Eternity Within the Moment: Nitzavim.22

 Eternity Within the Moment

D’var Torah for Parashat Nitzavim

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Nitzavim (“You Are Standing,” Deuteronomy 29:9—30:20), this week’s Torah reading, occupies a special place in Jewish ritual and philosophy. It is considered such an important reading that in the Reform tradition, on Yom Kippur, the most sacred day in the Jewish calendar, verses from this portion are read instead of the more traditional recitation of the sacrifices that were offered at the Temple in Jerusalem.

The idea that we are all “standing here today” regardless of time or age is steeped in the thought of an afterlife—a topic that was current in all religions at the time. But there is no talk here of heaven or hell, or even of an afterlife itself. Eternal life is not a physical idea in this portion. Rather, it is the eternity of the Jewish People—past, present and future. Moreover, the emphasis is not on some metaphysical idea like reincarnation. It’s all about Eternity contained in the Moment. 

The portion reminds us not to look for God above the heavens or beyond the seas. God’s reality is made real and evident by the work of our hands. There are no secret handshakes or rituals that make us eligible for the life of eternity, only how we treat one another in this world. 

But there is another reason why this section of the Torah was chosen for Yom Kippur. It contains the idea of Return and Repentance. The idea that we can stray from the path of God is nothing new. However, that God will always accept our return is. On Yom Kippur we are reminded that our repentance is accepted to the very last moment. This idea is behind the almost-universal rejection of capital punishment among the Jewish People. It’s not a simple concept; how long can a person sin before their penance is no longer acceptable? Pharaoh’s “hardening of the heart” is one example of the limits even God places on repentance. For the rest of us, however, as long as we cease walking on the wrong path and return to God’s ways, God is always there to receive us with love.

There are no pyramids or ziggurats associated with eternal life. There is no river to cross, no ladders to climb, no institution we need to belong to. Instead of these structures, the Jewish People have placed the Torah—our Covenant between God and us—in a simpler house: Beit Sefer. Beit sefer literally means “house of the book.” Whether “book” refers to the Torah or to another book of more general learning is up to us to decide. Wide-ranging knowledge may help us understand how the world works. The Torah, on the other hand, sheds light on how to live a meaningful life. Either way, study and learning become a way of connecting with God and God’s laws.

Nitzavim reminds us of our commitment to our God, our People, and our beliefs. To a large extent, this portion is as powerful as the call of the Shofar—the ram’s horn. It is one of the reasons why at this season we gather at synagogues. It represents the moment when our own time joins the flow of eternity, when our physical presence becomes one with all those who stood—and continue to stand—at Sinai, ready to receive God’s word and take it into our own lives.

© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman

Remembrance and Narration: Ki Tavo.22

Remembrance and Narration: Ki Tavo.22

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

September 14, 2022

Our history isn’t only found in books. We make history. We write the pages that future generations will read and study.

This conclusion has become more apparent to me than ever these recent days, as I sit Shiva for my mother. (Shiva is the 7-day mourning period prescribed by Judaism as part of mourning for a close relative). 

It wasn’t my mother’s death that defined her—it was her life. As people gathered from near and far to comfort us mourners, the stories of her escape from the Nazis were repeated over and over. But even those events, huge as they were in her life, were almost dwarfed by what followed that horrific period of history. It wasn’t only that she survived and lived—it was the meaningful life she created afterwards. 

Everyone who gathered during the past few days and evenings expressed how they were touched by meeting or knowing her. My mother refused to be defined by hate or vengeance. Rather, she spread love and compassion. People somehow sensed the sadness that was there inside her, but they also felt uplifted by her refusal to give in to it. 

With love, determination and sheer will power, my mother created not only a new life for herself, but also helped raise a large family of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. It wasn’t only the kibbutz that she helped build—it was the State of Israel. What she did wasn’t only for her family, but also for the entire Jewish People.

My mother was barely 5 feet tall, yet she was a fountain of strength. Up until the last two months of her life, she refused to give up. She walked miles every day, greeting people with an indomitable smile. Strangers became friends; friends became family.

This is how you create a Nation.

In this week’s Torah portion, Ki Tavo (“When you enter the land,” Deuteronomy 26:1—29:8) we find one of the oldest historical formulas ever to define a people. As part of the ritual of bringing the first fruit of the season to the Priests at the Jerusalem Temple, the ancient Israelites were instructed to retell the story of their origin: “An Aramean [sought to] destroy my forefather, and he went down to Egypt and sojourned there with a small number of people, and there, he became a great, mighty and numerous nation” (Deut. 26:5). This narrative—repeated at every Passover Seder—reminds us to this day not only of our humble and tragic beginning, but also of our eventual triumph. 

It's a short and streamlined version of our history. Yet we know that it wasn’t that simple. The events that resulted in the Exodus and eventual settlement of the Land of Israel took decades to complete. The miracle of Israel’s survival wasn’t only the work of God; it was also the result of the love, dedication and hard work of Moses, Aaron and Miriam as they strove to unite the Israelites and define their identity and purpose. 

The 3600-year-long story of the Jewish People is filled with miracles. Our survival in itself is one huge miracle. But it also is the result of the tireless efforts of individuals like my mother and her fellow fighters and survivors—men and women who took it upon themselves to help defend, sustain and uplift their neighbors and friends. 

After the end of the Shoah, every year on November 29—a defining moment in their history-- surviving members of the partisan group that my mother was part of—the Nasha Groupa (“Our Group”) have been gathering to repeat and retell the stories of heroism and survival. This group—originally a few dozen men, women and children—now counts hundreds among its members. They now include second, third and fourth generation members. They are more than friends. There are binding ties there that today extend around the world. Yet their strength is far greater than merely in numbers. It comes from the lessons they learned and taught one another. Our purpose as a nation may be part of God’s message; our survival, however, is also a reflection of our own determination and dedication. It isn’t only about ourselves; it’s about our devotion to our traditions. It’s about the love we have for our family, friends and people. 

That is why this portion, Ki Tavo—“When you enter the land”—commands us to narrate the story of our survival. It reminds us of what it takes for a people to overcome all challenges, to outlive all its enemies. 

My mother’s legacy is apparent not only in the number of people who have been coming to comfort us, her survivors. It’s also in the lesson she has taught us. Through her life, my mother embodied—and continues to embody, beyond her own life and death—the history of the Jewish People. It’s a story that deserves and needs to be retold in every generation.

“When you enter the land…”

© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman

 

God Is in The Field (Not Only in The Temple): Ki Teitzei.22

 God Is in The Field (Not Only in The Temple)

D’var Torah for Ki Teitzei

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

September 7, 2022

Like a teacher who realizes that the term is about to end and there is yet so much more material to cover, so this week’s Torah portion (Ki Teitzei, “When you go out,” Deuteronomy 21:10—25:19) is crammed with commandments. 74 to be precise, more than any other portion in the Torah!

They cover a wide variety of topics: War, business, family matters, and even how to treat your animals. Justice, ethics, and dignity are the common thread that bind them all together. Some commandments reflect archaic attitudes; others pave the road toward to a new understanding of humanity and manifest the highest ideals. 

The portion begins with a discussion of how to treat an attractive woman taken captive in war. We are forbidden from treating her with the violence that was (and tragically, still is) common practice in war, but rather to be respectful of her feelings and emotions. If her captor ultimately decides not to marry her—then he must let her go as a free woman. War of course is a portal to hell—not only in the suffering and destruction it causes, but also because it allows us to unleash our worst impulses. These verses in our Torah portion, appearing in the 8th century BCE, are therefore nothing less than astonishing. 

A law that I would find difficult to obey would be not to hate an Edomite or an Egyptian—the Edomite because he is our brother (the Edomites are said to be descendants of Esau, Jacob’s twin brother); the Egyptian because we lived as strangers in Egypt—and presumably not all Egyptians acted as horribly toward us as did Pharaoh and his henchmen. It would be hard for me, personally, to forget that the Edomites helped the Babylonians in the destruction of Judea and Jerusalem in the year 586 BCE, ensnaring fugitives and indiscriminately putting them to the sword. Equally difficult for me would be the memory of the drowning of Hebrew male infants in Egypt. Yet the Torah instructs us not to hold a grudge, not to participate in collective punishment, but rather to punish only the guilty.

Yet Ki Teitzei also instructs us never to forget or forgive another tribe: the Amalekites. In the Torah, Amalek becomes the very symbol of evil—not only for attacking the Israelites at night, by stealth (actually pretty clever tactics in war), but rather because they attacked the rear of the Israelite camp, where the stragglers, the weary, the sick, the children, and all those who had lost hope and strength lagged behind. If helping the needy is holy, what the Amalekites did constitutes the very essence of evil—and that is what we must always remember.

One of my favorite commandments in this portion—one that I try to follow whenever possible—is to pay a day laborer at the end of the day. I don’t ask for an invoice in the mail. The Torah explains: this is what he will use to buy food for his family and himself. The laborer must not be forced to beg: His dignity is in his work, and we are commanded to show appreciation—and pay on time!

With 74 commandments, there are sure to be some that we would deem archaic, or perhaps even unjust by our present-day understanding. At the same time, however, there are others that speak to us directly and that we are called upon to follow even if it means that we must change something in the way we live, speak or act. 

The important teaching of Ki Teitzei is that justice, dignity and morality are not only the domain of God and the Temple. Holiness is present all about us—at home as in the field, at the temple as at our workplace. Holiness is not only found in the way we worship and believe, but also in the way we speak and behave.

© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman

The Dual Purpose of Justice: Shoftim.22

 The Dual Purpose of Justice

D’var Torah for Parshat Shoftim

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

August 31, 2022

Justice is the foundation stone upon which society stands. When justice is perverted or politicized, the entire structure flounders. That is the warning Moses gives the Israelites in this week’s Torah portion, Shoftim (“Judges,” Deuteronomy 16:18-21:9).  

This portion shows the remarkable evolution and development that the judicial system in ancient Israel had undergone in the first two centuries of its existence. “Justice, justice shall you pursue” (Deut. 16:20) is the famous call that serves as a theme for everything that follows. Justice is elusive, and therefore must be pursued diligently. An appellate court system must be part of this configuration, leading all the way to the High Priest whose duty it is to make the final decision. Bribery, warns the Torah, “Blinds the eyes of the wise and twists the words of the righteous” (Deut. 16:19, NKJ).

Truths we normally would consider self-evident can easily become distorted and misrepresented. The power of evil to corrupt everything and everyone is the greatest danger facing individuals and society as a whole.

In this portion we learn why Moses is instructed by God to establish refuge cities. Primitive justice was—and among many societies still is—based on revenge. Blood vengeance invariably leads to the shedding of innocent blood, which the Torah deems an unforgivable sin. Refuge cities are meant to put an end to this primitive system. A person suspected of murder may find safety in a refuge city until such time as their guilt or innocence may be proven in court—by which time hot tempers may cool down sufficiently to allow reason and justice to be restored.

The Law must not only be fair; indeed, in a just society everyone must be held equally accountable. No one may consider themselves above the law—not even the king. In this, the Torah is nothing short of revolutionary. In other ancient cultures, the king was the law—he was the source and arbiter, jury and judge. In Judaism, only God has that privilege. The Torah’s vision of social justice applies to one and all, without exception. To ensure this, Moses instructs that there must always be two copies of the Torah—Israel’s earliest legal code; one is to be placed in the palace treasury; the other must always be at the king’s side. The Torah may be interpreted, but the ideas and ideals of justice that it contains are considered sacred.

Shoftim also begins discussion on yet another crucially important topic—conduct during warfare. The power of war is not only in the horrors and destruction that it causes. Wars give free rein to humanity’s worst impulses, degrading us from our potential as partners with God in holiness. In time, the basic rules of warfare found in Shoftim will be developed further; however, at this early point in history, a few basic rules are set: A besieged city must be given a chance to negotiate for peace; and trees of the field (especially fruit-bearing trees) must not be cut down. “Are the trees people, that you should besiege them?” (Deut. 20:19, NIV). 

These laws have two purposes: the first of course is to limit the evil and violence that people are capable of. Beyond that, however, there is also the recognition that giving in to our basest impulses—hatred and bloodlust—reduces human beings to the lowest level of all nature. 

Justice may be the underpinning of a prosperous and peaceful society; but in Moses’s grand vision it becomes even more than that: it is the footing upon which our much-vaunted humanity endures. 

Maybe that’s why the word “justice” is repeated in the famous verse quoted above (Deut. 16:20). There’s societal justice, an institution which keeps civilization from toppling; but there is also individual justice, an ideal that holds human beings up to the highest expectations. Both must be diligently pursued.

© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman

The Blessing and the Curse: Re'eh.22

 The Blessing and The Curse

D’var Torah for Parashat Re’eh

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

August 23, 2022

In this week’s Torah portion, Re’eh (“Behold,” Deuteronomy 11:26—16:17) we read: “Behold, I set before you today a blessing and a curse.” It’s as clear as day and night. There is no middle ground. You either do the right thing—and are blessed in return; or else you choose to do the wrong thing, and you are cursed.

If only life were so clear!

Indeed, some choices are obvious. This portion has commandments against shedding innocent blood, dealing unjustly with the widow and orphan, and refusing the needy when you yourself are blessed with plenty. Yet sometimes our choices aren’t so clear. Take eating meat, for example. Are we not shedding innocent blood when we slaughter an animal, even for the purpose of eating it? 

And why is it OK to free a Hebrew slave at the end of six years of servitude—but not a foreigner? 

We are told that three times a year we must make pilgrimage to “a place which the Eternal will choose” to make an offering and celebrate national/religious holidays. Yet allowance is made for those who cannot travel far or don’t have the wherewithal to sacrifice. And while Jerusalem may be presumed to be that chosen place, in this portion “the place” remains unnamed, in essence enabling us to declare other places sacred too; after all, isn’t the whole earth God’s creation, and therefore holy?

We are left to wonder: Is there a basic right and wrong? Are there essential morals that underlie our behavior, by which we are judged? Or is everything up to us to determine?

The text realizes the challenge before us. It recognizes that within society there will be teachers (“prophets”) whose teaching may vary from the fundamental laws of the Torah. Choice is a human trait; it may be God-given, but it is ours to make, ours to determine. 

It’s important that we understand the circumstances under which the Torah was written, particularly the fifth book of the Pentateuch, Deuteronomy. Its historical purpose was to unite a divided people under one God and one constitution—the Torah. Yet there is a higher purpose as well. The laws of Torah are based not only on our need to unite as a nation, but also to establish within us a high level of ethics and morals. Re’eh warns the Israelites from assimilation not because we are better, but because we can be. Our human condition is not pre-determined: It is ours to choose and determine, based on precepts we believe to be Divine. 

While some will see this portion as rooted in ignorance and primitive fundamentalism, others will view Re’eh as a starting point for further development and interpretation—which in fact is what has happened over the centuries.

Wherever one finds oneself on this spectrum of understanding and belief, there are two undeniable truths in this portion: There is right and wrong in the world, and the choices we make will bear consequences. 

The choice is ours: We are free to make life a blessing, or to turn it into a curse instead, for us as well as for others. 

Especially as we enter the season of reckoning in the Jewish calendar, it’s important that we keep this in mind. 

© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman

What We Overlook: Eikev.22

 What We Overlook: Eikev.22

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

August 15, 2022

It’s hard to accept this week’s Torah portion (Eikev, “Consequences,” Deuteronomy 7:12—11:25) at face value. Outwardly, the portion speaks of God’s constant love. As long as we maintain our part of the Covenant, God will be there for us, we would never suffer need, hunger or thirst. 

Life and history, however, portray a different reality. Life is often unfair. Illness and undue suffering afflict the righteous. Long lines for relief often end with no help in sight. 

Life sometimes—often—challenges our faith.

Yet Moses persists in his teaching. In Eikev he reminds us of that terrible incident of the Golden Calf. Despite their great sin, God forgave the Israelites. Then as now, when we return to God’s ways and follow God’s word, God is always there to receive us. 

As constant reminder for us, passages from this portion were added to the Sh’ma and V’ahavta (see last week’s portion, Va’etchanan) and written on tiny scrolls that are placed inside the mezuzah that Jews put on their doorways, as well as inside the tefillin—phylacteries, the small leather box that observant Jews place on their foreheads and wrap around their arm at morning prayer. When we wake up, when we leave our homes and later return, we are always reminded of our obligations to God.

Yet the question remains: Why do bad things happen to good people?

Sometimes the reasons escape us. At such times, the Torah reminds us that there is a larger picture that we may not be aware of or even begin to understand. Faith is powerful, offering solace as well as strength to go on despite the obstacles.

Perhaps it is this understanding that motivates Rashi, the great rabbi and commentator of the 11th century, to offer an alternative explanation of the title of this portion. Literally, Eikev does mean “consequences;” that is indeed how the Deuteronomist uses it. But the root of this word actually comes from the Hebrew word for the heel of the foot. The lowly position that the heel occupies is what interests Rashi. As the great teacher expounds: “If you will heed the minor commandments which one tramples with one’s heels.” We need to pay as much attention to the minor details of everyday life as to the greater ones.

Yet what are these “minor” commandments? The ones we tend to overlook. The homeless and hungry that we stop seeing as we drive down our highways. The orphans and “illegal” immigrants whose numbers overwhelm us. The lonely who seek someone—anyone—to offer a listening ear, a comforting hand, or a cup of coffee on a dark night.

Ultimately, we don’t know why there is so much pain and suffering in the world, why evil doers seem to thrive while good people languish. What we can be sure of, however, is that doing good deeds strengthens us. Righteousness gives us hope, especially when chaos and confusion swirl around us. Acts of kindness not only help others, they also fill our own hearts with meaning and love. 

Through Rashi’s teaching, we learn the most important lesson that this portion has for us: To look at life and faith through the other end of the telescope, to see not what lies far away, but rather what is right in front of us.

© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman

One God, One People: Va’etchanan.22

 One God, One People: Va’etchanan.22

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

August 9, 2022

This week’s portion is Va’etchanan (“And I pleaded,” Deuteronomy 3:23-7:11). In these chapters Moses continues his sermon to the Israelites, delivered as they are poised to enter the Promised Land. Moses recounts his failed plea to be allowed to enter the Land along with his people. God refuses, commanding Moses instead to prepare Joshua to take over. However, God does give Moses the opportunity to see the entire Promised Land from the Moab highlands. It's a grand vision both literally and metaphorically, encompassing all space and time.

As Moses delivers his final message to the People of Israel, he emphasizes the prohibition on worshipping any visual image of God, be it in human, animal or stellar form. Instead, we are instructed to follow God’s words, the commandments. Our physical shortcomings are surpassed by our almost limitless ability to imagine, wonder and understand.

In Va’etchanan we find a repetition of the Ten Commandments, which by itself would make this portion stand out. Further still, other verses and sections have entered our worship service. Some appear as part of the Torah reading ritual. Others—significantly the Sh’ma and V’ahavta—have become central to our morning and evening prayer services. 

Sh’ma Israel Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad—“Hear O Israel, Adonai is our God; Adonai is One”—has been called “The watchword of our faith.” In these six words we find both theology and commandment. The idea of God’s unity—monotheism—was probably known to Moses from his days yet as a youth in Egypt. It was there after all that the idea was first proposed by Akhenaten some 100 years earlier. Judaism, however, furthered the concept. Whereas in Akhenaten’s thought, the sun was that one god, Moses’s understanding went beyond this limited grasp. The supreme God of Moses and the Patriarchs was not limited by any physical representation; God’s unity encompasses the entire universe. Everything, all Creation, both visible and invisible, present, past and future, is an expression of God’s essence.

In this stunning vision, all is possible; yet nature must follow rules and boundaries. Existence is not random; it has a purpose. Israel, Moses teaches, was not chosen by God because it was the greatest among the nations in numbers, but rather for its understanding and acceptance of God’s Laws and Commandments. Choice, it follows, is essential to Chosenness. We choose, therefore we are chosen. 

The word sh’ma implies more than merely the physical act of hearing. It also means understanding. One of the most indispensable elements of our humanity is our almost limitless ability to learn and reason. In this portion of the Torah, even as the essentials of our faith are spelled out, we are given the freedom to understand and interpret the words, making it possible for each one of us to shape our own, unique, role in ongoing Creation. 

V’ahavta—the command form of the verb “to love”—is also imbued with the idea of freedom. We are commanded to love God. Yet we know that love isn’t an emotion we can control. Love happens. Love grows. Love is life itself. As we grow, we change. Going from one stage to another, from one place to another, we evolve. Our understanding of the world and how it works evolves with us. The more we know and understand, the greater our ability to change both ourselves and the world around us. Our strength is in our flexibility. 

The immeasurable truth that Deuteronomy teaches us is found in this portion: “You who hold fast to your God, Adonai, are all alive today” (Deut. 4:4). Our ongoing existence as a people is forever bound in our Covenant with God. We may be of different opinions; our backgrounds are many and our traditions diverse. Yet, like God, the People of Israel are forever one in faith, body and soul.

It’s a breathtaking and timeless vision of beauty and grandeur.

© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman