The story is a familiar one.  God created Adam and Eve.  And he told them all of paradise is yours, just one thing you can't do--  Don't eat from the tree that is called in Hebrew, Etz Ha-Daat Tov Ve-ra, the tree whose name is "The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil."

So what happens.  The snake convinces Chava to eat from this tree, and she in turn convinces Adam, and as a result they commit the first sin in history.  God tells them they will be punished.  Chava's primary punishment is that she will go through terrible pains in labor, and Adam is told that when he work the land he will only succeed through the sweat of his brow.
But if you look closely at Chapter 3: 19-20, you will see that a strange dialogue appears in the text.  God tells Adam that a second punishment that he will receive is that he will no longer be immortal, ki afar atah va-el afar tashuv, because you are dirt as you came from dirt, and to dirt will you return.

The strange thing is Adam's response:  The very next pasuk records his response it states:  And Adam called the name of his wife Chava, because she was the mother of all living creatures.

Now what king of a response is this?  What is this pasuk doing here at all?  So if we think about it, I think this pasuk shows the stubbornness of Adam and the resilience and hope of man in the face of punishment from God.    God punishes Adam with death.  He takes away his immortality-So what's Adam's reponse.  I do have immortality!  My wife is the mother of all mankind, all descendents of the earth come from her.  So even though you are sending me back to the earth, my name will live on forever.

This in fact is what the name Chava symbolizes.  Chavah really comes form the Hebrew word, meaning hope.  And what Adam was telling God, was even though you have stripped me of my immortality...my hopes and dreams will live on in my descendents.

Christian theology looks at parshat Bereishit and sees in it the weakness of man.  They get from this the term "Original Sin."    And the "Fall of Man."  According to this approach, Mankind never recovered from the sin of Adam.

But if you think about it, the concept of man sinning is a constant theme in parshat bereishit.  First Adam sinned with Chava.  Then Kain sinned with is murder of Hevel, and then at the end of the parshah we are told of the total corruption of the daughters of the land with the sons of God.  We witness God holding up his hands in despair.
Nevertheless, I would not say that the theme of these stories is the sin of humanity, but rather the forgiveness of humanity.

Because if we notice, God does not immediately destroy man.  He forgives them and only slightly punishes them.  The punishment of Both Adam and Kain is not death but exile.

This is what Jewish theology focuses on in this opening parshah, the idea that man is intertwined with notion of forgiveness and the ability to repent.  There is a passage of Maimonides in the second chapter of Hilkhot Beit Ha-Behirah that states the following:  The place on which David built the Bait Hamikdash was the place where Abraham buiilt the altar for Akedat Yitzh.  And that was the place where Noah built an altar when he left the ark, and that was the altar upon which Kain killed hevel, and that was the place upon which Adam built an altar and Adam himself was created from that dirt.  And Maimonides concludes with the following statement:  Adam mi-makom kaparato nivrah:  Man was created form the place of his atonement.  Rather than focusing on the sins of man, Judaism focuses on the fact that from the very beginning our whole essence is focused on the atonement and forgiveness of humanity.

Noach

This week's parshah tells the story of two two tragic events that affected two different generations.  the Dor Ha-Mabul, the generation that experienced the flood, and the Dor Ha-Flagah, the generation that experienced the division of all mankind for the first time in history.

Now, even though these two tragedies fell upon two different generations, the two generations still have much in common.  For example the word for the flood in Hebrew is the word, Mabul.   God says, "Va-ani hinnenei maevi mabul, behold I will bring a mabul."  What exactly does this word mabul mean?  Its actually a great debate amongst the etymologists, but one interpretation sees it as connected to the ancient Akkadian word bubbulu, meaning high tide or flood.  In this context it is also connected to the word Bavel, which appears in our parshah as the home of the Dor Ha-Flagah.

In this way we say that the two generations are connected in their very essence.  Both committed sins for which the only answer was the mixing up or discombobulation of all of mankind.

But what exactly were their sins.  Our sages tell us that the Dor Ha-Mabul was committing all types of terrible crimes:  stealing, murder, and adultery.  On the other hand, the crime of the Dor Ha-Flagah was not a physical crime, but a mental crime--They tried to overcome God.  They tried to outsmart heaven.

The crimes of these two generations match their punishments.  The physical crime received a physical punishment aqnd the intellectual crime received an intellectual punishment.  The Dor Hamabul committed physical crimes, and therefore they were punished with the most physical of all punishments--the destruction of the world.  While the Dor Haflagah tried to show how smart they were in defeating God, and therefore their intellectual achievements were forever hindered by the fact that their ability to communicate was forever hampered.

Toldot

The Torah tells us that when Yaakov came in to get a blessing from his father Yitshak.  His father, thinking that his son was not Yaakov, but Esav drew him close and embraced him.  The Pasuk says, Vayigash vayishak lo va-yarakh et reiakh begadav--And Yitshak smelled the odor of his garments.

Says the Midrash, al tikrei begadav ela bogdav--don't read the word to mean begadav--garments, but instead bogdav--treachery.  The Midrash is telling us that Yaakov was acting deceptively, slyly, and maybe even wickedly when he steals the blessings from his brother Esav.

This idea should trouble us--How is it that Yaakov, our patriarch could act so dishonestly?  Why do we idolize a figure who acts so brazenly in such a fashion.

I can't answer this question right now.  But I can focus on one characteristic of Yaakov that sets him apart from the other people of his times.  If we look at the Torah we see that Yaakov was not the only one acting deceptively.  Yaakov too, was frequently being deceived.  We know that Lavan was constantly tricking Yaakov in his business negotiations.  And even closer to home, we see that Yaakov's own brother, Esav, was also acting deceptively.

How so?  Yaakov had bought the birthright from Esav, so the first-born blessings  by right should have been his.  Still Esav never revealed this fact to Yitshak and in acting in such a manner, he too was acting deceptively.  So we see have a house full of deception.

If that's the case, then what is the difference between Yaakov and Esav?  The difference lies in their reaction to being deceived.  Yaakov reacts stoically.  He never complains about Esav deceiving him.  On the other hand, Esav reacts with violence.  As the Torah states, when he finds out that Yaakov swindled him, he states ve-a-hargah et yaakov achi, and I will kill my brother Yaakov.

So the difference between Yaakov and Esav is not necessarily in the way they act--they both act wrongly--but rather in the way they react, one reacts with dignity, while the lesser of the two reacts with violence.

VaYishlach

The story seems to come out of nowhere; it appears in the Torah without any introduction.  The Torah states that when Yaakov was returning and about to encounter Esav, he first sent ahead his family.  Then the Torah in ch. 32: 25, states, va-yivater Yaakov levado, va-yeavek ish imo, Jacob remained alone, and a stranger wrestled with him."  The stranger was not able to overcome him, and so as a result he wounded his thigh--because of this incident, the Torah tells us that we Jews don't eat the Gid Ha-Nasheh.

 This incident raises a number of troubling questions.  Who is this man and why is he suddenly appearing?  And why as a result of this one fight, at some obscure point in history, do we not eat the Gid Ha-Nasheh?

So many of our commentators deal with these questions by interpreting this passage with a symbolic meaning.  I will share with you two suggestions.  Ramban explains that this struggle represents the persecution and struggles that Jews face in every generation…and that's why we don't eat the Gid Ha-Nasheh, the sciatic nerve, as a way of remembering the terrible persecutions the Jews have faced.

The Zohar offers an alternative explanation.  When Yaakov left his parents home, he went down to Lavan's home and wrestled with the evil temptations of the world.  Now, however, he was returning to the spiritual realm symbolized by the land of Israel.  However, before he could return to that spiritual high, Yaakov had to wrestle with the evil within himself…Yaakov remained alone, in an existential fashion.  In order to reach an even higher spiritual realm, he first had to wrestle with the evil temptations of the world, here symbolized by a person who represents the ultimate evil, the Satan himself.
 This explains why we don't eat the Gid Ha-nasheh.  The Sciatic nerve runs through the entire hindquarters of an animal.  When we are about to partake of an animal, of the materialism of the world, we must first make a reminder to ourselves that even though we struggle with the materialism of the world, our ultimate goal is to reach a higher spiritual realm.

Miketz

One of the interesting things about Parshat Miketz is that it always coincides with Chanukkah.  So one of our tasks is to try to understand what is the special connection between this week's parshah and the holiday of Chanukkah.

I think the answer to this question lies in our understanding of the character of Joseph who figures so prominently in this week's parshah.  More to the point, it lies in a proper understanding of Joseph's relationship with the Egyptian people.

In chapter 41: 43, the Torah tells us that when Joseph would ride out in his chariot, the Egyptian people would cry out before him, Avrekh, Avrekh!!  Our rabbi's struggle to understand what exactly is the etymology of this word Avrekh.

One approach sees this strange word as a compound Hebrew word.  It means, Av be-chakhmah and rakh be-shanim, father in wisdom and tender in years.  Another approach sees this word as a derivative of the word for berkaim, knees.  According to this understanding, the word symbolizes that the Egyptian people were bowing down before Joseph as he walked before them.

We see from both approaches a powerful lesson about Chanukkah and the character of Joseph.  Chanukkah is a holiday that focudses on our struggle with the secular culture around us.  Joseph is the paradigm of a figure who does not shy away from interaction with Egyptian culture.  Rather, he encounters them, and in doing so he is able to influence them and inspire them.  The Egyptian people admire Joseph so much that they shout out, Father in Wisdom or they bow down before him.

Perhaps this idea is best shown by what might actually be the true etymology of the word, Avrekh.  It seems that this word Avrekh is actually a Hebraization of the Egyptian and Akkadian word, Abarakh…meaning viceroy.  If that is the case we have before us a very powerful idea.  The Torah is actually taking an Egyoptian word and incorporating it into our holiest text, the Torah.  There can be no better example of the message of Chanukkah: Don't flee from secular culture.  Instead incorporate it into our Torah.

Shemot

Why did God select Moshe to be the redeeming prophet?  What qualities did Moshe have that separated him from other people and made him worthy to be a prophet?

So one idea that has been pointed by many commentators--from Maimonides to Achad Ha-am to R. Yaakov Kaminetsky--is that before Moshe was selected as a prophet,  he physically demonstrated a concern for the social welfare of other people.  First Moshe saw an Egyptian kill a fellow Israelite, and so Moshe responded by killing the Egyptian.  then, the next day, Moshe rebuked a Jew who he saw was about to strike another Jew.  And finally, when he got to  Midian, even as a stranger in the land Mosheh defended the daughters of Yitro against the discrimination of the other shepherds.

So before Moshe was a prophet, he was an activist--concerned about the social welfare of his people.  Yet, this makes one particular action of Moshe somewhat surprising.  After Moshe was brought to Yitro, the pasuk states, "va-yoel moshe lashevet et ha-ish."  Moshe decided to settle with Yitro.  And our midrash sates that the woord va-yoel comes form the word, alah--meaning oath; that is, Moshe actually took an oath to remain in the land of Midian.  So the question becomes, How is it that this great activist on behalf of the Jewish people actually took an oath to remain in another land?  How could he have turned his back on the Jewish people?

So one way to understand this oath is by looking at it in the context of the previous pesukim.  Why does Moshe run to Midian?  What precipitates his oath?  The pasuk states that Moshe says to a Jew, "Lamah Takeh Re-akhah," why are you beating your brother.

Moshe runs to Midian, not because he was afraid of Pharaoh, but because he was so disgusted with the infighting amongts the Jews.  He saw people using their hands--the same hands that are supposed to be used for holy things (like Avraham does when he says, ha-rimoti et yadi le-kel elyon, I lifted up my hands to the holy God), for terrible and destructive infighting.
 So what does Moshe do, he takes those same hands, and he uses them to take an oath.  In those days people used hands for an oath.  And he swears that he will no longer return to the Jewish people because he is so disgusted with them.  Moshe the great activist throws up his hands in disgust and leaves the Jewish people.

But of course he comes back and returns to the Jewish people.  And when is that?  After the Jews sin with the Golden calf…the Torah says ve-yachal Moshe, and Moshe beseeched God.  It is only at the sin of the Golden calf that this great activist who left the Jewish people

Beshalach

Perhaps the most fabulous miracle that happened to the Jews as they were leaving the land of Egypt was the splitting of the Yam Soof, the Sea of Reeds.  This miracle, more than any other stands out as a test of Jewish belief.  And in light of this we have an obligation to continually remember the leaving of the Jews from the land of Egypt.

 But what is most fascinating about this miracle is that the Biblical text hardly suffices for our rabbis.  The text literally states that the waters of the sea split, water was on the right and on the left, like two walls.  But there were those doubters who denied the explicit miracles of God and tried to explain them away in a scientific fashion, for example by saying that the Jews crossed the sea at a low tide.

So our rabbis explain that the actual miracle was so much greater.  The pasuk (14: 21) states that Moshe lifted up his hand over the water, va-yibakaku ha-mayim, and the waters were divided.  And on this phrase our rabbis teach, kol ha-mayim she-beolam nivkau, not only were the waters of this sea split, but all of the waters of the world split at that moment.  So great was the miracle of the splitting of the sea!

This begs the question: Why did the Jewish people merit such a great miracle on their behalf?  So if you look carefully at the language the Torah employs, you will notice that the word for the splitting of the sea, is va-yibaku.  This same word also appears earlier on in the Torah at the akedah.  There the Torah says about Avraham, that when he took his son Yitzhack for the sacrifice, va-yivaka atzei olah, he himself cut the wood for the olah.

The Torah connects these two passages, the akedah and the splitting of the sea by utilizing the same words.  Abraham split the wood, God split the water.

To me the message of this is clear.  The Akedah symbolizes the greatest possible devotion of man to God--Avraham was prepared to sacrifice his son, simply at the request of God.  This devotion in the Torah is paralleled only by the devotion of God to the Jews at the splitting of the sea--God overturned the laws of nature as a way of showing his love for the people.  The teaching of the Torah is that when we devote ourselves fully to God, we can expect the attention and love of God in return.

This week's parsha, bechukotai, begins by telling the Jewish people all of the good things that will be given to them if they follow God's commandments. And then the parshah discusses all of the terrible things that will happen
to them, as a nation, if they reject God's mitzvot.

There is one particular punishment promised by God, which has fundamental theological implications.  God says to the Jewish people, "ve-ha-shimoti et mikdasheichem, if you do not listen to my commandments then I will destroy
your Temple."  And this promise is interpreted by our rabbis as a warning by God that He will destroy the Temple.

Nevertheless, all is not lost, as Rambam in his majestic work, Mishneh Torah (Beit Ha-Bechirah:  6: 16) writes, "ve-ha-shimoti et mikdoshechem, ve-amru chachamim af al pi she-shomemin, be-kedushatan heim omdim, our rabbis teach us that even though the Beit Ha-Mikdash will one day be destroyed the holiness on which it stands will never be fully wiped out.  Some residual holiness will always remain.

Yet, Rmabam in the very next chapter (7: 7) writes again, et shabtotei tishmoro u-mikdashei tirau, mah shemirat shabbat le-olam af moreh mikdash le-olam, she-af al pi she-charav be-ke-dushato omed, and you shall watch my shabbat and you shall fear my sanctuary.  Say our rabbis, just like you shall guard my shabbat forever, so too, you shall fear my sanctuary forever.  Even though it is destroyed, its holiness lasts forever.  And so we see that here also, our rabbis are interpreting a pasuk to mean that even though the Temple will be physically destroyed its holiness will last forever.

And so the great Egyptian rabbi, Radvaz raises the question, why are our rabbis interpreting two separate pesukim in essentially the same manner?

And what I want to suggest as a possible answer is that these are two separate promises from God.  The pasuk of ve-has-shimoti et mikdashechem is a promise by God that no matter how great the destruction, how horrible the holocaust there will always be some remnant of the Jewish people that will survive.  Some physical elements might be destroyed, but the holy sparks will remain.

However, the second pasuk of et shabtotai tishmoru, is a similar concept framed in a positive manner.  And here the message is very different.  God is telling us that no matter how great the destruction, we as a Jewish people have a responsibility to go out in the world in a positive way and serve God's mission.  Fifty years after the greatest holocaust in the history of
mankind, we as Jewish people have a responsibility to rejuvenate like a burning phoenix and serve God in a positive way.

Bamidbar

This past week one of the real gems of our generation was lost, as R. Yossi Wanefsky, whom some of you might remember as
the blind rabbi who spoke at my installation ceremony, was taken from this world.  So today I'd like to dedicate this short introduction to the parshah to his memory, since in fact he contributed many times to the divrei torah that I have often said during tefillah.

This week's parshah, above all is about counting the Jewish people.  God orders a census of each tribe.  And along these lines there is one tribe who's census notably stands out.

This is the tribe of Levi, as described in Bamidbar, 3: 14..  The tribe of Levi was counted differently than all other tribes.  For the other tribes counted males from twenty years and older.  However, the tribe of Levi counted all males, as it says in pasuk 15, from one month and up.

Since this is the case, we should logically assume that the census of the tribe of Levi records a larger amount of people than the other tribes.  However, precisely the opposite is true.  In fact, they numbered according to this census 22, 000 males, and more specifically 8, 580 males above the age of 30.  And if we compare this to the smallest of the other tribes, menasheh, we see that mensaheh had 32, 000 males above the age of 20.  So Shevet Levi did not even equal half of the amount of people of the next smallest tribe.

Why is it that Shevet Levi was the smallest tribe?  So Ramban explains that only Shevt Levi was not in bondage in the land of Egypt.  All the other tribes were afflicted with bondage and persecution by the Egyptians, and so as a result of their affliction, paradoxically they eah rose and struggled.  And God granted them great miracles and they were able to multiply in a very fruitful fashion.  However, Levi was never enslaved.  Consequently, they never had to struggle to reproduce and so as a result their population numbers were far less.

And so we see from here that in life the best product is usually not the one that is easiest to produce.  But rather, is the one that is produced only through much hardship and bumps in the road.

Devarim

The Gemara teaches us kol ha-omer davar be-shem amro maevi geulah le-olam--someone who repeats a teaching and mentions the original creator of the idea, brings redemption to the world. This idea commands us to always be honest about where our ideas come from.

However, Moshe's behavior in this week's parshah is troubling. Parshat Devarim is the beginning of the speech that Mosheh gave to Benei Yisrael before they entered the desert. So Mosheh recounts to everyone what happened for the last forty years. One of the first incidents that Mosheh discusses is how he came to appoint judges over the entire nation.

Listen to his language in chapter 1, pasuk 9:
Va-omar alechem, I said to you, lo uchal levadi--I cannot carry the burden of judging you by myself.
So Moshe continues, Havu lachem anashim…va-asimaem be-rashechem--Designate for yourself wise men…and I will place them as judges upon you.
And the people agreeing with this, said to Moshe, Tov ha-Davar asher dibarta la-asot. The matter which you said to do is a good idea.

If you listen to the language, it sounds like the idea is Moshe's. This should trouble us. Think back to parshat Yitro. There this very idea was attributed completely to Yitro, and not at all to Mosheh. Therefore, the question that we must struggle with is why Moshe completely ignores Yitro and makes it sound as if the idea was his own.

I want to offer one possible answer and then we can think about this question together throughout Shabbat.
There was another meeting between Moshe and his father-in-law. This meeting is recorded in parshat Behaoltkhah (10:29). There Moshe invites Yitro: come stay with us and enter the land of Israel together with us. But Yotro declines. And Moshe asks again: But this time he begs: Do not abandon us--Al na Taazov otanu--Be our eyes--our guide--in the desert--ve-hayyeta lanu le-enayim.

The Torah is ambiguous about what happened next, but according to some commentators Yitro left Moshe at that point and never came back. According to this approach it is clear why Moshe does noot mention Yitro in this weeks parshah.

Yitro had abandoned his family in a time of need. The Jews were in the desert and they needed a guide to help them. Still Yitro went his own path. It is possible that Moshe felt so abandoned by his father-in-law that he could not even bring himself to recall the original creator of the idea to appoint a system of judges.

VaEtcnanan

This weeks parshah, parshat ve-etchanan, begins with Mosheh's recounting of his beseeching God to allow him to enter the land of Israel. Its an emotional request-- Mosheh has led the Jewish people through the desert and all he asks for in return is permission to enter the land which he worked his whole life for.

Still the response of God is stern. God says: enough out of you Mosheh--"al tosef daber ali od be-davar hazeh." "Don't continue to speak with me about this matter." Instead: "Go up on the mountain, alei rosh ha-pisgah," and look in every direction at the land

Lets take a close look at the language of Mosheh, when he recounts the story: He says va-etchanan el hashem. What does the word, va-etchanan mean? Rashi suggests two interpretations: One explanation is that ve-etchanan means Mosheh was asking for matanat chinam, an act of grace. Mosheh is admitting that had no right to enter the country, yet he wished God to extend grace. Think about this for a moment: Moshe is saying, even though I worked my whole life for the Jewish people, I recognize that I have no legal right to enter the land of Israel. This is an astounding admission!

A second translation of va-etchanan is lashon tefillah, a language of prayer. This explanation should also cause us to stop and think: Moshe, perhaps the greatest Jew of all time has just prayed to God and still his prayer is flat out rejected.

So what's the message of these two approaches to the language of Moshe? I think both approaches to the words of Moshe here are meant to teach us a deep lesson.

We as a Jewish people have just finished Tishah b'AV and have now come upon Shabbat Nahamu, a Shabbat of comfort. On Shabbat Nahamu we always read this portion of the Torah. This portion is meant to comfort us. We as a nation have had many dreams dashed, and as individuals we've

all had moments in life where we did not succeed. Here the Torah is telling us: Moshe the greatest of all, also did not fully succeed. He fell short of his goal of entering the land of Israel, but still he accomplished a great amount.

This is the message we should carry with us when we face rejections in life--If we don't reach a specific goal…Lets not look at ourselves as failures in life. Instead lets remember that even Moshe fell short of his goal.

Ekev

In this weeks parshah, Mosheh recounts the story of the first luchot, the tablets that God gave to the Jewish people.  Mosheh tells the story:  he went up a mountain for forty days, he ate no bread, drank no water, and when he came down, he saw the Jews celebrating around the Golden calf.

 The irony of the scene was so strong.  Right before, Mosheh went up the mountain, the Jews were commanded in the Ten Commandments, lo taseh lekhah pesel, do not make for yourself a graven image.  And what is the first thing Mosheh sees?  The Jews worshipping with a Golden calf--which is itself a graven image.

 So as a result of this sin, Mosheh must pray to God, so that God will not destroy the Jewish people.  Mosheh throws many arguments at God, and his final argument--the one that carries the day--is don't let the Egyptians say God brought them out in order to kill them in the desert.

Let's listen closely to the language of God.  When God decides tio forgive the Jewish people, what is the absolute first word that God says to Mosheh?  It is a familiar word, the word pe-sal, God says pesal lekhah shenei luchot avanaim ka-rishonim.  God says to Moshe--engrave for yourself two tablets of stone, juat like the first ones.  However, the first tablets were made from etsbah elokim, the finger of God, and these you yourself should engrave.

Think about this for a second.  The sin of the Jewish people was that they made a pesel, an engraving.  And when God forgives them, the first word spoken is the verbal form of pesel, pe-sal--Go out and engrave.

I think the message here is a deep one.  God is telling us--Yes, I know you sinned, but you had a lot of energy involved with that sin.  Don't lose that energy, focus that same strength on a positive force.  The same action of engraving which was used to commit a terrible sin, should now be used to create our holiest object--the luchot

Shoftim

Long before the US Constitution, the Torah had already set up its own system of checks and balances. Bear with me for a moment, and I'll show you what I mean.

Sefer Devarim, Chapter 17, pasuk 9, describes what you should do, if you need a legal ruling on a matter. The Torah states, U-vata el ha-kohanim ha-leveim, ve-hashofet. You should come either to the Kohen, the Levite, or the Judge. Those people were the judges of the Jewish people. Indeed, throughout Tanakh we see that the role of the Priestly class was to educatethe people and to decide matters of law.

In other societies, the role of legislating was left to the king. Not so in the Torah. According to the Torah, the judges and the teachers are the educated class, not the ruling class.

So what was the role of the King? The king was primarily in charge of physically protecting the Jewish people. The very next paragraph in the Torah, discusses the role of the king. The Torah warns the king: Don't have too many wives, don't take too many horses, don't acquire too much money. But the key phrase that really stresses the subservient role of the king to the priestly class appears in chapter 17, pasuk 18: The Torah says, when the king sits on his throne he must always carry with him a Torah, and here are the key words, mi-lifnei ha-Kohanim ha-leveim, before the priestly class. The Torah is stressing that in matters of law the king must be subservient to the Torah as it is interpreted and taught by the Kohanim.

So we see how the king's power is checked--he must listen to the priestly interpretations of the Torah--but how is the power of the kohanim checked. The very next paragraph of the Torah tells us how. In chapter 18: pasuk 1, the Torah states, "lo yihiyeh la-kohanim…chelek ve-hakhalah im yisrael, the priestly class cannot have a share in the inheritance in the land of Israel." In other words, the Torah is dening any temporal possessions to these educators.

Notice the structure of the Torah. First the Torah teaches us that the Kohanim should be our educators. Then the Torah tells us that the King too must listen to the teachings of the Kohanim. And immediately after this the Torah draws away all financial power from these kohanim. With this model the Torah is teaching us, Those who are judging the people cannot control the finances and those who control the finances cannot be in charge of the peoples education.

Ki Tavo

We are about to read Parshat Ki Tavo, which is at the very end of Sefer Devarim, as well as at the end of Moshe's final speech to the Jewish people.  Moshe instructs the people, On the day that you enter the land of Israel, you must erect large stones and plaster them with lime, va-ha-keimota le-khah avanim gedolot ve-sad-ta otam ba-sid.  And what should it say on these stones?  ve-katavata aleihen et kol divrei ha-torah ha-zot, you should write on them all the words of our Torah.
 The question that bothers me is what is the meaning behind this commandment.  Why should we bother to write the entire Torah on large stones?  So lets take a minute and explore the symbolism of stones.
 First of all, on a purely textual level it is apparent that the Torah is written on stones to ensure the permanence of the message of the Torah.  Don't write it on fragile paper, but on a hard, durable stone.  In the time of the Torah the stone was seen as an object that was the most durable substance.  The proof of this is that when two enemies made a treaty they pointed to a stone and used it as a witness.  Thus Lavan says to Jacob, in Genesis 31: 48, ha-gal ha-zah ed beini u-veinkhah, this stone will be a witness between me and you."
 So one symbolism of the stone is its message of durability.  And in this way it is used to signify treaties between people, as in the case of  Lavan and Yaakov, or treaties between man and God, as in the case of the mizbeach, the altar that is made only of whole stones.
 But there is another symbolism to the stone.  The stone also stands against the values of Egyptian society.  Think about it: What are the Egyptians known for?  The Pyramids…which are made of large stones.  In this context, the reason for God's commandment to the Jewish people becomes clear: When the Jewish people enter their own land they should set up their own monument which is the anti-thesis of Egyptian culture:  The Egyptians used their large stones to build vain Pyramids, We should use those same large stones and upon them we should write down the words of the Torah.

Ha'azinu

With the this week's parshah, haazinu, we arrive at the end of our journey through the desert.  The journey ends with a song or a poem that begins with the word haazinu.

If you think back to Beshalah, our journey in the desert also began with a song.  The first thing that the Benei Yisrael did after they crossed the Yam Soof, the Sea of Reeds, when they stepped on dry land, the Torah records that they along with Mosheh sang a song, az yashir.  So a song accompanies both the entrance and the exit from the desert.

But how different are the songs.  The first song, As Yashir,  is sung by MOsheh and Benei Yisrael, the final song is sung by Mosheh alone.  The first one celebrates the greatness and the glory of God, the second one, haazinu, is filled with warnings and rebuke.  The first represents the optimism of a people who believe that they are a nation with a special mission, the last represents the pessimism of a leader who sees his nation's mistakes.

It is interesting that according to the Rambam we are required to recite both of these songs everyday in our liturgy.  I believe that this is an important message--We need both of these songs in our everyday life-- we need the optimism of az yashir, but our optimism should always be tempered with the realism of haazinu.

I want to focus on the last pasuk of the actual song of Hazinu.  Haazinu is poetry and poetry needs to be read differently than the way in which we read prose.  So if we look ch. 32 : 43, we see a provacative pasuk.  This pasuk discusses the reconciliation of God to his people.  The entire song of Haazinu ends with the following phrase:  "He will bring vengeance upon his foes and reconcile His people to the land."

 Now some people have connected this pasuk to the founding of the state of Israel after the Holocaust.  Of course, the Shoah was such a monumental tragedy that absoluteluy nothing can even come near to atoning for it, but this pasuk states that after our enemies have wreaked vengeance upon us God will "reconcile his people to the land."  Or in the Hebrew, ve-khiper admato amo."

We see here that according to the Torah, the Land of Israel actually has the ability to atone for our sins and comfort us for our punishments.  This is an intirguing idea because this is a troubling concept in Judaism.  We also have a phrase that the death of our righteous people atone for our sins and on Yom Kippur we read about the Sair La-Azazel which also atones for our sins.  So the question that I leave you with today is a s follows: How does this work?  How are our individual sins atoned for by the deaths of righteous people or the death of a Goat, or even the interaction with the land of Israel.

I'll be happy to discuss this question with anyone privately.

Rosh Hashana Mussaf

We're about to enter the section of Musaf that is called Zichronot.  Zichronot--comes from the root , zayin, chaf, resh, meaning to remember.  The question that faces us as we are about to read these tefillot is: What exactly are we remembering?  The answer, I think, appears on p. 387, where we read that God remembered Noah, and caused the waters of the flood to cease.  And then immediately following this we read that God remembered Avraham.  So what we are focusing on in this tefillah is the treaty that God made with both Noah and Avraham.  The treaty with Noah represents the universal covenant that God made to protect all humanity, while the treaty with Avraham represents the specific covenant that God made with us, the Jewish people.  So we say our tefillot with the hope that God will remember His covenant with both humanity as well as with the Jewish people.

The next section of musaf is the section called shofrot. And the section begins on p. 389 with the sounds of the shofar as they are heard at Har SInai with the giving of the Torah.  And the section ends on p. 393 with the sound of the shofar as it is heard at the celebration of God's festivals.  These two occasions point to the way in which we hope that the sound of the shofar will uplift us.  We need the shofar to uplift us intellectually as it did with the giving of the Torah at Sinai, and also on a spiritual level, as it did with the celebrations in the Beit Ha-MIkdash.  So as we listen closely, lets focus on how the shofar can lift us both intellectually as well as spiritually.

Yom Kippur

In the reading of the Torah today we read about how Aaron enters into the Kodesh Kedoshim, the Holy of Holies in order to perform the service before God.  The pasuk explicitly states (p. 711) that only Aaron can enter the Sanctum Sanctorum, and even more than that, he can only enter this place at certain times.

 If we think about it, Aaron's entrance into this Holy place is the ultimate unio mystica, it’s the ultimate cleaving with God.  Only Aaron can enter and this is only on certain times.  And when he enters he communes with God in the most secluded position possible.  The paradox is tangible: Aaron represents the Jewish people and in doing so he represents them in the utmost privacy.

So when Aaron stands in the Holy of Holies, he stands alone in aplace where no one else may enter.  However, the preceding parshah in the torah, parshat Tazria also discusses a person who must stand alone.  The metzorah, or the leper, the Torah tells us must leave the camp and sit alone until the affliction disappears.

But the seclusion of the leper comes from a different source than the seclusion of the Kohen Gadol.  The Kohen Gadol's seclusion comes out of his desire to serve God properly, while the leper's seclusion comes because he has sinned.
 So these are two categories of being alone.  One is a physical alone because you are sick, and one is a contemplative alone in order to connect with God.  It is interesting that the spiritual state of alone follows the physical state.  Perhaps the message is as follows: If you are alone because you are sick than use this physical loneliness to reach out for the state of being alone in a contemplative and spiritual manner.  Thus, through your illness and loneliness you can reach out to God.

It says in the pasuk's description of how we should behave on Yom Kippur:  Shabbat Shabbaton hi lakhem, ve-enitem et nafshoteichem hukat olam.  The question is what exactly is the difference between inoi, affliction, and shavat resting.
 So one way to understand this is as follows. Inoi is fulfilling the prohibitions of the dat:  the five don’t's: eating, drinking, relations, bathing, and anointing.  However, shevitah is a higher level of this same type of behavior.

So if inoi is the physical realization of Yom Kippur, then shevitah is the actually the cognition of the day itself.  Yom Kippur is a day for us to realize that we are like angels.

So if we sit back and are content with merely physically afflicting ourselves then we are only fulfilling one aspect of the day, inoi.  however, if we actually recognize our position in the world and the power of the day itself, then we fulfill the cognitive aspect of Yom Kippur as well.

Sukkot

Just before we read the Torah, I want to share with you an insight into today's Torah reading that I was fortunate enough to hear at a shiur given this week by Rabbi Selim Dwek.  Today's Torah reading comes primarily from Leviticus 23, which contains within it all of the Holidays of the Jewish cycle.

The section begins with the weekly observance of Shabbat, then moves to the holiday of Pesach, followed by Shavuot, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and then Sukkot and Shemini Atzseret.  One of the ideas that becomes apparent if we look closely at the text is that the first group of holidays that are mentioned parallel closely the second group of holidays that are mentioned.  For example, the weekly holiday of Shabbat which begins in the first half of the parshah, is paralleled in the second half by the festival of Yom Kippur which is called, Shabbat Shabbaton.

Similarly in many ways the holiday of Pesach is paralleled by the holiday of Sukkot.  For example, both holidays come on the fifteenth day of the month, both celebrate a harvest.  Pesach has a wave offering, an omer ha-tenifah, and sukkot paralles this.  One of the interesting tings about this comparison is to see the comparsion in a way that can illuminate aspects of the holiday.  This is an exercise we can take upon ourselves this holiday.  But let me first share with you an idea that was given to me by Rabbi Dwek.

On Pesach we are commanded to eat matzot--what are matzot called?  Lechem oni, the bread of affliction or possibly the bread of poor people.  Where do we see a parallel to this on Sukkot.  In fact, at first glance, it seems that Sukkot represents the exact opposite idea.  Rather than being a festival for the poor and afflicted it appears to be a festival for the aristocracy.  Thus, the pasuk states that kol ha-ezrach be-yisral yeshvu ba-sukkot, all of the citizens of Israel have the requirement to sit in the Sukkah.  This indicates that the holiday is given only to the nobility the citizen class.

But we should understand the idea differently.  What goes on during Sukkot?  The entire population is forced to leave their home and enter into a Sukkah.  Even the richest are forced to live with poorest.  That's why this is a commandment specifically for the nobility of the people.  They especially are supposed to feel the connection with the poorer people of society.  Thus we see that the commandment of Sittng in the Sukkah parallels the obligation to eat matzah or bread of affliction.

II.
Why do we sit in a Sukkah on Sukkot?  The torah explicitly tells us why.  Says the Torah:  lemaan yedi-u doroteichem ki be-sukkot hoshavti et benei yisrael; in order that your generations hsould now That I caused you to dwell in sukkot.
 Now this pasuk presents great exegetical problems.  The most obvious one is whre do we ever see that the Jews dwelled in booths.  Nowehere does it mention this.  The closest reference we have is that the Israelites once camped in a place called Sukkot.

So two Talmudic sages R. Akiva and R. Eliezer take up this question in Massekhet Sukkot, 11a.  Says R. Akiva, sukkot means annanei ha-kavod, the glorious cloud of God that accompanied the Jews.  SO God wants His people to dwell in Sukkot in order to remember the glorious cloud.  However, R. Eliezer argues that the sukkot were actual sukkot that Jews lived in when they sojourned in the desert.  And the ramban explains that according to this second explanation it makes sense that we build the sukkot now.  Because during the summer it was fine for everyone to live  outside, but with the winter months coming everyone needed shelter and thus the Jews prepared tents historically at this time.

What we have here I think encapsulate two entirely different approaches to Judaism.  One is a spiritual approach.  that is the approach of R.  Akiva.  His approach is in the clouds.  He sees the sukkot as representing the presence of gOd on this earth.  The latter is an historical approach.  R. Eliezer d\sees no spirituality in the sukkot, only a reminder of how we once lived culturally.

Its important to note that both these ideas are included in the Talmud:  It’s a reminder that there is room for both approaches to Judaism:  The Spiritual and the Historical.

Purim

Of all of the holidays that we celebrate, there is only one holiday that has no apparent connection with the land of Israel.  Every holiday inherently connects with the land of Israel, except for the holiday of Purim.

Purim is a diaspora holiday.  It takes place in Persia, and revolves around a non-Jewish king, with a non-Jewish army.  The Jews are never fully empowered and even at the end of the story, the Jews are still subjugated to Achashverosh, the king of Persia.

That is why today we thought we would try something different.  Today we want to take the time to explore how Jews throughout the galut celebrated and observed the holiday of Purim. In many ways, the Jews of galut felt a closer connection with Purim than with any other holiday.  Purim spoke to their very real ears of persecution and anti-Semitism.  And all too often, the Jews of galut needed a miracle to help them escape from the hands of their enemies.
 So today we will trace the way different communities observed the holiday of Purim.  First, Dov Linzer, who is pursuing a doctorate in Religion at Columbia will discuss how Purim was received in the ancient world, then Shmuel Herzfeld, will discuss Purim in the Middle Ages, the David Fishman will discuss Purim in Lithuania, and finally Jefferey Gurock will discuss Purim in America.

In many ways, Purim was the perfect holiday for the Jews of the Middle Ages.  Purim tells the story of a community that was miraculously rescued from the evil decree of a wicked ruler.  Unfortunately, the Jews of medieval Europe too often faced similar decrees.  The Jews were expelled from every country in Europe and that was only after they had been subjected to countless pogroms, accusations, and persecutions.

The Purim story sees the Jews rescued through the hands of a well placed courtier in the king's palace, Mordechai, and so too, the Jews of the Middle Ages relied upon this strategy to rescue their own fate from terrible doom.  It is not surprising, then, that the reaction of Medieval Jews to this Purim story was very intense.  There were two main types of reactions: the popular reactions of the general population and the scholarly reactions of our rabbis.
 Unfortunately, the historical record of the behavior of the Jewish population on Purim is somewhat embarrassing.  The Jews celebrated this day with festive carnivals, Purim plays (which date back to the ninth c.), parody's of the prayer service (leil shikurim), card playing, and little kids used to throw nuts at each other, and of course, there was lots of drinking.

This excessive drinking probably contributed to the long history of violence against non-Jews that accompanies the Purim holiday.  In the year 408, the Roman Emperor, Theodosius II, commands the Jews to stop burning an effigy of Haman on a crucifix on Purim.  This practice of burning Haman on a cross, which was an obvious reference to the crucifixion of Jesus, nevertheless continued through the Middle Ages.  This type of activity was often the conclusion to a rowdy carnival.
 However, even more disturbing is the fact that this boisterous behavior, at times, led to fatal violence.  There are records of Jews killing their Christian neighbors on the holiday of Purim in 5th c. Syria, 12th c. N. France--in Bray, and 16th c. Lithuania.
However, we can look with pride upon the reaction of our rabbis to the holiday of Purim.  Megillat Esther provoked the 2nd most amount of commentaries of any biblical book in the middle ages.  And most scholars were most interested in discussing the slaughter of Haman's followers at the end of the story.  The interesting thing is that a triumphalist feeling that celebrates the downfall of the Jews' enemies is very uncommon in these commentaries.  The vast majority of medieval rabbis explained--perhaps even in opposition to the literal meaning of the text itself--that the slaughter of Haman's followers was entirely an act of self-defense, and not a violent reprisal against their enemies.  This shows that despite their daily encounters with horrible persecutions the rabbis of the middle ages refused to let their morality wane and indeed, celebrated the miracle of God, as opposed to the downfall of their enemies.

Parah

We are about to read parshat parah--which according to some commentators is a deoraita, a Biblical mitzvah--and consists of a discussion of the mysterious, red heifer.

Immediately after the Jews crossed the Yam Soof, and sang Az Yashir, the Torah writes, ve-shamarta kol chukav, and the Jews shall watch all of God's commandments.  And Rashi explains this phrase to mean that at that point, after they had finished singing to God, God gave them the mitzvah of parah adumah, the obligation to sacrifice a red heifer.

However, there is a problem with this Rashi.  For Rashi in parshat chukat, which we are about to read, explains that the parah adumah comes to atone for the great sin of the Golden Calf.  And since the Golden Calf happened at a later time then the song of Az Yashir, how could Rashi have earlier declared that parah adumah was taught to the Jews immediately following Az Yashir?

One answer to this contradiction focuses on the way in which the ritual of parah adumah resembles the ritual of the Kohen Gadol, the High Priest, on Yom Kippur.  The Kohen who sacrificed the parah adumah was required to wear the special white garments, without the avnet, the belt--and the only other time this regalia was used was when the Kohen Gadol entered the Holy of Holies on Yom Kippur.  So too, before the Kohen dealt with the parah adumah he had to separate from his wife for a period of seven days.  This too, is a parallel to the pre-requisite required of the Kohen Gadol on Yom Kippur.

Finally, there are two reasons why the Kohen Gadol only wore white garments on Yom Kippur: To atone for the sin of the Golden calf, which took place with gold, and to resemble an angel as he entered into the Holy of Holies.

We see now that the parah adumah parallels the service of the Kohen Gadol on Yom Kippur.   The Kohen wears white, and sacrifices a cow in order to atone for the sin of the golden calf--and at the same time, the kohen urges each of us to resemble angels.  This explains the contradiction in Rashi:  Rashi is referring to the two aspects of the parah adumah.  The fact that we should be inspired to resemble angels, as the Jews were right before Sinai, and also that this sacrifce is an atonement for the sin of the golden calf.