The Honey And The Sting: Thanksgiving 2020

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

By now, all the shopping is done, in fact some of the cooking is done, right? Or are you—like me—one of those who realizes halfway through a recipe that there’s one ingredient you forgot to buy and feel the urgent need to go to the store and get it?

Yes, it’s Thanksgiving time!

But oh my! How different this Thanksgiving is from all others! 

I don’t know how you are going to celebrate it. I know I’m preparing my usual: butternut squash soup (that’s the one item I was talking about that I forgot to buy—the squash!), smoked turkey breast with mashed potatoes, green beans topped with toasted almonds; and for dessert, pumpkin pie. No cranberry sauce this year, as I’m the only one who appreciates this delicacy in my house, and it’s only going to be Sally and I at the table (and Trapper under, waiting for anything that “falls” from our plates).

And there’s the rub! 

How strange not to be sitting around a table with a host of friends and family, sharing stories, joking, laughing, enjoying a meal that everybody contributes to! The very thought of this saddens me to no end.

So how will Sally and I deal with this strange meal? We’ll open a bottle of wine and enjoy each other’s company. We will reminisce about past Thanksgivings and then we’ll talk about how we will celebrate next year.

Because that’s the whole point. “This year”—in the words of the Passover Haggadah—“we are in the land of Mitzrayim [the place of narrowness and confinement]. Next year, in Jerusalem!” This year we won’t go anywhere, we won’t join a circle of family or friends, so that we can do exactly that next year! We cannot risk our own health or the health of any of our loved ones, no matter how strong the urge.

And instead of giving in to gloom, we will light extra candles, decorate our table and take out the nice dishes. We will express our gratitude for what we have right now—our health, our lives, good food, each other. We will say a prayer thanking God for this moment—and ask for strength and hope to keep us going. 

In one of our prayerbook meditations, we read about the sadness that entraps us when we miss someone terribly. “Give me away,” is the concluding line. If we can’t share the moment with loved ones this Thanksgiving, perhaps we can share some of our blessings with others in other ways. Give extra, unneeded winter coats with the homeless; share extra food (you know there’s going to be lots of leftovers!) or dessert with first responders. Bring food to food banks, donate Thanksgiving dinners to rescue missions and neighbors who live alone. 

Psalm 121 in our Holy Scriptures opens with the words, “I lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from? My help comes from Adonai, Maker of heaven and earth.” For, as we look up to the snow-covered peaks, we sense not only our own minuteness but also grandeur and hope. Let the mountains that surround us remind us of the resilience and strength embedded in all of us. Yes, the holidays coming up will be different this year, but we will come up with different ways to exchange gifts. Yes, we will miss terribly being with beloved friends and family, but we will connect through various apps and devices. It may not feel the same, but it’s as good as it gets this year, and that’s good enough!

So go ahead and make those phone calls; connect on FaceTime or Zoom; leave a note on your neighbor’s door. Ask if there is anything you can do to help. Accept help if you need it.

That’s the kind of thanksgiving God would expect of us this year. 

I wish you the happiest, warmest, most delicious Thanksgiving! And may we all celebrate properly next year, in joy and good health.

© 2020 by Boaz D. Heilman

The Choices We Make, The Faith We Keep: Toldot 2020

 The Choices We Make, The Faith We Keep: Toldot 2020

By Rabbi Boaz Heilman

November 20, 2020

Deep water hides dangerous currents.  The household that Isaac and Rebecca established must have held its share of turbulence, if to judge by the outcome of events that we read about in this week’s Torah portion, Toldot (Genesis 25:19-28:9).

At the end of the previous portion, Isaac and Rebecca marry and move into Sarah’s tent, a move that is symbolic both of the ongoing, powerful legacy of Sarah, but possibly also of the estrangement Isaac must have felt from his father, Abraham. As Toldot begins, twenty years have elapsed, and the couple is still childless. After Isaac entreats God on behalf of Rebecca—whose sorrow he must have seen and shared—Rebecca becomes pregnant and finds out she is to be the mother of twins.

The strong bond Rebecca develops with one of the two children—the younger, Jacob—contrasts with the preference Isaac shows for the first-born, Esau. This is due not to any sentimental or spiritual reasons, mind you, but rather because Isaac likes Esau’s cooking better. Esau is a hunter, and the food he cooks for his father reminds Isaac of the wild outdoors, his preferred roving grounds. 

Since the binding and near sacrifice on the top of Mt. Moriah, Isaac’s relationship with Abraham must have become very strained. We don’t read of any interaction between the two after that harrowing experience. Nor does Isaac converse with or even seek God; he has already seen too much, and the further away Isaac can get from the strict demands of his father’s God, the freer he must have felt.

The marriage to Rebecca, however, must have changed some things. Seeing her sorrow at not being able to become pregnant, Isaac turns to God and prays, for her sake. Not to be outdone, Rebecca too establishes a relationship with God, seeking advice and guidance as she assumes the role not only of wife, but also of mother. But there the similarities end. The tensions grow deeper and wider as Rebecca prefers Jacob and his mild manners, while Isaac prefers the wilder Esau.

The break appears at that famous moment when Jacob tricks his brother into selling him the birthright for a bowl of stew. When Esau realizes the consequences of his rashness, he takes an oath to kill Jacob. Hoping that somehow the relationships might mend in time, Rebecca persuades Isaac to allow Jacob to leave home and go stay with Rebecca’s family in Aram.

We know little about how Isaac must have felt all this time. Having grown blind, he seems completely oblivious of what is happening in his own home. He does harbor suspicions, however. When Jacob appears at his doorstep, offering a meal just as Esau would have prepared, Isaac’s doubts rise to the surface. He relies on his still-strong senses of touch, smell and hearing to determine which of the twins is now seeking his blessing. Yet despite his misgivings (“The voice is the voice of Jacob, but the hands are the hands of Esau”) he agrees to give Jacob his blessing.  

Throughout his life, Isaac found himself a plaything in the hands of greater forces. Be they his father, his half-brother Ishmael, his wife Rebecca, and now his younger son, Isaac remains compliant and obedient. Some may see that as weakness, yet there is untapped strength within Isaac, both physical and moral. And at this crucial moment, when he has to make a hugely important choice, between blessing Jacob or Esau, he knows what his mission in life is. Isaac blesses Jacob, more than likely with the knowledge that he is setting himself and his family on a new path in history, one that will not always be peaceful or calm.

Despite his past efforts to escape the demands of his father’s traditions, Isaac learns to appreciate them instead. The story of his search for meaning and faith is also told in this portion, and the successful outcome of this search is perhaps at the root of his decision to bestow his blessing on Jacob.

Like his father before him, Isaac leads a nomadic life. His wanderings in the land of Canaan take him to the vicinity of the Philistines—a Greek tribe that had settled along the south-eastern shore of the Mediterranean. Isaac’s success among them, however, breeds jealousy, and the Philistines chase Isaac out of their midst. And the animosity does not stop there. As Isaac digs wells for the precious water needed to quench the thirst of his flocks, the Philistines hurry to fill them in again. This happens several times until peace is finally reached. The seventh—and final—well turns out a good source of water, and Isaac names it Beer Sheva—the very name Abraham had used when he made peace with another quarrelsome tribe, one generation earlier.

In the Torah, the allegorical use both of wells and the number seven indicates the presence of God. Isaac’s digging of the seven wells thus symbolizes his search for God. Tellingly, some of the wells he dug had originally been dug by Abraham. Perhaps through neglect, perhaps for other reasons, these wells were no longer productive. Isaac’s work—searching, discovering and digging, restored their strength. Through this entire process Isaac was learning about his tradition. It wasn’t enough to rely on Abraham’s relationship with God; Isaac had to find his own path, his own understanding of God, and it wasn’t easy.

Yet, once discovered, the relationship grew strong, and God blesses Isaac. This is the source of Isaac’s strength. This is what convinces him that Jacob would be the proper recipient of his blessing. He allows himself to be deceived, knowing fully well that greater forces are at play again, and that once again he is at the center of all this action. His faith convinces him that the tradition established by his father, Abraham, must continue from this point on through Jacob.

Like Isaac, we aren’t always aware of the important role we play in life.  Our deeds sometimes seem trivial. In the larger scope of things, what we do, what we say, don’t always amount to much. And yet, with each choice we make, through everything we do and every word we utter, we make a difference in the world. Our search for truth is not without meaning. As we dig our own wells, as we learn about our traditions, we find both blessing and the strength to carry on, despite all difficulties and challenges. The faith that sustained Isaac through his life is the same faith that went on to uphold the myriads of generations that came after him. And it is this same faith that keeps us strong, as we, like Isaac, reaffirm our Covenant with the God who promised to be there for us more than three thousand years ago, and is still here for us today.

May our faith fill our homes with peace, love and health; may God keep us all safe and strong through these turbulent times.

© 2020 by Boaz Heilman

 Rejection and Jealousy: The Ancient Roots of Hatred

D’var Torah for Parashat Vayeira

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

November 6, 2020

Of all the terrible and disturbing things that take place in the Torah’s first book, Genesis, one that’s way up there takes place in this week’s portion, Vayeira (“And he saw,” Gen. 18:1-22:24). So maybe it isn’t the humongous flood that destroyed almost all life on earth; and it isn’t even the dramatic destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. On a grand scale, the episode I’m referring to is just one small incident. But the consequences last to this day.

It’s the story of Abraham casting Hagar and Ishmael out into the wilderness.

Favoritism is a recurring motif in Genesis. God starts it out by choosing Abel over Cain, and we know what that led to. Then, not quite having learned the lesson, God chooses Noah and kills everyone else. The yet-to-come story of Jacob and Esau, in which Jacob becomes the favorite son while Esau is left out in the cold is yet another example; and this sequence will continue with the story of Joseph and his brothers. It seems that no one learns the real lesson here, the one that underlies many broken families, that is the cause of racism and bigotry, as well as of almost all historic hatreds that to this day pit nation against nation.

Favoritism is a huge motif in a tragedy that plays itself out over and over. Nothing hurts quite so much as rejection; nothing leaves such an indelible mark on a person’s soul, causing confusion, displacement, loss of identity, and even death.

I happened to watch a short film the other day, “Trevor.” This 1994 Academy-Award-winning film is corny yet charming; it’s funny but painful; it’s hopeful, yet not altogether realistic.

In this coming-of-age story, Trevor is a young teen who realizes that he is gay. Rejected by friends and family, he attempts suicide while listening to his “fave,” Diana Ross. Spoiler alert: Trevor survives. He is befriended by a gay hospital volunteer who invites him to a Diana Ross concert, and it’s a new dawn for Trevor.

Unfortunately, this isn’t always how these stories end. Statistics paint a much darker picture. While suicide is the second leading cause of death among young people ages 10-24, LGBTQ youth are almost five times as likely to have attempted suicide compared to heterosexual youth, and almost five times as likely to require medical treatment. Moreover, LGBTQ youth who come from highly rejecting families are almost 10 times as likely to attempt suicide as their peers who reported no or low levels of family rejection. 

This shocking reality is what makes The Trevor Project such an important organizations in the United States today, providing crisis counseling and suicide prevention services to LGBTQ people under 25. 

It doesn’t take more than one or two personal experiences to understand the vital work of the Trevor Project.

The truth is that we are all born unique, different and special in our own way. Each of us has gifts and talents that make us valuable individuals. Sometimes we don’t recognize this truth—either about ourselves or about others. Fear of ostracism and violence, as well as social, cultural and religious pressures, bear heavily on us, forcing us to conform. For many young people who may be questioning their identity and sexual orientation, the challenges these restrictions pose are complex and often disabling.

Fortunately, much has changed for the LGBTQ community over the past few years. The Center for Disease Control reports that the US suicide rate dropped last year for the first time in more than a decade.  

Family rejection is also less common today than in the past. 

Yet, despite new recognition and acceptance of gender diversity, the struggle for equality and for the chance to live free from fear are far from over. The uncertainties caused by COVID and the recent elections have caused a spike in anxiety among endangered youth, particularly among the Black community. In Washington, D.C., The US Supreme Court has taken up once again an LGBTQ case that pits freedom of conscience against the rights of minority groups, and the recent swearing-in of Judge Amy Coney Barrett could reverse the trend in recent years of advancing protections for all minority groups.  

Sometimes I wonder what the world would look like today if Ishmael had not been cast out of Abraham and Sarah’s tent. Would the two boys, half-brothers Ishmael and Isaac, have learned to live with one another? Would they have learned to accept their differences and respect the Divine Image in one another?

Or would jealousy and stigmas still remain, causing even more mockery, oppression and persecution?

The purpose of Biblical stories is to teach us life-long lessons. Yet they also shape us, giving form and direction to our existence. It’s also possible of course that they are no more than a reflection of our innate human condition, set deep in our genes and DNA. Either way, bigotry and prejudice are a part of who and what we are, and we will forever be wrestling with them, forever on a quest to reach equality, acceptance and mutual respect.

We are living through challenging times today. It will take the effort and contribution of each of us if we are to surmount the many obstacles that stand before us. Let us hope that we learn from our past mistakes, so that the future we hand to our children will be more promising than it seems right now. The path to unity begins with each one of us, with the understanding that no one is better than another, that we are all created with the Divine Image embedded within us, and that each of us, regardless of color, race, or gender identity, has an equally important role to play and an equally worthy goal to reach.

© 2020 by Boaz D. Heilman

 Elections, Not Civil War: Ruminations On the Eve of Election Day

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Monday, November 2, 2020, 9 pm Mountain Time

Out here in Colorado, it’s the last few hours in the last day of campaigning. This is the eve of Election Day in the United States, and one as important as this one deserves and demands special thoughts and prayers.

First: Let us recognize that voting is a unique right we enjoy as citizens. It is also a privilege. In many other countries, your vote doesn’t count. Or else it’s forced upon you. In America, yes, you are bombarded by messages from all sides, each trying to influence you and tell you that they are the best product. But, based on all that you hear and learn, when it comes to marking the ballot, you are free to make your own decision, free to choose the candidate you think is best for the country.

At the same time, however, we all recognize that the November 2020 election is probably the most divisive one that of us have ever experienced. 

The hostility did not stop with words. At times it escalated into violence. Some of the most hateful features of humanity—hatred, bigotry and anti-Semitism—have been given image and voice. At times we sense a tangible threat in the way some groups act.

And that is why tomorrow is such an important day. A sense of what America is and of what it can be must prevail. We owe ourselves that, and we owe that to the world.

What will happen the day after tomorrow is what will truly matter. How we handle ourselves as individuals, as communities and as a nation will say more about America than any flag waving or military parade. If we are able to keep the peace among ourselves, we will provide proof that we are, indeed, one nation. One people.

Restoring and maintaining civility among ourselves is essential, both tomorrow—election day—and in the days and weeks after that.

For better or for worse, America has served as a symbol and a beacon for all humanity for more than two centuries now. The true test of what this country stands for will be in our ability to show strength through unity. Yes, we are a diverse concoction of humanity. We are of different colors, origins, faiths and genders. We argue and even fight among ourselves. And yes, our system isn’t always fair or just. But at the end of the day, we are one nation. We are there not only for ourselves, but also for one another. Especially at challenging times such as those we are going through now.

There will be many problems to resolve in the next few months. If we fight among ourselves, we will become distracted from the true goals we need to achieve: 1) universal health and freedom from the COVID pandemic; 2) ways to deal with climate change and the extreme effects it has on all parts of the world.

We don’t have the luxury of being bystanders in these immensely important endeavors. Each of us is affected. 

I offer a prayer for peace and healing; for strength and unity. May it be so. 

© 2020 by Boaz D. Heilman