Religious Affairs CommitteeThe role of the Religious Affairs Committee is to coordinate with clergy and lay leadership at The Jewish Center on all matters of religious observance and ritual. This includes, but is not limited to, changes in the content or flow of services, arranging for High Holidays honors, coordinating the alternative Shabbat minyanim, training gabbaim and shamashim, and more. This Committee, with guidance from clergy, helps assure that our religious practices fall within the guidelines of the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism. Also, the Committee works to inform and educate congregants about religious practices, and prepares a regular column for the newsletter on topics of general interest about religious observance, practice and history. Selected columns from this series are available here. For more information, email the committee co-chairs: Bernard Abramson or Adam Scheer. For a list of Usher Assignments, click here. Religious Affairs Columns and Sermons
Sept. 2007, Yom Kippur Message from Michael Feldstein September, 2007: Tashlich by Mik Rosenthal May, 2007: The History of the Bar and Bat Mitzvah by Jane LeGrange April, 2007: May Two (or More) People Share an Aliyah? March, 2007: The Ten Commandments and the Torah November, 2005: What are the Duties of the Shamash? by Gil Gordon Yom Kippur 5765: Yizkor Introduction by Rabbi Jaymee Alpert May, 2005: Help Us Enhance Kavanah: When to Enter the Synagogue by David Greenberg March, 2005: Lift It Up & Tie It Up: The Why and How of Putting the Torah Away by Gil Gordon November, 2004: Did Moses Write the Torah? by Jonathan Gross October, 2004: The Will to Live by Gil Gordon September, 2004: Did You Know ...? - Three Times a Day by Ellie Schweber "Did You Know ...?" Three Times a Day by Ellie Schweber In this article, Ellie Schweber provides a clear, concise explanation of the three basic services of daily prayer, including their origin and main contents. We hope you find it a useful introduction to, or refresher about, these daily services. What do many Jews do three times a day? No, the answer is not "eat a meal." The answer is davening three times a day. The morning prayer is Shacharit, the afternoon prayer is Mincha and the evening prayer is Ma'ariv or Arvit. Shacharit is closely associated with Abraham, the first Jew, who would regularly connect with G-d in the morning time, and taught his descendants to do likewise. The patriarch Isaac, who took time out from his busy day to ponder G-d while walking the fields, founded the concept of afternoon connection and taught his descendants to do likewise. The patriarch Jacob, who spent time in the evening to contemplate G-d, founded the concept of night connection and taught his descendants to do likewise. Shacharit, the morning service, begins with the Morning Blessings (Birchat Ha Shachar) and the Verses of Song (Pesukey D'Zimra). The Song of the Sea (Shirat HaYam) is one of the songs included. This is followed by the Shema and its blessings. The centerpiece of the service is the Amidah, which means Standing Prayer. The Kaddish prayer is recited between sections to mark their separation. Here is more detail on each of these main sections:
Ma'ariv or Arvit begins with the Barkhu, the call to worship. The remainder of the service is the Shema, Amidah, Aleinu and Mourner's Kaddish. The Amidah is the same as the one that is recited at Shacharit and at Mincha. Thus we can see that all three services of the day contain various combinations of the same basic prayers. Some of the tunes and styles of davening vary traditionally between the different services, but all are opportunities for us as Jews to take time out and experience spirituality in our lives. Yom Kippur 5765 Sermon by Rabbi Jaymee Alpert When I was in the seventh grade, I fell down the stairs on my way to the basement. I didn't break any bones, but I did have to wear my right arm in a sling for a few days. My Hebrew teacher asked me what had happened, and when I told him, he said, "What did you do to deserve it?" I looked a little surprised, and then responded, "Nothing". He asked, "Well don't you believe that God was sending you a message?" "No," I replied, "I think I just need to wear shoes an addition to socks when I go down the basement stairs." At the time, I didn't think I was making a grand theological statement, I suppose that since adolescence, I have believed that God doesn't "send us messages" like wear shoes. Or, "you know Jaymee, you really ought to have spent more time on your French homework and less time on the phone, so I am going to cause you to tumble down the stairs." That type of thinking never really made much sense to me, and yet, that's pretty much the image of God we are presented with. Consider the liturgy of this time of the year, and think about what you were probably taught in the early years of your Jewish education. God sits in judgment, weighing our deeds, determining who will have a successful year, and who will suffer, based on whether or not our good deeds outweigh our "sins". God is omniscient - the Divine knows everything in your heart. God is with you everywhere. Everywhere? Even in the bathroom? In my seventh grade mind I wondered, even when I'm on the phone with cute boy I secretly have a crush on? What if God tells him? This image of God is spooky to me, and inevitably, this God is portrayed as an old man with a long white beard, holding a cane and sitting on a throne in heaven. I'll be honest, this image of God, doesn't work for me. This is not the God to whom I pray. So if this image of God doesn't work, then to whom do we pray? And about what? I tried to generate a list of all the times I really prayed. Of course, I pray all the time - I'm a rabbi, we do a lot of praying, however, I was trying to recall my top ten meaningful prayer experiences - when I really meant it. When I was truly in the moment. 1. As a 4-year-old, I remember swinging on the swing-set in my backyard and composing a song all about God. Then I sang it to God, thinking that God would probably want to hear what I had to say. 2. A Friday night at my summer camp, when everyone came together in the outdoor amphitheater. It was very peaceful that evening and I found myself lost in Kabbalat Shabbat. I was fortunate enough to have a similar experience some years later at staff week at Camp Ramah , overlooking the lake. 3. When I was 15 and accompanied a close friend to the hospital. While he was undergoing radiation treatment for cancer, I was praying for his full and fast recovery, and for guidance, so that I could say the right things. 4. In Poland at a tiny shul. My USY group joined the regular minyan one Shabbat, except that there would not have been a minyan had we not been there. It was one of the very few times in my life when sitting behind the mehitzah didn't matter to me as much as being at the synagogue. 5. My first egalitarian synagogue experience in Jerusalem at Kol Haneshamah - once I stopped being so self-conscious and joined the rest of the kahal, the congregation in humming and clapping, I was overcome by the desire to pray. 6. My great grandmother's funeral. I was 17 and had had a really tough year. I was grateful to God that my great grandmother had lived as long as she had, and grateful that my own fog was lifting. I prayed that I too, would live a rich, full, long life. 7. Before I opened an envelope with Brandeis University as the return address. I'm happy to say that that prayer was answered and answered in the way I wanted it to be. 8. When my father was rushed to the hospital after his organ transplant. He had been released too quickly and had to go back. 9. As a chaplain in the hospital, tending to a 9-year-old boy with full-blown AIDS. He was born with HIV, and knew far more about disease and death than a young boy should ever have to know. Yet he continued to smile; he used to make me laugh a lot. 10. Most recently, during Passover, while I was standing by the hospital bed of a close friend who slipped into a coma. Often times, people tell me they believe everything happens for a reason. I don't. I believe things happen. We create the reason. We grow or change from the experience, sometimes in ways we could not have anticipated. Sometimes we would have chosen not to undergo the ordeal, even though we are stronger for having lived through it. The other night, I was discussing this notion and talking about God in general with a friend of mine. She said that all she can say is that she believes in God. That's it. She said, "I believe in God, but I can't really describe what I believe in, and I don't think that God intervenes in our lives anymore." I told my friend that she was not alone in her belief, that that's pretty much what I believe as well. And she said to me that she wasn't sure she would want to hear that in the rabbi's sermon, because she was concerned about all the people who do believe that God answers our prayers, that God plays an active role in our lives. Frankly, I am not convinced that she is as concerned as she claims. Of course if you believe in divine intervention and that everything happens for a reason, by all means, believe. I'm a little envious actually, because that belief structure puts the onus back on me - I must figure out what God's message is and what I'm going to do about it. Maybe I need to pray harder, to give more tzedakah, to spend more time studying and less time watching "The Apprentice". It is much less complicated to believe that everything happens for a reason. Sometimes I wish I could believe that way, but I can't. I just don't. Despite the fact that my friend doesn't believe in the God of our tradition, I don't think that she is ready to hear that kind of theology from a member of the clergy. I imagine she wants me to believe in a way that she is unable. Again, I wish I could, but I don't. One of my favorite professors at the Seminary and a noteworthy contemporary theologian, Dr. Neil Gillman spent a lot of time helping his students hash out our theologies. After writing several statements, I realized that theology - what and how we think of God, is a work in progress. The old man in heaven only took me so far. The omnipotent God who works in mysterious ways took me a bit further... But even after intellectualizing God, even after reading countless books and articles, and discussing other peoples' theological statements, something happens when you find yourself "in the moment" It's the time when the intellectual no longer matters, when the words pour forth from the open heart. It's the ideal time we strive for, and frustratingly don't achieve nearly as often as we would like. It's often the moment that I call on God as Tzur Yisrael, Rock of Israel - a being that is strong and protective, instead of the amorphous spirit that I usually pray to. It's meta-intellectual. It's faith. It's the point where physics can no longer answer questions about the universe, where theories, structures, and formulae give way to belief. Another friend of mine told me that she found herself sitting alone in the midst of several hundred people at Selichot, crying her eyes out. She couldn't understand why, or what came over her. All she knew is that one moment she was sitting there looking at the words on the page and wondering why she was at synagogue at midnight, and the next thing she knew, she was crying and praying, telling God her most secret desires and wishes for herself, her family, and this new year. As Pascal once said, "The heart has its reasons that reason knows nothing of." We spend a lot of time in synagogue during this time of the year trying to pray, and it can be very frustrating not to feel like we have the tools, the language, the right words, and permission to believe differently from what we were taught. Permission to believe that sometimes prayer does more for us as individuals - a means of giving voice to our inner spirit than as a way of chatting with God. I am reminded of the famous story about a boy who does not know the prayers. His father brings him to shul on Yom Kippur, and the boy becomes increasingly discouraged over the course of the day because he does not know the words. Finally, as Ne'ilah begins, he takes his flute from his pocket and begins to play a simple but beautiful melody. His father is shocked and embarrassed. The rest of the congregation is startled as well. But the rabbi explains to everyone that the boy had been praying from the heart - the only way he knows how, and that God would understand his prayer. There is a similar version of this parable: a young boy does not know how to read Hebrew, but he does know the Alef-Bet by heart. All through services on Yom Kippur, he recites his mantra: alef, bet, gimmel, daled, and so on, over and over again. His parents can't understand what he is doing, and why, if he is not going to say the prayers, he can't be quiet. Finally the boy prays to God, "I know You will know how to put the letters in the right order to make the words express the prayer in my heart." Pure prayer is not always the most sophisticated or eloquent. Most of us don't pour out our most intimate thoughts in the form of rhyming double acrostics - like the great poets of the Middle Ages. But our prayers, the thoughts in the heart that only God can know, tend to be the most poignant. By my count, including Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, we have spent approximately 17 hours in services. Now I'd be willing to bet that some of you have not so much as cracked the binding of the Mahzor in front of you; while others have perhaps followed every word. Some of you leap to your feet as soon as your child tells you she wants to go home or needs the bathroom, while others marvel over sitting in community with 800 other people. Perhaps some of you have learned to sleep with your eyes open, and still others are day-dreaming about the break-fast meal. If you are one of the ones who has not been moved by the liturgy, does that mean you have wasted 17 hours? Does it mean that you have failed in your prayers? No. I don't believe so.
Anita Diamant writes in her book Living a Jewish
Life, Prayer is both a discipline and a spontaneous activity. It requires preparation and also a kind of passive receptivity. Sometimes it works, sometimes it does not. Prayer is not possible for every individual in every synagogue, which is why it is important to find a place where prayer is possible. But even in the most hospitable setting, it is difficult to sustain prayer for a long period of time. During the long services of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, there are times when individuals may feel the liturgy is downright hostile to prayer. Repeated references to a King-God, to judgment, and to sin can be off-putting. But then, a sentence or a phrase from the prayer-book may take your breath away. A question that comes up frequently is: Once we are able to pray, is our prayer efficacious? Does it work? For instance, if I ask God for an 'A' on my math test, even though I didn't study, will God send me an 'A'? Or will God cause a snow day so that at least I'll have time to study? And if I do, for whatever reason, get an 'A' on my test, does that mean that God answered my prayer? I'll admit, it's a superficial example, although not an uncommon one. I don't think that God is responsible for good grades on tests, and I don't really believe that that's what we should be asking God for to begin with. But what about healing? We recite prayers asking God for healing all of the time - both formal and spontaneous ones. If the person for whom we are prayer recovers, does that mean that God has answered our prayers? And if the person does not get better, well, does that mean that God wasn't listening? Or perhaps was listening but decided not to grant our request? No. At least I don't believe so. I believe that prayer changes us, as individuals and as community. We change spiritually when we really open ourselves up to God. Maybe we ask for comfort or strength when life becomes rocky or overwhelming. Maybe we vent anger, have you ever thrown your arms up in the air and shouted, "Why God? Why me? Why this?" Have you ever found yourself crying uncontrollably like my friend at Selichot? Or found yourself praising God out of the blue, just because you feel like it? I know I have done all of these things, even they don't seem to fit with my intellectual theology. As we prepare to begin the Yizkor service, we recall our loved ones. While they were alive, many of us prayed for them to be restored to health. Or maybe we even prayed for them to die to quickly so that they would be spared further pain. Many of us prayed for them to rest peacefully. We can't know how God answers us, but I believe that if we perceive a prayer to go unanswered, it is not because of something we did or did not do. I truly believe that if prayer comes from the heart, God will hear it. We might not get an 'A' in math or the healing that we so crave, but God is listening. I hope that whatever you believe about the Divine, and however you pray to God, you will find comfort and meaning in our Yizkor service. The Will to Live Without meaning to offend our members who are dentists, I think it's safe to say that most people look forward to the idea of writing or revising their wills like they look forward to a root canal. Who could blame them? After all, wills are about . dying - and about all the what-ifs and all the incomprehensible legalese that most of us wish we'd never have to confront. There is, however, another kind of will that might generate quite a different reaction. It's called an ethical will, and the practice of writing ethical wills is well-grounded in Jewish history and tradition. Articles about this type of will have been popping up in the media and on the web recently and, as the articles note, these documents are often misunderstood and more often underused. A typical article - with a very catchy subtitle - was in the September/October 2004 issue of AARP Magazine, titled "Gifts of a Lifetime: Increasingly Popular, Ethical Wills Are a Way to Bequeath Your Values Along With Your Valuables." Do a web search on the term "ethical will" and you'll find lots of excellent resources, articles, books, and even web sites from people who will craft your ethical will for you if you tell them what you want to include. What is an ethical will, and how does it relate to the other kind of will? This answer from The Jewish Agency for Israel's web site draws the distinction very well: "The idea is simple: in the same way that many people today write a material will, which instructs their heirs regarding the division of property after death, so it was the tradition for people to write an ethical will with moral and life instruction to the heirs . The idea is that, in addition to the accumulation of any physical property, a person also accumulates wisdom and experience. This, too, should be bequeathed to the heirs." Among the citations you may find if you do a web search are several Biblical examples of this kind of bequeathing of moral lessons, as well as The Letter of Ramban (Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman, 1195-1270) written to his son. "Ramban admonishes him to pursue self-control, the perfection of his character, and the purification of motives," notes one source. An ethical will can range in length from a few sentences to many pages, and can be videotaped or otherwise recorded so you can convey your feelings and wishes with more expression than is possible on the written page. Among the elements in most ethical wills are the following - although an ethical will should be written according to the dictates of the heart, not according to any rules or external guidelines:
We all talk about the idea of "passing along our values" to our children, and, if we're lucky, we can see in our own lives the values that have been passed along to us from our parents. An ethical will is one way to keep that chain of values and behaviors alive from generation to generation. As parents and/or as adults in the lives of others, we hope that our everyday words and deeds show not only how we feel but also what we believe and hold important. An ethical will takes that kind of daily behavior and encapsulates it in a document to be shared with those we care for. It does not take the place of, nor can it outweigh, our daily actions any more than a request for forgiveness on Yom Kippur can undo a year's worth of less than honorable living. But it does give us a precious opportunity to look inward to determine who we are and how we want to be remembered. We owe it to ourselves to make that mental inventory of the values and ideals we want to pass on - and we owe it to those who are important to us to commit those thoughts to paper (or videotape, or CD-ROM, or your medium of choice) so that their lives will, we hope, be influenced by our love, values, and aspirations long after we are gone. Did Moses Write the Torah?
Did the historical Moses write the Torah himself(1)? This nutshell of a column summarizes a fraction of the vast literature on this issue. Some parts of the narrative (e.g., see Gen. 36)(2) happened after Moses died. A supernaturalist position asserts that it was his prophetic powers that enabled Moses to record such things. In fact, our tradition teaches(3) that Deut. 34:5-12 (beginning with Deut. 34:5 "And Moses died.") was written by Joshua. Moreover, Tanach itself may be suggesting (see Neh. 8) that Ezra the Scribe augmented Parshat Emor(4) (see Lev. 23: 39 -43) with some details of Succoth. Such changes are sometimes sprung upon the unaware as if they were sufficient reason to say that Moses did not write(5) (6) the Torah? Moses was almost certainly a real person. DNA tests(7) have established that Jewish men today who are Kohanim are predominantly descended from a single Semitic male (who but Aaron?) who lived about 3300 years ago, the appropriate time. Although these DNA tests do not establish the accuracy of the narrative in Exodus, it seems quite an ax to grind to dispute the likelihood that there were historic figures underlying that narrative. Yet this falls short of establishing Moses as author of the Torah. Associated with the name of Julius Wellhausen (1844-1918), there arose what is commonly called the "documentary hypothesis". Its radical form is that there "must have been" latter-day authors who conceived and wrote it all. Hypothesized(8) authors called(9) "E" and "J" putatively wrote most of the narratives of Genesis, and hypothesized "P" wrote the rules of ritual, especially in Leviticus. While describing Abraham, Sarah, et al, as legends(10), the radical hypothesizers paradoxically make their own leap of secularist faith in discussing fictional E, J, and P as if they were actual people, thereby tarnishing some excellent textual scholarship. Curiously, various Jewish commentators have adopted this extreme antitraditionalist perspective. Unlike supposed alternative authors of the plays of Shakespeare(11), there are no historical figures offered as candidates. There is no DNA traceable to the siblings of E, J, and P. A more harmonious middle view was taken by Ibn Ezra. Abraham Ibn Ezra (c.1092-c.1167), rabbi, mathematician, and poet, was among the first to examine the Torah literally and scientifically, a departure from the dominant poetically midrashic perspective. He wondered whether Moses would actually have written about himself in the third person. Indeed, would Moses, the humblest man on earth, have described himself (Num. 12:3) superlatively as the humblest man on earth? Perhaps this verse is an editorial addition. Quite plausibly, given the existence of persons even today who have memorized the entire Torah, the content of the Torah was transmitted word by word, first to Joshua and then on down the line, until it was recorded in writing, with reasonable fidelity to the Original. Those who think that our written Torah today differs little from the Sefer Torah of Ezra the Scribe may cite the absence of substantive discrepancies among different ancient Sefrei Torah (e.g. the Leningrad codex c.1010 and the Aleppo codex c.920)(12) as evidence. The incursion of foreign words into Hebrew, also noted by Jewish scholars centuries before Wellhausen, may enable us to place the date of origin of parts of the written version in centuries later than the traditional time of authorship, even though the themes and details of the stories may correspond authentically(13) to the times the stories are reported to have occurred. A moderate documentary hypothesis posits only that three (or more) different groups preserved compatible traditions from antiquity and contributed to the edited Sefer Torah of Ezra. A conservative pursuit of establishing such an hypothesis would consider tracing these traditions back to a common origin in the time of Moses. In summary, there have been believing and secularist attempts to explain the authorship of the Torah. Without appealing to faith, even without debating the historical accuracy of the events described therein, it remains reasonable to think that what we read at the bima on Shabbat is indeed the Torah of Moses, even if in this skeptical age one might also reasonably put an asterisk after his name. Footnotes (click on number to return to main text) 1 Someone once told me that according to her family, the Star Spangled Banner was written not by Francis Scott Key, but by one of their ancestors. Although this alternative composer was an established American composer, others who heard this account agreed that the burden of proof was on those who dispute the traditional attribution. So let it be with Moses. 2 Gen. 36 names as descendants of Esau some Edomite kings who lived after the time of Moses. Such things can creep a few centuries later into an oral tradition. 3 Our mainstream tradition includes less extraordinary explanations of everything not inherently supernatural. Supernatural pietistic elaborations of Tanach narrative was often given by midrashim. Such midrashim have been taught simultaneously with Torah, in order to reinforce the traditional moral perspective. One reasonably distinguishes emphatically between what is represented as the writings of our designated prophets and what any subsequent storyteller has added. (Some modern authors seeking to undermine traditional moral values have deceptively represented their twisted portrayals of biblical characters as "midrashic". An honest label would be "anti-midrashic".) 4 The later chapters of Leviticus are commonly thought by scholars to be an editorial addition (by R - see below - who is plausibly identified with Ezra). 5 The ultimate question (surely from an historical perspective, and perhaps also religiously) is "ownership" of the intellectual property. Oversimplifying naysayers seem to think that it is sufficient for them to find evidence of drifting text or to invent alternative theories, far easier tasks than identifying an historically authentic alternative originator and concrete corroborative evidence (beyond theories of text analysis) that the alternative is correct. 6 Over the ages, various unknown authors have attributed their works to distinguished persons of the past, so that their works would live on, even if the names of these author did not. Although various parts of Tanach could have been created this way, the question is whether they did. 7 Entering "Kohanim DNA" on Google yields a wealth of information supporting the authenticity of our traditional way of ascertaining descent from Aaron. 8 The Wellhausen school actually did an excellent job of analyzing the text into strands. Yet the inference from textual strands of uncertain origin of the existence of individual authors of those strands seems self-contradictory for persons who object to inferring the existence of God from natural events of unknown origin. 9 "E" stands for "Elohim", the name of God used in E-strand. "J" stands for the tetragrammaton, which is used for the name of God in the J-strand. A fourth name "R" stands for "redactor". Unlike E, J, and P, there is a plausible historical figure, namely Ezra the Scribe, offered as a candidate. The possibility that Ezra was an active editor of Tanach is consistent with tradition from many centuries before the era of modern text analysis. A fifth name "D" stands for "Deuteronomist". Chron II 34 says that a Torah Scroll was discovered by Hilkiah, without saying that it was Deuteronomy. It has been speculated that D was Jeremiah. Thus, the question of R and D differs greatly from that of E, J, and P. 10 From Lech Lecha on, the Torah narrative is consistent with known history. Unfortunately, although there are definitive archaeological artifacts from David and Solomon, there are none from the Patriarchs and Matriarchs. However, since fabricated national histories of other peoples are typically self-adulatory, one must ask why this one people, the Jews, would include so many unflattering details (sale of Joseph, etc.) if they were not so. The fact that the Torah includes two versions of various stories could be regarded as evidence that Ezra did the most conscientious possible job in reconstructing it from multiple streams of collective memory. 11 This is also unlike the family who designated a specific musician ancestor as the alternative composer of the Star Spangled Banner. 12 St. Petersburg (once called Leningrad ) and Aleppo are where these ancient documents reside. 13 Giving the origin of the Torah as a century or two before the Babylonian captivity raises questions as difficult as some of the ones it purports to answer. For instance, how would someone writing then have known what cities existed sufficiently many centuries ago to be mentioned in Genesis, unless there was at least a reliable oral tradition?
by Mik Rosenthal On the first day of Rosh HaShanah, after our morning in the synagogue, and after the afternoon Mincha prayer, it is customary to go to a moving body of water for Tashlich. If the first day of Rosh HaShanah falls on Shabbat, then Tashlich is recited on the Second Day. It is at this time that we symbolically, using pieces of bread as the vehicle, cast away our sins from the past year into the water. The symbolic concept underpinning this ceremony is that we freely choose to identify and leave our shortcomings and misdeeds behind so that we may start the New Year afresh. Such decision inspiring thoughts are intended to arouse us to repentance. It is interesting to note, that if we are unable to perform this ceremony on Rosh HaShanah, some traditions stare that we can recite it until Yom Kippur, and others state that we may do so until the last day of Sukkot, also known as Shemini Atzeret. Tashlich is recited standing at or near a body of water, preferably in which fish live, but it is still acceptable to recite Tashlich there if they do not. Water symbolizes kindness and life, and, since fish have eyes that never close, they symbolize that HaShem is constantly watching over us and protecting us, and also serve as a not so subtle reminder to maintain decorum. In addition, just as fish are caught in nets, so to are we caught in the net of judgment for life and death. Also, in the ancient world, kings were proclaimed by flowing rivers because rivers were considered to be long lasting and indestructible. The last three verses from the Prophet Micah, which are included in the Tashlich ceremony, contain the explanation for this custom. We say "Who is G-d like unto Thee, pardoning iniquity and forgiving transgression to the residue of his heritage. He maintains not His anger forever, because He delights in kindness. He will again have mercy on us. He will suppress our iniquities; yes, You will cast our sins into the depth of the seas." Another aspect of the Tashlich prayer reminds us of the insecurity of life as demonstrated by the fact that the fish that are in danger of falling for bait or otherwise being caught. Our lives, too, are fraught with pitfalls and temptations; it is up to us to consciously choose to stay away from that which will hurt us. Though we use bread in our ritual, it is interesting to note that it is prohibited to throw breadcrumbs to the fish (or the ducks and the geese) on Yom Tov. Perhaps we can comply with this by throwing our pieces of bread in areas where there are no fish and, because of our presence, there are no ducks or geese. The theological reason for the custom of standing by a river stems from the story of the Akeida, in which HaShem commanded Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac. In this story Satan, attempting to block Abraham's performance of the mitzvah commanded by HaShem, appeared in the form of a river that Abraham had to cross in order to perform the mitzvah. Undeterred, Abraham entered the river, and, when the waters reached his neck, cried out "Save me, G-d, for the waters have reached my soul!" (Psalm 69:2), whereupon the Satan in the form of the river immediately disappeared. Therefore, one of the reasons for the recital of Tashlich by the waterside is intended to invoke the spirit of the Akeida. The utter devotion of Abraham, stated Rabbi Ya'acov Moelin, a 14th century German Rabbi, also known as the Maharil, the Hebrew acronym for "Our Teacher, the Rabbi Ya'acov Levi," writing in his best known work Minhagim, (Customs) exemplified that "no obstacle should keep us back from fulfilling any command of G-d. He who can show the selfless love of Abraham and his readiness to die for the Divine word can be sure that his sins will be cast into the sea." Because of the work of the Maharil, we know that Tashlich was practiced in the 14th Century, but we are also aware that there were some times when it had to be abandoned in the European Diaspora because Jews were often wrongfully accused of casting spells on the waters, or even poisoning it. Jews were especially persecuted during the time the Black Death swept over Europe in the last two thirds of the 14th Century because they were falsely accused of causing it by poisoning water in rivers and wells. If the closest river is not near one's home, Tashlich may be recited if a river may be seen in the distance. If there is no river, one may go to a natural body of water, such as a spring, a well, a lake or a pond. In some communities, Tashlich is said by a mikvah. If no natural body of water is available, one may recite Tashlich by an artificial body of water, such as an aquarium or even a water filled jar. The English text of the core of the Tashlich ceremony is as follows: Who is like You, G-d, who removes iniquity and overlooks transgression of the remainder of His inheritance. He doesn't remain angry because He desires kindness. He will return and he will be merciful to us, and he will conquer our iniquities an He will cast them into he depths of the sea. Give truth to Jacob, kindness to Abraham, like that you swore to our ancestors from long ago. From the straits I called upon G-d. G-d answered me with expansiveness. G-d is with me, I shall not be afraid, what can man do to me? G-d is with me to help me and I will see my foes (annihilated). It is better to take refuge in G-d than to trust in man. It is better to take refuge in G-d than to rely on nobles. In addition, many people read Psalms 30 and 130. As for further insight concerning what Tashlich represents, we turn to Rabbi Akiva. Rabbi Akiva lived and taught during the Rabbinic Period, and defied the edict of the Roman Emperor Hadrian against teaching Torah. He was later painfully executed by the Romans for continuing to do so. During his life, he was often asked why he continually put himself at risk, and it is believed he answered his questioners with the following parable: A hungry fox came to the bank of a stream. In the stream he saw fish restlessly swimming about. Said the sly fox to the fish: "It appears to me that you are greatly fearful of being caught by the fishermen. I invite you to come out onto the dry bank-you will escape the fishermen, and we'll all live happily together as my ancestors did with yours." The fish scoffed at the cunning fox, and replied: "If in the water, which is our very life we are in danger, certainly, our leaving the water would mean certain death to us." The Torah is our way of life and the length of our days. We cannot live without it any more than fish can live if removed from water. Could we save ourselves by abandoning our way of life, the way of the Torah? The answer, of course, is a definite and resounding "NO!" These are the thoughts that Tashlich bring to us; those of teshuvah (return) and a desire live ethical, kindly, productive, meaningful and successful lives. These thoughts brought to reality, will provide us with the strong and focused motivation needed to make these aspects of our lives reality. The History of the Bar and Bat Mitzvah by Jane LeGrange The ceremony of a Bar Mitzvah is not mentioned in either the Bible or Talmud, and is a minhag or custom, that developed in the Middle Ages. In the Bible, the age of majority was 20 and was not tied to the obligation to do mitzvot. Later on in the Talmud as a result of Roman influence, the age of majority was considered to be around puberty, which was determined by "medical examination". Eventually, this was replaced by the ages of 12 for girls and 13 for boys. The Talmudic understanding of "majority" was focused on the child's intellectual and moral abilities, rather than being related to ritual responsibilities. In fact, minors were permitted to perform public mitzvot such as reciting the Torah blessings and wearing tefillin. The right to practice such mitzvot was tied to the child's understanding and maturity, rather than to a particular age. For girls, reaching the age of majority meant a Shidduch (an arranged match with a future husband) and then a wedding under the chupah. The first mention of anything resembling a Bar Mitzvah was in 13th century Germany, by one Mordecai ben Hillel. Early B'nai Mitzvah consisted of the blessings of she-heheyanu and baruchshe- ptarani and then a toast. The baruch-she-ptarani prayer was recited by the father, giving thanks that he is no longer responsible for his son's observance of the mitzvot. Some people might invite more guests and serve a festive meal in addition to the toast. Public Bar Mitzvah ceremonies occurred later as a result of limitations imposed on the right of minors to perform mitzvot publicly. By the 14th century, sources mention a boy being called up to the Torah for the first time on the Sabbath coinciding with or following his 13th birthday. By the 17th century, boys were also reading Torah and delivering talks, often on talmudic learning, at an afternoon seudat mitzvah (ritual meal). Today's more lavish celebrations had their origins in that much more modest ritual meal. In fact, even as early as 1595 in Poland, such meals had become excessive enough that communal taxes were imposed in order to discourage extravagances. Judith Kaplan, daughter of Reconstructionism's founder Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan, was the first woman to become a Bat Mitzvah, in 1922. In this ceremony, she chanted the blessings over the Torah and then read a passage in Hebrew from a printed Bible. For many years after that, B'not Mitzvah were often celebrated at Friday night services by the recitation of the week's haftarah portion. Today, of course, Bar and Bat Mitzvah celebrations are identical in all of the liberal movements. The idea of adult B'nai Mitzvah started in the 1950s with the recognition that Jewish men who had not had a Bar Mitzvah did not have complete Jewish educations. In 1971, the first "belated" or adult B'nai Mitzvah were performed. Today, synagogues use these adaptations of the coming of age ceremony to offer opportunities for the study of Jewish history, text, and ritual to adults. Although both the ceremonial and celebratory aspects of B'nai Mitzvah can be traced back to the Middle Ages, they have a greater significance today. Ideally, the Bar and Bat Mitzvah ceremony is a recognition of Jewish learning that the child has completed preparing him or her for adult responsibility. The new Bar or Bat Mitzvah has responsibility for his or her actions, for following the mitzvot, and for continuing in a lifelong process of Jewish learning. May Two (or More) People Share an Aliyah?
At The Jewish Center, we sometimes call people up to share an aliyah. We have had groups of two, three and sometimes more people come up to the Torah. At times there is confusion about the blessings, e.g., should people say them together? Should one person say them? Should one person say the blessings before the reading and another say the blessing after? And, what is the halakha regarding this? We are guided not to say unnecessary blessings (bracha livtola). Blessings are important and should not be treated casually. An unnecessary blessing is considered to be a "wasted blessing" and should be avoided. An example of an unnecessary blessing is saying the blessing for hand washing but not washing your hands. Another example is to make Kiddush and not drink the wine or juice. The question of shared aliyot raises several complications. As a practical matter, it seems there are never enough aliyot (in our congregation or any other) to meet the needs and wishes of congregants. At The Jewish Center, when we have a Bar or Bat Mitzvah on Shabbat morning, the B'nai Mitzvah family has up to five aliyot, and the other three aliyot are reserved for members of the congregation. Congregants often request aliyot for various reasons. For example, we have congregants of all ages who want to celebrate their B'nai Mitzvah anniversaries; among them are our teens, and we are fortunate that they want to come back year after year to mark the anniversary, but the question arises about which teen should get an aliyah, and whether every anniversary should be thus marked or just selected ones? Other examples include people going on trips to Israel or those marking yahrzeits, wedding anniversaries, special birthdays and other noteworthy occasions. One possible solution is to divide the weekly parasha so there is a larger number of aliyot available to be assigned. This would be a complicated task due to the many laws of Torah reading, and would also lengthen our service. Originally, the person called for the aliyah would both say the blessings and do the reading. This custom was changed when it was discovered how challenging it is to read the Torah properly and only those with the proper training and confidence in their ability were allowed to do so. Today the custom is for most honorees to say the blessings and stand beside the reader and follow along as he/she reads it on behalf of those who have the aliyah. There is a Talmudic opinion concerning who says the blessings that states, "Two voices simultaneously cannot be made out and therefore do not fulfill the mitzvah of hearing the blessing." One way to address this issue when two or more people are sharing an aliyah is for one person to say the opening blessings and the other person to say the closing blessing. People who would like to follow this model are encouraged to do so. It is also acceptable to have people sharing an aliyah to say the blessings together; we simply ask that they do their best to say the blessings clearly and simultaneously. Those who are called to the Torah are given this honor as representatives of the entire congregation, and we are always glad when guests and members of our congregation accept the honor with the proper respect. The Ten Commandments and the Torah
Most people think about the Ten Commandments in the Torah - as we recently encountered them (at Exodus 20:1-14) on Shabbat of February 10 when we read Parashat Yitro. They are, of course, the rules we are all obligated to live by as good Jews and good humans. You may not be quite as familiar with what we will refer to here as the Ten Commandments about the Torah - that is, the basic rules for how the Torah is written, cared for, and used in Judaism. With no disrespect intended, here is that other set of commandments: 1. Thou Shalt Rely Upon a Sofer to Write a Torah - A sofer, or scribe, is specially trained for the task of writing a Torah. A sofer need not be a rabbi, though many are. A woman can act in this role, and is referred to as a soferet. Sofrim also write other holy articles including the small scrolls in tefillin and mezuzot. Sofrim learn their craft through apprenticeships, and there is an international organization called Vaad Mishmeret Stam whose purpose is to preserve the craft and certify sofrim. 2. Thou Shalt Use Only Klaf for the Torah - Klaf is kosher parchment, made from the hide of a kosher animal (usually a deer, cow, bull or goat) that is prepared in an elaborate process of soaking, removing any hairs, stretching, scraping, and sanding. A complete Torah may require skins from eighty animals or more. 3. Thou Shalt Use Proper Pens and Inks- All writing is done with quills, or pens, made by the sofer; the feathers must come from a kosher bird, usually a goose or a turkey. Many quills are needed to complete a Torah, and a special quill is used only for writing God's name. The ink is blended using powdered gall nuts, copper sulfate crystals, gum arabic, and water; only a small amount is prepared at a time, so that the ink will always be fresh. 4. Thou Shalt Achieve Perfection - Very few things in life must be absolutely perfect, and writing a Torah is one of them. If a sofer makes a mistake, it can usually be corrected by scraping off the ink of a letter made in error with a knife or a pumice stone and rewriting it. If a mistake is made in writing any of the names of HaShem, no correction may be made because God's name may not be erased. The entire sheet of parchment must be buried and the sofer must begin that section of the Torah again. 5. Thou Shalt Not Improvise or Be Creative - Writing a Torah requires very precise adherence to more than 4,000 laws concerning this sacred task. There are 304,805 letters in a Torah on 248 pages with 42 lines each. If only one letter is missing or if there is an extra letter, the whole Torah is pasul (not ritually acceptable). 6. Thou Shalt Use Correct Names for Torah Parts and Adornments - Part of the beauty of the Torah service is the ritual of undressing and dressing the Torah. Here is a partial list of the things we see during this service: a. Atzei Hayim - These are the wooden rods or spools to which the ends of the scroll are connected. Etz Hayim is a "tree of life" and we are commanded to hold fast to it. b. Garter - This is the sash or elasticized belt that is tied or hooked around the two sections of the scroll when it is rewound. c. Mantel - We cover the Torah with this elaborate cloak to protect it when it is not in use. d. Breastplate - This decorative silver ornament hangs from the Atzei Hayim. e. Keter - This is the ornate silver crown that sits on the top of the Atzei Hayim. f. Yad - It is no accident that the end of the silver pointer used to keep one's place while reading is shaped like a handfor that is the meaning of the word yad. 7. Thou Shalt Honor the Torah - We rise when the Torah is "standing" (such as when it is removed from the Ark, carried around the Sanctuary, lifted for all to see during the Hagbah ritual before it is re-rolled, and whenever it is being held upright) as a sign of respect and admiration. 8. Thou Shalt Read the Torah Correctly- You may have noticed that whenever a Torah is being read, there are two people called gabbaim standing on either side of the Torah. As the person reads the Torah, the gabbaim's role is to follow along in their humashim to make sure that the words are being said correctly. No matter how well-practiced the reader is, he/she must read the Hebrew correctly - with no vowels, while remembering the proper melody, or trop, and with the eyes and ears of all the congregants paying attention. Should a mistake in the Hebrew (but not the melody) be made, it is the role of the gabbaim to quietly and gently state the correct word or words so the reader can say them properly and thus convey the content of the weekly portion accurately. 9. Thou Shalt Not Drop a Torah - No revered object should be allowed to touch the floor or the ground, and the Torah certainly is highly revered. There are various interpretations of what must be done if a Torah is dropped - but it's much more important to simply make sure it isn't dropped. This is why we limit those who can receive the Hagbah honor to people who can lift the Torah comfortably and safely. If you are ever given the opportunity to carry a Torah in any kind of Torah procession and are not confident in your ability to do so, please don't. Nobody should feel uneasy when carrying a Torah. 10. Thou Shalt Not Use a Torah That is Pasul - Many things can make a Torah no longer acceptable for use, or pasul - most notably excessive wear to the parchment pages and/or to the lettering, an extra or missing letter, or a mistake in a word that cannot be corrected. Minor repairs can be made to both, and the sofrim must follow guidelines in doing so. Once a Torah becomes pasul, it cannot be read in public and is put in a special container and then buried in a Jewish cemetery. Next time you are at services for Shabbat, take a special look at the Torah as it goes by or when you see it on the bimah, and keep in mind all that it represents and how important it is for us to observe the rules concerning its preparation, care and use. What are the Duties of the Shamash? by Gil Gordon Our synagogue has a 'Shamash Corps', a group of men and women who are specially trained to assist during Shabbat and Holiday services. They assist with all the Shabbat morning and Mincha B'nai Mitzvah services. The duties of a shamash are wide ranging throughout the course of the service. The shamash assures that the service runs smoothly and assists the clergy as needed. The most obvious role is to assist those receiving honors. For each Shabbat or Holiday service, there is an 'Honors Sheet' which identifies individuals who will be receiving the various honors that day. They include the names of those who will be performing Ark door and curtain openings and closings, have aliyot, are performing the duties of hagbah and g'lilah and Torah carriers. The shamash finds those individuals who will be receiving honors where they are seated in the congregation and assists them to the bimah at the appropriate time in the service. The shamash may explain how the honor is performed if the honoree is unsure of how to perform the honor. If honors are not assigned, the shamash may choose those individuals in the congregation to receive the honors with the assistance of the Rabbi, Cantor and others. The shamash brings the honoree to the bimah in a timely fashion to receive the honor and makes sure the service flows smoothly. He/she assists with removing the Torah from the Ark and hands it to the Cantor or Torah carrier as needed and returns the Torah to the ark at the end of the Torah service. They assist the clergy as needed throughout the service. The shamash is there to make the service a relaxed and spiritual experience for the entire congregation. The 'Shamash Corps' rotates on a weekly basis. If you are interested in being trained as a shamash, please contact Gil Gordon, VP of Religious Affairs, at gil@gilgordon.com.
Help Us Enhance Kavanah: When to Enter the Synagogue by David Greenberg We are always trying to enhance the meaningfulness of our services at The Jewish Center. This article by Religious Affairs committee member David Greenberg discusses one way in which we can all help make our services even better by being more mindful of when it is appropriate to enter the Sanctuary. What is kavanah? Kavanah is generally translated as concentration or intent. Rabbi Hayim Halevy Donin suggests that to transform reading into prayer, there must be at least a sense of standing in the presence of God and the intent to fulfill one of God's commandments. To enable this transition from reading to prayer we should strive to free our minds of other thoughts, increase our understanding of the prayers, and, finally, think about our prayers. These various layers of thought constitute an individual's achievement of kavanah. So, what does kavanah have to do with entering the synagogue? At certain times during the service it is important to respect fellow congregants who are concentrating on prayer. Other people entering and exiting the Sanctuary, and/or trying to slip past those who are praying may be disrupting the people who are praying even if they try to move very quietly. Here is a brief list of these times when we ask that you not leave or enter, to enhance our prayer service for everyone: During these times we ask that if you enter the Sanctuary, you remain at the door until the congregation is seated. This will allow fellow congregants and guests to maintain their concentration and kavanah, and also shows respect for the nature of our service and for our service leaders. We offer these guidelines to help everyone feel confident and at home in our Sanctuary. Please help us enhance kavanah for everyone.
Lift It Up & Tie It Up: The Why and How of Putting the Torah Away by Gil Gordon All it takes is one Shabbat visit to any synagogue anywhere in the world to realize how central the Torah is to our religion, and to see the care and respect with which it is treated. The Torah service is the focal point of the Shabbat service, and it is accompanied by a number of rituals and traditional practices - some of which are better understood than others. One aspect of how we treat the Torah that bears some explanation is what happens when we are done reading from the scroll. At the conclusion of the reading, two members of the congregation are called up to assist in preparing the Torah to be placed in the Ark once again. The first (the Magbeah, or if it is a woman, the Magbehah) lifts the Torah and carries it to a seat where it can be rolled and covered. When the Magbeah lifts the Torah, he/she unfurls it so that at least a section of three columns is visible, and holds it aloft (with his/her back to the congregation) so that all may see the written parchment. Simultaneously, the congregation stands and chants a phrase (v'zot ha'- Torah....) that translates as, "This is the Torah that Moshe placed before the Israelite people, at the command of God." As this phrase is sung, you will notice that many congregants raise a pinkie and/or a tzizit from their tallitot in the direction of the raised Torah. Why is this done? Here's an explanation from <judaism.about.com> that sheds some light on this practice: "There is no known source in Jewish literature for this widespread Jewish custom. Perhaps it is one of those customs that has just developed and survived over time because it is so fitting. Many people raise their small finger as described above just as the words "This is the Torah" are being recited (sung) in the prayer. Thus, the raising of the finger is like pointing. There is a Midrash that says the Jews "pointed at God" when they said the words "This is my God" at the splitting of the Red Sea. Perhaps there is a connection between the pointing at God as the Sea parted and the pointing at the Torah as it is being lifted. In both cases, there is recognition of the holy via both reciting words and pointing a finger." The honor of lifting the Torah is arguably the only Torah service honor that requires a degree of physical strength and coordination. It is important not only to avoid dropping the Torah but also to lift it in a way that doesn't put stress on the parchment and thus risk tearing it. This can be tricky at any time of the year, but especially so when the Torah is unevenly wound on one side or the other and thus somewhat unbalanced and awkward to handle. To make things even more challenging, the Magbeah or Magbehah must do this adroitly and carefully while the entire congregation watches. For these reasons, we have a list of trained congregants at TJC who are available to accept this honor. Anyone who would like to be trained to join this group should contact me at gil@gilgordon.com or 732-329-2266. (One reason why the congregants watch all of this with some apprehension is the belief that if the Torah is dropped, the entire congregation is obligated to fast for forty days and nights. Actually, current rulings say that those present when the Torah is dropped are obligated to fast for only one day, and/or obligated to give tzedakah. God willing we will never have to face these obligations.) As with any physical task, there's a right and wrong way to do it. Here is an excerpt from a description written by Rabbi George Dreisen of Congregation Adat Shalom: "The Torah lifter moves behind the reading desk, grasps the Torah by the bottom portion of its staves (atzei hayim) and moves it down atop the reading desk so that the mid-point rests on the edge of the reading desk. Using the reading desk as a fulcrum, she/he then rotates the Torah to a vertical position and with knees bent (to save the back muscles, not for religious reasons), lifts the Torah at least to shoulder height, turns around so that the writing is facing the congregation, and, to the extent comfortable, spreads out the scroll so the congregants can see it." When the congregation finishes singing v'zot ha' Torah, the lifter is seated. Then, the second person (the Golel, or if it is a woman, the Gollelet) re-rolls the Torah and replaces its coverings and embellishments. The sequence for dressing the Torah is: hagorah (belt or sash), me'il (cloth cover), tas (breastplate), yad (pointer) over the left etz hayim (wooden post) as you face the Torah, rimonim (silver finials for tops of the atzei hayim), and then the keter (crown). After this is completed, the Torah is generally placed in a special holder on the bimah where it remains until the processional around the Sanctuary and then its replacement in the Ark. This series of very visual activities is designed to draw the congregation's attention to the Torah and its role in the service, and to accord the respect that the Torah deserves. | ||||||||||
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