Professor Alan Brill recently noted: “Consumerism has turned the church [and synagogue] from an ‘ocean-liner’ designed to move people from point A to point B (connecting people with God), to a ‘cruise ship’, that is, in itself, the destination.” (“The Emerging Popular Culture and the Centrist Community,” in Developing a Jewish Perspective on Culture, ed. Yehuda Sarna (New York: Yeshiva University Press, 2014), pp. 31-32.)
"...I will surely do thee good, and make thy seed as the sand of the sea which cannot be numbered for multitude." "and thy seed shall be as the dust of the earth...." "I will multiply thy seed as the stars in heaven."
It sometimes happens that people have an authentic and precious tradition—but they don’t appreciate it! They want something new and different, something more “relevant,” something that will supposedly appeal to the masses. The Talmud (Arakhin 10b) describes an amazing situation that transpired during the days of our ancient Temple in Jerusalem.
"...for I am dust and ashes." (Bereishith 18:27)
When God informed Abraham that He was intending to destroy the wicked city of Sodom, Abraham immediately challenged the Divine decision. Perhaps, argued Abraham, there were righteous people in the city: should they perish along with the wicked people? "Will the Judge of all the world not act justly?"
A story is told of the great Hassidic master, Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berdichev. He had been visiting a town and attended prayer services in the local synagogue. One day, he stopped at the synagogue door and did not enter the sanctuary. People asked: Why did the Rebbe not enter the synagogue? Rabbi Levi Yitzhak told them: “The synagogue is too crowded.” But the synagogue was empty! The Rebbe explained: “The synagogue is full of prayers, there's no room left for us."
As we prepare to observe Rosh Hashana, it is important that we re-focus on the framework of the covenant between God and Israel, that we recognize how important it is for each Jew to be treated as a fellow partner in our adventure with the Almighty. Our communities need to reflect a sincere inclusiveness, a feeling of mutual respect among ourselves.
When I was a boy, I and so many others of my generation were avid fans of Mickey Mantle of the New York Yankees. We admired him because he was so amazingly natural and graceful. All really great players are spontaneous and natural. Lesser players seem to try too hard. This is true not only of baseball but also in all areas of human endeavor...including religion.
The root of deepest human sadness is embodied in the word "separation." We feel this sadness especially at moments of transition: when we say goodbye to a child who is leaving for college or moving out of town; when we say goodbye to a loved one whom we won't be seeing for a long time. Parents cry at the weddings of their children. Their tears, to be sure, are tears of happiness; yet, they are also tears of pathos, of separation.
In this week’s Parasha, we read of the Israelites’ complaint of lack of water; of God’s instruction to Moses to speak to the rock; of Moses striking the rock to bring forth water; of God informing Moses that he would not be allowed to enter the Promised Land. Moses had erred; he and Aaron were told by God: “Because you did not believe in Me to sanctify Me in the eyes of the children of Israel, therefore you shall not bring this assembly into the land which I have given them” (Bemidbar 20:12).
Rabbinic literature includes the names and teachings of many great and well-known sages. Yet, the rabbi who is mentioned most often in our liturgy is Rabbi Hananya ben Akashya—an obscure figure about whom we know almost nothing. We quote him at the end of our Musaf service, before the kaddish; and after every public Torah study session, to introduce the recitation of kaddish.