Geshmak Fruit Slice Candy and Geulah

One of the best things about Pesach and the Seder, imho, is the geshmak candy fruit flavored slices served as one of the desserts at the Seder. I love them.

A couple of years ago, it occurred to me that perhaps the four flavors correlate to the four children and I mentioned this (and posted in various places) and - shockingly! - there is a machloket about which flavor goes with which child (try it at your Seder!). But one person suggested that they all tasted the same and that one could not distinguish them in a taste test.

So, last year, at one of the Sedarim I attended, we conducted just such a blindfolded taste test. A couple of people were able to correctly distinguish orange from the others - but I got all four wrong (yes, that;'s right, the process of elimination failed me!).

But . . . it now occurs to me that perhaps there is a powerful spiritual lession to be learned here - perhaps even two. First, several haggadot have attempted to reframe the four children in a less pejorative and judgmental way, suggesting that all four are needed – even the challenging one (as I’ve heard the “wicked” child named). The fact that different people differ about which flavor is “wicked” (and I’ve heard all four flavors so described!) indicate the truth of this statement – and, perhaps, the real key is when each child comes forward – there is a time for speaking uncomfortable truths (wicked) and a time to keep silent (too young to ask), a time for confident assertive lovingkindness (“good”) and a time for curiosity (“simple”).

Additionally, the fact that many can’t tell them apart teaches us that even the discernment of which child – which middah, to use Mussar language, if I may be so bold as to equate the two – is difficult and that, perhaps unlike the judgmental parent, we should embrace them all and get to know them all – both within ourselves and within others – and strive for a lot more savlanut – patience – as we live into the redemption from the narrow places G!d beckons us to receive this Pesach.

What's in a List of Names? The Edomite Genealogy in Genesis 36

I invite you to read Genesis 36 and, as you do, to see if any part of it speaks to you spiritually or religiously.

Did you find a spiritual or religious connection with this text?

Some rabbinic commentators, in contemplating why this chapter goes into great detail about the genealogy of Esau, not seemingly relevant to the history of the Jewish people, come to the astonishing conclusion that this chapter must contain some of the deepest Kabbalistic mysteries in the Torah. We could undertake a many-part series of classes looking at this topic, but suffice it to give the example that the first king, Bela ben Beor, is likened to Balaam (same spelling except for the letter mem), the great prophet among the Gentiles like Moses in Israel, Moses being the good da'at/knowledge and Balaam the evil da'at/knowledge, knowing the one moment when G!d is angry each day and issuing curses that are powerful as a result - hence, son of Burning. But there was a tikkun by the seventh generation, with Bela becoming Baal Chanan ben Achbor - letters of Bela/Baal rearranged, and Chanan, meaning "gracious", indicating Chesed - and Achbor having the same letters as Beor but with the addition of a kaf for Chesed. 

Here is the Kedushat Levi discussing another interpretive reading, based on wording differences between Edom leaving the land and Israel leaving the land: "Both the Ari z’al and others preceding him, ‎including Rashi, stated that holiness is also known as ‎אחת‎, ‎‎'a state of unity.' Rashi points out that when the ‎descendants of Yaakov set out on their journey to Egypt and ‎their names had been listed individually, the Torah (Genesis ‎‎46,27) concluded the list with ‎כל הנפש‎, “the sum total of the ‎soul,” (singular) when referring to this family. On the other hand, ‎when the Torah reports Esau and his family leaving the Holy Land ‎in order to settle in the region of Seir, (Genesis 36,6) Esau’s ‎descendants are referred to as ‎נפשות‎, “souls” (pl.). Such nuances ‎in the Torah reveal to us that not all souls originate in the same ‎region of the diagram portraying the emanations.‎" (Kedushat Levi, Toldot 22)

Not convinced? I'm not sure I am, either - but this raises the important question of what to do with our sacred texts. There are parts of the Torah that are very meaningful - I think of the Ten Commandments, the Thirteen Attributes, the Exodus from Egypt we celebrate at Pesach, and Ve'ahavta Le'Reacha Kamocha/You shall love your neighbor as yourself. And then there are the parts we struggle with, to find meaning in - like this chapter - like the commandment to observe yibum and chalitzah (levirate marriage and the often degrading ceremony to get out of it) - like the commandments to wipe out the nations inhabiting the land of Israel when entering in. And I'm just speaking here of the Five Books - when we expand our gaze to the Tanach, the Mishnah, the Talmud - even other works in the broader Jewish canon - we expand both the list of things we find profoundly meaningful and the list of things we recoil in horror from (or at least roll our eyes at, or that make us yawn - as perhaps this chapter does). 

Is the Torah a smorgasbord, from which we can pick and choose those dishes we like? Or is it a prie-fixe menu, where we are served what we're served and expected to eat all of it, trusting that the parts we find distasteful will nourish us in ways we cannot understand? Are there herbs and spices - also known as hermeneutics, or interpretive principles, that we can apply to the dishes, er I mean texts, to make them more palatable, to bring out flavors we might not be able to detect without them? 

What does it even mean to have a sacred text? What role does it play in our lives? In the lives of the sacred communities of which we are a part? How can a community remain a sacred beloved community connecting its members to the Divine and to one another when its members have different - sometimes radically different relationships to the text? 

To wrestle with these questions is part of what it means to be of the house of Israel, the one who wrestles with G!d.

Questions for Reflection and Discussion

1. Which sections of the Torah do you eagerly await hearing each year, which make your heart sing and lift your spirit - and which sections do you dread, knowing that you find them difficult to find meaning in?

2. What is the role of sacred text in your own life? What metaphor would you use to describe that role?

3. What interpretive lens do you bring to the text? E.g., do you look for spiritual meaning? Religious commands? Expressions of Jewish peoplehood? Psychological insights? Modern scholarship? Midrash? Artistic inspiration?

4. Everyone has a letter in the Torah - do you know what yours is and why? What Torah in the broader sense do you have to add to the Torah of the Jewish people?

These are the notes, lightly revised, I used in teaching Genesis 36 in the 929 class at the South Philadelphia Shtiebel in March, 2022.

Kashrut, Kabbalah, Jokes, and Theology

In the summary of this past Shabbat that I posted last night, I included a joke that I came up with Friday night. A rabbi friend in the comments asked me to write more, and I did. (I'm not a C. S. Lewis fan, but is has been said that he wrote much better theology when he was telling stories than he did when he wrote straight theology - maybe my best theologizing comes through jokes!)

This past Shabbat, on Friday night, I noticed that Shir HaShirm/Song of Songs 4:13 contained the phrase “Pardes Rimonim im Pri Megadim” in it. Literally, this means “Orchard of Pomegranates with Luscious Fruit” – but it put me in mind of rabbinic works with those titles – Pardes Rimonim, a foundational kabbalistic text based on teachings of the Zohar, written by Rabbi Moshe Cordevero (16^th century Kabbalist and author of Tomer Devorah), and Pri Megadim, a widely-used commentary on the Shulchan Aruch by Rabbi Yosef Ben Meir Teomim, an 18^th-century Galitzianer rabbi. I immediately thought of a joke that this verse provides a biblical mandate to only teach the laws of kashrut in the context of Kabbalah and shared it with various people at shul the next day and posted it as part of a Facebook post on how I spent my Shabbat. A Renewal rabbi friend in Israel said to write more about it – “please” – and I realized that, although on the surface it is a joke, perhaps there is something deeper there.

 I am currently taking an in-depth course on issur v’heter, the laws of kashrut, focusing on the Shulchan Aruch and the Rama’s glosses with Shach and Taz, but bringing in other halachic sources as well, including the Pri Megadim, and it is because of this that I noticed the verse. The course, which is very well taught, is focusing only on the laws and the legal reasoning behind the various opinions, without any attempt to find a spiritual meaning in them. However, my way of being religious is to work to find spiritual meaning in all religious practices and I have been writing pieces in response to various laws of kashrut based on my meditations on them.

Certainly, this is not everyone’s approach. Traditionally, different Hebrew words are applied to different mitzvot, with the work chok applying to those mitzvot for which there is no reason given – the laws of kashrut fall into this category. While some mitzvot (such as the prohibition against killing) are seen as rational and universal, many of the so-called ritual mitzvot are not.

Yeshayahu Leibowitz famously went even further, teaching that there is no spiritual or ethical meaning in following any of the mitzvot and we must do so only to obey G!d, with any attempt to find spiritual or ethical meaning being akin to idolatry. However, others in the Jewish tradition, such as Maimonides, taught that even the chukkim have reasons, even if they are not readily apparent, and many have sought to find reasons for them, some ethical, some more spiritual than ethical.

It is this latter approach that speaks to me. For me, religious practice must be a way of connecting with G!d, of serving others, and/or of becoming my truer, more authentic self, made b’tzelem Elokim, in the image of G!d. “Do it because I/G!d said so!” does not work for me. Because of my approach, I have been able to find great depths of meaning in my religious practice which makes it a satisfying way of life that I believe draws me closer to G!d, others, and myself.

That being said, one danger of finding spiritual meaning in particular religious practices is that what is deeply meaningful to one person may not resonate with another person, and although I reject Yeshayahu Leibowitz’s approach, I do think there can be something idolatrous if one becomes too attached to one particular meaning. The Jewish tradition is much better, if not perfect, at embracing multiple interpretations of Torah (the seventy facets, PaRDeS – pshat/remez/drash/sod) than the Christian tradition – in the latter, I saw this at play in many liturgists’ views who were unable to see that a rite could be multivalent – but I think it’s important to keep in mind as each person grapples with their own religious practice and its meaning in one’s life.

I also have had the experience that often one cannot begin to fathom the meaning of a religious practice until one has been observing it for some time. This is especially true of liturgical prayer – one cannot really begin to appreciate the beauty and depth of a particular liturgical rite without immersing oneself in it for at least a year. (Having practiced several rites over my life, you can trust me when I tell you this is true.) I believe it is true of other religious practices as well. These practices have a formative effect on our character, and it is only with time that we can begin to appreciate how they have formed us. When the Jewish people where given the Torah at Mount Sinai, we responded “Naaseh v’nishma” – “We shall do and we shall listen” – because it is only in the doing that the full revelation takes place, and the doing must occur for the listening to be possible. And meanings change and transform over time – a practice that may have one meaning for me today may have a very different meaning five years from now.

Perhaps, keeping these things in mind, I will revise my joke – it’s not that the laws of kashrut  - and other areas of halachah - should be taught through the lens of Kabbalah – rather they should absolutely be LEARNED through the lens of Kabbalah – or Jewish spirituality more broadly. As each of us learns and practices the various mitzvot – and all of the mitzvot – may we be zocheh – may we merit – to find a profound depth of meaning in the mitzvah, one that draws us closer to G!d, to othe

Chayei Sarah: Sarah's Double Heartbreak

Despite being named Chayei Sarah, the Life of Sarah, this week’s Torah portion begins with the death of Sarah. Apart from a brief genealogical note separating the two, her death occurs immediately after the Akedah, the Binding of Isaac, at the end of last week’s parashah. Because it states that Abraham returns to the young men, in Genesis 22:19, at the end of the account of the Akedah, with no mention of Isaac, the classic rabbinic interpretation is that Isaac did not return with Abraham, but left separately. The rabbis then teach that, when Sarah saw Abraham returning without Isaac, she assumes that the sacrifice was made, that Isaac is dead, and therefore dies from the heartbreak.

I believe that there is another level to her heartbreak. In Genesis 21, in a fit of anger, she sends Hagar and Abraham’s son Ishmael away. We read in Genesis 21:11 that this greatly distressed Abraham – literally, “the matter was evil in Abraham’s eyes” and the fact that G!d sided with Sarah surely did not diminish his distress.

I think that, when Sarah experienced the heartbreak of seemingly having lost Isaac, a heartbreak that led to her death, she also had the heartbreaking realization that she had done to Abraham what she perceived he had done to her in depriving him of the presence of his son. The profound guilt and realization that she had caused profound pain to her husband contributed to the heaviness that led to her death.

May we have the wisdom to reflect on our actions in cheshbon hanefesh, accounting of the soul, in such a way that we are able to repair the deep pain we cause others as we experience the deep pain caused by others’ actions.

Counting letters in Psalms: From the Sefer Hasidim

A friend who is a rabbinical student sent me this quote from the Sefer Hasidim - and I feel seen!

"There were once two synagogues in a city and the hakham went . . sometimes to one and sometimes to the other. Then he prayed only in the smaller one. They asked him, “Why have you left the larger synagogue where both the many and the prominent pray?” He replied, 'In the large synagogue they hasten [the recitation of] the morning blessings and the Psalms ... but not so in the smaller synagogue. There they recite the morning blessings and Psalms slowly and I gain in this that, while I recite [the Psalm] slowly, I count on my fingers how many alephs there are [in each Psalm], how many bets, and similarly for each letter, and upon my return home I attempt to find a reason for each sum.'"

I was raised in a non-liturgical evangelical Christian tradition without liturgy, other than hymns. I even heard a Pentecostal classmate in high school say that the fact that there are two versions of the Lord's Prayer in different gospels is a sign that we aren't supposed to have written-out prayers, but should only pray extemporaneously from the heart.

However, my prayer personality is such that I need liturgy, fixed words, to be able to pray - for me, the extemporaneous prayer can only arise after praying the liturgy. And I find that praying the same liturgical texts day after day and week after week, getting to know them intimately, deepens my experience of prayer. Getting to know the prayer on the level of the letters makes complete sense to me. I love finding biblical passages from which phrases or even words from the liturgy are taken (and the Jewish liturgy is chock-full of them!) - it deepens my exeprience of the liturgy. I haven't necessarily gotten to the point of counting letters and learning the meanings - although gematria I have learned about particular prayers is illuminating for me and I have incorporated it into how I pray! - but maybe I will.

I love this passage so much!

Eino Ben Yomo, Shabbat, and Our Souls

Last night, I began learning about pots that are ben yomo [child of a day] or eino ben yomo [not a child of a day] (or, as the rabbi teaching said, yoymoy). Food that is fleishig, milchig, or treyf imparts a taste to the vessel it was cooked in, which is then imparted to food cooked in it - but once it has been cool for 24 hours or more [ein ben yomo], the taste is dissipated and, in many circumstances, if food in a different category was accidentally cooked in a clean pot, it likely does not acquire the taste of the previous food and is likely to be kosher. (However, the rules are complicated and there are differences of opinion, so consult a rabbi if this applies to you.)

On Shabbat, from candlelighting until Havdalah, about 25 hours, we remove ourselves from the outside world – and this is especially necessary this week. I would like to think that, after the 25 hours, the taste of the previous, likely spiritually treyf, things that have stewed within our minds will dissipate. Certainly, just as a pot in this category will likely need to be rekashered, the passage of time is not the only thing that needs to happen to fully cleanse us, but it is a great start.

Shabbat Shalom. May this cooling off period bring you peace.

A Reason for the Prohibition against Basar b'Cholov - Mixing Milk and Meat

Rabbinic tradition sees mitzvot as falling into one of three categories in regard to how rational they are. Mishpatim are rational and obvious – the mitzvot to not murder and to not steal fall into this category. Chukim, on the other hand, are mitzvot for which there is no rational explanation. Kashrut (dietary laws) are an example of this. Eidot are an intermediary category – they are commemorative mitzvot that are not immediately rational but commemorate an event in a way that does make easy rational sense. Eating matzah on Pesach is an example of this, since it commemorates the matzah the Jews leaving Egypt had to eat because they did not have time for the dough to leaven.

However, just because there seems to be no rational explanation does not mean that many in the rabbinic tradition did not seek to find them for the chukim. The Rambam (Maimonides) taught that all of the mitzvos, even the chukim, have a rational basis – although for the chukim, this is not readily discernible. He attempts to find such explanations for many of them and encourages others to do likewise and even holds that when human reason fails, it merely means that the rational basis eludes our limited reason, not that the chok in question lacks a rational basis. (I am indebted to Rabbi Isadore Twersky, zt”l, the Talner Rebbe of Boston, who taught about this in classes I took in divinity school as we explored Moreh Nevuchim, the Guide to the Perplexed.)

Basar b’cholov, the prohibition of mixing meat and milk, is a chok and several explanations have been advanced for why this is commanded. The Rambam said that it was prohibited because cooking a kid in its mother’s milk was used in idol worship. Others proposed that it was prohibited because of health concerns or because it was considered cruel – and the cruelty is the reason I had always assumed. The seventh Lubavitcher rebbe compared it to kilayim, planting different species of plants together – we are taught not to mix different types of food together.

In learning the halachot of basar b’cholov, another reason presents itself to me. It is perhaps a particular lesson about cruelty. Abusive parents, rather than nurturing their children, in the process of raising them, pervert the parental duty to raise their children to be their own person. Instead of giving them the tools (including ethical and religious values) to become healthy adults, they use the children to meet their own narcissistic needs, not seeing them as persons created b’tzelem Elokim (in the image of G!d) in their own right. This process of abuse is very destructive and harms the abused children in ways that last long into their adulthood and usually their entire lives. Sexual abusers turn their children into sexual objects, parents who rage turn their children into emotional and/or physical punching bags, narcissists attempt to destroy their children’s innate personalities in order to make them images of themselves. In all of these cases (and other cases of parental abuse), the nurture, symbolized by milk, becomes instead an instrument of destruction, symbolized by cooking the child and ending its independent existence by making it food.

By observing the halachot of basar b’cholov, may parents be more mindful to embrace their holy opportunity for nurture and reject abuse of their children.