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Rachael’s Thoughts on Rosh Chodesh Iyar

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This Shabbat is the beginning of a new month in our Jewish calendar, it’s Rosh Chodesh Iyar.  Iyar is the second month of the Jewish ritual year.  Nisan, the month we celebrate Pesach, is the month the Torah specifies as our first month.  Iyar is the month after Nisan, so it is the second month of our year – it’s the Jewish ‘February’.  January has all the excitement and hype of newness, and February has…28 days.  Nothing special goes on in February.  The most unique thing about February is…it has 28 days.  It’s about the number of days, and in that way it’s very similar to Iyar.  Iyar is the month of counting the Omer as we head to Shavuot.  The entire month is a month of counting, it’s about the number of days. 

There is a common Jewish joke that compares the month of Iyar to a famous, boring donkey named Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh and the Hundred Acre Wood.  It’s not just that they sound the same (Iyar & Eeyore), it’s also that Eeyore is a dismal donkey, Pooh Bear’s flatlined, monotonic friend, who cannot rise to the excitement of anything. But once we’ve opened the door to the Jewishness of Eeyore, we cannot help but step through that door and explore the fullness of the Hundred Acre Wood, in its Jewishness, of course. 

Pooh Bear is the young child who goes to the Jewish after-school program at shul.  He doesn’t always see how the Jewish things he’s learning fits into his day, but in the end, Pooh Bear connects with ideas that speak to him in very unique ways.  Eeyore is Iyar (how could I resist?), the ‘goes along to get along’ person in shul who anchors and comforts with their very presence – there might not be a glowing smile, and maybe there’s a keen awareness of what went wrong, but they are reliable, dependable, and will always be there for everyone.  Piglet is the loyal bubbly shul goer who gets excited about everything – always the first to arrive, they welcome everyone else, and genuinely anticipate a great service.  Rabbit heads committees to make sure things get done; a stickler for details, he’s clearly the reason all the great ideas actually get done.  Christopher Robin is the Gabbai who makes sure things are as they should be.  Kanga is every parent, and Roo is every toddler.  Owl is, of course, the Sage Talmudist who informs far beyond what was asked, only to confuse the matter.  Last, but not least, is our beloved Tigger, who shows up at all our simchas (though we’re not quite sure whose guest list he was on) — he’s in every hora and kicks up the party to true joy.  We now have a complete Hundred Acre Minyan. 

But aside from the philosophical dive into Winnie the Pooh, the month of Iyar has a beautiful message for us.  The month before, Nisan, has all the excitement of Pesach while the month afterwards, Sivan, has the holiday of Shavuot – Iyar has no holiday.  The rabbis warn us not to think of Iyar as a time to be passive.  In fact, the letters of the Hebrew word ‘Iyar’ create the acronym: “I am God, your Healer”, and so Iyar becomes the month of healing.  A time of processing internally, and quietly, for healing and strength.  It might look like nothing is happening, but often the most powerful of things happen humbly inside of us.  We must never mistake humility for passivity.   

I’d like to wish everyone a sweet and peaceful Shabbat –our Jewish time to regroup, rest, and reinvigorate. 

  

Shabbat shalom, 

Rachael 

Rachael’s Thoughts on Parshat Shemini

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This week’s Torah reading, parashat Shemini, introduces Israel to the routine of sacrifices, and the strict structures of fixed ritual.  Having to be spiritual in preset moments of our day is something we struggle with all the time – why can’t I just pray when I feel like praying? 

Long ago, the Sages discussed the tension that exists between spontaneous and fixed prayer.  At times, we enter the moment as it occurs, and express ourselves with a spontaneous prayer that is uniquely ours.  Other times, we are told to pick up a Siddur at specific times of the day and use the words printed there.  Both of those expressions feed our souls, in very different ways. 

In this week’s parashah, Israel is being introduced to fixed ritual through specific sacrifices that are triggered by time or events – nothing spontaneous. Humanity calling out to God from within a human moment is natural to us, and we see it happening throughout Torah. It is the fixed routine of spirituality that is new and challenging – telling our souls, which are timeless, that they are now on a schedule for spiritual expression.  

Prayer is often challenging, not because we don’t feel a moment of depth, but because we may not feel it in the specific hours we’re gathered together with a Siddur in our hands.  This challenge isn’t new, as we hear the discussions in the Talmud of rabbis introducing their spontaneous prayers into the time of a fixed prayer.  In other words, the answer is not to always choose one or the other, it is to layer one into the other.   

If being spontaneous speaks strongly to you, find a moment to also utter a line of prayer from the Siddur – if praying out of a Siddur speaks strongly to you, find a moment to also stop and utter a personal spontaneous prayer.  Create a prayer that is both timeless and time bound. 

Layering both expressions together is the way the Torah reminds us that both our bodies and our souls are holy and must enhance each other.  Our bodies are entirely of this world, each cell containing its own clock, keeping us connected to time.  Our souls are entirely of the spiritual realm, connected to God, existing outside time.  Our expression of prayer, entering a holy moment, elevates our awareness of both a structured existence as well as a spontaneous one. Jewish ritual is not entirely about the details of the expression, it includes the nuanced expression of our personal moments. 

I’d like to wish everyone a sweet and peaceful Shabbat –our Jewish time to regroup, rest, and reinvigorate. 

Shabbat shalom, 

Rachael 

Rachael’s Pesach Message for 2023

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Together, over the years, we’ve explored many of the themes and important moments that weave in and around our Seders.  I thought it might be nice to summarize a few of these thoughts as we are about to enter the holiday this year.

The Haggadah includes a debate on whether you believe justice or mercy should prevail once we are safe.  Were ten plagues enough?  Maybe hundreds of plagues would reflect a more just Divine response.  Were ten plagues too many?  Maybe mercy should have prevailed, and we should only refer to these plagues by their initials.   Do you believe that once there is no threat from an enemy, the fighting should end, or is safety only possible when an enemy is utterly erased?

Matzah is called ‘the bread of affliction’ and we usually believe it only represents our suffering.  Yet, the Torah clearly shows us that the last plague, death of the ‘first born’ is actually death of the one holding the birthright.  As this plague cycles through Egypt, over and over, the birthright will move to the next living child – the result is the inevitable death of every Egyptian.  The Torah describes the screams coming from all their homes.  The only way to stop the plague is to leave, and so God tells us to be ready to grab the matzah before it is done, because the level of human suffering is so high.  The ‘bread of affliction’ includes more than only us. 

The Haggadah is our only text that is never formally closed – we are told that anyone who expands in the telling of these events is only to be praised.  We understand that praise to be for those who expand with meaningfulness, and not for those who only expand to the length of the Seder.  


The Seder is meant as a pivotal Jewish moment for the younger generation to watch their older family members.  We are teaching them the importance of our history; how we tell it; how we infuse it with meaning. The Seder begins as we understand that the constraints of Egypt exist in all our lives today.  It ends as we proclaim a hopeful moment of “Next year in Jerusalem!”, and sing our favourite songs together.  The flow of the night moves us from slavery to redemption.

In other words, every year we teach our children that we know how to journey from despair to hope.  God showed us how, our Sages shaped the Seder around it, and we recommit to it every year.   Moving from despair to hope is our journey of redemption, and Judaism tells us we are redeemed everyday.

Wishing everyone a meaningful Pesach, with a prayer for daily redemption and unity for all the Jewish people, here and in Israel!

Chag Kasher v’Sameach, 
Rachael

Rachael’s Thoughts on Shabbat Hagadol

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This Shabbat is called Shabbat Hagadol, The Grand Sabbath, the Shabbat before Pesach.   One of the reasons for this name is because this is the first time, while still in Egypt, on the verge of leaving, Israel willingly takes on the choice to fulfill a commandment.  This means all the Israelites in Egypt cross the threshold of becoming an adult, becoming Bnei Mitzvah, and the meaning of Gadol, when speaking of a person, speaks of someone who is no longer a minor, someone who is a mature adult. 

But being an adult, with free will, immediately raises a question of choosing a perspective.  Life brings wonderful things to us, and can equally blindside us and bring tears to our eyes.  We know both sides are in our path – we do not choose what will happen, we choose how we read what happens. 

It reminds me of the old Jewish man who is lying in bed fearing the worst.  He calls to his wife, Goldie, and he says: ‘Goldeh, things are looking tough right now, but I’m remembering our years together.  I remember when we first were married, and suddenly our lives became hard, finding a place to live’.  Goldie nods her head.  ‘And Goldeh, I remember when we opened our first grocery store together, and we were robbed within a month.’  Goldie nods her head. ‘And Goldeh, don’t think I’ve forgotten that when we opened our second store together, it burned to the ground right after the insurance expired.’ Goldie nods her head.  ‘And through it all, Goldeh, you were there, every step, every moment.’  Goldie’s eyes fill and she nods. ‘And so, my Goldeh, in this moment of dire reflection, I have come to an important conclusion…’ Goldie leans closer, ‘My Goldeh…I now understand…you’re bad luck.’ 

It’s not what happens to us that shapes us, it’s how we choose to view it.  Ancient Egypt simultaneously produced slaves and leaders.  Our texts show us that Moses becomes our spiritual giant, Miriam becomes the guardian, and Aaron becomes the peacemaker.  Yet it is for us to choose what we see and where we focus. 

This Shabbat is the 10th day of Nisan, the day Miriam died.  Miriam, the quiet leader who brought us culture through her spontaneous song and dance; who brought us water in the wilderness through Miriam’s Well; who taught us guardianship as she protected her brother, Moses; who taught us to step into opportunities as she spoke to Pharaoh’s daughter and reunited her mother with Moses so they could bond.   

Our Sages teach us that we were redeemed from Egypt on the merit of the Jewish women, and so my thoughts move to Miriam and Goldie.  As Shabbat Hagadol leads us into Pesach, I choose to think of everything Miriam brought to us, and not to think of the great sadness they felt when they lost her.  I choose to think of Goldie, so strong, so loyal, so misunderstood. 

Our people is filled with Miriams and Goldies and Moses and Aarons.  Regardless of how busy things can get, may we never be the ones who choose not to see them. 

I’d like to wish everyone a sweet and peaceful Shabbat —our Jewish time to regroup, rest, and reinvigorate.   

Also wishing everyone a meaningful, connected and beautiful Pesach. 

Shabbat shalom, 

Rachael 

Rachael’s Thoughts on Parshat Ki Tisa

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This week’s Torah reading, Ki Tisa, starts with Israel learning how to conduct a census.  It’s actually a far more nuanced thing than we first realize.  The very nature of counting something reduces its essence to something that can be quantified by a number.  When we count a thing, we objectify it, ignore anything that is unique or distinguishing about it, and relate to all things being counted as if they are they same.  The only significance applied to counting something is the end number, the sum of the things.  It’s clear why this process would be problematic to us when connected with people. 

The second problem with counting people is one of tempting the ‘evil eye’.  Jewish sensitivity about positive and negative forces in the universe goes back to our beginnings.  Once we accept that there is spirituality in the world, it becomes difficult to draw a line saying spiritual forces only exist in some places but not others.  Because we don’t really know, we err on the side of caution.  To assign a final tally to counting people might draw a negative force to take notice of that large number and now play with it, bring negativity to it…reduce it.  No mention of a number, no invitation or temptation for negativity, we have secured each other. 

As much as that might sound out of place in our modern society, I’ve noticed people who never took such things seriously suddenly became aware of it once they have children.  They err on the side of ‘just in case’. 

All wonderful spiritual concepts to explore but on a practical level, how could we ever take a census?   

God tells Moses to command everyone to give a coin, a half shekel.  No one is allowed to deviate from that set coin amount —whether rich or poor, everyone must give the same.  The coins are all collected and counted.  We are not counting people, we are counting their donations.  The amount collected would then be used to sustain and support those who work for the nation, the ones who facilitate ritual and leadership.  In other words, we managed to take a census, collect a religious tax, support community workers, and everyone in the nation has given charity and fulfilled a mitzvah.  Why be satisfied with a mere census when we can accomplish all of that instead? 

Sometimes, we read something in Torah and feel it imposed on us, or it’s tying our hands —wouldn’t  it be easier to just do what we want, directly and quickly.  It’s moments like these when we realize that what might seem as a limitation could actually be a broader accomplishment that now sits firmly on our Jewish values.  In a world of sound bites and instant response times, the Torah reminds us that taking shortcuts is not always our preferred process. 

I’d like to wish everyone a sweet and peaceful Shabbat —our Jewish time to regroup, rest, and reinvigorate. 

Shabbat shalom, 

Rachael  

Rachael’s Thoughts on Shabbat Zachor

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The Shabbat before Purim is called Shabbat Zachor, the Shabbat of Remembrance.  It is named after the commandment to always remember what Amalek did to us as we were coming out of Egypt – the word ‘zachor’ means to remember.  Ironically, the commandment regarding Amalek is to erase the memory of this people, but at the same time we are commanded to remember. 

Our history with Amalek goes back to biblical times when they attacked us as we came out of Egypt.  It is not just the attack, it is that they targeted the part of the nation that is protected at the back: the women, the children, the elderly.  The rules of warfare respected that conflict should remain between the strong and the armed.  Amalek first attacked those that were vulnerable, they preyed on the ones ancient societies had agreed to protect.  Amalek was a nation whose core rested on self-interest, brutality, and immorality – the epitome of evil. 

The Torah commands us to remember that evil exists in the world and it will hunt.  We consider Haman to be a descendant of Amalek, and we therefore read of them on this Shabbat, the Shabbat of Remembrance.  But the commandment is to erase their memories from existence, so why do we do the opposite by naming a Shabbat after remembering them?   

It is not history that we are directed to erase, it is the logical reconciliation of that history.  The fact that hatred and evil of that kind can still gain supporters means it is somehow still making sense to someone.  The commandment to continue to fight Amalek, by remembering them until they are forgotten, speaks to the goal of changing the cultural consciousness.  We have not won against evil in the world so long as it still makes sense to some cultures. 

The prophet Isaiah spoke of a time of redemption when nation would not raise sword against nation, and they would no longer study war.  It is not that they would not feel the need to study warfare, it’s that war would no longer make sense to anyone. 

We remember Amalek so we will recognize evil when we see it.  It is the only war we are commanded to wage – fight evil until it’s very existence becomes an anomaly. 

I’d like to wish everyone a sweet and peaceful Shabbat –our Jewish time to regroup, rest, and reinvigorate. 

Shabbat shalom, 

Rachael 

Rachael’s Thoughts on Shabbat Shira

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This Shabbat is special in that we read of leaving Egypt, crossing the Reed Sea, and singing our first song.  Because we sing the Song at the Sea, the entire Shabbat is named ‘The Shabbat of Song’, Shabbat Shira. 

We are born as a people when we emerge on the other side of the sea.  We inhale and take our first breath as free people; we are transformed from a clan to a nation.  The first thing any newborn must do is breath, and that first breath results in a sudden burst of crying.  Each parent waits for that first cry, the proof of life and breath.  But, in this moment of national birth, as Israel emerges from the sea, we inhale our first breath and sing.  As a newborn bonds to its parent, we bonded to God through breath and song. 

Our sages debated how Israel sang the lyrics to a song they didn’t know, since Moses is composing it on the spot.  One answer is that Israel was not singing the words, the people kept repeating the first word: “Ashira”, “I will sing”.  Every time Moses completed a sentence, the people sang their commitment to covenant and life: “I will sing”.  

In fact, the Torah refers to itself as ‘this song’, and when we chant Torah to each other we sing the traditional notes.  We have shaped the ritual of passage into Jewish adulthood, a Bnei Mitzvah, as calling a young person to the Torah to hear them sing it. We have learned the importance of song, and the importance of committing to it. 

A newborn baby does not consciously experience its birth.  The baby suddenly finds itself in a room of light when it had only known darkness; cold when it had only known warmth; aloneness when it had only known connection – of course a newborn will inhale and cry.  On this Shabbat we read of our conscious transformation, our feelings of freedom and safety, enveloped by God, whose Divine Presence is palpable– of course we would inhale and sing. 

It is traditional to stand in the service when the Song at the Sea is being read from the Torah.  We stand to remember that first instant we stood together, that moment of absolute completion.  We do not deny that life presents challenges, but on this Shabbat we recommit ourselves to sing. 

I’d like to wish everyone a sweet and peaceful Shabbat –our Jewish time to regroup, rest, and reinvigorate. 

  

Shabbat shalom, 

Rachael 

Rachael’s Thoughts on Parshat Va’era

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This week’s Torah reading, Va’era, begins detailing the plagues of Egypt.  We are familiar with these plagues, after all, we recite them every year at our Seders. But, in fact, we’ve been debating their meanings for millennia.  We’ve looked at them in their details, in their impact, and in their categories. 

One of the ways we categorize them is by realizing that each plague is targeting another god of Egypt.  The Nile was seen as a god since it flooded its banks every year and irrigated Egypt.  Frogs were viewed as representing the frog goddess who brought fertility to Egypt after the Nile would flood.  As the plagues progress, each one targets a different god worshipped in Egyptian life.   

To anyone sitting outside of that culture, the impact of the plagues is devastating, but random.  To anyone in ancient Egypt, it is clearly an attack on their gods, and their world view.  The result of the plagues is to discredit anything Egypt has trusted, leaving them feeling confused and powerless.  When trust is removed, paranoia sets in, and everything and everyone now sits under a cloud of suspicion.  The cohesion of a nation has fallen apart. 

When we read of the plagues, we are not meant to read them as distant, ancient world occurrences.  The plagues challenge us to look at the world around us today, and question what the things are we worship, as if they are gods; what are the myths we have created in our daily lives that now build into a house of cards.  Measures of success today may be sitting on materialism in our lives, rather than on the role of values, compassion, and acts of human kindness, the things Judaism tells us could truly change the world. 

We think we know all about the plagues of Egypt, but we shouldn’t read them as if we stand outside of their reality.  The Torah, in its eternal truth, invites us in, and positions us to ask those questions in our own lives –what are the things I worship that are truly meaningless? 

I’d like to wish everyone a sweet and peaceful Shabbat –our Jewish time to regroup, rest, and reinvigorate. 

  

Shabbat shalom, 

Rachael 

Rachael’s Thoughts on Parshat Vayishlach

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In this week’s Torah reading, Vayishlach, we see Jacob wrestling with an angel all night until daybreak.  It results in an injury – the angel grabs Jacob’s thigh, injuring his nerve and causing him to limp for the rest of his life.  The severity of that injury has significance both in how it speaks to us in our Jewish identity, as well as how it remains silent. 

Before Jacob is injured, he demands that the angel bless him, and the angel tells Jacob his name will be changed to Israel.  According to the angel, the name means Jacob will struggle with people and with God but will be enabled to meet those challenges.  In the same moment of such a strong blessing we also hear of such a grave injury.  The two extremes sitting side by side teach Jews that Covenant conveys blessings but it is not a shield against injury or pain.  Jewish identity will always contain both the blessings and the pain. 

On a personal level, the injury remains silent.  The Torah tells us Jacob will now limp but Jacob himself never refers to it.  We do not hear him speak to his family of ever being in pain or ever feeling limited because of his limp. 

After Jacob, the Torah introduces us to our next leader, Moses.  Like Jacob, Moses also has a handicap which we learn of when he speaks with God at the burning bush.  Moses tells God he has a speech impediment.  Interestingly, God does not view it as a handicap and nowhere in Torah do we ever see anyone asking Moses to repeat himself because they can’t understand him.  Moses is the only one who sees his limitation and he feels insecure because of it. 

Two leaders stand side by side, both have physical limitations, but Jacob does not define himself by it while Moses does.  It challenges us to ask how much of how we perceive ourselves is based on self-imposed limitations.  Among the many things we learn from Jacob is this subtle detail of personal empowerment: choose the blessings over the pain, and question ourselves about our perceived limitations. 

I’d like to wish everyone a sweet and peaceful Shabbat –our Jewish time to regroup, rest, and reinvigorate.  

Shabbat shalom,  

Rachael  

Rachael’s Thoughts on Parshat Lech Lecha

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In this week’s Torah reading, parshat Lech Lecha, we meet our first generation of ancestors: Abraham and Sarah. We always think of them as the beginnings of Judaism, the ones who followed God into a relationship that changes them, changes their descendants, and changes the world. 

What we don’t often emphasize is that the journey to search for something more didn’t begin with Abraham and Sarah, it began with Abraham’s father, Terach. Before reading of the beginning of the Jewish journey, the Torah tells us that a man named Terach took his family, including his son Abraham and daughter-in-law Sarah, and left their home in Chaldean territory. Along the journey, Terach dies, and his family stagnates. They seem paralyzed by the loss of their father and the family journey seems to end just as it has barely begun. 

It is then that God speaks to Abraham and prompts him to ‘lech lecha’, ‘journey onward’. It is a Divine prod to continue with the vision and initiative of his father, Terach –to bring the family to new horizons. The relationship that God, Abraham, and Sarah, will form is not the relationship Terach envisioned but it is the continuation of his impulse to search beyond the usual. 

The Torah is always full of layers of meaning and timeless messages. Terach changed his family culture and envisioned what could be beyond, but his life ended. If not for God reaching out to Abraham and Sarah, Terach’s vision would have ended as well. The Torah is always full of timeless messages, and in this case, we are shown that the journey of a life takes longer than a lifetime. 

I’d like to wish everyone a sweet and peaceful Shabbat –our Jewish time to regroup, rest, and reinvigorate. 

Shabbat shalom, 

Rachael