Author: Temple Sinai

Earlier this week, a trove of never-before-seen photographs was shared by POLIN: The Museum of the History of Polish Jews. The photos, taken surreptitiously by then-23 year old Polish firefighter Zbigniew Leszek Grzywaczewski, documents the aftermath of the Warsaw Ghetto uprising in 1943.

The uprising was the first successful major revolt against the Nazis in Europe. Some 700 ill-equipped and starving Jews used guerilla tactics to fight for nearly a month, delaying the Nazi plan to ‘liquidate’ the Ghetto and deporting all the inhabitants to extermination at Treblinka. The Nazis burned most of the Ghetto, and the Polish fire brigade was used to prevent the fires from spreading beyond the Ghetto into the remainder of Warsaw.

An old friend visited recently. We had first met in 1994 while applying to rabbinical school, nervously waiting in the office lobby together for our separate interviews. Because of the interviews, it was one of those days that you know will impact the course of your life and help determine your destiny. Naturally, now more than a quarter century later, we looked back at our spiritual and professional journeys from that day until now.

What surprised us both as we looked back on the paths are lives have taken from then in our early twenties until now, is how we could never have predicted, looked forward to, or even imagined or guessed at the routes we ended up traversing in life. At the same time, tracing those paths backward from now, it seems so obvious to both of us how one thing naturally led to another, step-by-step, as if it had been planned more-or-less precisely all along.

Many of us can identify pivotal moments and events in our lives that seem to direct our destiny. For some aspects of ourselves, though, the essential sources are mysterious: maybe we were unaware of their significance at the time, or they’ve been lost or buried in memory. Or perhaps they’ve naturally become covered from consciousness even as they help form the superstructure of our lives– like studs in a wall upholding our house.

In my case, from the time of my teens, one of the things that drove me to engage my Jewish identity was wanting to give my children a blessing on Friday nights. But I did not grow up with this tradition in my house, and I cannot point to when the idea grabbed me, nor why exactly. Did I become enamored of such blessings from seeing it done in Fiddler on the Roof? Did I read about this or see it in the movie The Chosen? Some other book? Did I see a photo of Rembrandt’s painting? A memory from a past life?

I hope that many of you are loyal readers of “Torah from Sinai” each week. I try to share some practical insight, bit of wisdom, or profound teaching that is relevant to people’s lives and connected to what is going on in our world.

This week is the last of our calendar year. Much of what concerned our lives last year will carry over into next year, on both the macro level (the politics here in the US and with great intensity in Israel, the rising threat of antisemitism, climate change, crises for refugees and conflicts throughout the world, homelessness, etc.) and on the micro level (issues of our health, relationships, livelihood, the challenges and opportunities and struggles we encounter on the way to becoming our best selves, etc.).

Sometimes it feels like anything one could say which is not directly focused on these immediate issues-of-the-day will necessarily be a non-sequitur.

Goodness. Happiness. Peace…

…If our positive wishes for people do come true, then Goodness, Happiness, and Peace are what you can expect this weekend. The Shabbat during Chanuka is always and (almost) uniquely a triple-header of holidays: Rosh Chodesh – the New Month of Tevet on the Jewish lunar calendar, Chanuka (still!), and of course Shabbat. As greetings and blessings we say all these today: “Chodesh Tov”, “Happy Chanuka”, and “Shabbat Shalom” – May you have a Good month, a Happy festival of lights, and a Peaceful Shabbat…

Perhaps, though, we might fall into saying these wishes and blessings as mere pro forma greetings, or words that suffice to express a general and positive hope for the world. Ideally, we would instead offer these wishes with clear mindfulness and focused intention, as a specific and measurable outcome that you full-heartedly wish for the someone whom you are addressing on a particularly auspicious day in the calendar.

I’m sure you are all as deeply unsettled as I am by the shocking rise of antisemitism across the U.S. and around the world, on college campuses, and expressed as an almost normative outlook by certain repulsive cultural and political figures.

I think it was Rabbi Leo Baeck who noted that we Jews view the world through ancient eyes. If so, and knowing our history, perhaps we should not be so shocked to see antisemitism on the rise once again. And yet we are shocked, disappointed, and afraid. How can this be happening?!

There are many answers as to how hatred metastasizes in society, generally, and how and why it is doing so today in particular. I invite you, though, to consider a different question over this Shabbat, parsahat Vayeshev, and during the upcoming Chanuka holiday. The question for us is: How do we respond?

I’m the father of three boys, two of whom are the age of military service. Their many good childhood friends, cousins, and children of some of my own closest friends are all currently serving in the IDF. This drasha written decades ago by my teacher Rabbi Shmuel Avidor haCohen, z”l goes straight to my heart today as I think and worry constantly about these soldiers I love.

“When we study the Rashi, it becomes clear that our father Ya’akov [Jacob] in this torah portion stood before a problem far greater than a possible attack from his brother Esau. Rashi explains the redundant expression of Yaakov’s fearfulness in Beresheit 32:8 as follows:

וַיִּירָ֧א יַעֲקֹ֛ב – Jacob feared: What did he fear? That he might be killed.

וַיֵּ֣צֶר ל֑וֹ – and he was fearfully distressed: Why was he fearfully distressed? That he might have to kill others.

The discussion in our weekly Torah study class on Monday nights is lively. For me personally, it almost always produces some profound insight that I treasure and think about the rest of the week, if not longer.

For this week’s parasha, Veyetzei, we talked about the famous angels going up and down the ladder in Jacob’s dream. Who or what were these ‘angels’?

Possible answers abound both from the traditional Torah commentators and those suggestions we ourselves came up with. Just as important to understand, perhaps, is the ability of Jacob to ‘see’ those angels. That is, for him to be aware of the experience of holiness or to the presence of his guardian angels or to pay attention to the glimpse of the historical future displayed to him in his dream. Whatever the ‘message’ is, there is the message’s content, certainly, but there is also the ‘mechanics’ of how that message is communicated and how it is received.

I hope everyone enjoyed Thanksgiving yesterday!

Let’s acknowledge the important symbolism of all those leftovers in the fridge that need to be eaten, even if your tummy remains full from yesterday:

Giving thanks is never really over and done with. If you live another day there is always more to be grateful for.

Today, as you gnaw on a turkey sandwich, is a day to prepare for tomorrow’s Shabbat which is the holiday day we get to have each week for taking a step back, relaxing, and appreciating all we have. For giving thanks.

This week’s Torah portion is Toldot, in which Isaac discovers there is much work still to be done in carrying on the birthright of Jewish legacy and blessing…

…and so it is with us, although not just in terms of eating leftovers from the Thanksgiving feast!

…and so it is with us, although not just in terms of planning and preparing Shabbat dinner tonight!

It seems odd that our Torah portion this week is entitled Chayei Sarah, “the life of Sarah” when it immediately announces the death of Sarah and recounts nothing of her life!

As always though, the Torah has a purpose and a lesson. Our job is to “turn it and turn it because all is found within it” (Pirkei Avot 5:6) – if we study enough we will discover both the right questions to ask and find the answers we need.

Perhaps we learn how odd indeed it is that we consider death an absolute ending or the inevitable culmination of a person’s life. Maybe the Torah gently suggests exactly the kind of mourning we practice: When someone we love dies, we recount and recall their life. We make their memory an inspiration for us to live better in what remains of our own lives.