Author Archives: agudasachim

Parashat Naso – May 26, 2018 – 12 Sivan 5778

At 176 verses, P. Naso is the longest single Torah portion of the year. Especially galling, the parasha concludes with what amounts to the same passage repeated a dozen times. I’m referring to the gifts and offerings brought by each of the leaders of the tribes to mark the dedication of the altar in the Tabernacle. Each day, the offerings were the same; the only difference is the name of the leader making the gift. Why this tedious repetition? Why not just give all the details once, and include that it was the same for each of the donors?

The Tabernacle was the first non-profit in our history; and same as with the non-profits to come (such as synagogues), major donors deserved to be recognized. I suppose bronze plaques were hard to come by in the desert, but the Torah making it a point to announce each leader’s name in connection with his gift resonates. Perhaps there is also special significance in the tribal leaders arriving day by day, in succession, rather than all together at once. Fundraisers know that it is easier to solicit a gift when it can be said that others are also giving. Could each leader have been waiting to see what his peer was committed to doing?

Back in the 13th century, Rabbi Shlomo ben Aderet was asked about the propriety of a donor who gave an ark to his synagogue and, to ensure enduring recognition of the gift, he wrote his name on it. The congregation wanted to know if this was acceptable. The rabbi replied that, as a matter of Jewish Law, the congregation has the right to recognize donors, or not, in any way they see fit. However, he admonishes them that, morally and spiritually, they should not only allow the name on the ark, but encourage it. A person has the right to spend his or her money in just about any way he or she would like. Choosing to “sanctify of [one’s] property to Heaven” is a tremendous mitzvah. Everyone is remembered for something; what could be a better memorial than this? Recognizing gifts does not only reward the donor, it “opens the door [to others”] to follow suit, and to do more mitzvot.

Hearing about the gifts and and the donors again and again after a long Torah reading may seem taxing, but it serves a holy purpose. It reminds us that personal sacrifice is sacred, establishing  one’s legacy is a choice which lies before each of us, and that acting on our commitments may be an inspiration to others.

B’yedidut (w/friendship),

Rabbi Mitch Levine

Shavuot – May 19, 2018 – 5 Sivan 5778

God tells Moses not to allow the sheep or cattle to graze on Mt. Sinai. Why would they want to? According to our rabbis, God miraculously adorned the mountain with plants and greenery in order to beautify the event of the giving of the Torah. Back in the day, there was a sacred tradition to decorate the sanctuary of the shul with plants and flowers to in an effort to dramatize and recreate this aspect of the original Shavuot experience. In some places, the entire floor would be covered in clipped grasses. Unfortunately, this practice was discontinued by well-meaning leaders who felt that filling a shul with plants seemed out of sync with shul decorum (and maybe cleaning up after was a daunting prospect too). Still, the idea that we should seek to recreate dramatically the Sinai experience retains its appeal.

At the moment of the revelation of the Torah, God addressed the people with the words, “I am the Lord your God…”  The Hebrew word for “your God” is in the singular. This is puzzling, because there were many thousands of people present. Why would God use the singular “you” when the plural form would have been grammatically proper? The midrash’s answer is that although God addressed thousands of people all at once, each individual experienced the moment as if God was speaking personally to him or her. Jewish practice emphasizes the communal nature of prayer.  Examples of this include the insistence on making a minyan and the routine of reciting the same words together at key points of the service. However, we need to also try to recreate the Sinai experience. We need to find a way to encounter God and prayer, not only as members of a community, but also as individuals seeking a personal relationship with the holy.

B’Yedidut (w/friendship),

Rabbi Mitch Levine

Parashat Emor – May 5, 2018 – 20 Iyar 5778

This week’s parasha ends with a jarring Biblical legacy. The Torah prescribes the penalty of death by stoning for the crime of blasphemy. Today, thousands of years later, around a quarter of the nations of the world have anti-blasphemy laws or policies, and a fair number of them still impose the death penalty for committing blasphemy. Ironically, Judaism, which introduced the Bible to the world, has a theological tradition through which the harshness of this particular Biblical injunction is undermined and its underlying value redirected.

The Talmud, citing a verse in Psalms, asks, “Who is strong like you, O Lord?” and answers, “Strong and firm in that you listen to insult and blasphemy yet remain silent. In the School of Rabbi Ishmael, they taught the verse, “Who is like you among the mighty ones (‘eilim’) O Lord?” may be read as “Who is like you among the mute (‘eilmim’).?” Through their interpretive technique, the rabbis are able to portray God as stoically enduring insult and remaining silent in the face of blasphemy. Moreover, this is no weakness on the part of God. Quite the contrary, it reveals God’s strength. In sharp relief to the extent we may worship a “jealous” God, the rabbinic approach exposes the weakness of being fanatically “jealous” for God.

Early on, Jewish tradition sought to emulate God, and adopted restraint even when provoked by an insult to the faith. According to Jewish Law, the appropriate response to hearing blasphemy uttered is to tear one’s garment. In contemporary practice, the tearing of one’s garment is the well-known ritual of mourning. Here, we see, it can also be an act of protest. I’ve wondered about the overlap between the two. If we are indeed “made in the image of God,” then the death of a human being is not only to be mourned; it is an objectionable sort of “blasphemy” itself.

Forbearance in the face of insult is not the same as ignoring it. Tearing the garment is not a violent response, but it is a dramatic one. It is an action directed inward, not outward; a way of bearing witness rather than inflicting payback on a perpetrator. Perhaps our tradition, given a wider, modern application, could elevate public protest to become more dignified and, especially, more effective. What if, in response to some perceived offense, the aggrieved party were to refrain from sparking violent clashes and hurling shouts and insults, but instead simply stood silently, and solemnly tore their garments? How much more powerful a demonstration of their despair might that be?

B’yedidut (w/friendship),

Rabbi Mitch Levine

Have Agudas Shabbas!

Have Agudas Shabbas! is an exciting new initiative that takes place in our members’ own homes on the 2nd Friday night of each month.

Upcoming date: May 11.

To sign up to be welcomed as a guest for Shabbat Dinner at one of our hosts’ homes (and/or to be a host), contact Bobbie at 614-237-2747 x22 or bshkolnik@agudasachim.org.

Agudas Mitzvah Mayhem

Agudas Mitzvah Mayhem

$36/person

Call the shul to pay by credit card, mail a check or pay here:


Number of Tickets



 

For more information, call 614-237-2747 x22 or rsvp@agudasachim.org.
Contributions are tax deductible to the extent provided by law.

Please RSVP no later than Friday, June 1, 2018.

Parashat Acharei Mot-Kedoshim – April 28, 2018 – 13 Iyar 5778

This week’s parasha, Kedoshim, is the source for the famous dictum “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Lev.19:18). Each morning and evening we recite in the Shema prayer, “You shall love the Lord your God” (Deut. 6:5). That is a lot of loving! What are we to do should these loves conflict? Our rabbis did not have far to search. They found a conflict of this sort in the very next verse of this week’s parasha, where we read “A garment of mixed fibers shall not come upon you.” (Lev. 19:19). What if, posits the Talmud, we spy our neighbor in the marketplace wearing a garment sewn of a forbidden mixture of fibers? Our love for our neighbor prompts us to perhaps make a note that a more Biblically correct garment would make a good birthday present, but our love for God compels us to take more immediate action. Indeed, according to the Talmud, we must remove our neighbor’s garment – even in the public space of the marketplace! Mediaeval rabbinic authorities, perhaps troubled by the practical implications of such a ruling, amended it to apply solely in cases where we know the transgression to be deliberate. In the vastly more common case that our neighbor could simply be unaware of his/her error, we wait until he/she has returned to the privacy of home before we call in the cast of TV’s “What Not [Halachicaly] to Wear!” In this way, we balance our regard for God and Torah with taking seriously the honor and respect we ought to feel for our neighbor.

B’yedidut (w/friendship),

Rabbi Mitch Levine

Parashat Tazria-Metzora – April 21, 2018 – 6 Iyar 5778

In this week’s parasha we learn that an individual afflicted with nega tzaraat (an affliction of the human skin translated by the Septuagint as “leprosy”) must be isolated from others for a seven day period. Surely the author of the Torah anticipated that we would associate the quarantine of “seven days” with Shabbat – the seventh day of the week. What’s the connection?

A happy Shabbat contrasts sharply with the unhappiness of one afflicted with nega tzaraat. If we rearrange the letters which spell “nega” (nun-gimmel-aiyen), we can spell “oneg” (aiyen-nun-gimmel). “Oneg Shabbat” (Shabbat happiness) is a fundamental aim of Shabbat. Nega is traditionally thought of having been a consequence of anti-social behavior. Perhaps the Torah is hinting to us that whereas anti-social behavior is associated with nega and isolation, Shabbat should be characterized by oneg; happiness shared socially among family and friends.

B’Yedidut (w/friendship),

Rabbi Mitch Levine