Shake, Rattle, and Roll

Parashat Vayera, Genesis 18:1–22:24

Rabbi Stuart Dauermann

If the Bible is not a book that surprises you, you are not reading it at all, not paying attention, or simply reading your own views into it.

The Bible may be the world’s most surprising book. Just when you thought you had God down, you will read something that causes even the dead to rise up and say, “What was that?”

This week’s parasha is one of those that just might shake, rattle, and roll the dead, and even some of us.

The first shaker is Avraham fudging on the identity of his wife so as not to tempt the people of the land to take her and knock him off (Gen 20:1–2). I remember discussing this with an Orthodox Jewish airliner seatmate who insisted we should congratulate the patriarch for his cleverness here. I disappointed the man by pointing out how the Torah puts words of moral rebuke into the mouth of pagan king Avimelech, shaming Avraham (Gen 20:9).

This is the second shake-rattle-and-roll in our text: the pagan king as moral arc-light.  He is appalled when God tells him Sarah is Avraham’s wife, not his sister. This shaker reminds us of the Book of Jonah, where pagan sailors do everything right while the prophet of God is finding escape routes from doing the will of his Master.

The third resurrecting realization is that even though Abraham is a moral failure in this account, God still considers him a prophet. As a prophet, he has authority to pray, which, when offered, brings healing to Abimelech’s household (Gen 20:7).

What then should we make of these three shakes, rattles, and rolls?

First, we need to reconsider the sharp lines we often draw between God’s good soldiers and “the world.” These lines make for tidy thinking but have little to do with reality. Here in our story, we see the “believer,” the “good guy,” doing the bad things, and the “unbeliever”—the godless pagan—rightly perceiving the still small voice. 

We all put some people groups on a pedestal while other we just put down. We make excuses for the ingroup, and make jokes about the others. Our party is the party of God and its platform written on tablets of stone with his finger. The other party has horns and a tail and smells of sulphur. For many people this is the obvious truth, but for a God who looks beyond outward appearances into the hearts of humans, it’s obviously an illusion.

This kind of categorical thinking about religion, politics, and people, is wrong. One way we know it’s wrong is that life is not like that—good people do bad things, bad people do good things, and sometimes it’s impossible to tell the bad guys from the good ones.

When it comes to biased judgments, religious people are well-known offenders, muscular in their judgments, and atrophied in their capacity to criticize themselves or their crowd. 

Our parasha chastens and reminds us that sometimes you can’t tell the good guys from the bad guys without a score card, reminding us as well to make sure our score card is the same as the one in the hand of the Holy One.

Anne Lamott warned us: “You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.” And even though she’s a flaming liberal, she’s got it right, doesn’t she? Imagine that. If you can!

It’s past time to learn our lessons well.  

First, we need to learn to not pile on or desert someone who fails to measure up to our image of them. They are not usually bad people. But all of us are a work in process. Let’s offer them a proper measure of support, not too much, not too little, and see what happens. If, instead, we throw stones or turn our backs on them, we sabotage their progress or miss the chance to celebrate their growth.

Yiftach was an illegitimate child whose brothers and the Gileadite elders drove out of town as just so much trash. Years later, when Gilead and all Israel were under attack by the Ammonites, these elders knew enough to send a delegation to recruit Yiftach to help them. He alone had the leadership skills to fight off the enemy (see Shoftim/Judges 11:1–11).  Imagine what would have happened if they had simply persisted in writing him off!

Second, we need to learn to not idolize people, putting them on pedestals. Makers of idols are worshipers of lies. When we treat others as icons of perfection, we set ourselves up for disappointment, and them, for a fall.  Again, we are all works in process, and our lives are most often two steps forward, one step back, or some variation on the theme. Let’s try to be part of other peoples’ solutions, and not their problems.

 Third, we need to realize that everyone is in process. Even giants stumble. And Shorty Zacchaeus became the big guy in town (Luke 19:1–10). Holiness takes practice. Give people space. Yes, even relatives and close friends will disappoint you. But even strangers can astound you in all the best ways. Keep your eyes open, and your heart from being closed.

Avraham only expected unrighteousness from pagans, believing they would kill him to get at his beautiful wife. He was wrong. Some of us may expect nothing good from Democrats, Republicans, Liberals, Conservatives, immigrants, Palestinians, or Muslims. Let’s be careful we don’t make ourselves morally and spiritually blind and deaf.

Nothing I am saying justifies moral relativism. We must never forget this warning, “Oy to those who call evil good and good evil, who present darkness as light and light as darkness, who present bitter as sweet, and sweet as bitter!” (Isaiah 5:20). Evil should never be given the benefit of the doubt.

But neither can we justify being hard-nosed. We all need to seek and be prepared to find the grace, truth, and goodness in the discounted other. Our continual need is balance.

Pray for eyes to see the glimmer of God’s image whenever and however it appears. But don’t go through life with your eyes shut.

Wise as serpents. Harmless as doves.

Shake. Rattle. And roll.

It’s About the People

Playground bomb shelter in Sderot, Israel

Parashat Lech Lecha, Genesis 12:1–17:27

Rabbi Paul L. Saal, Congregation Shuvah Yisrael, West Hartford, CT

In April 2003, on the eve of the Second Gulf War, I attended a forum of four Nobel Peace laureates.  Though the United States invasion the next day proved to be misguided, the words of Elie Wiesel that evening stood out to me as an unfortunate truism. No doubt he shared from the perspective of his own experience of World War Two and the ensuing liberation of Holocaust survivors. He stated, “No war is just, but some wars are necessary.” I recall wondering who gets to make such a determination.

The events of the last several weeks in Israel have left all of us with a plethora of unchecked emotions. Many of us are experiencing extreme anger, and a cloud of darkness seems to hover forebodingly. In this age, war might be inevitable. Few of us can change the trajectory of violence. But we can decide how we relate to the specter of war. 

This week’s parasha records the call of Abraham, the first Hebrew, and what is understood as the genesis of the Jewish experience. It includes two well-known affirmations—the promise of progeny to Abraham, and the blessing of Abraham by Malchi-Tzedek king of Salem (Gen 14:18–20). But wedged between is a much less-preached story of war that contains important lessons for us. Abram, as he was originally called, allies himself with the kings of Sodom and Gomorrah, as well as other tribal leaders, to liberate his nephew Lot, his family, and their possessions. I suppose there are several lessons we can gain from this terse narrative. But we can learn from at least two things Abraham does right, and one that he could have done better.

Lesson 1—Give God his due (Gen 14:23)

As a reward for not profiteering off the war, and relying upon his God, Abram is rewarded. 

Abram said to the king of Sodom, “I raise my hand in oath to Adonai, El Elyon, Creator of heaven and earth. Not a thread or even a sandal strap of all that is yours will I take, so you will not say, ‘I've made Abram rich!’”

According to the sages of the Talmud, Abraham’s descendants are given the mitzvot of the blue thread of tzitzit and the straps of tefillin as a reward for this response (Sotah 17a). By declining the spoils of war, Abraham attributes the victory to God and not his own military prowess. The mitzvot are reminders that the Holy One is always near to his people. It is God who provides and protects.

Lesson 2—Give others their due (14:24)

I claim nothing but what the young men have eaten, and the share of the men who went with me—Aner, Eschol, and Mamre—let them take their share.

Abraham properly repaid those whom he enlisted, and he fed his men adequately. While he refused any bounty from war, he recognized that those who risked their lives defending and liberating his kin were entitled to remuneration and provision.

Lesson 3—Put people first (14:21)

Rabbi Yochanan asks (Nedarim 32a), “Why was Abraham our father punished that his descendants were enslaved in Egypt for 210 years? Because he prevented people from entering under the wings of the Shekinah, that is, from believing in God.” For it says that after the victory over the four kings Abraham returned all captured property, whereupon the king of Sodom said to Abraham, “Give me back the people. You can keep the goods.” Abraham should have insisted on taking the people with him to teach them to believe in God.  

Though this is a fanciful accounting derived from Abraham’s silence, it makes a salient point. Perhaps if the people had not returned to Sodom their inevitable fate might have been different when the city was destroyed. It seems right that we answer the divine query by simply assuming we are our brother’s keeper. If we give the Holy One his due, provide for those who protect our freedom, and put people first, perhaps we can find some light amidst the present darkness.

Scripture references are from the Tree of Life Version (TLV).

The Original Influencer

Russell Crowe as Noah

Parashat Noach, Genesis 6:9–11:32

Daniel Vinokuroff, UMJC Young Adult Chair

In many different cultures, we have very similar things. These cultures might be on opposite sides of the world, yet their origin stories, their mythologies, their ideas of righteousness, and even certain phrases, can be eerily similar. We can talk about many examples, yet one comes to mind that relates to this parasha. There is a wise saying in Russian, and I have since learned that it exists in many other cultures, including Spanish, that says, “Tell me who your friends are and I will tell you who you are.” This says that the people around us influence us, and it is nearly impossible to avoid that. In this week’s parasha, however, we see two examples of people fighting and winning the fight against the negative influences around them.

The first example is Noach. He is called the only one who is righteous in his generation. He defies all odds and stays faithful to Hashem throughout his lifetime before the flood, and thereby is called righteous. We can see who talked into his life by looking at the genealogies and doing the calculations of years. Noach was taught the ways of Hashem by his forefathers (except Enoch who was taken by Hashem). He could have even met Enosh (Adam’s grandson) as a little boy. We see all of this in Genesis 5. We also read that the flood happened in Noach’s 600th year (7:6). Hashem first watched him and saw that he stayed faithful and righteous. It seems that the previous generations started to walk away from Hashem more and more. For whatever reason, Noach did not have children until he was 500 years old. He then had three sons and was able to raise and teach them for nearly 100 years before the flood waters came.

Yet we see that the influence of the father was not enough to guard the sons from the influence of the world. This is evident as Ham makes fun of or embarrasses his father a few years later. The scriptures seem to indicate that Canaan, the son of Ham, was also heavily involved in this deed, as this is the reason for him to be cursed (9:25). A different son of Ham, Kush, takes the people at the time and builds a huge empire with Babel as one of its cities (10:10). Idolatry is involved as the inhabitants seek to make a name for themselves through building a tower with its top in the heavens (11:4). They should know from firsthand accounts what Hashem has done for them and how he saved their forefathers, for after all Noach is the grandfather of Kush. Yet, we see that the influence of one godly generation was not enough for all other generations.

Our second example in this portion is Abraham, descended from Shem who was blessed by Noach, “May God . . . dwell in the tents of Shem” (9:27). How did Abraham get his godly example so that he could also be an example of godly influence? Without understanding the genealogies, we will not completely understand this. Hashem would not have told him to go to the land of Canaan if he were not a righteous man, for he hates wickedness and delights in righteousness (Psalm 45:7). Therefore Abraham was first observed by Hashem (our sages like Rabbeinu Bahya, Rashi, and Ramban point this out too), as Hashem does not pick people at random. Abraham’s faith in Hashem is what made him do righteous acts. How did he develop this faith?

In the genealogies of chapter 10, we learn that Kush, a descendant of Shem’s brother Ham, reigned over the Mesopotamian area of civilization as he built many of the cities, including the Chaldean cities. From this, we can also deduce that he is the one who built the tower of Babel. At first glance, one could say that all people live here. However, we see that some people leave this area in what appears to be before the building of the Tower, people like Asshur (10:11). Rashi comments, “As soon as Asshur saw that his sons listened to Nimrod, rebelling against the Omnipresent by building the Tower, he went forth out of their midst.” Who is this Asshur? According to Rabbeinu Bahya, Radak, and Ramban, he is one of Shem’s sons (10:22), who did not agree or want to have an ungodly influence. When we look at Genesis 10:21, we find that Shem is the father of the descendants of Eber. Ramban says, “This means that he was the father of all who dwelled beyond (eber) the Euphrates River, which was the place of Abraham’s family.” This is said from the perspective that the entire civilized world is east of the Euphrates at this time and to be beyond the river would mean you are west of the river. This is seen to be the case as they eventually traveled west to Haran (11:30).

The story of Abraham, however, begins with his father in Ur. They have been there long enough for his youngest brother to be born there (11:28). It seems that Terah took his family to the city of Ur later in life. This is seen in the light of a later passage when it talks about how Abraham is not from the Ur of the Chaldeans, but Hashem brought him out of it. Joshua 24:2 “In olden times, your ancestors—Terah, father of Abraham and father of Nahor—lived beyond the Euphrates and worshiped other gods.’” Terah worshiped other gods, so how is it that Abraham is adamant about the one true God? Where did he learn this from? Who is the influencer of Abraham? When we look at the ages of everyone involved, we see that Shem is still alive at the time of Abraham, probably away from the influences of Kush. Not only Shem, but Noach himself was alive until Abraham was about 60 years old. Shem lived for another 110 years after the birth of Abraham. Therefore one can surmise that the godly influence of Noach and Shem influenced Abraham to be righteous. Someone needed to tell and show Abraham about this mighty God and teach his way. In turn, Abraham became the father of a great nation that influences the world to this day.

So what does this mean for us? Well, what are we doing in this chaotic world around us? Are we influencing people for Hashem and being that light to the world that we are called to be? Or are we letting the world influence us? Who are we hanging out with? These past few weeks have not been easy for us, and many wish harm to us and Israel. Are we going to let them influence us in how we act? Or shall we stay strong in Hashem, knowing that he controls all? One way you can influence others is through standing with Israel.

We may not be able to influence everyone toward Hashem, but even if we can influence one person, that person may be the next Abraham. Hashem might even be able to use us in a mighty way, but only if we are righteous and can influence others toward Hashem.

My name is Daniel Vinokuroff, and I’m the Chair of the UMJC Young Adult Committee. We seek to influence and support our young adults as they walk with Hashem while living a Jewish lifestyle. Follow us on Instagram at #UMJCYoungAdults to see what we are doing, or contact me at daniel.vinokuroff@gmail.com.

How to Respond in an Evil Day

Photo: BNN.network

Parashat B’reisheet, Genesis 1:1–6:8

Russ Resnik, UMJC Rabbinic Counsel

We might be tempted, amid the unthinkable events of recent days, to set aside our weekly Torah discussion and focus entirely on the war in Israel. Earlier this week, my colleague Stephanie Hamman, director of UMJC’s Ashreinu School, wrote about a similar temptation, to suspend the school’s online children’s classes for a week in light of the horrific story that was unfolding in Israel. Instead, she was “deeply convicted that the very best response we can have is to set our minds to studying Hashem’s instruction and the beautiful culture He’s given us to reflect His heart and purposes to the world. As a people we will outlive every oppressor, but it will be because of His covenant love.”

I agree, of course. A savage attack on the holy day of Simchat Torah—Rejoicing in the Torah—demands a response that includes more Torah, not less. (Simchat Torah was celebrated on Saturday, the day of the attack, in Israel and Sunday in the diaspora.) A barbaric attack on the day we renew our cycle of Torah readings must not divert us from renewing that cycle. Indeed, this week’s reading, Genesis 1:1–6:8, is indispensable, as it sheds light on how to respond in an evil day.

The guidance provided in Genesis is not glib or simplistic; it does not minimize the reality of evil in our world, or try to explain it away.

Most people around us won’t accept simplistic answers. We live in a time of increasing unbelief, but for every doctrinaire atheist we might encounter, there’s a dozen genuinely questioning souls who can’t commit to either faith or the denial of faith. Many desire to know a God who is present, real, and loving, but stumble over the mystery of evil in the world. If God is all-good and all-powerful, the Creator of everything (as we learn in this week’s parasha), how can there be so much evil in the world? To cast that question in terms of the horrific events of recent days, how can an all-powerful, loving God let children and parents be murdered in their beds, or be carried off as hostages by heartless men? How can he allow the wanton destruction and cruelty that’s been all-too-real on our screens this week?

Such questions become even tougher as we read the creation account. When the Creator finishes his work, he looks upon all he has made and sees that it is “very good” (Gen 1:31). But how can such things as we’ve seen this week happen in a “very good” world, and how can we believe in a good, all-powerful Creator when such things happen? From such questions arise abundant doubts. Our parasha does not address all these doubts or provide one nice tidy answer, but it does provide a framework for understanding and responding to the realities we see in this world, even on an evil day.

Three main points stand out to me:

1. The “very good” creation is not finished or perfect, and humans have genuine responsibility for moving it toward perfection. After creating the first two humans, God tells them: “Be fruitful and multiply, fill the land, and conquer it. Rule over the fish of the sea, the flying creatures of the sky, and over every animal that crawls on the land” (Gen 1:28). A perfect creation would not need to be conquered or ruled over. Likewise, soon after God creates Adam, he places him in a garden, by definition a guarded place, amidst the still-unconquered creation. There, Adam is not to dwell in innocent passivity. Rather, the Lord assigns him real responsibility, “to cultivate and watch over it” (Gen 2:15). And it’s there in the garden, of course, that humankind falls short in that responsibility, and disorder gains an upper hand, as is still evident today.

2. Within this imperfect world we will encounter reminders of God’s compassion. The not-perfect world where we still live is made far worse by mankind’s rebellion. Even here, though, we can look for glimmers of God’s merciful presence and embrace them, and sometimes see them grow into something far brighter. After Adam and Eve sinned, God promised that a descendant of the woman would crush the head of the serpent that deceived her (Gen 3:15), a hope-fueling assurance of redemption to come. In the meantime, God had to drive Adam and his wife out of the Garden, but he made them “tunics of skin and . . . clothed them” (Gen 3:21). Soon after, he showed a similar mercy to Cain the murderer by putting a mark upon him “so that anyone who found him would not strike him down” in retaliation (Gen 4:15). Even amidst sin and judgment there are glimmers of hope and compassion, if we have eyes to see them. We are to be especially watchful in an evil day and not give in to despair.

3. As partners in the created order, we can create glimmers of hope ourselves. Our mother Eve provides an example. After promising her a serpent-crushing descendant, the Lord tells her, “I will greatly increase your pain from conception to labor. In pain will you give birth to children” (Gen 3:16). But, pain or not, Eve does give birth. She chooses life and continuity despite the pain. Even after the devastating loss of one son, Abel, murdered by his own brother, Eve conceives again and gives birth to another son, whom she names Seth, or Appointed. “For God has appointed me another seed in place of Abel” (Gen 4:25). Seth is the offspring of hope, and in turn becomes, like his mother, a bearer of hope. It’s in his time, after the birth of his son, Enosh—a name that, “like Adam, means ‘man’ but which puts the emphasis on the basic frailty of man” (Nahum Sarna, JPS Torah Commentary)—that “people began to call on Adonai’s Name” (Gen 4:26). This phrase records the origin of prayer, as Sarna goes on to note: “It is the consciousness of human frailty, symbolized by the name Enosh, that heightens man’s awareness of utter dependence upon God, a situation that intuitively evokes prayer.”

 So, how do we respond on an evil day? At such a time, we may try to reassure ourselves and others by saying “our thoughts and prayers are with you.” Some people criticize this sort of saying as superficial, as a pious phrase that doesn’t accomplish anything. Nevertheless, in the face of the unthinkable, we do intuitively turn to prayer, and the picture of God in Genesis should encourage us to do just that. Even, or especially, when we don’t know what to do, prayer is the right response.

We also respond by continuing to live in hope and compassion, watching for openings to treat others with respect and generosity. Such opportunities often emerge in the dark times, but also within the ordinary contours of our lives, if we keep our eyes open.

The Creation narrative doesn’t purport to answer every possible question, including questions raised by the outbreak of evil into our world. It recognizes that we live in a world where human wickedness sometimes seems to have free rein, and also that we can find hope even within such a world. We can respond on an evil day by recognizing the mercy that God provides, by taking hold and acting upon it, including through prayer—and thereby becoming bearers of hope ourselves.  

 Scripture references are from the Tree of Life Version (TLV)

“Friends, Romans, Countrymen, Lend Me Your . . . Year!”

 Shemini Atzeret–Simchat Torah 5784

By Dr Jeffrey Seif

Executive Director, Union of Messianic Jewish Congregations

In “Julius Caesar,” William Shakespeare takes the liberty of creatively putting the following words in Mark Anthony’s mouth: “Friends, Romans, countrymen; lend me your ears.” In the drama called life, Judaism takes the liberty of representing the Creator pleading with his creation: “Friends and Hebrew countrymen lend me your year.” Okay, I made it up. . . . Doesn’t exactly say that. Judaism does, however, beckon constituents to give Torah an ear for a year.

In the Diaspora, Shemini Atzeret (the eighth day of Sukkot) is followed by Simchat Torah (joy of the Torah), during which time the faithful focus upon and celebrate the Torah. Interestingly, God’s people are actually required to rejoice in the process—difficulties notwithstanding. Commenting on the mandate ve-samachta be-chagekha (that is, “you shall rejoice in your festival”), the Gaon of Vilna opined it was “the most difficult command in the Torah”—for obvious reasons. Harking to the command’s adherence amidst the turbulence of extremely trying times, Elie Wiesel commented that, even during the Holocaust, when it was “impossible to observe” the requirement to “rejoice,” Jews nevertheless “observed it” and rejoiced (Paul Steinberg, Celebrating the Jewish Year: The Fall Holidays [Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2007], 149). How does one do that amidst the turbulence of such trying times?

The notion of making oneself rejoice is hard to fathom. Seems one must possess a strong internal locus of control and have some object to focus upon besides one’s circumstances. Bounced around and affected as we too often are by external circumstances, we do well to focus on something beyond our circumstances. Focusing energies on something external helps stave off deleterious internal emotions that can plunge us into disorientation and despair. In Judaism, we are exhorted to make God’s Word the object of focus and adoration.

In Israel, Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah are combined into one day, with Simchat Torah marking both the end of the annual cycle of Torah reading (in Deuteronomy) and the restarting of the reading cycle for the new year (in Genesis). This public Torah reading tradition actually began in the Talmudic era (around the sixth century CE), with a pattern called the “Palestinian triennial.” Unlike our current one-year reading cycle, the triennial took three years to complete. Babylonian Jews, however, didn’t abide the lengthy practice followed in the land of Israel. By contrast, they divided the portions into the 50+ segments we call parshiyot—referencing segments of Masoretic texts in the Tanakh. In 1988, the Committee on Jewish Law and Standards of the Conservative Movement ratified and expanded the 50+ weekly reading segments, with their now being standard fare in Jewish communal experience.

Steady and disciplined exposure to biblical literature over time has an ameliorating impact on human experience. Mindful of that, we would do well to challenge ourselves—and others—to take seriously the demand to give God a concentrated year of Torah study. Were we to do so at the start of 5784, and keep a journal in the process of our so doing, we would discover that, in ways, we would be a different and better person by the time we get to 5785. Try it. Without detracting from the point I am trying to make here, it is worth noting the original intention of the holiday was different—though human betterment was indeed the object.

The maftir (concluding reading) for Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah is Numbers 29:35–30:1. The text recounts the mandate for the eighth day celebration. Recollecting the Torah isn’t mentioned. There, Israel is beckoned to cease from day-to-day labors and assemble before the Lord at the Mishkan / Beit HaMikdash (v. 35), bring special, seasonal sacrifices (vv. 36-38), and properly prepare those sacrifices along with those that are not season-specific (v. 39). The biblical tradition is tethered to bringing a Temple sacrifice; the synagogal tradition—noted above—is tethered to making a sacrifice: both are understood to pay great dividends.

New Covenant believers rightly understand Yeshua—the Word made flesh—to be the ultimate sacrifice. What too many believers miss, however, is the need to personally be sacrificial after receiving the ultimate sacrifice. For this, assembling proximate to the Word on a weekly basis is adjudged to be meritorious, as is paying ongoing attention to biblical revelation. Doing so elicits new and improved life forms around and within us.

On the Feast’s last day, Hoshana Raba, judgment decisions are said to have run their course. It is said: “During the festival of Sukkot the world as as a whole is judged for water, and for the blessings of the fruit of the crops” (Eliyahu Kitov, The Book of Our Heritage [Jerusalem / New York: Feldheim, 1978], 204; cf. 211-214). Interestingly, Yeshua’s word during Sukkot in John 7 seems to corroborate the point (see vv. 2, 8, 10 and 14). In vv. 37–38, John notes: “On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Yeshua stood up and cried out loudly, ‘If anyone is thirsty let him [or her] come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture says, out of his [or her] innermost being will flow rivers of living water’” (TLV). To paraphrase, Yeshua said: “Hey—you want water and refreshment? Come to me!” He is the source of the water.

I heard him and came to him years ago. I know I need to keep on coming. . . . As we walk through 5784, let’s make frequenting our congregations a priority. Let’s take bringing forth the Torah seriously and let’s practice the implications of the words noted in it and expounded from it. It is my prayer that you as an individual, and we as a collection of congregations, be sufficiently watered and grow in the coming year. Give him your ear this year. You’ll be so glad you did.

Sukkot and Your Divine Purpose

This week we feature a special message for Sukkot by UMJC President, Rabbi Barney Kasdan.

This is truly an amazing time of year! With the arrival of the month of Tishrei, the Jewish world commemorates the serious yet strangely joyous High Holy Day season. What starts with teshuvah/repentance at Rosh Hashana will be sealed on the judgment day of Yom Kippur. As if to give us all a divine break, we have five days from the close of Yom Kippur to the next major holiday: Sukkot. Although called “the time of our rejoicing,” the Feast of Tabernacles is not without its serious side. Yes, there is the joy of building and dwelling in the sukkah at home and at shul. There are the festival meals with family and friends. And, of course, waving the lulav/palm branch to remind us of the physical blessings from our Heavenly Father.

Intermingled with the joy of the eight-day holiday, however, is a rather sober lesson in life. The scroll read for the festival is Kohelet/Ecclesiastes, which is a serious reminder of some of the realities of life. Solomon, the son of David, shares some of his vast experience with us every Sukkot. Interestingly, the rabbis note that Solomon penned his three famous works at crucial stages of his own life. Song of Songs was penned as a young man in courtship. Proverbs contains wisdom from his mid-life perspective. The final scroll, Kohelet, contains his reflections at the end of his days (Midrash Shir HaShirim 1:1). If that is the case, it is striking that the scroll of Kohelet starts with the exclamation “chavel chavelim/vanity of vanities!” Upon reflecting over his illustrious life, Solomon summarizes that it is essentially empty! What profit is a person’s work? Generations come and go. The sun rises and the wind blows, but what really changes? (Eccl 1:1–7). Simply put, there are so many things beyond our control. This could be very depressing or it could lead us to an entirely different direction. Now it becomes clearer why Megillat Kohelet is read every Sukkot. In the midst of the joy of the harvest and material blessings, we are reminded of the frailty of life. Who can control the twists and turns of life? The sukkah reminds us that there is a much bigger picture than even our current situation.

Additionally, Kohelet acknowledges that any innovations of mankind are rather meager in their importance. All things toil in weariness; the eye and the ear are never quite satisfied (1:8). Ultimately, “there is nothing new under the sun” (1:9). Our society is constantly looking for the latest gadget or phone upgrade to improve our existence. The incredible advance of technology impresses many. Yet, when a hurricane or pandemic hits, the world is suddenly shocked back into reality. For all our advances we are still so far from Paradise. How appropriate that we meditate on the lessons of Kohelet while we dwell in our simple sukkah. Whatever the blessings and benefits of our technologically advanced society, we are called to reflect on the simple realities of life. This time of year we are to get back to the wilderness experience of our ancestors. Although they had none of the modern conveniences we enjoy, were they less advanced than us today? Maybe there are forgotten truths that our generation needs to rediscover at this season of Sukkot.

Solomon goes on for chapters about the vanity of much of life. Yet, at the very end of the scroll, he summarizes his secret to living a fulfilled and purposeful life. “The end of the matter, all having been heard: fear God and keep His commandments” (12:13).

Even though life is fragile and unpredictable, there is a divine purpose. Despite the fact that all the busy activity of mankind is so meager, we are all here for a reason. Perhaps one of the best secrets of life is revealed at this time of year during Sukkot. Ultimately, all is vanity unless God is in the picture.

How fitting it is that it was on this festival that our Messiah gave a vital public message on the Temple Mount. “Now on the last day, the great day of the feast, Yeshua stood and cried out, saying, ‘If any man is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. He who believes in me, as the Scriptures said, from his innermost being shall flow rivers of living water’” (Yochanan/John 7:37–38). Messiah came to give us that personal connection to Hashem and to a life of meaning.

The sukkah, while reminding us of the vanity of this life, also holds forth the meaning of real life. May we all have a renewed perspective on our lives as we dwell in the sukkah for the eight days. Chag Sameach!

Moses the History Teacher Extraordinaire

Parashat Ha’azinu, Deuteronomy 32:1–52

Mary Haller, Tikvat Israel, Richmond, VA

Growing up in a small village in the Catskills in the 1960s and 1970, I found little to do when it came to entertainment or organized athletic events outside of school activities. So, school became a huge part of the day most of the year. I learned pretty quickly that I didn’t like sitting still and listening to what seemed like a constant flow of useless information. The elementary school years passed slowly until one day a new teacher burst onto the scene and the winds of change blew me into a new realm of appreciation for what was being taught. I will refer to this lively woman as the Storyteller. This teacher was the one to break through the fog of my inability to stay focused on learning.

The Storyteller made the information live. She presented every historic event with a face, a personality, a purpose assigned to it with words and excitement from her heart. The lessons went from bland and boring to colorful bits of information that began to jump off the pages of whatever textbook that was put before my eyes. My life was changed in the best way possible. The Storyteller introduced me to the value of history and the importance of learning about events as well as from all the people who lived before me. She encouraged us all to ask our parents and grandparents about our family histories. It was during this time that my love of history as a whole blossomed. I wouldn’t consider myself a serious student by any stretch of the imagination; I just fell in love with a good story that had a lesson for life.

The stories of the days of old and the people who lived through them caught my interest. Soon I realized that knowing about the past would affect the future. Reading about what people did and what happened as a result was something that needed to be shared for humans to continue to live life well. I had a new appreciation for not just school but also for all those who opened up the secrets of the universe through lessons, lectures, and simple life stories.

This brings me to Moses and our parasha, Ha’azinu, translated into English as “Listen.” A large part of this parasha is a song or poem. The section is significant for many reasons, one being it is thought to have been delivered to the people on the last day or one of the last days Moses lived. Every year when I read this passage known as the Song of Moses my appreciation for Moses as a servant leader grows.

It’s clear from the beginning of the parasha that Moses has a strong message to communicate. He begins by calling both Heaven and Earth as witnesses, and then goes on to say:

Remember the days of antiquity,

Understand the years across generations.

Ask your father and he will tell you,

Your elders and they will say to you. (Deut 32:7 TLV)

Clearly, Moses wanted to get the attention of his audience, much as my Storyteller teacher did. Moses wanted his audience to have an understanding of what those who went before them lived through. Having a firsthand understanding of how God “found them in the desert land,” Moses knew how God made them a people, how he chose them for his own, a people set apart from all others of humanity. Moses wanted all those listening to hear the message of God’s love and their importance to him. The parasha also reminds the listeners that their God graciously gave them a land that was fruitful, a place for them to live well and grow old. Moses didn’t stop there; he continued to warn the listeners of the pitfalls of having plenty and how their ancestors fell prey to laziness and turned their backs on their God after all his love and gifts of wonderful provisions for living.

We can feel the desperation and passion Moses must have experienced through the heartfelt poetic words we read as Moses speaks to his audience. Can you imagine the pain that Moses must have felt as he spoke the words to describe God “hiding his face” from them in Deuteronomy 32:20? Moses also reminded the people that in the end God would avenge the blood of his servants and be reconciled with his people and the land.

What makes this special in my understanding is how intimate Moses was with both God and the people. The parasha concludes with God’s instructions for Moses. He was to go to the summit of Mount Nebo, but only to catch a glimpse of the land for those who would come after him. Moses would only see the place he so desperately wanted all his audience of the day and his future audience to be able to enter into. Wow!

Much like my storyteller teacher, Moses used words to make the truth of history live for his audience. Moses knew his God and knew his audience, Moses recounted all that was necessary, not just for his listening audience as he was nearing his death, but for all those who would ask them the questions Moses wanted them to ask their predecessors. Generation to generation and beyond.

The words of Moses, a true servant leader, a man who lived a life of a gifted and extraordinary teacher, still live on today. I encourage each of you reading this to take some time to not just reflect on the parasha, but to go deeper. Like the people of Moses’ day, we too have much to be thankful for from our God. Like the people of Moses’ day we also have much to learn. Moses wanted his initial audience to listen and to pay close attention to all the words of Torah. By listening they would learn and see how to live out the goodness and glorify their God. As we know from Exodus, Moses knew firsthand the goodness and the glory of our God.

Moses said, “Please show me your glory.”  And [God] said, “I will make all my goodness pass before you and will proclaim before you my name ‘The Lord.’” Exod 33:18–19 ESV

Moses knew what would happen if Torah was neglected and God’s ways ignored as stated in verses 16–21 of our portion. This message of “Listen,” Ha’azinu in Hebrew, is as valuable to us today as it was in the days of Moses. Yeshua, in the Besorah, reminds us of this: “Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and keep it!” (Luke 11:28 ESV).

How we live our lives today will have an impact on the future of not only the planet but of all the people. May our lives impact the future for good as we live and worship our God in an honorable fashion. Shabbat Shalom! 

It’s a New Year—Have a Blast!

Rosh Hashanah 5784

Rabbi Paul L. Saal, Congregation Shuvah Yisrael, West Hartford, CT

Rosh Hashanah is Judaism’s Day of Judgment. Sound scary? Actually, it should be the most enjoyable day of your life. After all, it is your birthday. It’s everyone’s birthday! According to our tradition it is the world’s birthday! So here are some ideas to help you have a blast (pun intended) this Rosh Hashanah.

God judges us because he loves us.

When my children were young, I would often use my “Daddy voice.” This was my stern voice accompanied by an equally stern look. It implied “cut it out or consider the consequences.” As my children got older, though, I incrementally allowed them more decision-making discretion knowing that the time would come when, as adults, they would have to make all of their own decisions.

For instance, we always ate Shabbat dinner together. But in High School I began to allow them to decide if they were going to exempt themselves from dinner to attend a special event. Generally, they made what I considered good and thoughtful decisions even if they were different than I would have made. At other times, and rarely, they used what I considered to be bad judgment though not dangerous choices. So, I would not retract the freedom I gave them. But that did not mean they did not get the Daddy voice and look when I asked if they really thought they had made a good choice. I know they found me “judgey” and would complain that I told them they had freedom but made them feel guilty for the decision they made.

Although my tone was somewhat strong, I believe my intent was loving. I wanted to give them guidance to help them live a good life then and into the future. I believe it was an act of love and I think they eventually experienced it as such.

Doesn’t every parent have a critical eye on their children? Isn’t every parent in some way or another constantly “judging” their children? We parents do this because we care so much about helping our children live meaningful and happy lives.

So too, the Creator of the universe; he “judges” us, not because he wants to punish us, but because he loves us and wants to make sure we live a great life. So, this year, starting today and as you continue on through Rosh Hashanah, feel the loving embrace of a Father who cares about you and only wants the very best for you, as it says in the Machzor, “For you are the King who desires life!”

Hear the shofar singing, “I love you—wake up and live!”

God is trying to get our attention. He’s calling out to each of us with the blast of the shofar. One sound of the shofar, the tekiah, and especially the tekiah gadolah is like a loud call—“Just want to make sure you’re listening.” Another tone, the teruah, is much softer. It touches a deeper, more vulnerable part of us. Hearing the shofar can be an awesome opportunity to feel God’s love. He’s calling out to us with urgent pleading tones, “Please wake up. Stop and think seriously about where you’re going in life. Please, think about what you really want out of life. Do it now while you still have life in you. All I want is that you have everything good.”

When you hear the shofar this year, listen closely and hear God’s love song being sung just to you.

Choose life.

Last week’s Torah portion, Nitsavim, concluded with the encouragement to “choose life!” (Deut 30:19). God can put the good life right in front of us and say, “Choose this,” but if we don’t have the clarity to want it, we’ll never take ownership of it.

The power of will is the only real power we have in this world; all else is an illusion. Rosh Hashanah is the time to learn how to use it.

In his seminal book True Virtue, Alasdair Macintyre tells a story from Polynesian folk lore, a kind of tropical midrash, if you will.

There once was a king who went out to the villages to visit the poor once every year. Approaching one very sad peasant, he said, “I will give you anything you want.” The peasant smiled and said, “I would like some grass to fix the hole in the roof of my hut.”

The king offered him anything, and all he asked for was some grass. How tragic! He could have asked for a mansion! But isn’t that our common cultural experience? The great King is offering us mansions and some settle for a little grass, or a drink, or a shopping spree. We choose to anesthetize ourselves rather than choosing to take the path of greater resistance but happier destiny.

On Rosh Hashanah when the King of the universe asks us, “What do you really want?” What will be our response? Will we be like the peasant in this story and ask for grass?

Everyone wants to have a great life. But if we don’t take responsibility to clarify for ourselves what the meaning of greatness is, we will likely conform to the values and standards of our society which seem to be more about seeking comfort than seeking greatness. What does a great life look like? Who are your models of success? Do you have a picture that you are completely satisfied with?

Ask yourself: What am I living for?

To live greatly, there is one question that we absolutely must ask: What am I living for? After all, how can I live if I don’t know what I’m living for? We get busy with being busy in order not to think about where our lives are ultimately headed. It’s a profound question and one that requires courage and great personal integrity.

On Rosh Hashanah God asks us to look in the mirror and judge ourselves. We engage the imposing specter of death so that we can ask ourselves, “What am I willing to live for?” This is a tremendous and awesome challenge. The Almighty is giving us life and we don’t know what to do with it. Life is too precious to waste. Rosh Hashanah is the time to clarify what we’re living for

Furthermore, how can I live the good life, if I don’t have my own definition of what “good’ means? There are many things that people call good such as love, creativity, power, kindness, knowledge, thinking, health, peace, relationship with God, wealth, and so on. This Rosh Hashanah explore this question: Of all the possibilities of what people deem good, what do I consider the greatest good? When we know what the greatest good is then we can truly live the “good life.” Why settle for second best?

Monitor your inner world.

One word for prayer in Hebrew is “l’hitpallel,” which most often is understood to mean judging. We pray to judge ourselves with divine guidance! Prayer can be an opportunity for self-discovery.

In 2007 a friend gave my wife two tickets to a Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus “Best of both Worlds Concert” so she could take my then-7-year-old daughter. The interesting part of the story is that a famous recording artist was sitting in front of my wife and daughter since he was taking his pre-teen daughter and friends, and he was wearing ear plugs for the entire concert! Clear message!

I mention this because to read the Rosh Hashanah prayers without reflecting upon how they make us feel is like going to a concert wearing ear plugs. Use prayer as a tool for self-discovery and growth by listening to your feelings.

For example, there may be a moment in the prayer service that deeply moves you. It is crucial to hold on to the experience and try to understand what made that experience meaningful for you. If you can understand the meaning of that experience, you have discovered a precious insight that you can use for the rest of your life.

On the other hand, you may feel bored and disconnected. Again, it is crucial to ask, “What am I feeling and why am I feeling this way?” Understanding our emotional discomfort rather than counting the minutes until the service is over can open new pathways of self-understanding.

Prayer teaches us how to live consciously and intentionally. During the High Holidays don’t suffer through the prayers, rather let them be the diagnostic tools that they are meant to be and not mere volume knobs that control your emotions. Be honest. Be curious. This is not a day to tune out, but rather a day to tune in by listening to our feelings and learning from them.

In Judaism, every holiday is an opportunity for personal transformation. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are called the High Holidays because they offer extra special opportunities for self-discovery and growth. They are not days of doom and gloom. This year, seize the opportunity, and yes, I am going to say this, have a blast!

Wrapping Ourselves in Messiah

Sos Asis, Seventh Haftarah of Comfort, Isaiah 61:10–63:9

Suzy Linett, Devar Shalom, Ontario, CA

This week’s haftarah is the seventh and final reading of the Haftarot of Comfort, which are read from Tisha b’Av to Rosh Hashanah. The series takes us from a time of deepest sorrow and pain to the glory of the coronation of the King of Kings and coming to him in prayer and repentance for forgiveness and redemption. It is a cycle repeated in scripture from the original creation to the fall from Eden to redemption. It is a cycle seen in the history of Israel from glory to captivity to repentance and returning to the Lord and forgiveness, resulting in a return to glory.

The blueprint for all this was in creation itself, as chaos and darkness gave way to the separation of light and the provision of order by the Word of the Lord. We were separated from our Father and from each other, but now come together in him and with each other, culminating with Yom Kippur.

Why is this cycle repeated so many times? Those of you who have raised children, worked with children, or once were children, are familiar with phrases such as, “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times,” or “How many times do I need to repeat myself?” Our Heavenly Father says the same thing in his Word. He repeats patterns and lessons for us to read, re-read, and eventually learn and apply.

During my senior year of high school, the Jewish singer-songwriter Carole King released an album called Tapestry, containing the song by that name. In the story of that song, she speaks about the tapestry of life—how various threads, patterns, and pictures woven into a tapestry are not fully seen or understood until the entire project is complete. Then, and only then, can the relationships of heartbreak and joy, of gain and loss, of life and death themselves be comprehended and the beauty revealed.

This week’s haftarah portion is the final reading from Isaiah, a glorious transition from grief and mourning into joy, promise, and redemption. Isaiah compares, contrasts, and proclaims the glories of the Living Word with the promise of Messianic redemption through the pain and suffering endured by Israel and by Messiah himself. The threads of previous darkness and pain are woven into beauty and joy.

Although the haftarah begins with Isaiah 61:10, we miss significant prophecy unless we begin at verse 1. Verses 1–3 read:

The Ruach of Adonai Elohim is on me,
because Adonai has anointed me
    to proclaim Good News to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
    to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and the opening of the prison to those who are bound,
to proclaim the year of Adonai’s favor
    and the day of our God’s vengeance,
to comfort all who mourn
to console those who mourn in Zion,
to give them beauty for ashes,
    the oil of joy for mourning,
    the garment of praise
        for the spirit of heaviness,
    that they might be called oaks of righteousness,
    the planting of Adonai,
    that He may be glorified.

What a promise of redemption and the coming Messiah! Indeed, Yeshua read this in the synagogue in Nazareth as stated in Luke 4:15–19, then proclaimed this prophecy had been fulfilled. The “garment of praise,” in which we are to wrap ourselves is Messiah himself!

As a result of this, we can join with Isaiah at the first verse of the actual haftarah portion, Isaiah 61:10:

 I will rejoice greatly in Adonai.
My soul will be joyful in my God.
For He has clothed me with garments of salvation,
He has wrapped me in a robe of righteousness—
like a bridegroom wearing a priestly turban,
like a bride adorning herself with her jewels.

 Sos Asis – Hebrew for “rejoice greatly,” is the first phrase of this verse and the title of the whole portion. We have endured, we have survived, we have overcome because of him, and now we are wrapped in his righteousness.

The transition from sorrow to complete joy requires a response. Isaiah 62 begins with not keeping silent—to continue to declare the Word of the Lord until Israel shines brightly and “Nations will see your righteousness, and all kings your glory” (verse 2). In the continuation of this portion, we are reminded of his promises.

Behold, Adonai has proclaimed
    to the end of the earth:
Say to the Daughter of Zion,
“Behold, your salvation comes!
See, His reward is with Him,
    and His recompense before Him.”
Then they will call them The Holy People,
    The Redeemed of Adonai,
and you will be called, Sought Out,
    A City Not Forsaken. (Isa 62:11–12)

Yom Teruah, the Feast of Trumpets known as Rosh Hashanah, coming just after this portion is read, is the day the King is crowned and takes his place on his throne and in our hearts and lives. The black threads of the tapestry, filled with darkness and pain, are woven together with gold, silver, and vivid life-giving colors. Life in Messiah is vibrant, it is alive, and we greatly rejoice – Sos asis!

Tisha b’Av, the day on which this special cycle of the Haftarot of Comfort begins, is known as the saddest day of the year. What is the happiest day? Some believe it is Tu b’Av, known as the “Jewish Valentine’s Day,” a celebration of human love. However, perhaps it is actually Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. We experience a cycle of joy at the coronation of the King, but then must, for the next ten days, cycle through consideration of our sins and our failures, and we must repent. On Yom Kippur we fast in somber contemplation. Yet, at the final call of this day, only ten days after the King is crowned, we can come before his throne. Not only are we allowed to come; we are encouraged and actually commanded to do so! The King of Glory invites us to come, calls us to come, to repent and enter into his presence with praise, with thanksgiving, and with great joy. We are received into the Divine Presence of Adonai Tzva’ot, the Lord of Hosts.

This is the day on which we are reunited with our Creator, with our Redeemer, with our King; and the day we are reunited with each other as members of his family. The tapestry is complete. We see the beauty of the picture painted for us and are awed by it. The cycle goes from the saddest to the greatest and happiest day. Sos asis!

Scripture references are from the TLV. 

When the Way Seems Uncertain

Parashat Ki Tavo, Deuteronomy 26:1–29:8

Ben Volman, UMJC Vice President

Who am I? Where did I come from? Where am I going with my life? Is God with me or against me? I remember all too well the years when those pressing questions had no answer. And then the library workers at my university went on strike.

I lived at home, and most assignments were done on campus in the study halls of multi-storied libraries. These were now closed. Then I read about a nearby college with a large study hall open to everyone. Somebody told me it was a seminary, but I didn’t know what that meant. Walking through the carved stone entrance, I was impressed by the high foyer and Oxford-style architecture. The oak-paneled study hall had nice large windows looking out on the campus.

Settling in behind a desk, I should have begun working, but I couldn’t. All around me were books on religion and the Bible. The people here studied about God and some of them must even believe that stuff. It was like being in church and I had a disturbing feeling: “I don’t belong here.” A few minutes later, I gathered up my books and fled.

At the time, I couldn’t explain what happened. I didn’t believe in God. But I knew that my life, my aspirations, and my thoughts, could never have held up under the spotlight of a righteous judge. It would take almost two years for my questions to lead me to the least likely place of all, peace with God through Messiah Yeshua. My decision at a campus meeting, surrounded by Jewish friends, changed everything. But I never thought of going back to that library.

As we transition through the stages of life, from school to career, to marriage, creating a family and beyond, those old questions still reappear. My prayers seek answers from God about where I’m going, especially when I face tough decisions and I have to ask myself: Am I asserting my own will or being authentic before God and genuinely faithful to his call?

In the ancient liturgy from the opening paragraphs of this week’s parashah, I hear this humbling instruction that teaches us the right attitude towards those questions. Although our ancient forebears were instructed to recite these words at Sukkot, the lessons are timeless.

“My ancestor was a nomad from Aram. He went down into Egypt few in number. . . . But the Egyptians treated us badly. . . . So we cried out to Adonai, the God of our ancestors . . . and Adonai brought us out of Egypt with a strong hand and a stretched-out arm. . . . Now he has brought us to this place and given us this land. . . . Therefore . . . I have now brought the first-fruits of the land which you, Adonai, have given me.” (Deut 26:5–10)

However much we’ve known of God’s grace and goodness, we will always remain the offspring of a wanderer, Ya’akov, who was found by God. But there is no mistaking who rescued us from bondage and gave us our land, and to whom the bikkurim, the firstfruits and first blessings of our land, belong. The words are simple yet gracious reminders of God’s ultimate sovereignty that must move into every area of our lives. And once we fully accept that truth into our being, we will “take joy in all the good that Adonai your God has given you” (Deut 26:11).

Even for believers in Yeshua, there are many harsh moments when it’s difficult to understand God’s sovereign will. For those times, Isaiah has given us his inspired visionary promise in this week’s haftarah of consolation. The prophet who called Hezekiah to defy the armies of Babylon leaves us this incredible legacy of hope in Isaiah 60:1.

Arise, shine [Jerusalem],

for your light has come,

the glory of Adonai

has risen over you.

The opening imperatives in the feminine form indicate that they are commands for Jerusalem. In the prophet’s own time, “thick darkness” may have hung over the city, but we are promised that the Lord’s kavod, the shining righteousness of his glorious presence, will surely break through. The nations will ultimately be drawn to the God of Israel reigning in all his righteous splendor (v. 3) and “then you will see and be radiant” (v. 5). It is an ultimate reassurance that in time, we will fully comprehend all that he has done and yet will do for us. No matter how overwhelming the situation, despite all the pain we’ve endured on this journey, his larger purpose for us and for all Israel will surely be revealed, as certainly as the dawn follows night.

All through the month of Elul, our congregations begin worship by blowing the shofar, calling God’s people to return, reflect and prepare themselves to gather in reverence for the coming High Holy Days. Unfortunately, that reverence is often ushered in under the shadow of judgment, the kind of judgment that I once feared so strongly. I think we’re often misled by depictions of a holy God measuring our sins against our mitzvot, our good deeds, as if our souls were in the hands of an exalted spiritual accountant.

My journey with Yeshua has given me a much different picture: a heavenly Father who is gracious and forgiving, who restores me when I fail and lifts me up when I’m stuck in doubt. I recall Yeshua’s words to the thief hanging next to him on a cross: “I will remember you—this day you will be with me in Gan Eden” (Luke 23:43), or to the woman caught in adultery: “Neither do I condemn you. Now go, and don’t sin any more” (John 8:11). Yeshua, who reached out to touch lepers and forgave tax-collectors urges us come closer, no matter how distant we feel from holiness: “I have not come to call the ‘righteous,’ but rather to call sinners” (Luke 5:32).

On Yom Kippur, in the moments before the cantor intones the opening notes of Kol Nidre, the rabbi addresses the congregation and speaks to those who fear in their hearts that that they aren’t worthy to join with God’s people: “By authority of the court on high and by authority of the court below, with the consent of the All-Present and with the consent of the congregation, we hereby permit prayer to go forward in the company of the transgressors.” We all have good reason to be penitent and yet every one of us is welcome into the presence of God. The brilliant 17th century Christian philosopher, Blaise Pascal, once said, there are only two kinds of people: saints who think they are sinners and sinners who think they are saints.

As a young believer with a B.A., I sensed the Lord calling me to get educated in the Word of God. For months I prayed about where to go to school, but none of the options gave me peace. On a lovely spring day, I went to hear the famous Hebrew Christian theologian Dr. Jakob Jocz at my old university. Later, I approached him to explain my dilemma and after we’d spoken awhile, his face brightened. He asked me if I was familiar with a seminary college on the other side of the campus. I mentioned that I did know of it, and he said those words that guided my life for the next several years and would provide the basis for many years of ministry to come: “Go there. They will take care of you.” A few minutes later, I was walking into the same building from which I’d fled only a few years before, and indeed, Jocz’s words proved true. Sometimes, I think God enjoys directing us with what we’d call a sense of humor.

Who am I? Where am I going? We never have all the answers. As Rav Sha’ul so humbly puts it: “It is not that I have already obtained it or already reached the goal — no, I keep pursuing it in the hope of taking hold of that for which the Messiah Yeshua took hold of me” (Phil 3:12). So, let us encourage one another to keep pressing on, even when we falter. After all, we follow in the steps of a wanderer, of slaves, of unpretentious workers in soil who considered it a privilege to bring their first fruits in a basket before the priest, and counted it all joy.

All Scripture citations are from the Complete Jewish Bible (CJB).