An old Turkish proverb states: “My heart wants neither coffee nor coffeehouse; my heart wants a friend, coffee is an excuse.” We all seek a social texture for our lives…friends, community, a sense of belonging and continuity.
We drink coffee together not because we want coffee but because we want sociability. We want a friend with whom to talk. We want a peaceful respite from a noisy world.
A famous joke tells of a “conversation” between two people. “A” goes on at great length talking about how wonderful he/she is, elaborating in a very self-centered way on his/her talents, virtues, accomplishments. Finally, though, “A” realizes that the “conversation” is entirely one-sided. Courtesy demands that “B” also be invited to participate if there is to be a dialogue. So “A” tells “B”: “That’s enough talking about ME. Let’s talk about YOU now. What do YOU think about ME?”
Why were our Temples in ancient Jerusalem destroyed? Jewish tradition offers answers.
The first Temple was destroyed in 586 BCE by the Babylonians--because of the sins of the people of Israel. This is evident especially from the prophecies of Jeremiah. The Talmud notes that the Israelites of that period committed major sins. The destruction and exile were brought about "because of our sins."
The second Temple was destroyed by the Romans in 70CE. The Talmud suggests that the destruction was a punishment for the sin of "Sinat Hinam," Jews hating each other without justification.
A while ago, a member of our Institute sent me an email. Here are his comments, although I've deleted the name of the rabbi to whom he referred.
"Does it bother anyone else that Sephardim have begun wearing the funeral dress of Ashkenazim- the black hats, suits, and other "garb" of Eastern European Jews ? Even Rabbi X, a well-respected Sephardi Hakham, has succumbed to this. I fear for the future of Sephardi customs and traditions !!"
My dear and respected friend, Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardozo, recently wrote an article about the "relocation" of God. Here is an excerpt from that article.
This week’s Torah portion begins (Bemidbar 22:2): “And Balak the son of Zippor saw all that Israel had done to the Ammorites.” Interestingly, the Torah doesn’t tell us at this point who Balak is!
The passage then continues with two verses describing how the Moabites feared the advent of the large contingent of Israelites. Only at the end of verse 4 are we informed that “Balak the son of Zippor was king of Moab at that time.” Wouldn’t it have been more logical to tell us from the outset that Balak was king of Moab?
In ancient times, one who came into contact with the dead body of a human being was considered to be ritually impure and needed to undergo a purification process involving the ashes of a red heifer. It should be remembered that it is a mitzvah to care for a dead body and to participate in a proper funeral and burial. Thus, becoming ritually impure was a “normal” fact of life which occurred to almost everyone.
Since it is praiseworthy and a mitzvah to come into contact with a dead body for the purposes of burial, why does one become ritually impure in the process?
God instructs Abram to set out for a new land. God states that He will bless Abram, make him into a great nation, increase his fame, support his allies and curse his enemies. Abram will be a blessing to the nations of the world.
Abram complies with God’s commandment: “So Abram went as the Lord had spoken unto him; and Lot went with him…”(Bereishith 12:4).
Lot? How did Lot get into this scene? God had spoken with Abram and hadn’t said a word to Lot about going to a new land!
The very next verse (12:5) reports: “And Abram took Sarai his wife and Lot his brother’s son…and they went forth to go into the land of Canaan.” But didn’t the previous verse already inform us that Lot was going with Abram? Why is Lot
mentioned again?
Let us try to reconstruct the story.
Sometimes it takes a crisis to remind us of the transience of life. It might be an illness, the death of a loved one, an accident, a shocking and tragic news report. At these crisis moments, we suddenly and starkly remember that we are mortal, that life on this earth is temporary.
When people confront their own mortality, they often come to the realization that time is precious; that life is too valuable to be frittered away on nonsense; that it is self-destructive to engage in petty feuds or egotistical competitions. It can take a crisis to help us live on a higher, happier level. Facing the transience of life, we take our living moments more seriously.
The funeral of my Uncle Dave Romey was held in Seattle on Sunday April 7, 2013. For many years, he taught Spanish language and literature—at the University of Vermont, Temple University, and Portland State University.
Wise people have commented on the juxtaposition of the names of the two Torah portions we will be reading this Shabbat. Aharei Mot means “after the death”; Kedoshim means “holy”. My interpretation of the juxtaposition of these words is that we often don’t appreciate the greatness of a person until after he/she dies. After the death, we come to think more carefully about the person’s life, and we come to a deeper recognition of his/her unique qualities.