From the Rabbi
Rabbi Robert L. Wolkoff
Previous Messages
“49 days from Passover to Shavuot”
Dear Members and Friends,
As we count each day of the Omer from Passover to Shavuot, we are reminded of an essential (if not the most important) Jewish concept — learning to separate and set aside. We count 49 days from Passover to Shavuot, separating and setting aside each day. After all, that’s how God created the world — separating light and darkness, water from water, and six days from the seventh. So being godly is to know how to separate. But can we take it too far? Separation is a hard concept for the modern ear to hear, mainly because it’s often associated with discrimination. So where do we draw the line?
We recently read Parashat Emor, which takes this idea far. “The Lord spoke to Moses, saying ‘Speak to Aaron and say: Any man of your offspring throughout the ages who has any defect shall not be qualified to offer the food of his God… No man who is blind, or lame, or has a limb too short or too long. No man who has a broken leg or a broken arm, or who is a hunchback, or a dwarf, or who has a growth in his eye, or who has a boil-scar, or scurvy, or crushed testes… He may eat of the food of his God… but he shall not enter behind the curtain or come near the alter, for he has a defect.’” (Leviticus 21:17-23)
This is extremely strict, no doubt — setting aside only a particular class of people, all perfect. One of the oddities here seems to be that the perfection speaks only to the physical side of the candidates and nothing regarding their mental or spiritual qualities. In an age of pluralism, this seems to go against our grain. However, we can still see many places where similar practice is maintained. For example, joining elite units in the military requires one to be in perfect shape, in many cases still only men. In many religious institutions, Jewish and others, only a particular group is qualified to serve in the house of God. I was also reminded of this separation on my visit to Vatican City a few months ago when I observed the Swiss Guards surrounding the plaza. The most diverse detail about them was the color of their uniforms. Otherwise, they all seem to fit a similar frame.
One of the ideas behind this religious restriction relates to the Kohanim — the priests — who are sacrificing on behalf of the people; similar to the sacrifices, they themselves have to be perfect. Being less than perfect may give people the impression that their sacrifices are not being channeled perfectly. Being less than perfect may even affect the priests themselves who, when they bring the sacrifices, are aware of their own imperfections. They would feel awkward and would not be able to serve appropriately.
But what if the world came to a time when people would not feel awkward about being short or tall, black or white, man or woman? There will always be places where some type of uniformity should be maintained. (Would the Rockettes be so spectacular if they were not uniform?) But where it can, this should change. Can it change in the House of God?
I am writing this message while attending the annual convention of the Rabbinical Assembly of Conservative Judaism, this year taking place in Manhattan. Last night, we honored the class of ‘66 — rabbis who have been serving for 50 years. Representing the class was Rabbi Joel Meyers, who gave a compelling speech. On the stage behind him were sitting his distinguished classmates. All of them were pretty much the same age, pretty much all with facial hair and —you guessed right — they were also all men. My classmate Rabbi Dahlia Bernstein and I were quickly doing the math to determine when women would sit on that stage. If you are wondering, that will occur in 2035, 19 years from now; the first women were ordained in 1985.
The Torah does not contain punctuation. The difference between a Biblical verse and a grammatical sentence is that the former does not have a period. And there is a reason for that. It’s true that learning to separate is central to Jewish life and to living a holy life, but quoting a beautiful phrase: Let’s not put a period where God might have only intended for a comma. While Rabbi Meyers was speaking, I couldn’t avoid taking the photo accompanying this article. Equally as beautiful as his words were the faces of the little girls sitting on the stairs below wearing yarmulkes, looking up at him, looking up to their future.
Happy Lag BaOmer.
—Rabbi Gadi Capela
P.S. Look who I found at the convention…
Good friends get together…
Rabbi Myron Fenster and his wife, Ricky, met up with Rabbi Gadi at the Rabbinical Assembly of Conservative Judaism convention. Rabbi Fenster served our congregation during the four-year interregnum prior to Rabbi Gadi’s arrival.
“Slaving To Be Free”
The book we use on Seder night is called a Haggadah,
which means “the telling,” but the most important
message of Passover — freedom — is beyond words.
Dear Members and Friends,
Great news! The Jewish people are celebrating Passover again, for the 3,300th time (approximately). Same table, same matza, same bitter herbs, same togetherness. Sounds routine, doesn’t it? So why do we keep doing it — Jews and many of our non-Jewish friends? Well, maybe there is something we like about routines? Or better, something we need? And not only that, we work so hard to make it happen. The book we use on Seder night is called a Haggadah, which means “the telling,” but the most important message of Passover — freedom — is beyond words. Perhaps this explains why everybody keeps coming back.
Imagine yourself working for a boss who says that one of his or her essential rules at the office is that you take breaks. To top that, the boss insists that you have fun on your breaks. Sounds great. Sign me up. Actually, I already have that job; it’s called being Jewish. Our boss demands, or rather commands, that we take weekly breaks. Essentially, our whole half-a-year spiritual journey from Passover until the High Holidays can be bracketed by Shabbat — from Shabbat HaGadol to Shabbat Shabbaton. Shabbat HaGadol (the Great Shabbat) is the Shabbat before Passover and Shabbat Shabbaton (double Shabbat) is Yom Kippur.
One of the explanations the Babylonian Talmud (Shabbat p. 87) offers for why this Shabbat is called the Great Shabbat is because the Israelites left Egypt on a Thursday, which means that the eve of Passover was Wednesday night. Therefore, when God commanded the Israelites to take lambs and hold them for four days before slaughtering them, it was on Shabbat. (Exodus 12:3). What the Talmud is suggesting is that the experience of leaving Egypt begins on the Shabbat before, and is incomplete without it. The spiritual climax on the Jewish calendar, the double Shabbat of Yom Kippur, is rooted in that Shabbat in Egypt. The road to freedom begins within slavery, and we actively need to take a step.
It is the Shabbat in Egypt that sets us free, a Shabbat we pack for the journey in the wilderness and becomes every Shabbat we keep in perpetuity. It reminds us that we were slaves and now we are free and that freedom is the only thing worth being slaves to. From being slaves to Pharaoh, we become slaves to God — the boss who insists we should be free to take a break.
The journey we started on the Great Shabbat that will peak on Yom Kippur includes 26 Shabbatot. When you schedule your next vacation or weekend getaway on the North Fork, remember to include Tifereth Israel, too. Please designate a Shabbat or two to spend with us. To strengthen us and yourself. To quote a phrase I recently heard: “In terms of our salvation, we do not do nothing.”
Happy Passover.
—Rabbi Gadi Capela
“Dinner in Palermo”
A few weeks before my yearly pilgrimage to Israel, I learned that a few members of our congregation were planning to be in Italy, specifically in Sicily. So I decided to take a few days and meet up with them for dinner. We set the date for Thursday, March 17, in Palermo. I was looking forward to the dinner, but it was sandwiched between a sequence of events leading to it and back from it. As in many of life’s journeys, it was a sequence in which faith and reason were competing with each other.
Faith and reason are twin sisters. They are not identical twins, but they have many commonalities, and they love to hang out together. The twin sisters are ancient, having been here from the beginning, and they are still in our lives at all times and in every decision we make — from how we spend our mornings or to whom we will vote for President. For me, the faith-reason struggle started as soon as I landed in Rome, and went to collect the rental car for the drive to Palermo. I was asked to pay for extra insurance, which was double the price to insure the car. Everything has a time and place, and I didn’t think this was the time or place for that expenditure.
Traveling, especially for pleasure, is the desire and willingness to meet the unknown. We say Birkat HaDerkh — the Blessing of the Road — and we ask God to protect us from all evils, acknowledging that every journey holds unknowns. But the unknown is also the home of excitement and hope. We buy insurance for our houses, our cars, our children, our health, our retirement, and the list can go on… The insurance companies speak to our reason of course, but they also know we will never be able to insure our lives at every moment, everywhere. They also know there are times when the best insurance is faith. If you will, faith is insurance for the soul. Since I was already insured through the credit card, I was willing to risk the deductible and leave room for faith. After all, I wanted God to travel with me.
The way between Rome and Palermo includes some of the most beautiful places in the world, the best known being the Amalfi coast to the south of Naples. Depending on how fast you drive through the hundreds of dangerous twists and turns along this gorgeous strip of land, it takes about two hours to traverse. And again, there is a conflict between reason and faith. The drive through these mountains requires the utmost attention and eyes on the road. This is reasonable. But no less important is to lift the eyes once in a while to take in the beauty. Reason keeps us grounded and looking at the road; faith takes us up for the view, which makes it worth being grounded. Just as the body needs a home, the soul needs to hope. We need to accept the twin sisters that way. If we focus only on reason, we discriminate against faith. If we concentrate exclusively on faith, we leave no room for reason.
Recently, Europe experienced a series of terror attacks, and while I am writing this message, I am hearing the news about the most recent coordinated attacks in Brussels, where 34 people died — people simply on their way to work, on their way to school, or on the way to a vacation. If reason always wins, we will not travel or perhaps will not leave the house at
If we focus only on reason, we discriminate against faith. If we concentrate exclusively on faith, we leave no room for reason.
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all. The twin sisters, don’t have to compete against each other; they should accept that they complete each other. As we celebrate Purim, let us remember that this observance is about the unknown. The Rabbis tell us that the protagonist’s name, Esther, comes from the notion of hester — hiddenness. Esther is the only book of the Bible in which the name of God is hidden. To traverse Purim successfully is to understand that reason is important, and that we need to do our best to be ready for what might be worse. But at the end, we need to acknowledge and leave room for faith.
As we go through our lives on earth, our hands make reasonable decisions and actions, but then we have to leave the rest to the hidden hand in heaven to complete them. The mitzvah of Purim is Ad Delo Yadah (from the word Da’at) — until no knowledge — until one cannot distinguish between Haman and Mordechai or, in other words, two distinguishable entities. Purim is the only day we are encouraged not to be so reasonable. It is an opportunity to do the Tikkun — correction of the original sin. Sometime we must let go of the Tree of Knowledge (Etz haDa’at), even for just a moment, in order to experience God.
The dinner in Palermo was great. But whether you are on the way to dinner in Sicily or breakfast in Missouri, the important thing to consider is whether you used both faith and reason to navigate your way. As for me, after four weeks on a journey, I am ready to come back home and celebrate Purim together with all of you.
Safe journeys, and Purim Sameach!
—Rabbi Gadi Capela
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