Perhaps the greatest challenge of oppression is that we become tolerant of it.  According to Rabbi Alter, the slavery in Egypt was so bad; we had lost the ability to open our voices in prayer.  This is to say we lost the faith to express our hope for a better tomorrow.  And this was the case until Moses came and brought us out of Egypt.

How does Moses take us out of Egypt?  According to this verse, he does it by modeling the very prayer the Jews had forgotten. 

You never know.  This could be the Shabbat you come to shul, and your prayer encourages the person sitting next to you to open up his or her heart, leave Egypt, and live a happier more fulfilling life. 

You can be Moses!

Vatirenah hamiyaldot et haelohim viloh asoo kaasher deber aleyhen melech mitzrayim lamiyaldot hayiladim.

The midwives, fearing God, did not do as the king of Egypt had told them; they let the boys live.

According to the text, the reason the midwives, Shifrah and Puah engaged in civil disobedience, was because they feared God.  Thus the reason we are here today, is as a result of the fact that fear of God, or yirat Shamayim prevented Shifrah and Puah from participating in a morally reprehensible act.

To what extent do we allow yirat shamayim to influence our own actions?  Some of us believe in a God that both rewards and punishes, and thus we are compelled to do good in order to avoid punishment.  However, what about those of us who are more skeptical?  What about those of us who have done wrong, and have not been stricken by lightning?

Please consider the following.  Each day, when we recite the Shema, we attest that God is one, Adonai Echad.  This is to say, we affirm that we are all connected.  Everything in our synagogue, our community, our city, our country, our planet, our universe, is part of one large interwoven quilt.

Perhaps then we should all strive to have yirat shamayim, fear of God.  We should not strive to have a fear in a God who could strike us down with lightning at any particular moment.  Rather we should strive to feel part of a much larger world, and ignore the short term comfort that comes from isolation.

And it is in this place when we can empathize with Shifrah and Puah who knew that

a loss of one, influences the One, which influences us all.

Vayishtacho yisrael al rosh hamitah

Jacob’s final request has been granted, as Joseph had agreed to bury him in Israel, the land of his forefathers.  What does he do next?  He bowed at the head of the bed.

The Medieval commentator Rashi asks, what does this gesture teach us?

And then he teaches:  From this, we can deduce that the Divine glory rests above a sick man’s head.  Rashi insinuates that at this moment Jacob became very close to he divine presence.

How does a person get so close to God at a later age?  Our tradition teaches us that as a person comes to the end of his or her life, he or she starts making a Heshbon Nefesh (taking account of his or her thoughts and deeds.)  At this moment a holy spark is then kindled in his or her heart with which to examine his or her conscience.

Thus, as we approach our last gasp of breath, we come to terms with our sublime nature.

Why are we waiting so long?  Do we really need to wait until the end of our lives to approach ourselves and God?
 

Long ago, our ancestor Joseph was abandoned and left in a pit. Upon placing him in the pit, his brothers asked “what should we do with him?” Judah answered, “let us sell him…(and) not do away with him ourselves.' Judah decided to leave his brother in a vulnerable position.

In this week's Torah portion Judah is said to have approached the same brother that he had abandoned. Why? According to Rabbi Moses ben Hayyim Alshekh, a 16 th century commentator, it was because Judah worried that a brother, Benjamin, who was not part of the original pit incident, would be punished. It was Judah 's desire to protect the innocent that enabled him to approach the person he had once distanced himself from.

Sometimes it feels that we are bound not to change, we have are own ways, and even if they cause grief or pain to others, it is easier to maintain our internal status quo, then to face ourselves and change our ways. Yet, what is it that can cause us to change, make us more caring and holier people? It is our concern for the innocent.

Perhaps the next time we look into the eyes of a child, our spouse, or our puppy, may we see them as our own mezuzuzah or ner tamid, our sacred reminders of our potential to do good.

In this weeks Parasha, as with most of the Joseph novella, dreams continue to abound.

In her commentary on the Torah Nahama Leibowitz notes: Pharoah dreamt of cows, the butler of wine; while Joseph dreamt about the sun, the moon and the stars; from this we learn that the Jew dreams about heaven, sun and light, while the heathen dreams about food, wine and other items that are not spiritual matters.

I would add another piece. Joseph is unafraid to look up at the universe that surrounds him, and he is unafraid to look beyond the horizon. These are the two places where our dreams are pursued.

The last Hanukkah candles are about to be lit, and the shortest day of the year is right around the corner. Nevertheless, let us be strengthened by our ancestor Joseph. As we deal with the darkest time of the year, let us be unafraid to dream, and may this be the year when we come closer to reaching our divine potential.

Vayeshev Yaakov, bieeretz Midorey Aveev bieretz Kinaan.

Now Jacob, at the age of seventy, was settled in the land of Canaan .

Finally, our forefather Jacob is blessed with the verb, vayeshev / “and he settled.” He began with vyirotzetzu / “and he fought” when he fought with his brother Esav, vayetzeh/ “and he was sent out” from his home and began his exile away from his home vayishlach / and he cautiously “sent out” messengers to make sure that the path was safe to return home.

Jacob lived a full life, he fought for his birthright, invested fourteen years to build his family, his reputation, and his business, and now at the beginning of this week's Parasha he has settled in the land of his forefathers and all is well.

For those of us familiar with this story, we know that at this moment, a new story is about to unfold. An adventure that would involve more family drama, and more travel.

And isn't the same true for us? Just when you think we are settled, just when we can breathe there is a surprise waiting for us around the corner. And it is at these moments when we can gain comfort in knowing that we are not alone, as our ancestor Jacob had the same challenge. Such is the life of the Jew who lives with an open heart to God. We play the cards we are dealt to the best of our ability, and in doing so, celebrate the life we are blessed to receive.

Last week, in a New York Times article, Pauline Chen, a transplant surgery specialist, described a spiritual moment that occurred during a routine operation. She was about to begin the procedure for opening the chest of a brain dead patient, when the surgical drape dropped, revealing the donor’s entire upper body. Dr. Chen described how at that moment the surgery became very difficult to complete, as she began to empathize with the human body. At that moment, the body she was removing vital organs from drew nearer to her, and she could feel her as if they were one and the same.

In this week’s Parashah, Vayishalakh, our forefather Jacob has a similar moment. For many years he was afraid to see his brother and they were very distant from one another.

Nevertheless, Jacob heads home and confronts his brother. At the apex of our Parasha, Jacob embraces his brother and proclaims: “To see your face is like seeing the face of God.” Jacob describes this moment of closeness by comparing Esau to his intimate God.

Sometimes we are like the surgeon and we choose to treat people as objects, or we focus on specific “organs” or traits as opposed to seeing the person as a whole. Sometimes we need to be this way as there are just too many people for us to see and interact with in our busy world. Sometimes, though, we are like Jacob and we distance ourselves from our family, or members of our community who cause us tension. It is at those moments when our Torah delivers us a sacred message: To find God is to find the person from whom we distance ourselves. The path to God goes from seeing people at a distance to embracing them face to face.
 

In this week’s Parasha, exiled Jacob awakens from his dream and proclaims:

“How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God…”

As the light slowly enters into Jacob’s consciousness, Jacob begins to comprehend his dream. He had dreamed of the God of his forefathers, and this God blessed him and promised him the blessing that had been bestowed upon them. How does he describe his encounter?

The first part we understand, he was blown away, he experienced the ineffable. Thus he says: “Mah Norah Hamakom Hazeh/How awesome is this place.” The second part is also worth noting: “This is the house of God” He describes his encounter as if he was in a house.

Why a house? A house is warm and safe, a house is stable, a house is a place of peace. And, sadly, it was his own house from which he was exiled. Perhaps Jacob’s journey to God was a journey to that place he was asked to leave.

Some of us know what it is like to dwell in a home. Some of us know what it is like to live in exile. Some of us know the challenges of building a home, and how the rewards are immeasurable. And some of us know that the consequences of exile or destruction reach into the inner corners of our heart.

The Rabbis add that the place of Jacob’s dream was the eventual place of the house of God, our Temple. Just as Jacob’s dream inspired a home, so too does this Torah portion asks us to maintain our own homes and to make Congregation Beth Am not only a Congregation or a building but most importantly, a home for each and every one of us.

This week's, Parasha, Hayei Sarah, the life of Sarah, we learn about the death of Sarah, our foremother. One of my favorite modern commentaries of the Bible, points out the juxtaposition of the death of Sarah, and the attempted sacrifice of her son on Mt. Moriah . The commentary notes that the juxtaposition was made to highlight the relationships of these two stories.

What caused the death of Sarah? The commentator questions whether it was the grief she felt when she thought her son was sacrificed or also suggests that it may have been the sense of abandonment and loneliness Sarah felt when one day the son she had fought so hard to create and to raise was taken away by her husband.

Perhaps this week when we recount the death of Sarah, we can assess our ability to

communicate in our homes. Perhaps we can ask ourselves if what we require of our children is in harmony with the values of both caregivers. Perhaps when we ask these questions we can sanctify the memory of our late foremother, Sarah.
 

Welcome. Of the many character traits possessed by Abraham, the one brought out by the beginning of Vayera is perhaps the most famous among the rabbis. The story continues after his circumcision with Abraham sitting at the door of his tent in the middle of the day. Tradition elaborates that he is recuperating from the procedure. In the distance he sees three travelers. At once he jumps up, runs to them to invite them into his home and provide food and comfort. In this act, Abraham becomes the paradigm for hospitality.

There are many mitzvot that have sprung up from this simple story, and hospitality is a hallmark idea of many Jewish communities. But the lesson here is not simply that Abraham treated guests in his home with respect and dignity. Rather, Abraham was incredibly proactive in his desire to be hospitable. He not only waited for them, but he actually went out to bring them in. Perhaps they would have passed by and not had food and rest. Abraham saw hospitality as an imperative, not merely a kind act.

Today, as the world gets faster and we find ourselves immersed in our own needs, the need for proactive hospitality is all the more important. To be able to teach our children that we have an obligation to those in need, that we must look beyond ourselves, should be a fundamental part of growing up in a Jewish home. It is certainly the lesson we learn from this week's parasha. Shabbat Shalom.

There are two times in the Torah when God commands Abraham, “Lekh L'kha.” The first is in this week's parasha/portion, and the second is part of the command to bind his son Isaac on Mt. Moriah . A Hassidic commentator argues that the repetition is significant.

The first time it is used Abraham is asked to go for himself, in order to find himself and make himself. He needed to leave his home so that he could accrue wealth, spread his name, and develop his family.

The second time we hear Lekh L'kha is towards the end of his life when he has just about completed the first command of Lekh L'kha . In this second command, Abraham is told that for his own good he should let go of his most precious possession, his son.

Perhaps, argues the Rebbe from Bobov, Abraham's life parallels our own. When we are young we need to leave our homes to grow and to find out who we are. With the help of God we will grow and be successful. Yet we will reach a time of our lives when we realize that everything we have accrued is temporary. It is at this moment when we hear the second

Lekh L'kha , as we begin to let go of what we have worked so hard to attain.
Lekh L'kha , grow and create for yourself a blessed business, family, and name.
Lekh L'kha , let go, let a caged bird free, return to the world what the world has given you.

Thus says the Lord. Shabbat Shalom.
 

A Better Place To Be. The relativistic statement which opens our Parasha this week brings with it a many questions by the rabbis. “Noah was a righteous man . . . in his generation.” Does this mean, the rabbis ask, that Noah was a “regular guy” but because he lived in a generation of such sin and depravity he was considered to be righteous? Perhaps if he lived in the time of Abraham he would not have been the one chosen. Or, on the other hand, can we say that given the environment in which Noah lived, the fact that he was righteous was quite remarkable? Even though the world around him was falling apart he was able to maintain a life that was virtuous.

Which is preferable? To be considered righteous vis-à-vis the people around you, or to be seen as virtuous in and of yourself? The easy answer would seem to be that being part of a virtuous community where everyone is acting the way they should is more laudable. That should be the ideal, the perfect model we use to build the world around us.

Unfortunately, perfection is not something that we easily attain. Perhaps while the ideal may be to live in a completely righteous world, reality is such that we often must take the lead ourselves no matter what else is going on around us. In truth we are all very much like Noah, using our relationships with God and Tradition to do the best we can in a world that does not always make that simple. His story reminds us that it falls on us to make the world a better place, even when it does not seem to want to join us. Shabbat Shalom.
 

In this weeks sedra, Beresheet, the word used to describe something that is complete is Tov or Good. Something is Tov when something is placed in the right place. At the end of each day, God's creation is described as being Tov, complete and part of the natural order of the world. As we head towards a world that is Tov, we travel from a world of chaos (disorder) to a world of cosmos (order).

Every day is described as Tov, except for Shabbat, and this is surprising to me. Why isn't Shabbat described as being Good? Isn't this the day we are to see ourselves as being complete?

Perhaps this teaches us that we live in a world that has a sacred and beautiful order and our task is to find time on Shabbat to see this truth. This may come as a shock to us, as many of us may see Shabbat as shelter from the storm, a day of order in a world of disorder, instead of a mountain peak where we can see the beauty that surrounds us

We are constantly being told that we are unfulfilled, and in response we are constantly trying to build and to fix our homes, our lives, and our souls. Yet, the more we try to fix, the more trees we cut, the more waters we pollute, the more we take away from God's creation.

May this Shabbat be a day we set aside, not to close the blinds from a world of corruption and destruction, but rather to open up the windows so that we can see the beauty of God's creation. And may this light inspire us to see our lives as Tov.
 

This week we read a double parasha, as happens in years that are not a leap year. The first of the two begins, “You stand this day, all of you, before the Lord your God . . .” What is happening here?

We are near the end of Deuteronomy and approaching the time when we will enter the land of Israel . Much of what we have read is a historical repetition of things that have happened in the desert, and now Moses is calling the people of Israel together and giving them their final message. What is that message? Certainly, remember where you came from, but I think there is much more in this initial statement. By having the people all come together, Moses is reminding them that we are not only individuals but a community as well—that by coming together and standing as one, we have much more impact than we ever can alone. It is a reminder that we are meant to be part of a community and find a home in that unity.

But most of all, I think that there is a clear message to not just “sit” idly and watch the world pass us by. One of the most powerful messages of this verse can be seen in the imperative to “stand.” In English we understand that standing for something has a deeper meaning as well. In Moses speech I hear him telling the people, “come together and stand for the things you believe in.” What more powerful lesson can we hear during this season? Shabbat Shalom.

We are a Passover people. The most popular ritual that is observed by Jews throughout the world is the Passover Seder. Once a year, Jews gather together around the table and recite the story of how we were brought forth from Egypt .

The central line of the Hagaddah, comes from this weeks Parasha; Ki Tavoh.

“And you shall say before the Lord your God….And God brought us out from Egypt with a mighty hand, and an outstretched arm, and with awesome power, and by signs and wonders.”

Yet, if we look closely in this week's Parasha, we will notice that the verse continues.

“God brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey.”

Why isn't the verse completed? Because upon the recital of this verse, we are still in Egypt .

We are a Passover people. We are free, and we live with more choices than any other generation of Jews. Nevertheless, many of us still feel our Jewish souls are locked in Egypt , a land where we are afraid to express our Jewish souls as we would want to, and sing ours songs with love and joy and without insecurity.

The Seder concludes with Lishanah Habah biyerushalyim, next year in Jerusalem .

May this year be the year we complete the verse and our sacred journey. Shabbat Shalom.

This week's parasha contains one of the largest sections of miscellaneous laws in the Torah, and when faced with such a daunting list, I often try to find connections and similarities between the specifics to draw out some general principles. Ki Tetze seems filled with laws dealing with the ethical treatment of others. Not only that, but many of the laws mentioned in our parasha seem particularly interested in caring for those whom we would normally ignore: a captive woman from a battle, a mother bird whose young we are taking to eat, the stranger who may fall from our roof (and so we are required to build a railing). All of these are examples of things we may not normally think of, people who are often left behind.

The imperative, therefore, is a rather unusual one—think of those things you would not normally think about. It is too easy for us to focus all of our attention and energy on those people and items around us we care for the most. This week we are reminded that there is more in the world than our limited area of comfort and we have an obligation to that as well.

There are many ways for us to bring the lessons of Ki Tetze into our every day lives. One could say that beginning with a smile is already a wonderful way to open our eyes and hearts to those around us. As we approach the New Year, we understand that this month of Elul is time for reflection. Let us open that reflection so that it contains more than merely our own face. Shabbat Shalom.

There is an old Hassidic teaching about the prayer for Peace, Oseh Shalom. Why do we take three steps back and then three steps forward when we say Oseh Shalom? In order to make peace we need to take a step back, reassess the situation, and reassess our own actions before we can take steps forward, towards Peace.

This idea can be seen in our Torah portion as well. We are to appoint Shoftim, and then Shotrim over us to rule. Shoftim are judges, people who listen, assess and then determine. Shotrim is the word for policeman, these are the people who enforce the law. According to our Torah, the first step towards justice is to listen, the next step is to enforce.

We live in a Law and Order world. We make judgements quickly, as we cannot afford the time to listen. We like the TV show Law and Order because, in addition to the sharp dialogue and witticisms, it begins with the policemen and concludes in the courtroom. Nevertheless, if we want Peace, if we want Tikun Olam, our world to be repaired, we need to find time in our busy lives to listen, and restraint in our hearts not to prejudge.

This week marks the beginning of the month of Elul, the month before the High Holidays. This week we begin our journey towards Yom Kippur, the day Judgement is determined. As we hope and pray for God to listen to our prayers on Rosh Hashanah, so may we find the ability to listen, and the strength to forgive.

Good luck and Shabbat Shalom!

Often different people see the same event in very different ways, but this week's parasha reminds us that sometimes even the same person can see things differently when they find themselves in a different place or mind-set. In Va'Ethanan we find a reprise of the Ten Commandments; however, we see clear differences in the versions. The rabbis of old have put forth a tradition that both versions were uttered simultaneously by God—a feat not capable of anyone but God.

However, I would like to share a different understanding of why the words of the Commandments change from Exodus to Deuteronomy. The main difference can be found in the reasons to Keep or Remember Shabbat. In Exodus we find the reason for Shabbat is that God created the world in six days and rested on the seventh. Deuteronomy relates, however, that the reason to keep Shabbat is that we were slaves in Egypt and now we are free.

An examination of context will help us a great deal in seeing the reasons for the change. When the Torah was given in Exodus the Israelites had just come out of slavery. They did not know God. They did not know rest. All they knew was slavery, and they needed to understand that this is not the way God intended them to live. Shabbat breaks the bonds of slavery, and reminds them that God is the Creator. In Deuteronomy, Moses is recapping their story after forty years of wandering in the desert. These people knew God quite well, as it is God who has taken care of them for the last forty years. What they now needed to remember is from whence they came. They must always recall that they were slaves and that they should celebrate the freedom of Shabbat as a treasure. As we read the Torah in today's world, we realize more than ever that we need both.

This week, esoteric Moses, who dwelled with God on the top of Mount Sinai , revealed his human heart as he said, “I cannot bear the burden of you myself.” (1:9)

I think Mel Brooks was actually on to something when he portrayed Moses walked down with the three tablets, err two tablets from Mount Sinai . Moses was overwhelmed with the burden of 15 commandments, and had to drop one tablet.

Our hands are also full. We live busy lives maintaining the needs of our children, our families, and ourselves. And sometimes, once in a long while, we drop a tablet, and a meeting is forgotten, we are 15 minutes late to day care, and sometimes, the dog isn't fed!

Yet what does Moses do when he realizes he is overwhelmed? He listens to his father in law, Jethro, who suggests that he shares some of his own responsibilities with his community.

Allow me to share with you two secrets. All of us have moments when we are Moses, and all of us have moments when we are Jethro. We get overwhelmed, and yet we also have the capacity to lighten the load of our neighbors.

Our Torah portion, Matot-Masei begins with a simple supposition: If a man makes a vow to the Lord or takes an oath imposing an obligation on himself, he shall not break his pledge; he must carry out all that has crossed his lips. [Matot, 30:3]

Can you imagine what would happen if the local gyms found out about this verse? We would actually have to go! Upon reading this verse we are challenged to weigh each word that comes out of our mouth, as each word impacts our actions. We are accountable for what we say.

But what about the people who don't have the power to do what they say?

Our Torah adds that in almost all cases, a woman's father or husband is responsible for the oaths uttered by her.

Today, it is easy for many of us, men and women, to dismiss this idea, and the limitations it sets on women. It doesn't pertain to our lifestyles. It is easier for us to accept the first commandment that emphasizes the authority our tradition allocates to the words that leave our mouths, and our ability and freedom to make these oaths and fulfill them.

Another reason we dismiss the latter idea is because it suggests that there are people who do not have the ability and freedom to fulfill their oaths. These people lack the control that we cherish. There are those of us who do get stuck in traffic, get caught up meeting the needs of coworkers or family members, or sadly, get lost under the influence of vices like alcohol.

Perhaps when we find ourselves in these moments of vulnerability we can consider that the Torah speaks to us at these moments as well. The Torah makes an allowance for us when we are stuck on the 805. Can you offer the same to your friends and co-workers?

In this week's Parasha, the daughers of Zelophehad (say that five times fast) approached Moses with a legitimate concern. Their father had passed away and as he had no sons, his inheritance would not be handed down to his family, as he had only daughters. Oy. They brought a legitimate concern, and they asked Moses to hear their voice and correct a wrong.

However, before they mention their question they say: “Avinu… lo hayah..badat Korach,” or “We were not members of the fraction of Korach!” Our sages teach: Why did they need to add this? To remind Moses that they were not seeking to attack him or his authority, rather they needed help, and at the very least, they simply wanted to have their voices be heard.

If only everyone was like Zelophehad's articulate daughters. If only each time our children had a real concern they took a moment to demonstrate that they did not want to challenge our authority, they only wanted us to hear a genuine concern. The same also could be said for others in our lives such as our coworkers, friends, and fellow community-members. Yet, who has time to add such clarifications? As a result, we are challenged to listen with full faith that the modern day

daughters of Zelophehad are simply asking us to hear their voices, and hoping we can offer help or assistance.

On those days when this type of faith was hard to come by we can consider that the reason our Talmud is so big is because the editor allowed for minority opinions.

Stories are one of the most powerful ways to transmit a message. Perhaps that is why much of our history is written down in the form of stories and narrative. However, sometimes we read a particular tale that makes it hard for many of us in the modern world to connect. The story of Balaam and the donkey found in this week's parasha is just such an example.

There are many miracles and mysterious events that we take for granted in the Torah, but the idea of a talking donkey seems to be beyond the pale. Perhaps if we understand that the purpose here is no different than other sections of the Torah, it will help us to understand the story. Torah was given to convey message and meaning, and the Balaam story is no exception. All too often we are so task oriented that we ignore the important things that are all around us. In a strong and memorable way, the tale of Balaam and the donkey bring this idea to the forefront.

To see how this works and continue the discussion, join us Shabbat morning as this story will be the focus of our conversation.