This week, in Parashat Bo, we read of the final preparations for the Israelites’ journey out of Egypt. God declares, “This month shall mark for you the beginning of the months; it shall be the first of the months of the year for you” (Exodus 12:2). And so it is. From this point forward, the Torah refers to the month in which our ancestors left Egypt as the first month. As a result, the month which begins with “the day of the sounding of the shofar” – what we know as Rosh Hashanah – becomes the seventh month. That seems strange: how could Rosh Hashanah – the celebration of the beginning of the year – be in the seventh month and not the first?
Like with so many things, our tradition offers multiple explanations. Primarily, however, we understand from the text that we begin counting time from the moment of our liberation. This makes sense, because slaves have no need to count time: every day is the same as the last and the same as the next; there is nothing to plan for, nothing to look forward to. By contrast, free people must be responsible for their time. The Israelites needed to make plans for the future and organize themselves through a consistent accounting of time. In addition, they had the opportunity to track the events they had experienced as they looked back in time to their journey to freedom. So the time of the exodus becomes a critical juncture in the lives of our people. It marks the establishment of the unique identity of our people.
Rosh Hashanah, too, is an essential moment in our calendar. On it, we celebrate the anniversary of the creation of the world, which, according to the rabbis (but not mentioned explicitly in the Torah) occurred at that time. Rosh Hashanah, therefore, is associated with a universal theme, one that is associated with all of creation and all people everywhere. It stands in clear contrast to the particular nature of Passover as a moment of significance for Jews, and not specifically for all people.
So which one marks the beginning of the year? In true Jewish form, they both do. The first day of Nisan – the month of Passover – marks the new year for the Jewish people, and the first day of Tishrei – the month of Rosh Hashanah – marks the new year for the world. With a final note of perfect balance, those two dates stand exactly half a year apart from one another, so that when you reach the end of the cycle of the year on one calendar, you are exactly halfway through the other calendar cycle. In that way, we never reach a complete and final end. There is no moment where we are not somehow engaged in the work of improving the world. Even when we reach the end of the year, we find that we are still in the midst of a year according to another system of accounting.
May we continue to be worthy of living in both calendars of time, a universal one that guides us to bring goodness to the world, and a particular one that inspires us to live fully as Jews, affirming our covenant with God and embracing the richness of the traditions we have learned from our ancestors over so many generations.
I invite you to share your comments on this week’s Torah discussion here.
Shabbat shalom.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Shabbat shalom -- last Sunday's Installation
Dear friends,
This past Sunday's ceremony celebrating my installation as your rabbi was a very moving event for me. The spirit of joy and optimism was palpable in the sanctuary, and I felt truly welcomed and embraced by our community. I am so grateful to you for your support and your warmth, and I look forward to many years together in which our relationships will blossom and grow. I particularly want to thank all those who dedicated so much of their time and resources to make the day successful and beautiful.
It was an important day not only for me, but for all of us. It was a moment in which we together honored the special history of our congregation and looked ahead to the opportunities and challenges that we will face. Rabbi Artson reminded us of the distinct experiences of our ancestors as they forged a relationship with God, and the presence of so many long-time congregants testified to the commitment of our people in every generation to establish a kehilla kedosha -- a holy community. As we look to the future, we will need to endeavor to strike a delicate balance between preserving the richness of our tradition and embracing the new dimensions of our lives that unfold every day.
This balance is reflected in this week's Torah reading, as well. In parashat Va-era, God promises Moses that God will bring the Israelites out of Egypt so that they can serve God. In other words, they will be freed from slavery for the purpose of taking on new and meaningful responsibilities in the world, not simply becoming autonomous individuals. As they move forward in their journey, they will draw upon their past experiences in order to face the future. The lessons they have learned will inform the choices they make as they go to the Promised Land and create a community for themselves there.
I have great faith in our ability to create a beautiful and meaningful future for ourselves and for our community. I feel blessed to take this journey with you and I thank you for this opportunity.
If you would like to share your reflections on last Sunday's installation ceremony, I invite you to post your comments here.
Shabbat shalom.
This past Sunday's ceremony celebrating my installation as your rabbi was a very moving event for me. The spirit of joy and optimism was palpable in the sanctuary, and I felt truly welcomed and embraced by our community. I am so grateful to you for your support and your warmth, and I look forward to many years together in which our relationships will blossom and grow. I particularly want to thank all those who dedicated so much of their time and resources to make the day successful and beautiful.
It was an important day not only for me, but for all of us. It was a moment in which we together honored the special history of our congregation and looked ahead to the opportunities and challenges that we will face. Rabbi Artson reminded us of the distinct experiences of our ancestors as they forged a relationship with God, and the presence of so many long-time congregants testified to the commitment of our people in every generation to establish a kehilla kedosha -- a holy community. As we look to the future, we will need to endeavor to strike a delicate balance between preserving the richness of our tradition and embracing the new dimensions of our lives that unfold every day.
This balance is reflected in this week's Torah reading, as well. In parashat Va-era, God promises Moses that God will bring the Israelites out of Egypt so that they can serve God. In other words, they will be freed from slavery for the purpose of taking on new and meaningful responsibilities in the world, not simply becoming autonomous individuals. As they move forward in their journey, they will draw upon their past experiences in order to face the future. The lessons they have learned will inform the choices they make as they go to the Promised Land and create a community for themselves there.
I have great faith in our ability to create a beautiful and meaningful future for ourselves and for our community. I feel blessed to take this journey with you and I thank you for this opportunity.
If you would like to share your reflections on last Sunday's installation ceremony, I invite you to post your comments here.
Shabbat shalom.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Shabbat shalom, 1/8/10
Sometimes our fortune in life changes suddenly. Things may be progressing well, when all of a sudden tragedy, loss or disappointment befalls us. Other times, we may find ourselves plodding along, enduring the challenges and difficulties of our lives when suddenly we find ourselves blessed by new opportunities, gifts, or relationships. It is true what is said that the only thing that is constant in life is change.
As we turn to a new book in the Torah this week, the book of Shemot(Exodus), we see that life changes quickly for our ancestors living in Egypt. Recall that things went well for them during Joseph’s reign as a political leader. He guided Egypt through years of famine, and when his family came from Canaan they were welcomed with open arms and settled in a choice area where they could live and thrive. Soon, we learn, “a new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph” (Exodus 1:8). Really? How could Joseph – and his leadership – be forgotten so easily? Rashi cites a Talmudic explanation: either there was actually a new king who was ignorant of history, or perhaps it was the same king who adopted a new perspective and chose to disregard the successful tenure of Joseph. In either case, Joseph’s family was in for a change.
Sometimes we elect to make changes in our lives; sometimes they are imposed on us. In the case of our ancestors in Egypt, the change was externally-motivated. The people were enslaved, they suffered, and they cried out in pain. There was a new king – or a king with new ideas – who had plans for the people, but there was a bigger plan off in the distance: God’s plan to bring the people out of Egypt and to the Promised Land. This plan, too, would be imposed upon them at first, but soon, they would become partners with God in the work of tikkun olam (repairing the world) by accepting the covenant at Mount Sinai. They – and we – would choose a destiny rooted in good values and a vision of optimism for the future.
We cannot control everything that happens to us, but we are not powerless to participate in shaping our destiny. When we focus on what is most important, we have a chance to make a difference. There will be hurdles and challenges, but there will also be opportunities and possibilities. Our job is to embrace the good and endure the bad, as Moses will teach us immediately before his death: “I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life – if you and your offspring would live” (Deuteronomy 30:19).
The story of our people is a story of hope and promise. So may it be for us today.
Shabbat shalom.
As we turn to a new book in the Torah this week, the book of Shemot(Exodus), we see that life changes quickly for our ancestors living in Egypt. Recall that things went well for them during Joseph’s reign as a political leader. He guided Egypt through years of famine, and when his family came from Canaan they were welcomed with open arms and settled in a choice area where they could live and thrive. Soon, we learn, “a new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph” (Exodus 1:8). Really? How could Joseph – and his leadership – be forgotten so easily? Rashi cites a Talmudic explanation: either there was actually a new king who was ignorant of history, or perhaps it was the same king who adopted a new perspective and chose to disregard the successful tenure of Joseph. In either case, Joseph’s family was in for a change.
Sometimes we elect to make changes in our lives; sometimes they are imposed on us. In the case of our ancestors in Egypt, the change was externally-motivated. The people were enslaved, they suffered, and they cried out in pain. There was a new king – or a king with new ideas – who had plans for the people, but there was a bigger plan off in the distance: God’s plan to bring the people out of Egypt and to the Promised Land. This plan, too, would be imposed upon them at first, but soon, they would become partners with God in the work of tikkun olam (repairing the world) by accepting the covenant at Mount Sinai. They – and we – would choose a destiny rooted in good values and a vision of optimism for the future.
We cannot control everything that happens to us, but we are not powerless to participate in shaping our destiny. When we focus on what is most important, we have a chance to make a difference. There will be hurdles and challenges, but there will also be opportunities and possibilities. Our job is to embrace the good and endure the bad, as Moses will teach us immediately before his death: “I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life – if you and your offspring would live” (Deuteronomy 30:19).
The story of our people is a story of hope and promise. So may it be for us today.
Shabbat shalom.
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