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NJOP
Bereshith Newsletter
April 2001
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It's No Coincidence
by:
David Solomon
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I
think I fit the mold of the typical Jew on the North Shore
of Chicago. I was raised in a semi-observant home (i.e.
we kept kosher, went to services on the High Holidays, had
Passover Seders, etc.) and was provided with a traditional
Jewish education. I went to Hebrew School from ages 8-13
and had my Bar Mitzvah on my 13th birthday (complete with
a fancy party for all of my friends and family at the Standard
Club).
However, after "becoming a man" in the eyes of
the Jewish community, and even though I promised the rabbi,
my parents and family on the day of my Bar Mitzvah that
I would, I took very little interest in pursuing my Jewish
education. Instead, I busied myself with sports, hanging
out with my friends, studying for college entrance exams,
and generally being a teenager in all other ways. Other
than going to temple on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur and
attending my family's Passover Seders, I did not utilize
the wonderful skills that I now realize were a privilege
to learn in Hebrew School. I did not take advantage of reading
from the Torah or leading the Saturday morning service.
I did not pursue the various activities offered by my local
USY Chapter or the Hillel during my days as an undergraduate
student at the University of Michigan. In fact, I did not
even join a synagogue until this past year, even though
I married a Jewish woman who was also raised as a traditional
Jew and have two children that we intend to raise as traditional
Jews.
Despite my inability or unwillingness to connect with my
Jewish heritage for almost twenty years, certain changes
in my life have affected the way I feel about the strength
of my faith in G-d over the past two years. These events
(and my recent affiliation with the good people of the Chicago
Community Kollel, especially Rabbi Zev Kahn), have reinforced
my belief that nothing in this world happens by accident.
In November 1999, I received a flier regarding a class being
held in conjunction with "Read Hebrew America,"
the NJOP campaign to help people who had not pursued their
Jewish education, learn how to read Hebrew. Although I had
not taken advantage of such opportunities for nearly two
decades, something inside pushed me to begin attending these
classes.
At the first class I met Rabbi Zev Kahn, my teacher, who
described himself as the "Rugby Rabbi from South Africa."
After adjusting to the strange nickname and even stranger
accent, I began to learn to read the Hebrew words which
were used in all the familiar prayers I had learned in my
childhood. And through Rabbi Kahn's words of wisdom, the
spiritual meaning behind these words and prayers came alive.
After the first two weeks, I began to re-connect with my
Jewish roots that were developed as a student so many years
ago.
As it turned out, this re-connection with my Jewish faith
could not have come at a better time for me. Shortly after
beginning the "Hebrew Reading Crash Course" and
developing my new relationship with Rabbi Kahn, I experienced
two separate events of personal crisis which would test
the faith of any Jew who believes in a merciful and compassionate
G-d. On November 9, 1999, my father was diagnosed with Stage
IV Pancreatic Cancer, a disease that is fatal 98% of the
time. Two weeks later, my 90 year-old grandfather died suddenly
of a stroke after suffering from Alzheimer's Disease for
nine months.
Although I certainly wish neither of these events would
have occurred, I am grateful that I was able to read enough
Hebrew to recite the Mourner's Kaddish for my grandfather
at his funeral, that I could pray for my father's recovery
from his illness and that I could read Psalms for my father
with the prayer book Rabbi Kahn gave me on September 20,
2000, the night before my father ultimately passed away.
In fact, my family and I were so grateful that we decided
to sponsor the Torah Learning Center's recent "Hebrew
Reading Crash Course" in honor of my late father.
Based on my experiences, I believe that my desire to re-learn
Hebrew was no coincidence and that the opportunity to study
with Rabbi Kahn was G-d's way of preparing me for the tough
times that lay ahead. While I hope that no other "typical"
Jew like me will have to suffer through a personal crisis
to begin exploring an enhanced Judaic education, I truly
believe that everything happens for a reason and that G-d
has a purpose.
As we approach the season of Passover, I can see from reviewing
the Haggadah that my experience is the Jewish experience.
In order to take hold of their heritage and accept the Torah
at Sinai, the Jews needed to suffer through slavery. Therefore,
I would encourage anyone with a desire to re-connect with
their Jewish faith to do so without the "suffering"
and to attend the fine programs available through NJOP and
your local outreach centers.
David Solomon is an attorney in Northbrook, Illinois.
David and his wife Tanya are involved with the outreach
programs of the Chicago Community Kollel and the Torah Learning
Center of Northbrook. They have two children, Matthew (4)
and Mollie (2).
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Cleaning
House
by
Beth Seewald
Passover,
to me, always involved a Seder, the family coming together,
and lots of matzah over the course of the holiday. However,
one thing that we never did in my house while growing up was
clean for the holiday. As I started to learn more about Judaism,
I discovered that Passover was not only about eating matzah
during the eight days of Passover, but also about the preparations
prior to the Seder. Several years ago, therefore, I decided
to institute the tradition of cleaning my apartment before
the start of Pesach.
Cleaning for Passover was no easy task (embarrassingly enough).
I was living with two other women, and although we did clean
our apartment regularly, we certainly did not usually do the
extremely thorough cleaning that Passover requires. In addition,
my roommates were not into this business of cleaning for Passover,
so I had to do it on my own. Of course, they did not complain
- they were going to get a thoroughly spotless apartment,
after all! Thus, giving myself about three days before the
start of Passover, I started to empty my cabinets in the kitchen
and scrub down the surfaces. I also removed the coats from
the hallway closet, swept it out, and searched in all corners
for any traces of chametz (leaven and any product in which
wheat, oat, barley, spelt or rye come in contact with water
for 18 minutes or longer without kneading or manipulating).
Then I mopped the kitchen and living room floors. However,
even with doing all of this, I was not even close to being
done with the cleaning, and Passover was to start the next
day! What should I do? The effort to clean my entire apartment
was genuine, but it just seemed impossible in the amount of
time that I had given myself.
You may think -- why all this cleaning anyway? Why not eat
the matzah for the eight days of Passover and then move on
with life? Well, that fateful year of my first Pesach cleaning,
I had learned something that resonated within me. In cleaning
for Passover, not only are we physically cleaning our houses
or apartments, but we should be looking inside of ourselves
and "cleaning out" the parts of our lives or our
personalities that need to be changed. We look into the corners
of our souls and see what needs to be scrubbed out of our
own lives.
The year of my first Pesach cleaning, I did not finish cleaning
the whole apartment. However, I did investigate and sanitize
areas that had not been looked at in months. Similarly, as
I searched for chametz in my residence, I was able to search
for things in my life that were holding me back personally,
and attempt to rid them from my life (or at least make a concerted
effort to do so). I did not get to the "whole house"
that year, but that may be because I did not give myself enough
time. It could very well be that I may not have been ready
to clean out the entire apartment. Similarly, I may have been
ready to change and improve parts of my life but, perhaps,
I was not ready to start on others, or did not have enough
time to do so.
Now, several years later, I clean my whole apartment for each
Pesach. I have help from my current roommates and yet I still,
at times, forget to check certain areas of the house for chametz.
As we clean this year, may all we try to eradicate from our
lives the chametz that is holding us back, but realize that
it may be okay if we are not yet ready to rid ourselves of
all of the "bad stuff." The essence, after all,
is in the effort to clean and the attempt to get rid of all
of the chametz that may be obvious or hidden.
Beth Seewald is involved with the Beginners Program
at Congregation Ohab Zedek on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.
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Jewish
Day of Independence'
by
Rabbi Andrew Cohen
The
Jewish concept of time is cyclical: a spiral in which each
month passes through a field infused with a spiritual energy
conducive to that season's holidays. For instance, from the
beginning of Elul (the month preceding Rosh Hashana) until
Yom Kippur, there is an energy of repentance. Immediately
following the Rosh Hashana season is Yom Kippur, a 25-hour
period of atonement for sin, and spiritual rebirth. The upcoming
holiday of Passover is known as Zman Cheiruteinu – The
Time of Our National Spiritual Liberation.
Passover (Pesach) commemorates our Exodus from Egypt and our
salvation from spiritual annihilation. Our Sages teach that
the Egyptian enslavement had dragged us down to the 49th level
of spiritual impurity, and that had we delayed in Egypt even
one moment more, we would have descended into the abyss forever.
Egypt was the most decadent, anti-G-d place on the earth,
and we were in a veritable crucible, about to be consumed
entirely, were it not for G-d's infinite love and mercy.
The Almighty planned our Exodus during the time of year richly
endowed with the spirit of liberation. Through the events
of the Exodus, the Jewish People were able to see into the
depths of Creation, to perceive G-d's glory through a detailed
perception of the mechanics of Divine will. Each year, as
we pass through this time-zone of freedom, there exists the
potential for us to tap into the wellsprings of salvation,
and to elevate ourselves and our relationship with G-d. This
is not merely a symbolic or amorphous feeling; it is not an
imagined euphoria, or an artificial high. The sense of growth
that one can experience on Passover, though an externally-induced
gift from the Almighty, is very, very real. And it is ours
for the asking, if we follow the guidelines through which
G-d channels the blessings of spiritual liberation.
On Pesach we recount the miracles that G-d performed for us
in the Exodus from Egypt through the recitation of the Haggadah.
Through retelling, indeed, almost reliving, the story of our
liberation, we are reinforcing the basic cornerstone of our
belief in G-d, and in His unassailable love for the Jewish
People. The parent teaches the child, and implants this core
belief across the generations. There is no generation gap,
but rather an unbroken chain stretching back to those who
witnessed these wonders--and the child's soul becomes united
with the faithful Jews of every generation who relived and
retold this story of the Exodus. As Nachmanides (a medieval
commentator) points out (Deut. 4:9): G-d did all these miracles
for us in order that we should learn to love and fear him,
and to ensure that our children remain connected to Jewish
eternity throughout all generations.
Whether or not we have children, we discuss these events,
ask the Four Questions, and gain insight into the realization
that we are a People because G-d led us out of Egypt to serve
Him. And it is by virtue of our adherence to His Divine Code,
the Torah, that we are a people. Through our connection to
the eternal commitment to retell the Haggadah, we deepen our
appreciation of G-d, and the Torah. G-d, in turn, intensifies
His commitment to us -- as we say in the Haggadah: "Even
if we were all people of wisdom, understanding, experience,
and Torah knowledge, it would still be obligatory to tell
about the Exodus from Egypt. The more one tells about the
Exodus, the more one is praiseworthy."
It has been said that Judaism is a gastronomical experience;
Pesach is no exception. Through eating certain foods, our
souls reconnect to the suffering in Egypt, and the subsequent
salvation that G-d performed for us. The famous Four Cups
of Wine, the Sages tell us, correspond to the four expressions
of redemption used by G-d: V'hotzeiti–I will bring you
out; V'hitzalti–I will rescue you; V'gaw'alti–I
will redeem you; and V'lakachti–I will take you to Myself.
In addition, wine refers to liberation in another way: it
is the choice drink of kings, and we imbibe it, after the
requisite blessings, while reclining on our left sides. The
mystical sources teach that G-d's right hand corresponds to
His attribute of mercy, and His left hand to the attribute
of strict justice. We lean on our left sides in order to connect
to the concept of G-d's mercy dominating over His strict justice,
as He took us to freedom.
The other symbolic foods -- the matzah, the bread of affliction,
and the maror, the bitter herbs, recreate in us a sense of
poverty and bitterness. They are dipped in the charoset –
the sweet apple, cinnamon, and nut mixture, which represents
the mortar we used in our hard labor. Each of these food items
is required in order to touch a specific chord in our souls.
We must eat a certain prescribed measurement of them within
a specific time limit in order to reconnect our souls to the
communal sense of suffering and bondage that we experienced.
Just as in the physical world, medicine is administered in
set dosages, and one would be foolish to say, "What difference
does it make if I take 30 mg of penicillin or 150 mg? It's
all just symbolic." So, too, in the science of Jewish
Spirituality (Torah observance), the set amounts of matzah,
maror, and wine are necessary for our souls to achieve the
sense of bitterness and liberation. A little sip of wine won't
do; a nibble on some matzah is not doing the mitzvah properly.
A tiny dab of horseradish smothered in charoset is not what
the Torah instructed us to do in order to log into the sense
of affliction and slavery.
It is not the form of the act that is key, it is the content.
Through complying with the carefully determined measurements
in terms of quantity and time, our souls revisit the primal
scream of our ancestors in Egypt, and then throughout the
rest of the Seder we set out to achieve a full redemption,
in spiritual terms, on a personal level, and as individuals
in the body of the Jewish People. And G-d willing, as our
Sages teach, "B'Nisan nigalu, u'bNisan atidim l'higael
-- In the month of Nisan we were first redeemed, and in the
month of Nisan we shall again be redeemed," speedily
in our days.
Rabbi Cohen is a chaplain in the USAF and a graduate
of the Ohr LaGola Program of Yeshivat Ohr Somayach in Jerusalem.
He and his family are currently stationed at Scott AFB just
outside of St Louis.
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