From the Rabbi

Rabbi Robert L. Wolkoff

Previous Messages
“It Takes Three Days”
The two days of Rosh Hashanah and the single day of Yom Kippur are three days in our lives filled with awe. More than any others, those days awaken a sense that a biological clock is ticking; it’s time to reexamine.
Would one day be enough, or perhaps two? The Bible is replete with three-day allusions, nearly all a transition from one state to another — a completion. According to Jewish law, what is done three times is considered permanent. This is called a chazakah — stronghold.
The idea of three days plays an important role within the liturgy of these days of awe. On Rosh Hashanah, we begin with Abraham going to the Akeda, intending to offer his son Isaac to God. “On the third day, Abraham looked up and saw the place from afar.” (Gen. 22:5) We conclude the season of repentance with Jonah, who tries his best to escape the divine calling and ends up in the belly of a fish for three days. To complete his mission, it takes him three days to
cross Ninveh until the whole city repents.
Standing in front of God for three days is a “long-standing” tradition. The theophany at Mount Sinai was on the third day. Moses adds that before the revelation, men and women should separate for three days. (Ex. 19:19) Then, on the third day, God descends in fire and to the sound of the shofar. Somehow on the third day, God reexamines the connection between heaven and earth. Going back to creation, even back then God separated the earth from the waters under the heaven. It is the only day God says twice, “It is good.”
Some of the most notable references to the three-days theme can be found in the stories leading to the redemption in Egypt. To start with, in Joseph’s interpretation of Pharaoh’s ministers’ dreams in jail, he explains that in three days the verdict would be given to both ministers. As we say in the liturgy of the days of awe, “who will live and who will die.” Indeed, on the third day, Pharaoh releases his chief cup bearer from death row, and executes his baker.
(Gen. 40:21) Similarly, Joseph releases his brothers from prison on the third day. (Gen. 42:18) Later, Moses requests of Pharaoh that to let his people go on a three-day journey into the wilderness to offer sacrifice to their God. (Ex 3:18) And just before the Israelites leave Egypt, Moses stretches forth his hand toward heaven, and a thick darkness shrouds all the land of Egypt for three days. (Ex.10:22)
So we see that it often takes three days. The biological clock we feel has deep roots in our Biblical DNA. A spiritual regeneration is not a moment, but a three-part process — a short time of intense experience followed by divine restoration. God gives us three days to decide which way we will be going, which world to connect, which world to create next. God reveals to the prophet Hosea that a time will come when His covenant people will return to Him and cry out, “Come, and let us return to the Lord, for He has torn, and He will heal us; He has smitten, and He will bind us up. After two days, He will revive us, and on the third day, He will raise us up that we may live in His presence.” (Hosea 6:1-2)
May we have a Shana Tova of restoration,
—Rabbi Gadi Capela
“The Seven Covenants”
The period of seven weeks, from Tisha B’Av to Rosh Hashanah, is the time allotted to us to rebuild and start anew. This year is different. Even the rock bottom of Tisha B’Av is still wobbling and not stable enough on which to build. Perhaps this is the meaning of the opening of Psalm 24: “The earth is the Lord’s and all that it holds, the world and its inhabitants. For He founded it upon the seas, and established it upon the floods.” Like many rabbis, I decided to dedicate these seven weeks to preparing for the High Holidays and to talking about them to my students and congregants. So what message is appropriate for this year?
Rosh Hashanah is naturally associated with the beginning – the first covenant, with Abraham. This gave birth to the idea of dedicating each of the seven weekly Lunch and Learn sessions to one of the three patriarchs or four matriarchs — Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah. Perhaps we can find a message there. What guided each of them and propelled them to perpetuate their relationship with God and to build the Jewish people?
So far we’ve discussed Abraham, Sarah, and Isaac. One of the clues about their journey is that they lived their lives with a sense of mission. They, and therefore we, believe in a destination — going from one point to another. Even if that point is allusive, we continue forward. Furthermore, our forbearers teach us that, as each of them, each of us has a unique covenant, a unique conversation with God. It is up to each of us to trod our own mysterious path.
As we begin the month of Elul, the month of repentance — Teshuvah — “I return to My beloved, and My beloved returns to me.” As we read in Isaiah 54, the Haftarah for the fourth week of consolation leading to Rosh Hashanah: “For the mountains may move and the hills be shaken, but my loyalty shall never move from you, nor My covenant of friendship be shaken — said the Lord, who takes you back in love.” Basically, the covenant with God is a marriage that may experience a period of separation but will never result in the breaking of the matrimony.
In the next four weeks, we will continue to explore the paths of the matriarchs and patriarchs, to study the contribution each offers to the Jewish continuum and, moreover, how each shows us how to view our own individual contributions. Once a year, we see an ingathering of all types of Jews — the Abrahams, the Sarahs, the Isaacs, the Rebeccas, the Jacobs, the Leahs, and the Rachels. We welcome them all.
This year, we will celebrate the holidays mainly online. With the help of God and Zoom, we will overcome the inherent obstacles, and enjoy the benefits of expanding our space. And although we will meet differently, we will still meet to affirm our covenants — all of them.
Looking forward to seeing all of you with us in the new year — 5781.
Shana Tova.
—Rabbi Gadi Capela
“The Two Chancellors”
On May 31, the media announced the passing of Rabbi Dr. Norman Lamm. Rabbi Lamm was the iconic president of Yeshiva University, beginning in 1976, and he went on to become chancellor in 2003, serving in that capacity for the next 10 years. In an incredible bit of timing, the very next day, on June 1, the Jewish Theological Seminary announced its pick for a new chancellor to succeed Dr. Arnold Eisen, who had served in that role for 13 years. Dr. Shuly Rubin Schwartz, who started her tenure in the beginning of July, is the first woman to occupy the office. The timing of the passing of one chancellor and the appointing of another stirred me to look closely into the two, as they represent the two flagship Jewish educational institutions in America — two denominations, two genders, yet both tell the Jewish story. I was privileged to be part of both.
In January 1997, I sat in at my first Talmud class at Yeshiva University. It was a life-changing move from secular life for me. Growing up, I had studied the Bible in school, but this was different; this was Torah. It was not studying anymore; it was learning. Chancellor Lamm was then the president. He was eloquent and wise, and he left an indelible impression on me. I didn’t really understand what he was preaching; it went over my head. At that time, I was just beginning my learning and still surveying my way through the tenants of Torah and Judaism and where I fit in. I wasn’t informed enough to absorb his philosophy, but I knew that he knew.
As many students in orthodox yeshivot, I learned the beauty of following a rabbi, trusting that he knows. Rabbi Lamm, who had a Chassidic flavor, was focused on the Yeshiva, while having to defend it from the right, remaining true to the synthesis of a yeshivah with a progressive, modern university. When I finally understood the convincing philosopher with the soft voice, I totally bought into the ideas, and I still do. Yeshiva University was established to create a modern orthodoxy, responding to the Judaism that focused only on the particular and that mainly looked inward. The Torah Umadda philosophy tried to balance Torah learning in the yeshiva, and the Madda — sciences in the university. Torah is particular to the Jewish people — revelation, while sciences are universal — creation. This philosophy, which embodies the idea of the “light unto the nations,” fashioned my Judaism.
In August 2008, I was sitting in at my first Talmud class at the Jewish Theological Seminary. It felt different. It was quite a move from Yeshiva University. While women and men study separately and shomer negiah (don’t even shake hands) at YU, at JTS it was all egalitarian, all equal. It was the way I lived my own life, except when it came to worship. It felt out of place to pray next to a woman. Here too, it is all about marrying the universalism of the sciences and the particularism of Torah, but perhaps in an inverted way. Progressive modernism is a given, but the Torah must provide the answers on how to balance the two. The challenge here is to defend from the left.
The two schools, both of which were founded in 1886, reacted in their own spirit over the decades to the challenges of the times. While YU reacted to ultra-Orthodoxy, JTS reacted to the Reform Movement which, in that view, was consistently marginalizing Jewish particularism; the “Trefa Banquet” — the non-kosher feast — in its first rabbinic ordination in America was the last straw. The two were much closer when they were founded, but grew further apart in the middle of the 1980’s. While JTS began ordaining women, YU was moving toward “black hat” orthodoxy in its Yeshiva side. Both had to deal with the place of women and ultimately with the question of homosexuality. By ordaining LGBTQ rabbis and now choosing Dr. Shuly Rubin Schwartz as the next chancellor, JTS had come full circle in response to both questions.
Perhaps polarization is a natural movement of finding your own, like-minded people. But I vacillate between the two chancellors. Both represent true communities that ultimately share the same story. It was not the invention of language, but the invention of the story that moved humanity ahead, and it would be both leaders who would keep moving the Jewish story forward.
In this month of Av, let’s hope the Jewish people find commonality between the two chancellors, and that they can build together. Let’s find the balance between revelation and creation to find redemption.
Chodesh Tov, —Rabbi Gadi Capela
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