("Healing Regret") with those of you who might have missed Kavana's Erev Rosh Hashanah services. The content ties directly into tomorrow morning's Mussar & Meditation event (see below for more info and the registration link).

Also, the Kavana website has now been updated to reflect the revised Yom Kippur schedule -- click here to read about our full array of offerings. We will be sending out confirmation emails to all who have registered for the High Holidays by Monday morning, so if you joined us for Rosh Hashanah or have already registered, you should be good to go. If you'd like to join us for Yom Kippur but haven't registered for the High Holidays yet, please click here to register by this Sunday, October, 2nd at latest.

Below, enjoy some photos from Rosh Hashanah, and share in the magic of the High Holidays at Kavana!

Wishing you a Shana Tova u'Metukah, and also a Shabbat Shalom,

- Liz Thompson & The Kavana Team

The Importance of Showing Up

This past weekend was a busy and beautiful one for the Kavana community. Dozens of you turned out to sing with musicians Joey Weisenberg, Deborah Sacks Mintz and Chava Mirel and with other members of the broader Seattle Jewish community; the harmonies and energy were electric! Three Kavana education programs -- Havdalah Club, Prep & Practice, and our High School Program -- met for the first time in this new cycle, each bringing old and new participants together with a great buzz. People are turning up in large numbers to re-engage and reconnect... and it sure feels great!

This past weekend was a busy and beautiful one for the Kavana community. Dozens of you turned out to sing with musicians Joey Weisenberg, Deborah Sacks Mintz and Chava Mirel and with other members of the broader Seattle Jewish community; the harmonies and energy were electric! Three Kavana education programs -- Havdalah Club, Prep & Practice, and our High School Program -- met for the first time in this new cycle, each bringing old and new participants together with a great buzz. People are turning up in large numbers to re-engage and reconnect... and it sure feels great!

Parashat Nitzavim, which we read this Shabbat in the lead-up to Rosh Hashanah, emphasizes the importance of showing up. The opening verses, Deuteronomy 29:9-11, read:

"You stand this day, all of you, before Adonai your God —your tribal heads, your elders, and your officials, every householder in Israel, your children, your wives, even the stranger within your camp, from woodchopper to waterdrawer—to enter into the covenant of Adonai your God..."

In Deuteronomy's recollection, everyone showed up at the mountain -- regardless of gender or generation, leadership status or role (even the woodchopper and the waterdrawer!); therefore, everyone is included in the covenant.

At Kavana too, we have always valued face-time... that is, people showing up in person and spending time together doing a range of activities (learning, praying, volunteering, socializing, supporting each other, etc.), in order to build authentic relationships and create a tightly-woven fabric of community. Our cooperative model is grounded in a belief that everyone's presence and participation really matters.

Without a doubt, the last few years of pandemic time have posed a great challenge, and we've had to get creative about redefining what it means to show up. As we enter this new Jewish year and new academic year, we are feeling this cycle's potential to feel more normal than last year or the previous one (fingers crossed!). This is translating into many more in-person opportunities to gather and celebrate together than we've had over the last couple of High Holiday seasons... and it seems that our community is ready for this, as hundreds of you have already registered to join us for the High Holidays. Of course, some Kavana folks aren't able or aren't ready to rejoin large in-person gatherings yet, and we are offering opportunities to join High Holiday services via Zoom as well... that absolutely also "counts" as showing up!

In any case, if you haven't registered yet, TODAY is your day... as with Parashat Nitzavim, we aspire to have our whole community stand together as we engage in the spiritual work of the season over Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. (And, we ask that you register by this evening, so that we can have name tags and materials ready for everyone who plans to attend!)

In this season of cycles, now is the perfect time... to be returning, renewing, recommitting, reengaging, reconnecting, and rekindling relationships! Please join us, and together we will make 5783 a year of sweetness and blessing, for each of us individually, for all of us as a community, and for the world.

Shana tova u'metukah - wishing us all a good and sweet New Year, as we stand to face it together,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Borders and Boundaries

I was struck upon first moving to Seattle how difficult it is to give directions based on geographical features. You can’t say, “Head towards the water” because water is all around. You can’t say, “Look for the mountains” because east or west we can (occasionally) see the Cascades or the Olympic mountains. Being surrounded by water and mountains is a wonderful and occasionally disorienting experience!

I was struck upon first moving to Seattle how difficult it is to give directions based on geographical features. You can’t say, “Head towards the water” because water is all around. You can’t say, “Look for the mountains” because east or west we can (occasionally) see the Cascades or the Olympic mountains. Being surrounded by water and mountains is a wonderful and occasionally disorienting experience!

In parashat Ki Tavo, we find instructions for a different multiple-mountain experience, one that is meant precisely to orient the Israelites morally as they enter the land of Canaan. Half the tribes are supposed to climb Mt. Gerizim, and the other half are to climb Mt. Eival. From across a valley, the tribes will call out to each other blessings from one mountain, and curses from the other. The combined effect is to discern the right path to follow as a moral society, God’s promises and warnings booming and echoing like thunder (perhaps recalling Mt. Sinai, where Torah was first given.)

One of my favorite definitions of what a blessing and a curse are comes from the medieval scholar Rabbi Avraham ibn Ezra. Commenting on Genesis 2:3, he writes, “Peirush berachah tosafot tova - The explanation of “blessing” is an increase in goodness.” A curse, by contrast, is a diminishment of goodness. Often, the blessings in Torah are rewarding a generosity of spirit, and the curses are afflicting those who diminish others.

One of the curses in Ki Tavo expresses that sin of diminishment literally: “Cursed be the one who moves their neighbor’s landmark” (Deuteronomy 27:17). Commentators clarify that the person moving the landmark is doing it in a way to make their neighbor’s property smaller, thus enlarging their own property. They are stealing land, violating boundaries, and diminishing both the material well-being and dignity of their neighbor. The curse appropriately redirects that diminishment towards the one violating another’s space.

While the surface level of this verse focuses on actual land, I see in it the potential to reflect on boundaries more generally. Karl Schlögel, in his book Ukraine: A Nation on the Borderland, lifts up the centrality of boundaries and borders to the nation and to human experience.

“Ukraina is generally thought to mean ‘borderland.’ Ukraine has been a paradigmatic land of borders, and not only because it once bordered the steppes; it is a territory criss-crossed by [geographic, religious, and linguistic] boundaries…

“...The two words (‘border’ and ‘boundary’) cover an extraordinarily wide and differentiated spectrum of phenomena. There are hard and soft, permeable and hermetically closed borders; real and virtual boundaries as well as phantom boundaries that have been effaced and yet continue to have palpable effects; unfenced ‘green’ borders and fortified ones with troops stationed to defend them; territorial boundaries and lines drawn by social distinctions… Borders are among humanity’s most elementary experiences of space and time.”

Boundaries have been at the core of some of the biggest social issues of our time, from the border wall that in the xenophobic imagination protects white America, to the #MeToo movement shining a light on how painfully often women’s personal boundaries are violated by men in power. Boundaries are also at play in conversations about work culture and burnout, and health and safety in a time of pandemic.

More than just a rule about property theft, our verse in Deuteronomy might serve as a reminder of how much we should use this High Holiday season to return ourselves individually and collectively to a sustainable and loving and respectful relationship to boundaries. When boundaries are healthy, keeping out what should be kept out and allowing in what is nourishing and necessary for life, we experience shleimut, integrity and wholeness.

Contemporary author and composer of parables Noah Ben Shea wrote a book several decades ago about a simple yet wise baker named Jacob. Here is his take on the boundaries we’ve internalized, the walls we put up around our hearts.

A community leader came to see Jacob, hoping to find peace of mind, an ease for his burden. The man was troubled by a repetitive dream that he did not understand.

"Jacob, in my dream, I have traveled a long distance and am finally arriving at a great city. But, at the entrance to the city, I am met by a tall soldier who says that I must answer two questions before I am admitted. Will you help me?"

Jacob nodded. "The first question the soldier asks is 'What supports the walls of a city?"

"That is easy," said Jacob. "Fear supports the walls of a city."

"But what supports the fear?" asked the man. "For that is the second question."

"The walls," Jacob answered. "The fears we cannot climb become our walls."

As we approach the High Holidays, here are a few questions for reflection:

1. Where have you diminished someone else by taking up too much of their space, or crossing boundaries they had set? What might you do to mend the situation?

2. What do you need to do to respond to the times when your boundaries were crossed?

3. What boundaries do you need to set in place to enter the new year strong and whole?

4. What inner walls do you need to tear down to enter the new year open and unafraid?

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Jay LeVine

"Etching Compassion" in Preparation for the New Year

This week’s Torah portion, Ki Teitzei, contains the most mitzvot (commandments) of any parasha: 74 by most counts -- more than one tenth of all the commandments in the Torah!

This week’s Torah portion, Ki Teitzei, contains the most mitzvot (commandments) of any parasha: 74 by most counts -- more than one tenth of all the commandments in the Torah!

As one way of considering our objectives and intentions during this season, I want to zoom in for a moment on a particular mitzvah from our parasha that’s always fascinated me: “shiluach ha-ken,” “the sending away of the nest”. The text of Deuteronomy 22:6-7 reads:

If, along the road, you chance upon a bird’s nest, in any tree or on the ground, with fledglings or eggs and the mother sitting over the fledglings or on the eggs, do not take the mother together with her young. Let the mother go, and take only the young, in order that you may fare well and have a long life.

This mitzvah has generated so much interpretation throughout the centuries. Some commentators focus on the language of the “chance” encounter with the nest, while others debate how tasty fledglings would really be for eating (would they?) or compare this commandment to the laws of kashrut (which also feature mother and baby animals: “do not boil a kid in its mother’s milk” – is there a link between them?).

There is also a famous story in the Talmud (which actually appears in different versions in a number of places), that hinges on the seeming guarantee of longevity of life at the end of this mitzvah. It pins the crisis of faith of Elisha ben Abuya -- rabbinic Judaism’s greatest heretic -- to the disconnect between these verses and what he experiences in the world. [This is an aside, but I am a big fan… both of Elisha ben Abuya’s questioning around theodicy, and also of rabbinic tradition’s insistence that the promise of “long life” here can’t be taken literally, but rather must be viewed through a metaphoric or interpretive lens. This is an important reminder for those of us who sometimes find ourselves stuck as we wrestle with the reward and punishment language embedded in our High Holiday liturgy!]

One of my favorite interpretations of this commandment, however, belongs to Shadal, also known as Samuel David Luzzatto, a brilliant 19th century Italian Jewish scholar. In a philosophical treatise called Yesodei ha-Torah, The Foundations of the Torah, Luzzatto argues that the mitzvah of shiluach ha-ken is fundamentally intended to arouse compassion in us. Here are his words (from Sefer Yesodei HaTorah 21:1):

And not towards man alone did the Torah command compassion and kindness, but also towards beast and bird — on the one hand, for the sake of the animals themselves, "for His mercies are on all living things" (Psalms 145:9), and on the other, for the benefit of man himself, so that he habituate himself to the trait of compassion and not adopt that of cruelty. … As we find in the mitzvah of sending away the mother bird (Deut. 22:6-7). For the mother bird lying on its fledglings or eggs could easily have flown away and rescued itself upon seeing or hearing a man approaching. Why did it not do so? Out of compassion for its young. If a man were permitted to take her, it would be impressed upon him that compassion is rash and foolish, causing harm to those actuated by it. And, to the contrary, by its taking being forbidden to him, the glory of compassion will be deeply etched in his heart.

To Luzzatto, shooing away a mother bird before taking eggs from the nest isn’t only a practical matter, but a training exercise designed to strengthen our compassion muscle. Luzzatto goes down two paths in his thought process. First, he considers what might happen if a person were permitted to take the mother bird. He imagines that the mother bird -- out of her own compassion for her young -- would stay in her nest, thus making her an easy target. A person who comes along and snatches the mother, therefore, might incorrectly deduce that the mother bird's compassion is the source of her vulnerability, and extrapolate from there... reaching conclusions that Luzzatto would find false and dangerous. Second, Luzzatto champions this mitzvah and holds it up as a paragon of a compassionate act. In doing so, he is drawing on a long line of commentators from previous centuries, such as Ramban, who explained that "when a person sends off the mother bird and she goes away, she will not be distressed at seeing her young taken" (Maimonides, Guide for the Perplexed III:48). Shooing away the mother bird is viewed, therefore, as an act of kindness; anyone who has this much consideration for the feelings of a mother bird will, by extension, also be sensitive to protect the feelings of other human beings. I think this is what Luzzatto means when he posits -- in exquisite language -- that “the glory of compassion will be deeply etched in his heart.” In other places in his writing, Luzzatto also extends a similar line of thought to all of Torah, arguing that, in fact, the point of all of Jewish practice is to engender compassion towards others.

This week, as we prepare for the New Year, I want to suggest that we consciously try to inhabit Luzzatto’s worldview. During Elul, many people observe daily practices anyway as part of the spiritual preparation for the New Year: blowing the shofar, reciting Selichot (penitential) prayers, journaling, and more. Luzzatto’s interpretation of shiluach ha-ken offers a great addition to our spiritual tool-belt, inviting us to consciously cultivate compassion within ourselves through our actions, large and small. If you chance upon a bird’s nest this week, intending to take the eggs, by all means, please do shoo away the mother bird first! But, even if you don’t, fortunately there are an infinite number of other situations which we can view through this lens. (Do you carefully catch and release spiders that turn up inside your house in the fall? Try to buy food that was cultivated locally and ethically? Stock your car with granola bars so you always have something ready to hand to a person in need on the street? Offer support and treats to teachers on strike? I would love to hear your ideas and examples!)  

Whatever your actions of choice, I invite you to join me this week in setting an intention (kavana) around “etching compassion” deeply into our own hearts. Imagine the ripple effects that this collective intention could have, with each of us approaching the new beginning that Rosh Hashanah offers us from a personal place of compassion. Then together, we can set our sights on building a community and a world full of compassion.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Meeting the King in the Field

For centuries, Jews had called God “King” (or even more intensely, “King of Kings of Kings”). God, it was clear, could be compared to a king. Human kings, it was also clear, couldn’t hold a candle to the luminous eminence of the divine, despite what many of them claimed. God, like a king of old, was powerful. Like a king of old, God’s judgment and justice was meant to rule the land. God as king became part of every blessing and prayer we say (Baruch…melech ha’olam…, Blessed are You…King of the world…).

A long time ago (circa the late 1700s), Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady taught us something new about God and metaphor.

For centuries, Jews had called God “King” (or even more intensely, “King of Kings of Kings”). God, it was clear, could be compared to a king. Human kings, it was also clear, couldn’t hold a candle to the luminous eminence of the divine, despite what many of them claimed. God, like a king of old, was powerful. Like a king of old, God’s judgment and justice was meant to rule the land. God as king became part of every blessing and prayer we say (Baruch…melech ha’olam…, Blessed are You…King of the world…).

Unfortunately, metaphors can detract as well as add to our understanding. Because of the kings we encountered through history, we also began to think of God as isolated in the grandeur of the palace, and in order to meet with the king, we would have to navigate intricate bureaucracies. Whether through rigorous Torah study, disciplined prayer rituals, or impassioned meditative practices, the path to God often seemed reserved only for the elite few.

Shneur Zalman accepted this metaphor of God as King, and even acknowledged how it made God seem further away from us. But then he taught that in the lead up to Rosh Hashanah which centers God’s kingship more than any other time of the year, this month of Elul, God the King does something unexpected. HaMelech ba’sadeh. The King is in the field.

“It is comparable to a king who returns to the city, and when he passes through the fields on his way to the palace, anyone who wishes may get close and greet him as he passes through the fields. This is important, because once he is in his palace, entry is only possible to those with special permission. So too, during the month of Elul, all go out into the field to greet the King as he passes through.”

The King is in the field, the divine is present where you are.

I want to take Shneur Zalman’s invitation to re-imagine our relationship with God one step further. What is the “field” today? This is not a wild space, nor is it an urban space. It is a place of intentional cultivation that produces something nourishing. When it comes to matters of the spirit, the field is not raw nature, nor is it the highly developed centers of religious practice (sanctuary, prayer, theology, ritual). What happens if we understand the “field” as the secular arts, a place where we don’t normally expect to find God but where we do cultivate meaning, beauty, joy, and healing?

With that question in mind, I have put together an Elul playlist of secular songs that have moved me in 2022, and that in some way felt appropriate to the themes of this season. If you want to listen on Spotify, you can find the playlist here. Below is a list of the songs, with one lyric highlight. You may find other songs and lyrics that move you through Elul and the High Holidays - feel free to share with me or on the Kavana Facebook group!

On Taking Account and Making Amends

1. Band of Horses, Warning Signs. “I don't want help / I don't want counseling / I won't go to therapy / I won't do anything.”

2. The Sadies, All the Good. “When I search for answers / Questions are all I find / Wish I knew what I needed to do this time.”

3. Sharon Van Etten, Mistakes. “Even when I make a mistake / It's much better than that.”

4. Stars, I Need the Light. “We're gonna work it till we wake up with the truth here.”

On Big Questions & Spiritual Connection

1. Calexico, Harness the Wind. “Are we just falling stars / Dancing across the sky?”

2. Angel Olsen, Through the Fires. “And walk through the fires / Of all earthly desires / And let go of the pain / That obstructs you from higher.”

3. Aurora, Everything Matters. “You're part of the dawn where the light comes from the dark / You're a part of the morning and everything matters / And we are, an atom and a star / You're a part of the movement and everything matters (to me).”

On Generosity and Self-Care

1. Laura Veirs, Seaside Haiku. “Give but don't give too much / Of yourself away.”

About Relationships, Love, Grief, Time Passing

1. The Whitmore Sisters, Friends We Leave Behind. “The friends we leave behind / It’s what defines us / How many will there be / When we’re gone?”

2. Kevin Morby & Erin Rae, Bittersweet, TN. “And there was no time, suddenly."

A Taste of Sukkot & Ecclesiastes (A Time for Everything)

1. Regina Spektor, What Might Have Been. “Living and dying go together / Business and crying go together / Passion and madness go together / Yellow and sadness go together.”

Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi Jay LeVine

We are all Jews-by-Choice in Elul

I started my day yesterday at the Seattle Mikvah (ritual bath), where I was serving on a beit din, a panel of three rabbis, supervising a conversion for a baby who, through adoption, is now part of a Jewish family! Often, I am also privileged to witness such ritual moments for adults who have chosen Judaism, too. Within the Kavana community, together with many Jews-from-birth, we have many individuals who have chosen, along the way, to identify with the Jewish people and participate in Jewish life (whether or not that has entailed a formal conversion process). I always appreciate the opportunity to celebrate this powerful choice!

I started my day yesterday at the Seattle Mikvah (ritual bath), where I was serving on a beit din, a panel of three rabbis, supervising a conversion for a baby who, through adoption, is now part of a Jewish family! Often, I am also privileged to witness such ritual moments for adults who have chosen Judaism, too. Within the Kavana community, together with many Jews-from-birth, we have many individuals who have chosen, along the way, to identify with the Jewish people and participate in Jewish life (whether or not that has entailed a formal conversion process). I always appreciate the opportunity to celebrate this powerful choice!

Today, many converts to Judaism prefer the terminology of "Jews by choice."  But, as sociologists have pointed out, in contemporary times, all Jews are -- in effect -- Jews by choice. In our society, there is no external pressure towards observance or affiliation. And so, we are left to choose for ourselves how we will forge our paths of connection and identity.

This is a time of year where choice is a dominant theme. This week's Torah portion, Parashat Re'eh, begins with God setting out the array of choices: "See, this day I set before you blessing and curse" (Deuteronomy 11:26). The blessing is defined as what will follow if the Israelites live in accordance with God's commandments; the curse is what will result if they "turn away from the path." As a way of helping the Israelites visualize this dichotomy, Moses instructs the Israelites that as they actually enter into the promised land, they are to physically pass between two mountains, Har Gerizim and Har Ebal. On Har Gerizim, the blessing will be pronounced, and on Har Ebal, the curse. By passing between the two, the Israelites are forced into a moment of higher cognition, in which they become explicitly aware of the choices they face and all that might follow from their decisions.

This weekend is also Rosh Chodesh Elul - the beginning of the Hebrew month of spiritual preparation that leads us towards the High Holidays. In his book This Is Real and You Are Completely Unprepared, Rabbi Alan Lew weaves the image from Parashat Re'eh together with our entry into the month of Elul. He writes:

"We have to come to see our life very clearly, clearly enough so that we can discern the will of God in it, so that we can tell the difference between the blessings and the curses, so that these things are arrayed before us as clearly as mountains, as we intone their names from the valley in between -- that sliver of eternity on which we stand and that we call the present moment.

This is why we are advised to spend the month of Elul in the regular practice of introspection, self-examination, and silence. We no longer perform the great pageant of the blessings and the curses, Mount Gerizim and Mount Ebal. But this pageant was a ritual, and the inner process that this ritual was trying to express in visual form persists. Today we have our own ritualization of it: the Days of Awe, the High Holy Days, the time when it is made equally clear to us that everything depends upon our own moral and spiritual choices. And although we no longer have the two great mountains to help us see this choice in concrete form, we do have the month of Elul - a time to gaze upon the inner mountains, to devote serious attention to bringing our lives into focus; a time to clarify the distinction between the will of God and our own willfulness, to identify that in us which yearns for life and that which clings to death, that which seeks good and that which is fatally attracted to the perverse, to find out who we are and where we are going...

I love Rabbi Lew's image of the inner mountains. In this read, the month of Elul becomes a time to try to awaken ourselves to choices we had forgotten that we get to make... after all, it's human nature to go on auto-pilot, to get stuck in our own patterns and stories and forget that we are making choices all the time. The mountains lie within us, always.

A famous High Holiday image -- of a balance, or scales -- also relates to the two mountains. Maimonides (a.k.a. Rambam, the great medieval Jewish philosopher) writes that "one needs to see himself all year as if he is equally balanced between innocence and guilt... If doing one mitzvah, behold he has tipped himself and the entire world to the side of innocence and brought about salvation for himself and for everyone else." (Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Teshuvah 3:4)

Maimonides' articulation reminds us that the choices we make aren't always as large and grand as mountains; sometimes they are as small as adding a tiny weight (a paperclip? a feather?) to a set of scales. And yet, it doesn't take more than this to tip balance just a bit toward the good. Powerfully, Maimonides claims that micro-actions can be enough not only to influence our life on a personal level, but also the fate of the world as a whole… in other words, every little choice can matter.

With all of these images swirling -- mountains that represent blessings and curses, scales where a single act has the potential to tip the balance toward the good -- we enter into the month of Elul through the gateway of Parashat Re'eh. Now is the perfect time to ask yourself: what do you want to do with the coming month, and the coming year? What choices -- both large and small -- will help you move yourself, personally, and help us move ourselves, collectively, toward the good, and towards blessing? What does your Judaism-by-choice look like? This is the core spiritual work of the season.

Below, you'll find many events that have the potential to connect you to the Kavana community and to a broader circle of fellow travelers. I hope you'll join us tomorrow evening for our final Shabbat in the Park of the summer, and also pick some activities for the month of Elul -- whether writing, davening, gathering, singing, and/or learning -- that can help you enter into this communal framework of the season of choice. Lastly, I know that there are many in our Kavana community still exploring their connection to Judaism. The WCR's Intro to Judaism class, listed below, could be a great way for anyone to learn some basics, or could be a point along the pathway to a mikvah conversion for anyone seeking to become, literally, a Jew-by-choice.

May the new month of Elul, which begins this Saturday and Sunday, hold blessings for us and for all the people of Israel. May it inspire us to choose paths of blessing, for ourselves and for the entire world. Amen!

Shabbat Shalom, and Chodesh Tov,
Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Refugee Torah

One year ago, the United States withdrew from Afghanistan, after several decades of attempting to fight terror and build a democratic nation. The withdrawal itself went poorly, and the decision to withdraw has its proponents and detractors. I’m not interested in getting into political reasoning or military strategy here, only in highlighting that as a result of American presence in Afghanistan and subsequent American absence, a number of Afghan people have needed to flee their homes and many of them have arrived here (with more still trying).

One year ago, the United States withdrew from Afghanistan, after several decades of attempting to fight terror and build a democratic nation. The withdrawal itself went poorly, and the decision to withdraw has its proponents and detractors. I’m not interested in getting into political reasoning or military strategy here, only in highlighting that as a result of American presence in Afghanistan and subsequent American absence, a number of Afghan people have needed to flee their homes and many of them have arrived here (with more still trying).

These refugees are in harm’s way in part because of the choices our elected officials made, and we are responsible to them. As Rabbi Will Berkowitz, CEO of Jewish Family Services in Seattle, wrote in an op-ed last September, the United States “must finish the mission. The mission isn’t complete if we leave these people to die.” And the mission isn’t complete if we also don’t help those who arrive here in Washington state to rebuild their lives however best they can. JFS does good work resettling refugees (among the many social services it provides).

It feels startlingly appropriate that the Torah portion this week speaks directly to how we should support refugees, and immigrants more broadly.

Cut away, therefore, the thickening about your hearts and stiffen your necks no more. For your God is God of “gods” and Lord of “lords”, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God, who shows no favor and takes no bribe, but upholds the cause of the orphan and the widow, and befriends the stranger, providing food and clothing. You too must befriend the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt. You must revere God: only your God shall you worship, to [God] shall you hold fast, and by God’s name shall you swear. (Deuteronomy 10:16-20)

Here we have a spiritual-ethical-spiritual sandwich.

Ethical action begins with spiritual work. We are told to soften and open our hearts - it is all too easy to avoid the pain and overwhelm from really penetrating our consciousness, whether through rationalization or distraction or just shutting down. I shut down sometimes when reading the news - there is just too much to process, and that overload is paralyzing. Distraction can be helpful to recharge and restore a sense of agency, but it is easy to stay distracted by things that are more immediate, urgent, enjoyable, etc. And rationalizing is so very easy when everything matters - “We need to be focusing on Ukraine / China / Mother Earth / Democracy…” Softening and opening our hearts takes courage and vulnerability.

Once we open our hearts to full awareness, and soften our necks so we aren’t stuck in one perspective, Deuteronomy suggests we will displace the idolatry of our own egoic interests by acknowledging God, whose “lordship” is a reminder that we aren’t the center of the universe. This is at the core of almost every spiritual practice I can think of. Once we don’t place ourselves at the center, we can see ourselves as part of a larger ecosystem. We have an honored place, and every creature has its role in service of others. Heart aware and open, neck flexible enough to see multiple perspectives, and ego decentered, we are finally ready for ethical action.

God is described as hael hagadol hagibor v’hanora, “the great, the mighty, the awesome God”, a phrase so potent it entered into a key prayer, Avot v’Imahot. But God’s greatness isn’t about the spiritual realm! God’s greatness comes from “showing no favor and taking no bribe, but upholding the cause of the orphan and the widow, and befriending the stranger, providing food and clothing.” Then the text explicitly says, “you too must befriend the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” We use our most central story - the enslavement in and then exodus from Egypt - as a way to decenter ourselves, to reimagine our purpose as being in service to those most in harm’s way.

To be spiritual is to be ethical. Ethics is a practical outcome of spiritual work.

When we fuse our spiritual practices with ethical care, and our spiritual concerns with ethical actions, we “revere God, worship God, hold fast to God, swear by God’s name.”

Where Deuteronomy talks about the “stranger”, it isn’t referring to people we don’t know. The Klein dictionary lists for the word ger, “foreigner, stranger, temporary dweller, newcomer.” It is referring to immigrants. There are so many ways to live out this Torah text today. We can challenge xenophobia and create a welcoming society for immigrants seeking a better life for any reason. There are asylum seekers from Latin America and elsewhere around the world fleeing gang violence, domestic abuse, or persecution for sexual or gender identity. We can donate to organizations that provide legal representation and fight policies that strip humans of dignity (like detention centers). We can learn more about Ukraine’s history and honor its complex national story, and help places like JFS resettle Ukrainian refugees.

This week, I hope you will devote some attention to Afghan refugees in particular, remembering that many of the people now estranged from a brutal Taliban regime are here (if they’re lucky) because they wanted to help Americans build a better Afghanistan. And if you want to share thoughts or ideas with me, please send an email or arrange a call.

Shabbat shalom!

Rabbi Jay LeVine

Rebuke, the Right Way

By the time this week ends, we will be entering into Tisha B’av, the saddest day on the Jewish calendar. It marks the destruction of two Holy Temples, and over the years almost every great tragedy that has befallen the people while they endured exile. Throughout the centuries Jews have mourned, wept, chanted poetry of lament, fasted, asked why, raged, surrendered to the brokenness (at least for a day), and occasionally even opened themselves up to an unsettling form of communication - the rebuke. Tochecha, as it is known in Hebrew, is a deeply important spiritual practice, but one that is extremely difficult to get right. It involves telling someone else what they are doing wrong, in such a way that they are grateful you told them and change their ways. Can you imagine??

By the time this week ends, we will be entering into Tisha B’av, the saddest day on the Jewish calendar. It marks the destruction of two Holy Temples, and over the years almost every great tragedy that has befallen the people while they endured exile. Throughout the centuries Jews have mourned, wept, chanted poetry of lament, fasted, asked why, raged, surrendered to the brokenness (at least for a day), and occasionally even opened themselves up to an unsettling form of communication - the rebuke. Tochecha, as it is known in Hebrew, is a deeply important spiritual practice, but one that is extremely difficult to get right. It involves telling someone else what they are doing wrong, in such a way that they are grateful you told them and change their ways. Can you imagine??

Most of the stories Jews tell about why bad things happened to them in ancient times involve claiming some responsibility. Rather than victim blaming, this inner story creates the possibility of agency. If we somehow messed up, and that’s why bad things happened, maybe we can make up for it, or do better next time, and then bad things won’t happen. Of course, this only works if there is some truth to it. Some things in the universe simply will not go away regardless of our quality of behavior. Nevertheless, I think there is a helpful lesson the rabbis give us when they say that Jerusalem fell because of baseless hatred among Jews, or because they didn’t make a blessing over Torah study (really - it’s in the Talmud, Bava Metzia 85b), or they stopped observing Shabbat, or any of the other dozen or so reasons the tradition cites. If we can analyze where we went wrong, we can learn and grow. And where we can learn and grow, we can eventually thrive.

Rebuke is one way that we learn and grow, and that’s why we have a Proverb that says, “One who reproves a person will in the end find more favor than one who splits the tongue (that is, speaks duplicitously)” (Proverbs 28:23). Surrounding yourself with flattering liars stifles more than just the truth - it cheats you out of receiving a deep gift in this one precious life: learning something new about yourself and growing into a better person as a result.

This week, we enter into the book of Devarim / Deuteronomy. Most of the book is framed as Moses teaching the new generation of Israelites everything the generation of the wilderness experienced. They are about to enter into the land of Canaan, and Moses will soon die just short of that threshold. This is his last chance to share words of wisdom, to teach, inspire, help envision a new way of life, and ultimately entrust his life’s mission to others. He begins, as it happens, with rebuke. Even though it wasn’t this current generation’s mistakes he recounts, he desperately wants to teach them to do better, to avoid where his generation went wrong.

In the midrashim (creative commentaries) on the opening of the book of Devarim, there are a number of teachings related to rebuke, each opening up different insights. Here’s one I particular like for our moment in time (Devarim Rabbah 1:4):

“These are the words (devarim)...” Rabbi Acha son of Rabbi Chanina said: It would have been fitting for the rebukes to be said from the mouth of Balaam, and the blessings from the mouth of Moses, except that if Balaam had rebuked them, Israel would have said “A hater rebukes us,” and if Moses had blessed them, the nations of the world would have said, “The one who loves them blesses them.” The Holy One of Blessing said: Moses, who loves them, will rebuke them, and Balaam, who hates them, will bless them, in order that the blessings and rebukes will become clear in the hand of Israel.

So much of the rebuke, criticism, scorn, or downright hate speech swirling around us right now is destroying our social world. Rebuke, given with love from someone you trust in the context of deep relationship, has the capacity to build new worlds. Moses, beginning his speeches with rebuke, does so only from a place of mutual belovedness, and out of a desire that his words build up the Israelites, rather than tear them down. What if we, like Moses, made sure our critiques were offered only in the context of love, trust, and ongoing relationship? I suspect we would have less to say, but it would be more impactful.

Another midrash from the same section (Devarim Rabbah 1:6) sees in the same phrase that opens Deuteronomy, “These are the words (devarim)...”, not rebuke but a vision of the Israelites at their best. Instead of devarim, the midrash reads devorim, bees. Like bees buzzing around pollinating flowers and creating sweet honey, the Israelites, by acts of righteousness and true seeing, create sweet nourishment in the world.

May we be bees of justice and beauty, thoughtful in giving and receiving rebuke, and mindful that when we practice caring relationships with family, friends, and community, we are building the world we hope to see.

Shabbat Shalom!