From the Rabbi
“Passing Over to Nicaragua”
We had a wonderful Seder at the synagogue with about 30 people — young and old, men and women, members and guests, children, all colors. Our B’nei Mitzvah, Julian Graf and Ayla Eisenberg, were chasing the afikomen under the watchful eye of Julian’s older sister, Savana. A festive Seder. Yet a bittersweet Seder this year with the posters of kidnapped Israelis on Elijah’s and Miriam’s chairs.
I wore a white cotton shirt, embroidered in blue at the open-necked collar, with lace connecting the two sides of the V-neck. Ma nishtana halayla hazeh? How is this night different from all other nights? Different from the dress shirt and tie I normally wear?
A week before Passover, I was invited to speak at a small prayer conference near San Jose in Costa Rica. Among mango trees and the hot sun, the conference was a low-budget, high-spirited weekend. All the attendees spoke Spanish, many exclusively, so we had to use a translator. I became Rabbino Gadi to them, half of whom never in their lives had met a Jew.
At the end of the conference, we continued to travel north until we arrived at the Nicaraguan border. The country, which is known for its water, as the second half of its name indicates, gave me a passing over water experience. But it wasn’t the only passing over experience. This was a border I never thought I would cross. As a kid growing up in the ‘80s, I kept hearing the name Nicaragua in connection to revolutions and arms deals.
In a way, the Nicaragua experience was, for me, exactly the opposite of the Passover I would soon experience here at home, where the Seder table would be laden with good food and the symbols of freedom.
But there, once we crossed the border, I felt the change immediately. Even the dramatic terrain — the volcanoes and lakes — couldn’t hide the poverty and the simple living conditions. We hired a couple of locals to show us around, and we tried to be kind to the people there, generous, buying food from the fruit stands as we passed by.
Crossing the border back into Costa Rica, we passed many street markets and booths along the way. At one of them, a white shirt hanging on a hanger and blowing in the wind caught my eye, and my heart. Its blue and white colors and its spirit connected me to it. I knew right then that I would wear it at the Seder I would lead at the shul. The shirt symbolized freedom in a place where it felt more like Egypt. Somehow, it reminded me of the spirit of the Israelites, who felt freedom blowing under their wings before liftoff — the wind that penetrates the humble body and resurrects it.
Like the crossing the Israelites never imagined passing over, I, too, passed over a simple border line that left an indelible impact — a profound experience of passing over that we celebrate all these thousands of years later.
The Talmud states that in the month of Nisan, the people of Israel were redeemed, and in the month of Nisan they will be redeemed in the future. May it be this year.
Moadim Lesimcha,
— Rabbi Gadi Capela
“The Sin of War”
Every time I read the name Yahya Sinwar, the leader of Hamas, I behold the embodiment of the sin of war. Sin and war are also the two words that make up his name. Like Haman in ancient Persia, who plotted to annihilate a nation, Hamas today holds the same agenda, only by a different name. Gaza has submitted to the sin of war in the underground of Hamas’ state of death. When death kidnapped life into evil underground tunnels, Hamas turned the plowshares into swords — thousands dead, 240 kidnapped, many of them now also dead. Ironically, Sinwar’s first name, Yahya, means life. Such a choice in one man, between death and life. For Jews, we always choose life.
Before Purim, we observe the Fast of Esther and believe in Venahafokhu — that things will flip in our favor. On the day of Purim, we give money to the Temple, offer gifts to the homebound and poor, exchange food with friends, and enjoy a festive meal. To win against Haman is to be kind to each other. So much so, that we even dress as the other.
On the holiday of Purim, we read “the whole Megillah” of Esther. Our Rabbis tell us that Purim is the time that, as a nation, we accepted the mitzvot fully, striving for life, and making faith and freedom the law of the land. According to Rabbi Jacob Neusner, “The stories of the Scroll of Esther are important, not because of their portrayal of actual events, but because they speak to the situation of Jews in times of crisis.” Thus, the holiday never loses its meaning for the Jewish people. Haman, the Agagite, and Mordechai, the descendent of King Saul, continue to battle through the generations.
What is the war about? Eli Wiesel and Primo Levi both write that antisemitism is a war against memory. Professor Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi in his seminal book, Zakhor: Jewish History and Jewish Memory, writes that, “…ancient Israel knows God from what he has done in history. And if that is so, then memory has become crucial to its faith and, ultimately, to its very existence.” It reminds us that we have enemies, often masquerading.
On this Shabbat Zakhor — the Shabbat of Remembrance immediately preceding Purim, we are obligated to remember what Amalek did to us when we left Egypt, when he attacked us from behind, when we were most vulnerable. We will not forget them, those who are still kidnapped. We should speak in a loud voice for those who are in the silent tunnels.
Many families around the world leave an empty chair for the kidnapped at their tables. Our synagogue has adopted two brothers — Eitan Horn (37), and Iair Horn (45), taken from their home on Oct. 7. At our Model Seder and at our Passover Seder, we will place in Elijah’s chair a poster that pictures the two of them, a symbol of hope that they will return to us with Elijah.
O thus be it ever when freemen shall stand
Between their lov’d home and the war’s desolation!
with vict’ry and peace may the heav’n rescued land
Praise the power that hath made and preserv’d us a nation!
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto — “In God is our trust”
—Francis Scott Key
“The Star Spangled Banner”
I hope you had a miraculous and happy Purim.
—Rabbi Gadi Capela
Help bring the hostages home: https://freedomtags.org/
“Learning Torah at our Shul”
It was one of those moments in synagogue that intrigued me, challenged me to look deeper at Torah commentary. In discourse this Shabbat about the clothing of the High Priest, I was explaining the difference between the word tzitz at the forehead of the High Priest in Exodus 28:36, and tzitzit – the tassels with the singular blue string that we are commanded to extend from the Talit. Twice a day, we read in the Shema prayer: “Speak to the Israelite people and instruct them to make for themselves fringes on the corners of their garments throughout the ages; let them attach a cord of blue to the fringe at each corner. That shall be your fringe; look at it and recall all the commandments of The Lord and observe them, so that you do not follow your heart and eyes in your lustful urge.”
Curiously, the Torah does not use the word tzitzit to describe the blue string; the Torah uses the word ptil — like the wick of a candle. Once I pointed out the use of the word ptil, Ari Paul asked why the Torah differentiates the blue thread in its wording. The color is different, of course, but is that the reason for the usage? I was intrigued to find out. Right after Shabbat, I began searching further in a quest for an answer.
I discovered much commentary on this point. Ibn Ezra commenting on Numbers 15:38:3 writes about the thread of blue as being a sky-like color, also referring to threads that are not woven. That brought me to Haamek Davar, who compares ptil to Naftali, which means twistedness, entangled. The matriarch Leah called her son Naftali, hoping that now her husband Jacob would be entangled with her. The blue thread is the one wrapping the rest of the strings. It reminds me how Broadway cuts across the avenues on an angle, connecting the other avenues that run parallel.
According to the Malbim, the string was entwined, interwoven. The blue resembles God’s throne, which connects everything from the inside. Similarly, for Kitzur Ba’al HaTurim, the Techelet resembles the sky and the throne of God. “…He who is careful with the mitzvah of tzitzit will see the face of the Shekhina — the glory of God, and God will carry him on wings of eagles.” The Techelet, which means Everything, can bring everything together, bundled, integrated. It makes sense then that the sky-blue color was used also to construct the Tent of Meeting, God’s sanctuary, and the clothing of the High Priest. According to our Rabbis, the blue color was found in a sea creature, perhaps a squid or an octopus; we don’t know for sure. But a creature living in the water is like living in heaven.
And then there is the Kli Yakar, who says, “…This is the secret of the Techelet that reminds us of all the mitzvot. And by that he makes a full clothing for the soul, and he will not be buried naked until he becomes like Adam — the first human. Only one mitzvah was given to him [to avoid the Tree of Knowledge], and he stripped himself from it. But there is another mitzvah that reminds us of all the mitzvot — love thy neighbor — which means that one string can bring the human being to the essence of everything…”
The blue string reminds us that we are connected directly to what is above us, that each of us is like a High Priest, and each blue string is part of the coat of blue worn by the High Priest. But since everything in the work of the High Priest and the Temple is about capturing the heavenly light, the ptil is also the wick in the eternal light. God’s original clothing for Adam and Eve before the sin was light. Therefore, the Zohar writes: “A candle is a Mitzvah and the Torah is the light. A candle without a light is nothing, and light without a candle cannot shine; both need each other: When we perform the Mitzvah, we correct the candle; and when we study Torah, we light the candle. To the Hasidic sages, the flame of the candle is made of white fire that wraps the heart of the flame in blue. The white fire symbolizes the Mitzvah, and the blue fire is the Torah.
Come join us every Shabbat as we journey through the Torah and navigate through life…
—Rabbi Gadi Capela
Get Social