Study Texts for Parashat Chukkat, Num. 19ff.

Dear Friends,

I hope you like the new look of our blog. Your feedback is most welcome.

I will be offering remarks from the bimah this Friday night, June 18, on Parashat Chukkat, which begins with one of the strangest passages in all of Torah, the laws describing the ritual of the Red Heifer. I direct your attention to the Parasha itself which you can find in any chumash (Torah Commentary) or online by following the links to the right ---> of this post.

Once you've read Numbers Chapter 19 in its entirety, I want you to consider the following question: To what extent, if any, does Judaism -- or does Religion in general -- require its faithful practitioners to "check their rational faculties at the door?" Are there any religious experiences or practices for which Reason is not required?

To assist you in your study, I am now providing the study texts that we will examine during Kabbalat Shabbat services on Friday night. I look forward to seeing you there, and at Torah Study on Saturday morning.

Happy studying!

RJEB

Midrash Yalkut Shimoni 759

“This is the statute of the Torah.” R. Isaac opened [his interpretation] with the text, “All this I have tried (to fathom) by wisdom; I said, I will get wisdom; but it was far from me” (Ecclesiastes 7:23). Thus spoke Solomon: I succeeded in understanding the whole Torah, but as soon as I reached this chapter about the Red Heifer, I searched, probed and questioned, “I said I will get wisdom, but it was far from me” (As cited in Nehama Leibowitz, Studies in Bamidbar (Numbers), p. 233).

Midrash Bemidbar Rabbah 19:8

A certain idolator once challenged Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai: “The rituals that you perform with the Red Heifer resemble witchcraft! You bring a cow, burn it up, grind it, and extract its ashes. Then, when one of you is defiled by a corpse, you sprinkle two or three drops on him and say to him, ‘You are purified!’”

He responded to him, “Haven’t you ever been possessed by a demon spirit?”

To which he replied, “No.”

He said, “Have you ever seen a person possessed by a demon spirit?”

To which he replied, “Yes.”

“And what do you do for him?” he asked. “We bring herbs and turn them into smoke beneath him, and throw water on him, upon which it [the demon spirit] vanishes,” he said.

He retorted, “Can your ears hear what is coming out of your mouth?! The demon spirit is the same as the spirit of ritual defilement!… We sprinkle purifying water on him, and it vanishes.”

Afterwards, Rabbi Yochanan’s disciples said to him, “Rabbeinu, you pushed him aside with a reed, but what can you say to us?”

He told them, “By your very lives, it is not that the dead can defile nor that the water can purify. Rather, the Holy One of Blessing has said: ‘I have enacted a statute; I have decreed a decree. You are not authorized to transgress my statute, as it is written, “This is the statute of the Torah.”’”

(translation: J. Blake)

Midrash Sifra, Kedoshim

“It is more praiseworthy to do something solely because God commands it than because our own logic or sense of morality leads us to the same conclusion” (As cited in Etz Hayim, p. 880).

Nehama Leibowitz (1905-1997)

“Let us not be among those who seek for rational explanation for those things, to which the laws of reason do not apply. May we be like the disciples of Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai who accept the yoke of the statutes (hukkim), just as they do the yoke of the other commandments of the Torah” (Studies in Bamidbar, p. 235).

From the Pittsburgh Platform (Kaufmann Kohler, et al., 1885)

3. We recognize in the Mosaic legislation a system of training the Jewish people for its mission during its national life in Palestine, and today we accept as binding only its moral laws, and maintain only such ceremonies as elevate and sanctify our lives, but reject all such as are not adapted to the views and habits of modern civilization.

4. We hold that all such Mosaic and rabbinical laws as regulate diet, priestly purity, and dress originated in ages and under the influence of ideas entirely foreign to our present mental and spiritual state. They fail to impress the modern Jew with a spirit of priestly holiness; their observance in our days is apt rather to obstruct than to further modern spiritual elevation.

Joseph Bekhor Shor (Late 12th C., Orléans, Northern France), ad loc.

The rites pertaining to the Red Heifer were designed to discourage association with the dead, prompted by the bereaved’s love for the departed, and excessive grief…. Also on account of human respect, that people should not come to using human skin for coverings and human bones for articles of use just as we use the skin of animals; it is disrespectful of humanity…. The text likewise went to the strictest lengths in its requirements, demanding the ashes of a red heifer which are an expensive item (as cited in Leibowitz, Studies in Bamidbar, p. 234).

W. Gunther Plaut (b. 1912)

The need to be ritually purified after touching a corpse reflects an ancient and universal fear of the dead, whose spirits were believed capable of injuring the community. While the ritual of the red cow is doubtlessly based on pre-biblical practices--an old Canaanite epic tells of the death of the underworld god of fertility, who went to the underworld and there copulated with a heifer--the Torah here appears to reinterpret old practices in accordance with its own religious views. At the core of these stands the idea that Israel is a holy people and that holiness demands a state of physical and spiritual purity” (The Torah: A Modern Commentary (Revised Edition), p. 1035).

KORACH 5770: Faith and Fantasy

Dear Friends:

I have revisited and revised a column that I authored a few years ago in light of this week’s portion, Korach. Enjoy!

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There’s a book out there called Harry Potter and Torah. The author, Bruce “Dov” Krulwich, was inspired by his children’s enthusiasm for the Harry Potter books to write a guidebook connecting themes from the popular seven-book series (and, thus far, five movies and counting) to the five books of Moses.

Each chapter of Harry Potter and Torah begins with a premise drawn from the Harry Potter books, and then explores the way in which this premise appears in Torah, Midrash, Talmud, and other sacred Jewish texts. The first chapter discusses Magic Words. Young wizards learn to cast spells, harnessing the power of speech in the service of magic. The author compares the opening of Genesis in which God brings forth Creation through divine speech: the words “Let there be light,” a magical spell itself. This leads to a discussion of the power of saying blessings in Jewish tradition, and an exploration of the word “Abracadabra,” which derives from the Hebrew abra k’davra, “I will speak so as to create.”

The Harry Potter books are full of magical beasts. Jewish sacred literature is also full of magical beasts! Balaam rode a talking ass; midrash swarms with fantastic creatures. Noah sent a message from his ark by raven and dove; Harry uses Hedwig the messenger owl. Each comparison provides Krulwich with a springboard to discuss the Jewish lessons embedded in magical themes. All in all, he makes a compelling argument: if you like Harry Potter, you’re going to love Torah! Far from dusty, dull, holy books, Jewish sacred texts are fun, fantastic, relevant, and, yes, magical.

The Torah portion Korach that we read this week contains a spectacular scene that would play well in any Harry Potter installment. In response to the rebellion instigated by Korach and his followers, “the earth beneath them opened its mouth and swallowed them, their houses, and all the people associated with Korach with their property. They and all they possessed went down alive into She’ol, and they vanished from the assembly” (Num. 16:32-33). The text emphasizes the miraculous nature of the offenders’ demise. Just before the catastrophe, God predicts that the event will be, in Hebrew, a b’riah, meaning a totally new creation, something never before seen (Num. 16:30). Further, in the Book of Deuteronomy, referring to the doom of Korach’s band, the Israelites are reminded, “Your own eyes saw all the wondrous deeds that the Eternal performed” (Deut. 11:2-7). The recollection of wondrous deeds serves as a preamble to this line: “Therefore, keep all the mitzvot that I enjoin upon you today…” (Deut. 11:8). Supernatural themes are coupled with moral instruction.

Many reasons have been proposed for the runaway popularity of J. K. Rowling’s series, making her the most commercially successful novelist of all time (by some accounts richer than Queen Elizabeth II). Most come down to this: the engaging way in which the Harry Potter books wed supernatural themes to timeless themes of adolescence: discovering oneself and one’s destiny; choosing right instead of wrong; making difficult decisions and sacrifices; trading one’s childhood innocence in order to understand and confront life’s painful realities – loss, death, heartbreak, betrayal. Above all, the Harry Potter books are about moral dilemmas and the spiritual discipline, study, practice, and life experience required to confront these dilemmas with integrity – all cloaked in the garment of magic. No wonder hundreds of millions of readers hang on every word and moviegoers have given the franchise billions.

As a congregational rabbi who enjoys the privilege of studying with hundreds of children and adolescents, I appreciate the way in which the Harry Potter books, and these themes, resonate. Given that the Torah similarly weds tales of the supernatural to timeless life lessons (particularly lessons relevant to growing up in a world that often shocks, confuses, and disappoints us), I wish that more students knew half as much about the basic stories of Jewish sacred literature as they do about the exploits of Harry, Hermione, Voldemort, and the rest. I have been wondering why Harry Potter enjoys such a wide readership while the most exciting stories of the Torah frequently meet with blank stares.

One reason may be the way in which Torah has been taught, historically and today.

Across the spectrum of Jewish practice and belief—from Orthodoxy to Reform—Torah is often presented in the classroom as a “holy text,” indeed the “word of God,” instead of, simply, brilliant storytelling. No one reads Harry Potter feeling pressured to believe in Dementors, Hippogriffs, or Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. Our youth, however, often encounter Torah stories in the context of a religious school class or synagogue sermon in which the book is presented as a book fundamentally unlike other literature, a story that we not only should appreciate and enjoy but believe. Students grow up thinking that to call the Torah “literature” is to besmirch it, as if only “non-fiction” writing has lasting value. If they can’t “believe” the stories literally, why bother reading them at all? they conclude. Coming across a fantastic, hair-raising passage like the demise of Korach’s band, one is likely to feel confounded, and say, “Give me a break!” That's too bad, because the point of the story was never to make us believe in miracles but rather to expose the folly of a rebel demagogue.

Yet some of the greatest works of moral instruction, timeless stories illuminating the human condition, are not “holy books.” Shakespeare’s Macbeth and Hamlet speak in the language of ghosts, spells, and witches, but their universal, eternal themes and moral dilemmas resonate in the heart of even the most dyed-in-the wool rationalist.

If you do believe that the Torah represents the word of God, then I do not wish to dissuade you. Far from it! However, if you have never felt comfortable reading Torah because it has only been presented to you as a matter of belief instead of literature, then I would invite you to put away your assumptions and simply begin to read – these, the timeless stories of the Jewish people.

If I could cast one spell, if a wizard could grant me one wish, it would be this: that we would read Torah with open and critical eyes, approaching it as one of the world’s most inspired and inspiring literary contributions. May our encounter with Torah be a fresh miracle every day.

Guest Blogger Leah Citrin on Parashat Shelach-Lecha

Dear Friends,

I have been on a mini-vacation for most of this week and invited a guest blogger, matriculating Hebrew Union College rabbinical student Leah Citrin (Expected ordination: HUC-Cincinnati, 2015), WRT member and Torah Study "regular," to fill in while I was away.

I am pleased to present her reflections on Parashat Shelach-Lecha for your contemplation and comments in anticipation of Saturday's Torah Study session at the usual time and place! (I'll be in town by then and eager to share Shabbat morning with you.)

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Jonathan Blake

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Shelach-Lecha

Leah Citrin

In this week’s Parasha, Shelach-Lecha, we find the infamous incident with the scouts who are sent ahead into the Promised Land to report back to the rest of the Israelites. They are instructed to evaluate the people (strength and number), the towns (fortification), the land (soil and forestry), and the country itself.

In less than four weeks, I too will have the opportunity to act as a scout to the Promised Land. Although it is not the explicit purpose of my journey, I know that I will undoubtedly be asked to report about the situation in Israel to those back home in the U.S. Now more than ever the pressure will be on to accurately describe what I see. I may not be asked the same questions as the scouts in Shelach-Lecha, but the parallel of concepts is undeniable. And when the time comes, I will have the opportunity to respond. I will have the opportunity to shape others’ opinions, reactions, and approaches to environments they did not experience themselves. And I will have a choice to make in my representation of the situation.

This week, I invite you also to consider: have you had the opportunity to act as a scout? What factors had an effect on your evaluation of the situation?

After looking at what lies ahead, the scouts return with a submissive approach: the people are numerous and strong and the towns are fortified. In fact, the scouts assert that it would not be possible to overtake the inhabitants. As a result, the Israelites vocalize a desire to return to Egypt, doubting the fulfillment of God’s promise to them.

God responds to this outpour of doubt in anger and anguish, spurred by an unbearable frustration. Moses, who just last week was equally frustrated with the Israelites, comes to their defense. However, Moses’s argument is based not on the deserving nature of the Israelites but on an appeal to the ego and reputation of God. Furthermore, Moses emphasizes the characteristics of the God he knows, one who is, “slow to anger, and abundant in kindness, forgiving iniquity and transgression; yet not remitting all punishment” (Num. 14:18).

Here, I see Moses trying to pick out the positives in a rather questionable situation. Moses is offering an alternative explanation for why God should not strike the Israelites with pestilence and disown them (Num. 14:12), in case he is overstepping his boundary by appealing to the ego and reputation of God. I think this is something we have all seen before.

We have all felt the frustration of a relationship. It is not difficult to doubt someone else’s intentions or feel that our own best efforts go unnoticed. It can be one of the worst feelings in the world. In Shelach-Lecha, God resolves that internal frustration by preserving the Divine "ego" and reputation (so to speak) while still seeking to maintain the relationships that triggered frustration (i.e. with the Israelites). God vows to let the Israelites into the Promised Land, but only after 40 years of wandering in the desert.

So, how do we deal with our frustration and dismay? How do we approach relationships that have become frustrating?

Ed. note: Your comments are invited below!

Beha'alotecha 5770

Dear Friends,

I am writing to you from my College Reunion where I am enjoying a quick overnight before returning to Scarsdale for Shabbat. By the time many of you read this, I'll already be back in town!

Ben Bag Bag, that improbably named Sage, was right to teach of the Torah, "Turn it, and turn it again, for everything is in it" (Pirkei Avot 5:26). Rare, even impossible, is the encounter with Torah that does not reveal some new insight, some new detail waiting to be discovered, turned over, explored, interpreted.

So it is this week in my discovery of a detail from the Torah portion called Beha'alotecha, the passage we read this week from the Book of Numbers. In Chapter 10 the Torah relates the marching order of the Israelite Tribes and their respective chieftains. With the Tabernacle and the Ark of the Covenant traveling, piecemeal, up front, under the porterage of three Levitical clans, the The Torah depicts the tribes marching in a fixed formation and fixed order each time the Israelites would break camp, marching until they reached their next station in the wilderness, each encampment and departure prompted by God's atmospheric signals: a pillar of cloud by day, a pillar of fire by night.

Here, then, is the detail that caught my attention this week. For all of the tribes a simple formula is used to describe the marching: "Then the banner of the camp of [tribe name] set out, according to its ranks...." The formula deviates only once, when we get to the final tribe in the formation, the tribe of Dan.

"Then the banner of the camp of Dan set out, the collector for the other camps, according to its ranks..." (Num. 10:25, emphasis mine). What are we to make of the inserted phrase, "the collector for the other camps?"

RaSHI explains by way of the Talmud Yerushalmi: "The collector for all the other camps: The Jerusalem Talmud [states]: Because the tribe of Dan was numerous they traveled last, and if anyone had lost anything, they would [find it and] return it to him." (RaSHI ad loc.)

It's a touching and significant image: the Tribe of Dan, the final tribe in the Israelite formation, shouldering the responsibility to collect or gather up anything left behind by the tribes ahead of them.

It's an image, I believe, that offers wisdom to us Jews today, particularly us Reform Jews. Each of us marches behind the generations of forbears who have bequeathed to us Jewish wisdom, Jewish practices, the ethics of Jewish generations gone by. In most cases our forbears, our parents and grandparents and great-grandparents, and countless departed generations we never could meet, carried their Jewish banners with pride and commitment, leading the way from Sinai to all their lands of Promise, the Jewish tradition safe and intact under their care.

But every now and then our forbears let drop into the desert sands of time a teaching, a tradition, a custom, practice, or ritual--at times inadvertently and at times eagerly. Perhaps some of our forbears, all too eager to shed particular signifiers of Jewishness like ritual dress, restricted diet, Old World language and traditional synagogue melodies let drop their kippot and tallitot, their kosher food and their Yiddish words, their niggunim and their nusach into the sand.

And we who march last in formation, we who come of late trailing their footsteps in the sands of time, perhaps have spotted those little tribal treasures scattered here and there on our own Jewish journeys, and perhaps we have deemed them worthy enough to examine, blow off the accumulated dust of time and travel, and try them on for size again. The Tribe of Dan, collector for the all tribes who marched before them, thus played an important part in the life of the People of Israel and so do we who march only latest: gathering up the lost fragments of Jewish life, seeing how they might make sense today, and cherishing those treasures that enrich and deepen the Judaism that we shall leave for those who march after us.

As always, I encourage and welcome your comments below.

Happy Studying!

Rabbi Jonathan Blake

Consider the Nazirite

Shalom, Internet readers.

This week we're into Parashat Naso, the second portion in Numbers.

Among its hodge-podge of topics, Naso introduces us to the Nazirite, the man or woman who would take a self-imposed vow of a three-fold abstinence, with attendant further restrictions and conditions, and an itinerary of procedures should the vow be unwittingly compromised.

Please read Num. 6:1-21 for the details.

Specifically, the Nazirite would agree (1) to abstain from wine or any intoxicant (or any other product, for that matter) produced from grapes (including raisins); (2) to abstain from cutting his or her hair; and (3) to abstain from coming in contact with the dead.

In the Bible, our most famous Nazirite is, of course, Samson, he of the long locks and superhuman strength, whose miraculous birth narrative (more at prenatal annunciation) is offered as the Haftarah portion for Naso.

Here, then are my questions for you to consider both on this online forum and when we gather to study Torah on Shabbat morning:

1) Given the time-honored and even beloved place of wine in Jewish tradition, how do you square the Nazirite's vow to refuse this symbol of joy, the fruit of the vine?

2) What benefits come with abstinence? Have you ever imposed a vow of abstinence on yourself? From what did you refrain? To what end? Could you measure any benefits?

3) Can you offer a thoughtful critique of abstinence as a religious (or Jewish) norm?

I am eager to read and hear your thoughtful remarks.

Happy Studying!

Rabbi Jonathan Blake

D'var Torah by Rabbi Jan Katzew

Transitions – B’midbar

Westchester Reform Temple

May 14, 2010/2 Sivan 5770

Men’s Club Shabbat

RABBI JAN KATZEW, Union for Reform Judaism

& member, Westchester Reform Temple

I am honored to have been asked to deliver a D’var Torah on Men’s Club Shabbat. D’var Torah means “a word of Torah.” This week’s word of Torah is “B’midbar”. B’midbar means “in the wilderness”. It bears no apparent relationship to the English name of the Book we begin this Shabbat – the Book of Numbers. Appearances are often deceiving, in the Torah as in life.

B’midbar - In a wilderness, in uncharted territory, is where most of us dwell most of the time. The wilderness is not the same as the desert. The wilderness is a place of transition. Tevya almost had it right. Not “tradition” but “transition” may be the essential concept that holds the secret to Jewish life. William Bridges, whose surname is ideal for his authorial subject, composed an article entitled “Getting them through the Wilderness” in which he wrote: “Transition is very different from change. Change is situational… Transition, on the other hand is a three phase psychological reorientation process people go through when they are coming to terms with change. It begins with an ending – with people letting go of their old reality and their old identity. Unless people can make a real ending, they will be unable to make a successful beginning.”

In the words of Torah, unless we can learn to live b’midbar, in the wilderness, we will not be able to live in the b’eretz ha-muvtachat, in the Land of Promise. In the life of the Reform Movement, we are still in transition. The generation of our people that left Egypt spent forty years of meandering in the wilderness before they were ready to experience the responsibility that comes with freedom. It has not yet been forty years since the first woman rabbi was ordained or the first woman cantor was invested, and we are appropriately in the wilderness, still in transition, still holding on to old paradigms and prejudices, still trying to figure out the roles of men and woman in the evolving Jewish community.

B’midbar reminds us to be patient, not to expect that we will be able to take shortcuts, to walk directly from an anthrocentric Jewish culture to a dynamic equilibrium of gender and age balance. Transitions take time and it is as natural for us to have separation anxiety from our prior realities as adults as it is for a child to experience separation anxiety in her first day in school. As Reform Jews we are experiencing multiple transitions. It is now the statistical norm that a student in a congregational school in the Reform Movement is the progeny of at least one parent that was not born as a Jew. As far as I know, this is an unprecedented scenario in Jewish memory. The Reform cantorate has become predominantly female in a single generation. We are a people in transition, bamidbar, and we will do our share of misdirected wandering, just like our forebears. But, with God’s providence and our perseverance, we will learn what it takes not only to survive, but to thrive in our evolving, at times frustrating and almost always fascinating reality.

In the wilderness of Sinai, the Israelites took a census; hence the Book of Numbers is an alternative, appropriate name. Timing is everything, and in 2010, we have, I assume, all participated in the United States census. There were several substantive differences between Sinai and American censuses. Sinai counted only the men 20 years old and older, presumably because they could be counted upon to fight in order to defend the fledgling children of Israel against any enemy forces that would set out to destroy them. The American census seeks to count every person of every age that lives here, as a model of democratic principle. However, there is another distinction that is emblematic of a constructive tension between American and Jewish values. According to the US Census Bureau, “When you fill out the census form, you’re making a statement about what resources your community needs going forward.” According to Sefer B’midbar, the Book of Numbers, “Take a census of the whole Israelite company [of fighters] by the clans of its ancestral houses, listing the names of every male, head by head.” We count Americans in order to allocate resources. We count the descendants of the Israelites, ourselves, in order to defend the values of a minority, a people that is both ger v’toshav, a stranger and a resident, perpetually in transition, in a wilderness, B’midbar.

Shabbat Shalom!

D'var Torah by Susan Wiener

D’VAR TORAH: PARASHAT BEMIDBAR 5770 / May 14, 2010

MEN’S CLUB SHABBAT

by SUSAN WIENER, recipient, The WRT Brotherhood Award 2010

I can still remember the day……it was Friday 11:45 pick up at from the 3’s program at the ECC. We gathered in the hallway, waiting for the door to open. Nervous moms, we all waited…..all of us still new to the ECC. Out comes my oldest, Tracey, hand-in-hand with her new friend. This new friend turns to her mom and then to Tracey and asks, “Are you coming tonight?”

I had no clue and I am thinking, “Coming to what?”

Tracey asks, “Are we?”

The new friend turns out to be Rena Singer and her mom turns out to be Rabbi Beth Singer, who explains that tonight is family Shabbat services….. at 7:30…….and we all know you don’t say no to the Rabbi.

That was my beginning at WRT……As soon as I walked into the sanctuary that night, I felt that sense of community, the sense of belonging…that my family counted.

Tonight’s Torah portion is Bamidbar. In the desert of Sinai, on the first of the month of Iyar, one year and two weeks after the Exodus from Egypt, G-d speaks to Moses. The leader of Israel is instructed to conduct a census of his people. Indeed this Book of the Torah is called “Numbers” in English because of its preoccupation with censuses and counting in general.

According to the Chassidic Masters, a census expresses two paradoxical truths. On the one hand, it implies that each individual is significant. On the other hand, a head-count is the ultimate equalizer: each member of the community, from the greatest to the lowliest, counts for no less and no more than "one." G-d repeatedly commands Moses to count the Jewish people to emphasize both their individual worth--the fact that no single person's contribution is dispensable--as well as their inherent equality.

Over the years, I have had the opportunity and privilege to participate in many activities and to be a member of, and chair of, various committees at WRT. It is here that I have learned what the words “process” and “patience” really mean…. and more specifically, what it means to be a part of a “thoughtful process.” Participating in these thoughtful processes came to mean that, in this congregation, everyone counts; everyone has an opportunity to have a voice.

But still I worry about how we reach out to the members of our community who may not feel “counted”--who many not feel they can participate--because of some disability.

This past March, I had the opportunity to attend the first Westchester Interfaith Network on Developmental Disabilities. The keynote speaker was William Gaventa, Director of Community and Congregational Support at the Elizabeth Boggs Center. Bill reminded us that by removing disabled people from the mainstream, we disempower the mainstream community and its leaders by robbing them of the opportunity for meaningful interaction with the disabled, who by definition as human beings have something to offer.

Here at WRT, our clergy make sure that each of one of us counts. They model inclusion. It is the fabric of who they are, of what WRT stands for. But still, many with disabilities, or family members of those with disabilities, don’t always feel like they can participate--even in a congregation that celebrates inclusion. For a culture change to occur, our clergy can not do it alone. It needs to be a partnership.

Many of us have no prior experience with interacting with people with different kinds of disabilities. Attitudinal barriers are the hardest to change... but they can be changed. We are often uncomfortable when we see someone in a wheelchair. Some of us are uncomfortable reaching out to a fellow congregant who may feel excluded because of his or her disability.

And these feelings of isolation don’t always occur because of a disability at all. It may be someone who may have just experienced the loss of a family member or a new cancer diagnosis….someone who doesn’t know where to turn… and who may not feel fully embraced anywhere.

How do we as a congregation ensure that ALL are given a place in our community? It is important to recognize and accept that we all have differences and to make an extra effort to include all members of our community in all facets of synagogue life, worship, community and education.

Just a few weeks ago, I had the privilege of ushering at the Bat Mitzvah Rebecca Siegel. It was probably one of the most meaningful B’nei Mitzvah services I have ever attended. Rebecca struggles with epilepsy. Rebecca’s uncontrollable seizures have caused lifelong learning deficits and developmental delays. But this did not deter her parents from wanting a Bat Mitzvah for Becca. Randy and Lisa partnered with the clergy and educational team at WRT. Together they crafted a plan. Becca began her Bat Mitzvah lesson with one of our tutors, Nancy Abraham. On Saturdays she attended the Sharing Shabbat Service. Becca loved the music and prayers in song. When Becca came to this February’s Inclusion Shabbat, I saw firsthand her love of music reflected in her eyes. I know it brought a smile to those sitting around her. A service was crafted with an emphasis on music. The day of the service the room was filled. As the music began Becca’s face beamed. The joy she felt was contagious. Each time the music stopped, she responded with, “More, please!”

When I spoke with Lisa after the Bat Mitzvah she confessed to not having felt sure about this Bat Mitzvah in the beginning of their journey. But Lisa’s and Randy’s willingness and openness to partner with the clergy allowed the amazing day to happen. Lisa recently spoke with another parent of a special needs child who was contemplating having a Bat Mitzvah…. Would her child know the difference? Lisa’s response was, “How many of us give our ‘typical’ children an option?”

Each child at WRT is treated as an individual. Each child counts. Rabbi Jacobs uses the example of the "bullseye." The child is the bullseye and we, the clergy and educational team, paint the circles around them. All children can have a Bar or Bat Mitzvah.

This is just one example of how our doors at WRT are wide open. We need to raise awareness so that everyone can feel included…so that everyone feels they can be counted the way the Torah this week demands that each one must be counted.

I challenge each of us to open our eyes, open our hearts, and open our mouths. I challenge each of us to step out of our comfort zones and reach out to all the members of our community: those in mourning, those with disabilities, those who just lost a job… those who are sitting alone at services , those who may be standing alone at the oneg , those who are afraid to come in the front door. Those who want to be—and who should be—counted.

Speaking of counting: we are in the last days of counting the Omer. The Book of Leviticus describes this ritual, instructing us to count every day for the full seven-week period between Pesach and Shavuot. Long ago, when our ancestors were farmers in the land of Israel, they counted the days from the first planting of the growing season until the first harvest, the springtime harvest. Each night we count the day out loud. This period of counting helps to make us aware of each day.

We can also use the Omer period as a time to reflect on the “seeds we are sowing” in our own lives. May we reflect on our lives each day and remember that seeds planted today become tomorrow’s harvest. We may not even see the changes right away, but like seeds planted in the earth, each act of making another person feel counted, feel deeply valued, will surely yield a harvest of goodwill, a harvest of a fruitful community, blessed by God for its inclusiveness. Simply saying “Shabbat Shalom” to someone you don’t know may, in fact, allow you to answer a person’s unspoken prayer, an innermost wish to feel acknowledged, to know that “I am not alone.” To know that none of us is alone, and that each of us counts. Shabbat Shalom!