How to Build a Simple Sukkah

by Rabbi Russ Resnik, UMJC Rabbinic Counsel

Immediately after Yom Kippur is the time to build your Sukkah, in preparation for Sukkot, which begins this year on Sunday, September 23, at sundown. This gives you only three more days to build, but don’t worry—a kosher sukkah is supposed to be makeshift and flimsy. All you need is a structure shaped like one of the letters in the Hebrew word SUKKAH:

One of the walls (but no more) can be your house or another existing building. Sink corner posts in the ground, set them in cinder blocks, or prop them up any way you want. Nail boards, panels of plywood or particle board, fabric, or whatever you want, to your posts. The roof can be flimsy also; you need to be able to see the stars through it to be truly kosher. Make a rough frame of 1X boards, or something similar, and cover it with leafy branches. Size is up to you, as long as you can fit in a table and a few chairs. Hint: don’t make it too big or it will be hard to keep the roof from sagging.

Once you get your Sukkah up, make sure that it won’t fall down on your head. Then you can decorate it with pictures of Jerusalem, paper chains, hanging fruit, flowers, branches, and so on. Put in a little rug to make it cozier. Bring in an extension cord so you can have light at night. Remember that it might rain (especially since we pray for rain during Sukkot), so protect articles that could get damaged.

So, now it’s time to dwell in your booth already! Tradition says that if you eat your meals in the Sukkah, you are fulfilling the commandment. Some hardy souls sleep in their Sukkah also.

Here’s what you need for an 8 X 8 sukkah, based on the three-wall design above:

4          8 foot 2 x 3 or 2 X 4 boards

8          cinder blocks to prop them up, or use longer boards and sink them a foot or so into the ground, or get three additional boards and connect them together at ground level to make a free-standing structure, leaving the front of the sukkah open

10        1 X 2 boards: two are screwed or nailed into the heavier boards to form each of three sides, and four are laid across the top and attached

3          8’ X 8’ panels of cloth, light plywood, bamboo, etc. for sides, to be attached to 1 X 2s

And finally, plenty of tree trimmings, branches, or bamboo, cornstalks, etc., for the roof.

Chag sameach! 

Praying for Rain

by Rabbi Isaac S. Roussel - Congregation Zera Avraham, Ann Arbor, Michigan

We tend to think of the High Holy Days as its own unit, and that is true. But really it is a distinct segment of a whole season that begins with Rosh Chodesh Elul, the first day of the month of Elul, and ends with Sukkot.

Traditionally, every day during Elul, people recite Psalm 27. It expresses our desire to be in deep communion and closeness to Hashem. Verse 4 says “Achat sha’alti me’et Adonai . . . One thing I ask of the Lord and this is what I desire, to dwell in the house of Adonai all the days of my life.” And the following verse contains God’s response, “He will surely give me shelter . . . he will hide me in his home.” The word “shelter” here is sukkah. Thus the ultimate goal of this whole season is to dwell with Hashem in his sukkah. This brings us joy.

But we must have done the hard work of Heshbon ha-Nefesh, self-introspection, and Teshuvah, repentance, during the Ten Days of Awe before we get there.

In Parashat Haazinu, we have a song that Moses sings to the people on his last day on earth. One of the opening verses is, “My lesson will drip like rain; my word will flow like dew; like storm winds on vegetation and like raindrops on grass” (Deut. 32:2). Rashi says that this points to Torah as the life-giving rain. But Rashbam points out that the word used for drip (ya’arof) can also mean “break.” He likens it to the egla arufah, the calf that has its neck broken to atone for an unsolved murder. (The word has the sense of falling down and so it also came to be used for bending something down to break it.) Rashbam, therefore, considers Torah as something that breaks us open, preparing us to receive the rain. This is similar to another comment that Rashi makes on this passage. He states that just as storm winds strengthen the grasses, so too Torah strengthens us as it challenges us.

This is what we must go through during the Ten Days to get to the sukkah. We must let the liturgy and the Torah readings break us open. It is a time when we look deep inside ourselves and ask God to reveal any hidden sins in our lives. How have we hardened our hearts towards God or others? We allow the “storm winds” to batter us because we know that it will strengthen us and bring us new life and new growth.

We resume praying for rain at Sukkot. Having done the hard work of “breaking open” during the Days of Awe, let us sit and soak in the life-giving rains of Torah and God’s blessings. The sukkah must have at least three walls. We can envision the walls of the sukkah as the body and arms of God embracing us as we dwell there. May we truly find the desire of our heart to dwell in the house of Adonai, and to be hidden in his home. May we experience Hashem’s forgiveness and inner healing. May we all find new growth in our relationship with God and others in this upcoming year.

Hag Sameach—a joyous Sukkot!

Yom Kippur: Looking forward

by Rabbi D. Friedman, Jerusalem

Yom Kippur has a solemnity that is strong. The entire Jewish world halts for 25 hours or more, and is engaged in either our prayers and readings in synagogue, or for the more secular, staying at home and ceasing regular activity. Everyone abstains from eating. Only when the shofar sounds to seal Israel’s prayers for the day, does the heavy solemnity lift itself off and away. Many people feel a profound sense of relief then, as keeping away from food and focusing all day on petitions to Heaven feels incredibly intense, both physically and emotionally.

In history, during the late 2nd Temple period, Yom Kippur also entailed some anxious moments, as the public crowds that gathered in Jerusalem at the Temple courts waited word on whether the goat’s thread had turned to white (from red), indicating that God had accepted Israel’s petitions for that day, and had forgiven their sins.

Our people have carried, and still do, a sense of heaviness and solemnity into Yom Kippur. This may not be the theological ideal, but it is my observation and it is our experience. I imagine most of you can relate with my point here.

I want to look for just a second into the future. What will Yom Kippur be like when Messiah ben David returns home to Jerusalem? I imagine we don’t think of this question very often. Yet the answer can both surprise us, and perhaps lend some light to part Yom Kippur that we miss.

So declares Adonai of the Heavenly Armies: “The fast of the fourth (month), and the fast of the fifth (month), and the fast of the seventh (month), and the fast of the tenth (month) will be for rejoicing and joy, and for good appointed times; so love truth and peace.” (Zechariah 8:19, my translation)

Torah interpretation usually looks at the fast of the fourth month as the fast of the 17th of Tammuz; the fast of the fifth month is the ninth of Av; the fast of the seventh month can either be the Fast of Gedaliah or Yom Kippur. And the fast of the tenth month is the tenth of Tevet. Typically, the idea is that when the Temple is rebuilt, these days of mourning and fasting shall become days of joy and celebrating. The Rambam (d. 1204), the renowned and prolific Bible commentator, wrote that these fast days will be days of celebration in the days of the Messiah. Certainly Zechariah 8:19 would have been understood to refer to the future, since in Zechariah’s day, no changes were conferred to these times.

Additionally, may I bring out that the Hebrew word mo’ed is used here to identify these times? According to Leviticus 23, Yom Kippur is indeed a mo’ed, and it is in the seventh month (today’s month of Tishrei).

Additionally, Isaiah chapter 58 appears to be addressing Yom Kippur, when we read:

Why should we fast, if you don’t see? Why mortify ourselves, if you don’t notice?’ “Here is my answer: when you fast, you go about doing whatever you like, while keeping your laborers hard at work. Your fasts lead to quarreling and fighting, to lashing out with violent blows. On a day like today, fasting like yours will not make your voice heard on high. 

“Is this the sort of fast I want, a day when a person mortifies himself? Is the object to hang your head like a reed and spread sackcloth and ashes under yourself? Is this what you call a fast, a day that pleases ADONAI?

“Here is the sort of fast I want—releasing those unjustly bound, untying the thongs of the yoke, letting the oppressed go free, breaking every yoke, sharing your food with the hungry, taking the homeless poor into your house, clothing the naked when you see them, fulfilling your duty to your kinsmen!” 

Then your light will burst forth like the morning, your new skin will quickly grow over your wound; your righteousness will precede you, and ADONAI’s glory will follow you. Then you will call, and ADONAI will answer; you will cry, and he will say, “Here I am.” If you will remove the yoke from among you, stop false accusation and slander, generously offer food to the hungry and meet the needs of the person in trouble; then your light will rise in the darkness, and your gloom become like noon. (Isa. 58:3–10, CJB)

Why does Isaiah 58 appear to address Yom Kippur activities? This chapter centers on fasting and our ancestors’ behavior during fasting, and is punctuated with what God expects our fast day(s) to entail. Indeed, Isaiah 58:3–7 is included in our Yom Kippur liturgy! Thus, we do have a strong connection here. One contemporary rabbi stated: “I think the speech (Isa. 58:3–7) was actually given as an interruption of a Yom Kippur service, or at minimum is deliberately written as if it were.”

Given the ideal that Isaiah teaches us regarding days of fasting, I wonder if, in the days of Messiah’s return, Yom Kippur will change. Instead of being a day of total solemnity and supplication, will it become a day of serving those in a position of need, and a day of joy . . . even if we fast? On the other hand, Messiah Yeshua taught “when the bridegroom is present, there is no need for fasting” (cf. Mt. 9:15). Perhaps the fasting element of Yom Kippur will not exist in future days. On the other hand, we are instructed in the Torah l’anot to “afflict our souls” on Yom Kippur (Lev. 16:20), meaning to make the day difficult, which we’ve always interpreted as fasting. This is Torah from Mt. Sinai, which Messiah will not cancel, but will demonstrate and establish, as he did in the 1st century.

May we enter this Yom Kippur and experience what it was created to be; may we not be overwhelmed by solemnity, but may we able to reach out to others on this very day, as Isaiah wrote.

The Call to Remember

A D’rash for Rosh Hashanah, by Rabbi Paul L. Saal

Congregation Shuvah Yisrael, Bloomfield, CT

If you look in Torah you will not see the name for this holiday as Rosh Hashanah. It is called Yom Teruah, or the day of the blasting of the shofar. This is altogether appropriate since the blowing of the shofar, many times over, is the liturgical highlight of the holiday.

But tradition has given this day several other names that express some of its important meaning. One of those names is Yom HaZikaron, or the Day of Remembrance. As the shofar blows, we are asked to recall several things of which the blasts are evocative, for the three major sounds of the shofar recall three big ideas that we are to remember.

Remember creation

The primary sound of the shofar is the tekiah, a long straight blast, nine beats long. It is a grand sound that was originally used for proclamation and for coronation. Tradition holds that Rosh Hashanah is the anniversary of creation. The tekiah reminds us that the Holy One who himself laid out the heavens and the earth is sovereign over creation, so that we can be kept from idolatry, fear, and self-centeredness. The awareness that he sits upon the throne of the world means that we don’t have to bear the weight of that world on our own shoulders.

God remembers us

The second sound is the shevarim, a moaning sound expressed in three broken blasts, each three beats long. The modulated wail of the shevarim sounds almost like the bleat of a suffering animal. It serves as a reminder of the suffering in the world. The world is in a state of disrepair. Despite our very best efforts there is a potentially disheartening reality that the present state of the world does not seem to be improving. Our hope therefore is not in our own efforts and abilities alone, but rather in the faithfulness of the Sovereign. We cry out to him in all of our prayers to remember us, and out of our desperation comes the source of our hope. Our fervent belief that God will remember us ignites the spark of the divine deep within us.

Remember teshuvah

The third and final category of sounds from the shofar is teruah, a series of nine staccato beats that sound an alarm within us. The theme of Isaac’s akeida or binding comes to mind; the quintessential example of human sacrifice out of obedience to the greater and ineffable purposes of the sovereign God. Isaac’s trial reminds us of Yeshua’s akeida, and his ultimate sacrifice for us. We are also reminded of our own impending trial, whereby during the yamim noraim, the ten days of awe, not only our own fate hangs in the balance, but the fate of the entire world. According to Maimonides,

Everyone should consider himself throughout the year as exactly balanced between acquittal and guilt. So, too, he should consider the world as equally balanced between acquittal and guilt. For if he commits one additional sin he tilts the scale of guilt against himself and the world and brings down destruction. If he performs one good deed, he swings himself and the whole world into the scale of merit and causes salvation and deliverance to himself and his fellow men.

Teruah evokes a sense of urgency deep within, calling attention to the imminent danger that surrounds us. The world is not only in need of divine restoration, but the need is so immediate that we cannot help but get involved, we cannot help but follow the example of Yeshua. The sound of the teruah will not allow us to anesthetize ourselves with whatever idolatry du jour a debased culture wishes to throw at us. As a holy nation of priests we have the privilege and responsibility to partner with God in the repair of our world. We do not withdraw from the world and circle the wagons, but rather we recognize the common experience we share with all people, including the joy, sorrows, hopes, pains and delights. We uphold the worthiness of involvement in the spheres of medicine, the arts, politics, humanitarian endeavors and all such society building efforts. We of course want to be sensitive to the moving of the Ruach, and our spiritual gifting, but we want to avoid any superficiality or excess that would detract from the present reality of the Spirit’s supernatural disclosure.

We have a great hope that Hashem will restore all things to perfect order. This does not mean that we should sit back and fail to be concerned with the state of the world. Nor does it preclude any responsibility on our part; in fact it demands participation from us. In the words of rabbi Tarfon from Pirkei Avot, “You are not responsible to complete the task, but neither are you free to desist from it.” Kefa even suggests that our righteous acts can hasten the day of God’s redemption (2 Peter 3:12).

The Great Remembrance

Remembrance is a two-way street. We remember the great deeds of God as well as his many promises to us. But we also cry out for him to remember us, not with the drone of pessimism and a whimper of defeat, but with the voice of expectation because we have a great and a faithful King, and the goodness of his Kingdom is quickly coming for those who pursue it diligently. The last blast of the shofar is the tekiah gedolah, or the great tekiah. If tekiah is the sound of coronation, the voice of pregnant expectation, then the great tekiah is the voice of assurance and confidence. It is the regal sound that announces the reality that is greater than our present reality, a time, a place, a world saturated in the glory of our Creator. This is not the fictitious utopia of frustrated existentialists, but a glimpse through the looking glass at a certain future, a perfect peace that we invite to invade our present world.

This Rosh Hashanah as we hear the shofar as we are commanded in Torah, let’s not fail to remember. Remember our Creator, and remember that he remembers us. May the God who remembered Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, remember each of us, and write us down for a good year!

Re-Righting Our Stories

Parashat Nitsavim-Vayelech, Deuteronomy 29:10 – 31:30

by Rabbi Paul L. Saal, Shuvah Yisrael, W. Hartford, CT

 I am now one hundred and twenty years old; I can no longer be active. (Deuteronomy 31:1)

With that surprising announcement, Moses begins his final address to the children of Israel. When Moses completes this address, he will have accomplished what few others take the opportunity to do. With the completion of Deuteronomy Moses gave Israel its code of law, ethics, and ritual practice, but also he recorded for posterity his own story. But not only did he write his story, Moses managed to right his story.

The life of Moses was like a three-act play in which each act had a forty-year duration. In the first act Moses thought he was somebody, having found himself a prince in Egypt, removed from the lowly plight of his brethren. In the second act Moses found out he was nobody, having been sent into exile in the wilderness of Midian and encountering the inscrutable God in a fire-retardant bush. Finally, in the last act, Moses learns what God can do with somebody who thinks he is nobody. Though Moses could not control the events of his life, he nonetheless took the opportunity through obedience to write and re-right the conclusion of his own story.

This reminds me of Alfred Nobel (1833-1896) the inventor of dynamite, who had the rare opportunity to read his own death notice. When his brother passed away a newspaper believing Alfred had died ran his obituary. They described him as the man who had made it possible for more people to be killed quickly than any person had had ever lived. It was not how he wanted to be remembered, so he began to re-“right” his own story. He created the Nobel Prize and his name is now tied indelibly to the peace process, and the advancement of the sciences and the humanities.

Though few will ever reach the level of renown of Moses, or even Alfred Nobel, each of us has the same opportunity to finish our own stories and to not only write them, but also re-right them. The process is called teshuvah, commonly translated repentance. Teshuvah is the process of turning our lives around, and reorienting our stories to the script that our Creator envisioned for us. Teshuvah is a good idea anytime throughout the year, but as we approach the yamim noraim, the ten days of introspection between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, our attention is especially drawn toward repentance. But how do we affect teshuvah without merely going through perfunctory motions? When my parents were in school they taught the 3R’s – reading, riting, and ‘rithmetic. If we want to do a re-righting of our own stories we must go back to school and learn the five R’s of repentance: Recognition, Remorse, Restitution, Reorientation, and Restoration.

Recognition – This is the act of separating what we are from what we have done. Shame is a heavy feeling associated with a sense of worthlessness, but when we recognize that we are created in the image of a loving God we can separate our mistakes and misdeeds from the litany of accusations we carry around as scars from living in a debased culture. According to a midrashic saying, “The moment a man is willing to see himself as he is and make the confession ‘I have sinned’, from that moment the powers of evil lose their power over him.”

It is imperative then that we recognize the wrongs we have done to ourselves, to God, and to our fellows. When we deflect criticism and externalize our difficulties it eliminates our own culpability and short-circuits God’s plan to liberate us.

Remorse – Though shame is inappropriate for a child of God, guilt can be altogether proper. Proper guilt is the nagging feeling that we are culpable for having done wrong. One of the reasons we don’t really repent, one of the reasons we don’t really change from year to year, one of the reasons Yom Kippur becomes for too many people an exercise in really bad play-acting, is that we have lost the capacity to feel badly about what we have done. We won’t even let God tell us how we are doing. In effect we can become immune to guilt, but are left to the dull aching pain of shame. True repentance requires that we cultivate sensitive spirits that ache when we are in unrepentant sin.

It is human nature to avoid feelings of remorse. Three common ways to dodge these feelings are:

• Confessing what has been already corrected. These are exercises in clever subterfuge and false humility, such as recovering alcoholics reveling in old war stories from their drinking days. Past victories cannot protect us from today’s spiritual battles.
• Blame shifting from ourselves to others. To make teshuvah we must focus on our own culpability.
• Indictment of others. By pointing out other’s deficiencies we can avoid criticism. After all the best defense is a good offense.

Restitution – making things right. Eliezer ben Azariah said, “For transgressions against God the day of Atonement atones, but for transgressions against a fellow man, the Day of Atonement does not atone, so long as the sinner has not redressed the wrong done and conciliated the man he has sinned against.” In the same way, the atonement of Yeshua has been accomplished once and for all, but we have a responsibility when we accept God’s forgiveness to make amends for the wrongs we have done against others. Yochanan asks, “How can you love God whom you have not seen if you don’t love your brother whom you have seen?” (1 John 4:20).

 It is not imperative that the other party forgives you, rather that you are willing to make amends.

Reorientation – This is the firm commitment to do things differently from now on. We can’t go back to where we have been, but somehow opportunities to change re-present themselves. “Let the wicked forsake his ways, and the unrighteous man his thoughts; let him return to the LORD, that he may have mercy on him, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon” (Isa. 55:7).

Restoration – There is no feeling like that of divine pardon. If shame is an unbearable burden, then God’s forgiveness is an incredible lightness, an enormous easing of burden:

• Like a huge burden lifted off your shoulders;
• Like a beautiful day after muggy, drizzly weather;
• Like coming home after being away for a long time;
• Like being able to scratch an itch you couldn’t reach;
• Like the exuberance that comes with falling in love.

All these are inadequate attempts to explain the kind of freedom of conscience you feel when you engage in teshuvah.

The rabbis of old said,

The Gates of Repentance are ever open. As the sea is always accessible, so is the Holy One, blessed be he, always accessible to the penitent. The person who has done wrong and repents is on a higher spiritual plane than the person who has not. Better is one hour of repentance and good deeds in this world than the whole life of the world to come.

Much of our stories were written before we were even aware how life had enveloped us. Yet there is much that we can take responsibility for. So, take the time to learn the five R’s of repentance, and write and re-right the best part of your story – the part that starts today. May this year be one of genuine teshuvah, and may the rest of your life be more abundant.

L’shana Tovah

Taking Our Place in the Story

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

by Jared Eaton, Simchat Yisrael, West Haven, CT

The Torah often reads like an epic saga on a par with the Greek myths of Hercules, Perseus or Achilles. The Scriptures are filled with the exploits of larger than life heroes like the courageous Noah, the faithful Abraham, the valiant Joseph.

Sometimes reading the tales of these great and accomplished men makes me feel much less significant, less brave and less dedicated than I felt before. My story is much smaller. I have achieved far less. How can I take my place in such a star- studded line-up? How, in the face of such greatness, can I as a Jew compare?

That’s why this week’s parasha, Ki Tavo, is so refreshing. The protagonist of this week’s story is not a great prophet like Moses or a mighty warrior like Joshua. Our hero is a simple farmer, an unnamed future settler in the land of Israel.

The parasha begins by telling us about a first-fruits offering the people of Israel are to present to the Lord when they finally inhabit the land. On first reading, the mitzvahseems straightforward. This is simply a commandment to tithe, right?

This tithe, however, is different. There is an elaborate ritual involved with this offering. The Torah relates how the farmer is to collect the first fruits of his produce and bring them in a basket to the kohen. But he can’t just drop them off in the parking lot of the temple like a Goodwill donation! The farmer must present the offering to the kohen and then say . . .

I declare today to Adonai, your God, that I have entered the land Adonai swore to our fathers to give us. Deut. 26:3

After the offering is accepted, the farmer must then proclaim, “My father was a wandering Aramean . . .” and give a condensed version of the history of the Jewish people from the time of Jacob up until the present.

Why does he need to do any of this? The kohen must be sick to death of hearing it over and over again, and God already knows this story, probably far better than the farmer! Whose benefit is this story for?

It’s easy, in hindsight, to take the story of the fulfillment of God’s promise to Abraham for granted. But imagine how this story must have felt to the great heroes who actually lived it, our illustrious patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

Abraham received this magnificent promise from God…

I will make you into a great nation,
and I will bless you;
I will make your name great,
and you will be a blessing.

 I will bless those who bless you,
and whoever curses you I will curse;
and all peoples on earth
will be blessed through you. Gen. 12:2–3

Abraham is expecting to have many children and to have a great land for them to dwell in, but at the end of his life he has only a single son and the only land he owns is a tiny burial plot.

Isaac must have believed that it was up to him to actualize God’s promise to his father. He spends his life digging wells to establish his family’s presence in the land, but by the end of his life his wells have been stopped up by the Philistines and have caused him nothing but grief. He is no more established in the land than his father was and he has only two children, hardly the great nation God promised.

Finally, Jacob seems to be the one through whom God will realize his promise. Jacob has twelve sons, a fine start to a great nation, but Jacob sees all of that promise slip through his fingers when Joseph is sold into Egypt. Eventually Jacob’s whole family ends up in Egypt and for hundreds of years they remain there.

God makes Israel into a great nation, but he does it apart from the land. The promise has been split up and the Jews will be in exile for a very long time. The book of Genesis ends with the promises unfulfilled.

The patriarchs, for all of their courage and faithfulness and spiritual strength, failed to realize in their own lifetimes the promises that God had made to them. They must have been so disappointed by the story of their lives.

Until the little farmer comes along. The protagonist of this week’s parasha is not a great prophet or a mighty warrior, but he is every bit as important to the Jewish story as Moses or Joshua.

That farmer is the fulfillment of Gods’ promise to Abraham. After countless years of exile and wandering and striving to return, this little farmer finally comes home to the land that the Lord swore to his fathers to give him.

And when he brings the first fruits of his first-ever harvest to the temple, he doesn’t just drop them off. He stands before the Lord and declares that he has entered the promised land and he is taking his place in the Jewish story alongside Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

Ina few weeks, the Torah reading cycle will come to its end and the scrolls will be rolled back to the beginning. But the story of the Jewish people doesn’t end there. It’s an ongoing tale of the love God has for his people and new heroes are entering this story every day.

Today, many Jews are still not living in the land God promised and delivered to our fathers. But God promised more than just land and children to Abraham. God told Abraham . . .

All peoples on earth
will be blessed through you.

And all peoples have been blessed through Messiah Yeshua. When we partner with our Messiah in blessing the whole world, we too, take our place in the Jewish story and stand alongside our heroes.

Love in Action

Parashat Ki Tetse, Deuteronomy 21:10-25:19

by Jonathan Roush, Beth Messiah Congregation, Montgomery Village, MD

Our Torah portion this week is full of principles guiding how the people of Israel are to interact with each other in daily, civil life. These laws range from dividing up property and inheritance to how to treat corpses. It talks about treatment of slaves and prostitutes, safety in house building, and more. Rules and regulations abound, but I contend that they are an outworking of what the passage is really about. Ki Tetse is about love. There are all kinds of love, and I hope that you will come to see, as I have, that in this wonderful section of Scripture “Love” is actually at the core of what we read.

The passage reminds me of John 21:15-17 (Delitzsch Hebrew Gospels), where Yeshua instructs Peter: “Feed my sheep,” then, “Tend my sheep,” and finally, “Feed my sheep.”

These weren’t glib suggestions. He wasn’t saying, “Hey, if you love me here are some things you can do.” Instead this series of transactions needs to be read as “if/then” statements: ”If you love me then . . .”

Of all the things Yeshua could have told Peter, why these three? I hardly think that Yeshua’s record was skipping. He was making clear that love and devotion to Israel’s Messiah requires action. “If you love me, then you will do . . .”

What action(s) are we called to? Yeshua employs the analogy of the shepherd and sheep. A shepherd has to do certain things in order to take care of the sheep.

“Feed my sheep.” The Greek word bos–ko literally means “to feed”; much as the prodigal son fed the pigs in Luke 15:15.

“To tend” or “shepherd” my sheep is poi-ma-i-no. This Greek word carries more weight than the previous word, bosko, does. It implies a more holistic and full-bodied approach, not simply feeding someone, but caring for the entire person.

The third thing Yeshua says to Peter echoes the first thing: “Feed my sheep,” again bosko.

“If you love me . . . act.” Straightforward. “If you love me, feed my sheep,” “care for my sheep,” and once again, “feed my sheep.”

There are different ways to feed people. The first is literally to make sure that people have food. The second is spiritual nourishment.

Let’s see if we can put even more flesh on these ideas by looking at Matthew 25 (Delitzsch Hebrew Gospels).

In verses 35 and 36 what are the things that Yeshua says were done?

I was hungry and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you have me a drink. I was traveling, and you took me in, naked, and you covered me, sick, and you visited me. I was in prison and you came to me.

This is the feeding, tending, and shepherding that Yeshua talks about in John 21, bosko and poimaino. Caring for the whole person, the tangible needs and the intangible needs, including spiritual ones.

Those who did the feeding and tending, those who acted, are told, “Come, those who are blessed of my Father and possess the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.”

What a temptation it is for us to talk loud and long about the problems we see in the world, yet here we see that it is the doers who are welcomed in.

The apostle Paul exhorted the Corinthians to “not be a clanging cymbal” (1 Corinthians 13:1). This applies to us. Don’t talk. Go do. Everyone talks, but a woeful few go and do.

Picking up at Matthew 25:41—

Go away from me those who are cursed . . . for I was hungry, but you did not feed me. I was thirsty, but you did not give me a drink. I was traveling, but you did not take me in: naked, but you did not cover me; sick and in prison, but you did not visit me.

These are those who spoke but didn’t do.

“Do you love me?” “Feed my lambs.” Make sure they have enough food.

“Do you love me?” “Tend my sheep.” Watch over their well-being, and make sure they are taken care of.

Again, “Do you love me??” “Feed my sheep.” Make sure they are being nurtured with the words and teachings of the Messiah.

A few years ago in The Set Table (an online study guide), Jen Rosner summed up the passage in John wonderfully. “Like Peter, we cling to a biblical narrative that is carried forward by decisive acts of G-d. And yet, G-d has not chosen to act alone in the drama.” Our “passage demonstrates anew that G-d has called us to partner with him in the ongoing work of redemption.”

Yes, we are active partners. Perhaps this responsibility can be a little scary.

In last week’s UMJC drash on Parashat Shof’tim Dr. Patrice Fischer rightfully pointed out that we must count the cost of discipleship. Our acceptance of Yeshua as Messiah is not and cannot be a passive thing. It is a call to us for decisive action in this world. It’s a command to each of us and for each of us to “do”.
However, we must still peel back the “Why all of these commandments?”

Once we do, we find that what we read in Ki Tetse is meant to mold and shape how we think about others in relationship to ourselves (not the other way around). We are shown how to love the other and to love each other through deliberate thought and action. We are shown a way of life where we take care of each other and where we are to be mindful of the consequences of our actions and our inaction(s). Ki Tetse is not about restrictions as much as it is about love for each other and treating each other with the sort of care that the people of God must be known for.

Let us be careful to walk in obedience to Yeshua, quietly leaving a wake of his love and care behind us for all those with whom we come into contact. And may we be less clanging cymbal as we remember the exhortation, “Children, let us not love with word or talk, but in deed and truth!” (1 John 3:18 TLV).

Counting the Cost

Parashat Shof’tim, Deuteronomy 16:18–21:9

by Dr. Patrice Fischer, Congregation Ohr Chadash, Clearwater, FL

Shof’tim has dozens of passages of instruction: Don’t worship idols, how courts and kings should behave, the Prophet like Moses, etc. One particular section, Dt. 20:1–9, does not seem that memorable on the surface. It discusses some of the instructions for waging war against the various Canaanite city-states that the Israelites must oust from their Promised Land. Remember, these people are only one generation away from centuries of slavery in Egypt. Aside from one battle fought by the older, original generation (against the Amalekites—Ex. 17), they have no direct battle experience, much less military training. It is important to make sure that the army, which acts on the behalf of the whole people, does not go into battle before understanding what exactly the Lord expects them to do (and not to do).

It is the Lord your God who marches with you to do battle for you against your enemy, to bring you to victory. (Dt. 20:3)

The officers are to speak with the army, beginning with instructions about those who are not whole-heartedly committed to fighting directly with the Canaanite city-states; these particular fighting men need to go home.

Wait—what? Those that don’t want to fight can return home? How can this attitude win any war? Don’t we need all-hands-on-deck (to use an anachronistic metaphor)?

Evidently not. The Lord doesn’t need every single person who volunteers, including those who are “afraid and disheartened” (20:8). Those who volunteer need to think long and hard over whether they should participate in battlefield duty. After consideration, a soldier who could not put his whole heart into the battle could opt out.

These soldiers are not shamed into participating. The officers are to point out that some of them who have shown up to fight might think better about their decision (20:5–9).

There is no blame assigned to those who do not go into battle. They are not to be seen as cowards by the other troops—they have specific responsibilities elsewhere, e.g. a house, a new wife, a harvest. (Notice that these instructions are also aimed at future Jewish people who plant crops and build homes, something not done by the audience here being directly addressed.).

This is a foreshadowing of the methods that God will continue to use in the future—especially during the time of the Judges—to winnow out those volunteers who are less capable of surviving in the battles they will fight (see Gideon, in Jud. 7). In even later times within the nation of Israel we can see a specific part of the rationale behind God’s instructions. In the book of Zechariah the Lord says to Zerubbabel, “‘Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit,’ says the Lord of Hosts” (Zech. 4:6). In other words, the victory is not dependent upon the number of soldiers fighting the battle, but rather upon the soldiers’—and the nation’s—reliance on God. He is the one who has the strength, not the size of the army in the campaign.

We are also reminded of Rav Shaul’s words to the Corinthians: “God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong . . . so that no one may boast before him” (1 Cor. 1:27–28).

But before we leave the officers’ instructions in this passage, perhaps these instructions also remind us of one of Yeshua’s memorable teachings: that of counting the cost (Lk. 14:25-34).

Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Will you not first sit down and estimate the cost to see if you have enough money to complete it? . . . Or suppose a king is about to go to war against another king. Will he not first sit down and consider whether he is able with ten thousand men to oppose the one coming against him with twenty thousand?”

In Yeshua’s specific context, he is discussing those followers that wish to be his true disciples. They also, like the soldiers involved in the conquest of the Promised Land, must count the cost of their discipleship before they give up everything to follow Yeshua. (Whether or not service to Yeshua should necessarily be seen in the terms of warfare needs to be left to a different discussion.)  Instead, it’s better to think about what that commitment will cost them before they jettison everything and everyone in their lives.

The point here is not to assume everyone should or must be this kind of disciple, but instead, to make sure that the cost is clearly understood before a commitment is made. What could be worse than turning your back on your family, etc., and then, not being able to keep an emotional commitment to your new life, drop out of that new commitment? Then you have nothing—no family, etc., that you gave up, and no new commitment, either. What a tragic state of affairs. This teaching of urges us to weigh our lives and our commitments carefully, whether it is the soldiers’ commitments before the Conquest, or our commitment to follow Yeshua.

How about the “salt” that Yeshua ends this passage with? “Salt is good, but if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored?” (Luke 14:34). This saying also refers back to an idea in this week’s Deuteronomy passage. The army that God will use to conquer Canaan does not need extra people. It needs soldiers who understand and wholeheartedly make a commitment to fight the battles. It does not need those soldiers whose minds are somewhere else, whose hearts are concentrated on other goals. It does not need those who are too afraid to be really useful in battle. Instead, they should go back to where they are useful, and there is no shame in doing this in this context.

By including the people who do not have their hearts and minds into fighting the battle, the army is “watered down”.  It’s better to let them do what their hearts and minds want to do, rather than fight in battles they are not able to win. Salt is not salty when it is watered down. It gets washed away. It doesn’t help what it is added to. It no longer can be used for anything useful, not even for animal waste, says Yeshua.

The concepts within this passage are well worth pondering this week, as we approach the New Year.

Moses' Last Stand

Parashat R’eh, Deuteronomy 11:26-16:17

by Jonathan Roush, Beth Messiah, Montgomery Village, MD

I’ve never really connected with Deuteronomy. I am not sure why. Perhaps it is because so much of it is a repetition of the Law which we’ve already read previously, and so I’ve glossed over it.

However, when revisiting this portion I felt the words leap off the page. I felt a sense of passion in I was reading. At first I couldn’t figure out what was causing it. Then I realized: this is Moses’ last stand.

There he stands in front of the people whom he has led for 40 years. The people he has loved and cared for . . . people he has been furious with . . . people whom he pleaded with God to spare. These people in particular are the ones whom he has witnessed growing up in the desert.

Here they stand on the precipice of the land promised to them long ago, of a brave new world.

Knowing that he won’t be going with them he gives one last discourse entreating the people of Israel to remember their covenant with Hashem; to not become lazy and to turn away from God’s commands.

Knowing that his death is imminent, this is his legacy to the Israelites. Deuteronomy therefore stands as his final address.

This week’s passage opens with a jolting exclamation: the word R’eh, which means “See!” In other translations it says “Behold!” or “Look!” This reminds me of the Shema, “Hear!”—and now we have “See!” or “Look!” The 19th century educational reformer Horace Mann once said that observation was an activity of both eyes and ears, and here we have Moses calling Israel to observe—to hear him as he speaks and to see, or recognize, what he is laying out to them.

See! I set before you (all) this day a blessing and a curse:”

Would that cause your ears to perk up? It certainly would mine. The blessing I like; what’s the deal with the curse?

. . . the blessing if you obey the commandments of the Lord your God, which I command you today, and the curse, if you do not obey the commandments of the Lord your God, but turn aside from the way that I am commanding you today, to go after other gods that you have not known.” (Deut. 11:26-28)

And what is that blessing?

He will give you rest from all your enemies surrounding you, and you will dwell securely.” (Deut 12: 10b)

This is later bookended in chapter 12:28:

Be careful to obey all these words that I command you, that it may go well with you and with your children after you forever, when you do what is good and right in the sight of the Lord your God.”

There are consequences for each choice: Rabbi Jonathan Sacks eloquently said that if the Jewish people obey, “then we can do great things. . . . We have been commanded to create a just society that honors human dignity and freedom . . . to create a just, generous, gracious society.” (http://rabbisacks.org/covenant-conversation-5772-reeh-the-politics-of-freedom/)

If Israel chooses to disobey the covenant they made with God then the rest and protection from their enemies mentioned in chapter 12 will be removed, leaving them to be subjugated and scattered by their enemies.

So the Jewish people must remember to keep the commandments given to them. For Jews, religious observances are a way of remembering and a way of turning beliefs into actions. It isn’t enough for intellectual assent to say “Yes! I agree.” Moses makes it clear that mere agreement does not satisfy the covenant, but rather that deliberate and thoughtful obedience is the only proof of the recognition of this holy covenant.

Moses was standing in front of the entire community of Israel, yet talking about things that pertain to the behavior of each individual.

Historically, this is unique. Never before had every person in a nation been given such a stark choice. On one hand they are presented with the ultimate freedom, being free individually to choose what they are going to do. But there is a catch!

Theologian Dorothee Sölle observed: “We are afraid of religion because it interprets rather than observes. Religion does not confirm that there are hungry people in the world; it interprets the hungry to be our brethren whom we allowed to starve” (The Inward Road and the Way Back, p. 26).

The portion this week addresses this example specifically:

The Levite, because he has no portion or inheritance with you, and the sojourner, the fatherless, and the widow, who are within your towns, shall come and eat and be filled, that the Lord your God may bless you in all the work of your hands that you do. (Deut. 14:29)

Each relies on the others to adhere to the commandments of the covenant either to mutual benefit or mutual suffering. This reminds me of the story of Cain and Abel in Genesis 4:

The Lord said to Cain, “Where is Abel your brother?” He said, “I do not know; am I my brother’s keeper?”

The answer is yes, I am my brother’s keeper, my sister’s keeper, as are you.

This extends not only to the Jewish people, but to all who claim to follow Yeshua. Each of us has entered into a covenant with God through Yeshua’s example, his life, his death and his resurrection. However, it is not enough to just “understand” this idea. Our future will be shaped by our choices.

Robert Kennedy once said: “Few will have the greatness to bend history itself; but each of us can work to change a small portion of events, and in the total of all those acts will be written the history of this generation.” (http://www.rfksafilm.org/html/speeches/unicape.php.)

I would make one change: “in the total of all those acts will be written the history of the people of God.”

Even today, we each have a choice. To act on what we say we believe and to change the world around us, or to not act.

The choice is individually and collectively ours.

How Can We Please God?

Parashat Ekev, Deuteronomy 7:12-11:25

by Rabbi D. Friedman, Jerusalem

In this week’s parasha, Moshe is summarizing the things for Israel to remember before he dies and a new leader takes his place, before Aaron dies and a new leader takes his place, and before the people enter Land of Israel.

And now, Israel, what does the Lord your God require of you, but to fear the Lord your God, to walk in all his ways, to love him, to serve the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul, and to keep the commandments and statutes of the Lord, which I am commanding you today for your good?” (Deut. 10:12-13)

Moshe taught Israel: fear and love God by doing the mitzvot, with all our individual and collective hearts. This is a great summary teaching of all that Moshe had to teach Israel.

Throughout Jewish history, each successive generation of rabbis has attempted to boil the Torah down to its main principles, asking the question, What do we need to do to please God?

Shimon Ha-Tzaddik was among the survivors of the councils formed by Ezra; he used to say, The world depends upon three things: on Torah study, on serving God, and on kind deeds. The Torah sage Shimon, some 220 years before Yeshua’s time, understood that to please God, one had to study and do Torah, and carry out merciful deeds on behalf of others. (Avot 1:2)

R. Yohanan said: The reunion of the exiles is as important as the day when heaven and earth were created, for it is said, And the children of Judah and the children of Israel shall be gathered together, and they shall appoint themselves one head, and shall go up out of the land; for great shall be the day of Jezreel; and it is written, And there was evening and there was morning, one day.

To Yohanan, a 2nd century Israeli teacher, the most important way to please God is to fulfill the Torah, by being gathered back to Israel. He deduces this by the phrase “great shall be the day,” believing that God would redeem the world at this event.

The Torah academies of Babylonia asked this same question: how can we live a life pleasing God? They taught:

David came and reduced the guiding principles to eleven, as it is written, Lord, who shall sojourn in Thy tabernacle? Who shall dwell in Thy holy mountain? — [i] He that walketh uprightly, and [ii] worketh righteousness, and [iii] speaketh truth in his heart; that [iv] hath no slander upon his tongue, [v] nor doeth evil to his fellow, [vi] nor taketh up a reproach against his neighbour, [vii] in whose eyes a vile person is despised, but [viii] he honoureth them that fear the Lord. [ix] He sweareth to his own hurt and changeth not, [x] he putteth not out his money on interest, [xi] nor taketh a bribe against the innocent. He that doeth these things shall never be moved. ‘He that walketh uprightly’: that was Abraham, as it is written, Walk before Me and be thou whole-hearted. —Makkot 24a

Later Torah academies wrote on the same question: How do we live to please God?

Isaiah came and reduced them to six principles, as it is written, [i] He that walketh righteously, and [ii] speaketh uprightly, [iii] he that despiseth the gain of oppressions, [iv] that shaketh his hand from holding of bribes, [v] that stoppeth his ear from hearing of blood, [vi] and shutteth his eyes from looking upon evil; he shall dwell on high. ‘He that walketh righteously,’ that was our Father Abraham, as it is written, For I have known him, to the end that he may command his children and his household after him.

 Torah academies continued to develop the question: How do we live to please God?

Micah came and reduced them to three principles, as it is written, It hath been told thee, O man, what is good, and what the Lord doth require of thee: [i] only to do justly, and [ii] to love mercy and [iii] to walk humbly before thy God.

This discussion continued throughout history: How do we live to please God?

Again came Isaiah and reduced them to two principles, as it is said, Thus saith the Lord, [i] Keep ye justice and [ii] do righteousness [etc.]. Amos came and reduced them to one principle, as it is said, For thus saith the Lord unto the house of Israel, Seek ye Me and live. But it is Habakkuk who came and based them all on one principle, as it is said, But the righteous shall live by his faith—Makkot 24a

Our rabbis understood Isaiah, Amos and Habakkuk, as well, to have guiding principles to their lives, and we learn of them here in Makkot 24.

Messiah Yeshua also took part in this ongoing Jewish and rabbinic discussion: What do we need to do to please God?

A Torah teacher asked Yeshua: “Rabbi, which is the greatest mitzvah in the Torah?” What was he asking him? “Rabbi, would you boil the Torah down to what we have to do to please God?” Not a bad question—a good one—one that lots of rabbis were asked and responded to throughout Jewish history until today. Yeshua responded:

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Torah and the Prophets. (Mt. 22:37–40)

Now that we’ve heard the historical discussion on what we need to do, and the truth of Messiah Yeshua’s teaching on this, let us ask “How do we do what Yeshua said, in order to please God with our lives?” Messiah’s life in us gives us the empowerment and the desire, but what do I mean by “Messiah in us”?

When we believe in Yeshua as Messiah, our mind begins a transformation that God will direct (cf. Ro. 12:2). This powerful and dynamic transformation includes learning our true identity, which answers the question, “Who am I and why am I alive?” (cf. Ro. 8:16).

Putting our faith in the Messiah and serving God is a life that pleases God. As it is written, “This is the action that pleases God—to believe in the one he has sent” (John 6:29).