Dear Members & Friends of Kehilat Shalom Calgary,
This week’s parasha, Korach, holds powerful relevance for the political and social divisiveness of our times. Korach is the iconoclast, the populist political rival, with ambitions to lay claim to Moses’ leadership. His words are those of timeless protest against authority: “The entire assembly is holy, and they embody the Lord. So why should you have power over G-d’s people?” He manoeuvers to gather an alliance, to rally a host of people to his side, and to set up a potential coup to overthrow Moses and Aaron.
Political power is a necessary tool that can be used for good or evil. There is ample room within Judaism for the wielding of power, for dispute and protests of opposition, and for negotiation between parties. The traditional rabbinic view of Korach is that of a usurper and schemer, whose power interests were self-motivated rather than driven by a genuine concern for the Israelite people. Yet it is understood that those in authority, even those anointed by Hashem, are challenged to negotiate their leadership with the people they govern.
My longtime friend Abba Brodt, Head of School of Hebrew Foundation School in Montreal, recently shared the following story in which his late father, Rabbi Shalom Brodt z”l, demonstrated beautifully how to overcome the separations sown between us, and bring our hearts back: back to one another as a Jewish collective, back to Hashem, back to what matters most.
May this be a very, very, VERY special Shabbat for you all.
****************************************

I have to tell you a story about my father, Rabbi Shalom Brodt, z”l, brought on, as it were by the timing of the events of this past week - Fathers Day, Gimmel Tammuz (the Rebbe's yahrtzeit), and Parshat Korach.
It’s how I remember it. Not sure what is entirely accurate, and what is my faulty memory. But I’m telling it like I remember it.
And while the story is a story about my father, it is about so much more than him, as you’ll soon see.
In the late nineties, early two thousands, when my father was in the early years of having made Aliyah, he was doing his travelling Best Midrash thing, visiting small communities across America, and teaching and learning Torah with people from across the Jewish spectrum. He made some especially strong links with some wonderful holy people in Vermont, and developed connections through those relationships that radiated outwards to so many other small Jewish communities in the region.
He began to be invited to be a scholar-in-residence / lecturer at the Conference on Judaism in Rural New England, an annual gathering of New England’s rural Jews on the campus of Lyndonville State University. You see, there are thousands of Jews living in small, rural communities across New England, Maine, upstate New York, many of whom left larger communities, some to get away from it all, and others in search of a different kind of life. More a gathering of progressive-minded tribe members than traditional or practicing members-of-the-tribe, the conference was a lifeline for so many, a powerful gathering of community and an opportunity to connect to tradition and a shared heritage.
My father would sometimes invite me, my brother and my sister to come with him to the conference, which is like blending Take Your Child to Work Day with being at Woodstock. And so, fresh off the plane from Israel and having spent some time at his mother’s house in Montreal, he set off to get ready for the conference. First stop would be New Victoria Fish Store, on Victoria and Van Horne, where he would greet Frank, the gruff Greek fisherman, with enormous respect and affection. Frank, when finished with slicing the best smoked salmon in Montreal for the customers, would take my father to the other corner of the store, and pack him up a few whole smoked white fish. Then it was off to the kosher bakery, for a half-a-dozen large water challahs. And finally, he packed a Sefer Torah in the trunk of my grandmother’s car, and off we went, driving from Montreal to Lyndonville, Vermont.
On arriving in Lyndonville, my father just had to stop in the "mikvah" before Shabbos began. By the mikvah I mean he scouted out the best actual watering hole in the middle of nature, and in true Neo-Chassidic style, went skinny dipping, as much at home in the waters of New England as he would be in the Skver mikvah in Montreal. And then he’d be ready for the conference.
Owing to the quirks of the Jewish calendar, the conference often took place over the weekend when the Torah portion of Korach was read. Korach is a very complicated figure in the Torah, someone who, on the surface, wanted individuals to see the greatness they possessed, that spirituality and Torah is not just for the privileged. As he famously stated, “We are all equally holy and God is within us all”. In progressive Jewish circles, Korach is very much viewed as an anti-hero, someone who sticks It to the man, and challenges the authority of the Torah, rabbinic leadership and organized, hierarchical community (which made him a not unsympathetic characters to those in attendance at the conference). The Friday night panel discussion, which often had Korach as a central theme, was excruciating. My father, up on the dais, would be trying desperately not to nod off and fall asleep, a function of his jet lag and his wicked sleep apnea, all while trying to present Korach as the rabbis saw him, as someone with ulterior motives that were not at all noble. Needless to say, my father’s perspective was not widely accepted. Not an auspicious start to the conference. Exhausted, he wished the attendees a good Shabbos, and went off to sleep.
Shabbos morning was even worse. If you thought two Jews, three opinions was bad, try getting a diverse group of Jews to daven and pray together. There were multiple options for prayer services. Egalitarian, Conservative, Reform, Jewish meditation, I swear, there was even a tantric yoga minyan, or a drum circle, but that could just be my memory playing tricks on me. And nebach, in the middle of all this, there was my father, trying to run the Traditional minyan, rustling up nine other men to take part in his minyan, most of them kicking and screaming. It started late, it ran very late, and we were always late to lunch - everyone else’s prayer service finished far earlier. You get in between a Yiddel and his vegetarian gluten-free Shabbos lunch, and there will be hell to pay. For the life of me, I did not understand why my father was putting himself through this; as the safe Orthodox choice to be invited, he seemed so radically out of step from everyone else.
A word about the conference attendees. They were an incredibly diverse, disparate group, with differing needs, practices and beliefs, not to mention theological and political differences. I met such amazing, interesting, beautiful people, who, in living off the grid of larger Jewish communities, had to fight for every shred of their Jewish identities; I am smiling from the memories, even as I write this down all these years later. Apart from the shared experience of being Jewish in rural communities, there was very little in the way of common ground or shared Jewish experiences, even during the Shabbat we were all sharing.
Then came seudat shelishit, the Third Meal of Shabbat, the holiest time of Shabbat. And my father, who seemed to struggle to find his footing up until that point, transformed into something else entirely, and transformed everyone else in the process.
He led the Third Meal, for everyone at the conference.
Out came the smoked white fish. He tore it with his hands and passed around the morsels.
Out came the water challot, and like a chassidic rebbe distributing shirayim, he pulled it apart, and gave out the challah, wishing each person a Good Shabbos in the process.
He shared deep chassidic stories.
He led the singing of soulful, wordless niggunim.
People sang their hearts out.
They cried, they laughed.
They flew.
It was the high point of the Shabbaton conference, the unifying moment.
That moment stayed with me - indeed, it imprinted on me. It taught me from then on that when you do or share something Jewish that is genuine and meaningful, with few barriers to access for others (e.g. who is or isn’t counted in a minyan, or requiring a certain level of Jewish knowledge or literacy), then everyone can find common ground, and plug in to the moment or the experience in their own way. There are so many things that divide us, that cause conflict - find the moments that bring us together, build a positive connection to Yiddishkeit around that.
I think about this story a lot these days. There is so much that is in upheaval in this world now - coronavirus is wreaking havoc with every facet of our lives, and exposing and widening every fault line in society. The virus’s devastating reach is forcing us to reassess and reevaluate most everything.
Synagogues, Jewish Day Schools, Jewish summer camps, afternoon schools, organized trips and missions to Israel, every single Jewish spiritual and communal delivery system is in serious crisis, exacerbating already existential challenges they were facing in terms of cost and affordability, access and demographic changes, division and lack of achdut.
When the dust settles, what will be left?
Whatever the future state or new organizational models, our mission is to get to work, not to fall apart, but to find the common ground and spaces, where we can come and learn and be and share and give and love. And as my father z”l would say, if we are going to do this work, it has to always be done b’simchah u’vetuv levav, with joy and goodness of heart.
Miss you Tatty. Good Shabbos, good Shabbos!
▪Abba Brodt_________________
Rabbi Leonard Cohen
Kehilat Shalom, Calgary
(403) 850-0106
leonardecohen@gmail.com

Dear Members and Friends of Kehilat Shalom Calgary,
This is a very, very, VERY special Shabbat! It brings to mind a memorable event of my childhood.
Growing up, I had the privilege of attending a Jewish summer sleep-away camp, Camp Massad, in the Laurentians near Montreal. The camp summer was structured around a variety of major events on Israeli and Jewish themes. One thrilling event each summer was Ma’pilim. The entire camp was awoken in the middle of the night, to re-enact a daring immigration into the land of Israel in the time of the British Mandate. The oldest campers acted as British border guards and police, trying to catch and imprison the younger would-be olim (immigrants). All other campers were divided into small groups, each led by a counsellor, who would try to secretly make their way into Israel. Starting in rowboats in the middle of the lake, the kids would land on shore, and traverse through a 1.5km route hiding in the forest or behind cabins and buildings. When a camper was caught and “imprisoned”, the group had to free their fellow group-member by breaking into the jail area and tagging them free. Eventually, after a 2-hour adventure, all campers arrived safely in Israel – where they were greeted with hot chocolate around a warm bonfire, and a chance to go back to bed and sleep in late the next morning.
The source of the term Ma’pilim is from this week’s parsha, Shelach Lecha. The parsha recounts the transgression of the “twelve spies” - the tribal leaders who went out to scout the land of Israel, ten of whom came back saying the land’s occupants were too mighty for the Jews to conquer. Despite the pleas of two of the spies, Caleb and Joshua, to proceed boldly into the land, the Israelites panicked. They decided to go back to Egypt (!), and threatened to kill Caleb and Joshua as well as overthrow Moses and Aaron. Before this could happen, Hashem’s glory overwhelmed and silenced the people. Hashem punished the Israelites, decreeing that they would remain in the desert for forty years (until their generation died out and a new one arose), before entering the land.
In the midst of this, a group of remorseful Israelites decided to go up to Israel straightaway. Despite Moses’ warnings that they would fail, they went ahead zealously, climbing to the top of Mount Hormah – where they were slaughtered by the Canaanites and Amalekites. This group became known as the defiers – the Ma’pilim.
Why did the biblical Ma’pilim fail, where the Israelites later succeeded, in making their way successfully into Israel? Rav Yoel Bin Nun suggests that, on a practical level, the Amalekites and Canaanites had established a solid, fortified hold of the south of the land – an ancient Maginot Line, as it were. Any small force attacking directly from the south was doomed to fail. Instead, the Israelites’ eventual journey southward then to the east of Israel, led them to a less fortified position from which they could successfully attack and penetrate the land.
In the early years of the Zionist movement, Hebrew poet Chaim Nachman Bialik recast the ma’pilim, no longer as failed reactionaries, but as bold heroes and spiritual progenitors of the Zionist movement. In his 1902 poem “Metei Midbar” – The Dead of the Desert – Bialik writes:
Mighty warriors we!
The last of the slaves,
The first of the free! . . .
We and heaven’s eagles have sipped freedom at its source!
Who is lord over us? . . .
In the face of heaven and all its spite,
Here we are, ready to storm, to conquer!
And if God has withdrawn from us,
If His Ark will not move from its place--
We will conquer without Him!
(Translation from Bialik’s Hebrew by Raymond Scheindlin)
As a result of Bialik’s reframing, the Ma’pilim became a source of inspiration for the Zionists. Twenty years after Bialik, Levin Kipnis wrote “El Rosh Hahar” – “To the Top of the Mountain!” – building on the theme of Ma’pilim as exemplars of zealous determination:
To the top of the mountain! To the top of the mountain!
Who will bar the path of those saved from captivity?...
Arise brothers!... The summit is near!
We will surely see the way we have mounted!
One suddenly falls to the depths;
the first sacrifice, he will surely not be the last.
Defiantly! Defiantly! To the top of the mountain, we shall rise!
(Translation my own)
The refrain, “Ha’pilu!” recalls the defiantly bold nature of the ancient Ma’pilim in their failed quest. Set to music, this poem became a powerful song for the Zionist movement; click here to hear a recording of El Rosh Hahar as sung by Ora Zitner.
Were the Ma’pilim heroes or failures? R. Tzadok Ha-Kohen of Lublin viewed the boldness of the ma’pilim as indicative of the chutzpah that our Sages say will increase and succeed in the time of Mashiach (Talmud – Sotah 48b); the same chutzpah, perhaps, that led ideologically determined Zionists to re-establish a Jewish state in the homeland of Israel.
Nechama Leibowitz points out, however, that the Ma’pilim of Torah, unlike those of Zionist poetry, were not a trailblazing vanguard. Had they been truly foresighted and inspired, they would have championed Joshua and Caleb, and mobilized the Jewish people prior to their panic and G-d’s punishment. Instead, they reacted after the fact, when it was no longer the time, and without the people’s unity. The Torah states that the Ark of the Covenant did not go with the Ma’pilim; their quest was doomed from the start in the absense of divine support.
I find it nonetheless remarkable that the Zionist movement transformed a little-known, tragic event in the Torah to a source of steadfast inspiration. As Jews, we continually re-engage with the stories of our people, casting new light on them, drawing new knowledge and perspectives. It is our challenge, in times of distress, to ever seek meaning in the very difficulties we have faced, and to draw on the wealth of our Jewish legacy and connection to Hashem’s Torah, in order to discover meaning and inspiration for our lives.
Shabbat Shalom!
Rabbi Leonard Cohen
Kehilat Shalom, Calgary
(403) 850-0106
leonardecohen@gmail.com

Dear Members and Friends of Kehilat Shalom Calgary,
​
This week’s Parsha, Beha’alotecha, provides helpful insight to guide us in negotiating the challenges of our current times. The parsha follows a thematic arc: it begins with light, leads up to distress, and concludes with healing.
From Hope and illumination…
Beha’alotecha begins with the great Jewish symbol of illumination, the Menorah. Hashem tells Moses to instruct Aharon, Moses’ brother, to mount the lamps of the Menorah – the great seven-branched at the center of the Mishkan (tabernacle) and later the Beit Hamikdash. Not only was the Menorah’s light necessary for the Kohanim/priests to conduct their sacred service, the menorah represents the illumination, both physical and spiritual, which Hashem provides to humanity and the world. Beha’alotecha goes on to describe the purification rituals and the paramters for the Levites to serve in the Ohel Mo’ed – the Tent of Meeting encompassing the Mishkan. These various sections depict the lofty heights of religious observance which the Jewish people had attained with the dedication of the Mishkan.
The parsha describes how the Jewish people in the desert stood ever at attention to G-d’s command to travel. When I consider the Jewish people’s journeys in the desert, I recall the television show M*AS*H about a military hospital in Korea. M*AS*H stood for “Mobile Army Surgical Hospital”, and at any given time the entire hospital would be commanded to take itself down and deploy elsewhere. Similarly, the massive Israelite camp in the desert – the Mishkan and all of the twelve tribes’ encampment – could at any time be commanded by G-d, through the signal of the rising of the column of cloud, to pack themselves up and journey on elsewhere. The military analogy is underscored by the Torah’s description of the silver trumpets used to sound the calls for leaders to assemble, or for the people to prepare to journey, at a moment’s notice. The length of such stays varied greatly; they could be for “two days or a month or a year” (Bamidbar/Number 9:22). In all, the Jewish people traveled between and camped in forty-two different sites during their time in the desert.
As Rabbi Nechemia Krakover observes, the readiness to journey or to camp at G-d’s command required an enormous commitment on the part of our Jewish ancestors. While it relieved the Jewish people of the challenge of their own independent decision-making, it must have strained them greatly to have no control, and to endure such continual upheaval, throughout forty years.
… To unrest
Perhaps it is not surprising, then, that our ancestors in the desert often show tremendous unrest. As Beha’alotecha unfolds, the Jewish people complain about the manna which sustains them, and
turn to a blinded nostalgia of their time in Egypt: “If only we had meat to eat! We remember the fish that we used to eat for free in Egypt, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic.” (If there is anything we Jews ever talk and complain about, it’s food.) Beyond the absurd myth that they ate like kings in Egypt, the claim that they ate food “chinam”, for free, absurdly ignores the price they paid living in perpetual slavery.
Moses responds with despair. Rather than have to bear the burden of leading such an acrimonious and ungrateful people, Moses tells G-d he would prefer that G-d kill him right away. To alleviate Moses’ distress, G-d has him appoint seventy elders to share the burden of leading the people, and essentially to provide Moses’ companionship in his leadership.
Amid the distress, a strange incident occurs: two random laymen, Eldad and Meldad, are struck with the Divine spirit and begin prophesying in the camp. A young lad runs to report this to Moses, and Joshua reacts by calling out to Moses to arrest them. Moses, maintaining his cool, sees no such need; not only does he perceive no threat, but he even adds, “If only all the L-rd’s people were prophets!”
Miriam's confrontation
At this point, Miriam along with Aaron confronts Moses. In a somewhat cryptic incident, she challenges Moses about his Kushite wife. Hashem reacts by afflicting Miriam with the disease of “tzara’at”, a severe illness akin to leprosy, meted out to those who commit the wrongdoing of Lashon Hara -- speaking ill of or slandering others.
The great Jewish scholar Abarbanel examines this incident in exquisite detail, outlining and resolving ten crucial questions about it. (Unfortunately, I have not found any translated version of this in English to share.) Through reference to Midrash and other rabbinic commentary, Abarbanel explains that Miriam, accompanied by Aaron, confronts Moses for having divorced his wife Tzipporah. Miriam tells Moses that he cannot use the burdens of his leadership as an excuse, for she and Aaron have the power of prophesy to share in his leadership as well. In anticipation of a slogan that is very much current, the description of Moses’ wife Tzipporah as a “Kushite” meant two things: a) She was Black. b) She was beautiful. Miriam reprimanded her brother for not attending to her needs, and to his marital responsibility to provide her intimacy. Hashem punished Miriam, however, for castigating Moses unnecessarily and not appreciating the validity of his decisions. Moses apparently made the decision to separate from Tzipporah during his multiple stays of forty days upon Mount Sinai. From there on, he remained perpetually attuned to and attentive to G-d – who spoke to Moses not in dreams or visions, as G-d did with every single other prophet including Miriam and Aaron, but directly face-to-face. Moses’ exceptional and constant connection with G-d seems to make it impossible for him to serve as a proper husband to her. Hashem inflicts Miriam with tzara’at to signify that she failed to show the care and equanimity in speech required of someone in her elevated position.
Prayers for Healing
Seeing her peril. Moses beseeches G-d on his sister Miriam’s behalf. In heart-rending prayer, he calls out, “El na refa na lah”­ – “Oh please, G-d, please heal her!” G-d answers this most concise of prayers, eleven Hebrew letters in all, by assuring Moses that the retribution is necessary; Mirim remains quarantined for seven days before being able to rejoin, and the Parsha concludes with the camp moving on once again.
Two big questions
There are two important lessons which we can draw from this week’s parsha for our troubled times.
A) We are liable to act in ill-advised ways in times where we perceive ourselves as having no control. In this time of COVID-19, we have faced less than three months of restrictions, and yet bristle against what is asked of us. The Israelites had to endure forty years of adherence to G-d’s commands to go and stop continually while in the desert. Perhaps as a result, they resisted G-d by acting out, impulsively and recklessly, in other ways: complaining, transgressing, even revolting. Today, we are taking care to reopen our society and economy in a manner that ensure we can continue to function, albeit safely. Yet people, in their rush to return to perceived normalcy, take needless risks, or even reject the need to wear masks and maintain physical distance. This heedlessness can be seen among people protesting on the streets, and among people shopping in supermarkets.
Question #1 - As we reopen our society, will we respond in a balanced manner with consideration to the well-being of our society, or act in a manner that jeopardizes one another?
B) Thoughtless speech is dangerous. The polarization and inflamed rhetoric so evident on social media today (and reflected in political society) have not arisen solely because of pandemic; over the past decade, social media platforms such as Facebook and Twitter have served to spark hateful movements and mobilize violence in such diverse places as Myanmar, Sri Lanka and the United States. The same risks are amplified today. There is a fine line between democratic dissent and violent uprising; between speech that validates justice, and speech that fans the flame of hatred; between kindness and cruelty. The Israelites were repeatedly reprimanded in the desert for outbursts which destroyed the people’s trust in G-d and one another. Miriam was punished for her ill-considered accusations against Moses. Moses showed presence of mind to tolerate the voices of other prophesiers, and kindness to pray for his sister who (in her rush to empathize with her sister-in-law) showed unfortunate thoughtlessness to him and his leadership.
Question #2 – In a time of strain, will we prove kind and tolerant towards one another, or fracture into distrust?
I leave these questions for you to consider over Shabbat and the coming week.
Shabbat Shalom um’vorach!
_________________
Rabbi Leonard Cohen
Kehilat Shalom, Calgary
(403) 850-0106
leonardecohen@gmail.com

Dear Members and Friends of Kehilat Shalom,
In honour of the upcoming Yom Tov of Shavuot, which runs from Thursday night through the end of Shabbat on Saturday night, I share with you the following learning from Rabbi Yaakov Glaser:
The Megilah of Ruth depicts the extraordinary tragedy that grips the family of Elimelech, as one trauma seems to follow another. The family uproots itself to find sustenance in years of famine. Then, while living in an alien environment, Naomi finds herself facing the death of her husband and then of her two sons. Left with but an echo of her family’s legacy, she turns to her two devoted, yet foreign, daughters-in-law, Orpah and Ruth, and declares that they should return to their homes and to their lives. Naomi explains that she has no additional sons with whom they can rebuild this family, and that the most prudent path forward is to dissolve their relationship. Orpah embraces her mother-in-law and departs the family to return to her roots. Ruth, in contrast, steps forward with an overwhelming declaration of comradery and.
But Ruth replied, “Do not urge me to leave you, to turn back and not follow you. For wherever you go, I will go; wherever you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. Thus and more may the Lord do to me if anything but death parts me from you.” Ruth 1:16-17
R’ Yaakov Kaminetsky, Emes L’Yaakov, Avos 1:12, asks: What was the catalyst for Ruth’s decision? What did Ruth see in remaining with Naomi? Her entire association with the Jewish people had been completely saturated with death and destruction! From where does Ruth derive the inspiration to remain with the Jewish people? Where in the megilah do we encounter the magnetism of Naomi to inspire such a deep and profound commitment on behalf of Ruth?
Rav Yaakov explains that there are two types of influence in the world: One is referred to as chinuch, and the other is identified as hashpaah. Chinuch refers to influence through direction and guidance. It is proactive, intentional, and at times even interventional. It is the modality through which parents and educators strive to instill specific ideals and practices into their children. However, notes Rav Yaakov, chinuch is not the exclusive source of influence for children, or for us as adults. There is another dimension known as hashpaah, which comes from the word “meshupah,” meaning “slanted.” A roof is slanted so that the rain that falls on it will slide off the sides of the home. The roof is not designed to intentionally move water from its structure to another place; this happens naturally because of its shape, and as a result, the individual or object below will become drenched. Hashpaah refers to the standing example that is set by those living a life of sanctity and nobility. Independent of the teachings that are conveyed, there is an independent flow of influence that “drenches” everyone in proximity to those who lead their lives personifying what we stand for. Perhaps Ruth’s commitment evolved from the standing example that Naomi set in how to contend with and overcome the vicissitudes of life. Naomi was a mashpia whose entire being radiated the values that would ultimately inspire Ruth to join the Jewish people, and eventually lay the foundation for Malchut Beit David (the Kingdom of the House of David, Ruth’s great-grandson).
From where do we derive the broader hashpaah of Yahadus? From where can we benefit not from the intricacies of expectations but from basking in the legacies of how the heroes of the Jewish people faced their challenges throughout our history?
We can suggest, that to this end, that we have been given the extraordinary world of Tanach. Tanach chronicles the history of the Jewish people, not only by providing specific directives, but by conveying the stories of the personalities who shaped our history. Throughout Tanach, we experience the triumphs and failures of Am Yisrael. The Gemarah in Megilah 14a writes, “Our rabbis taught: There were 48 male prophets and seven female prophets for Israel … Were there no more? … It seems that there were many more, as the beraita states: There were many prophets in Israel, double the number of people who left Egypt. Rather, prophecies that were relevant for all generations were recorded and those that were not relevant were not recorded.”
The narratives and prophesies of Tanach are those that are relevant for all generations. The study of Tanach allows us to internalize how to live the principles and ideals of Torah, both as individuals and as a nation.
May we all merit to grow from the chinuch of our tradition and from its hashpaah as well.
... Rabbi Yaakov Glaser, YUTorah.org (5779)
Wishing you a Chag Sameach and a very, very, very special Shabbat and Yom Tov,
_________________
Rabbi Leonard Cohen
Kehilat Shalom, Calgary
(403) 850-0106
leonardecohen@gmail.com

​A non-Jewish optimist says, “It can get better!” A Jewish optimist says, “It could be worse.”
In this week’s double parsha, Behar-Bekhukotai, we read of a hazard for our community today and in the near future:
“If your brother becomes destitute and his hand falters with you, you shall strengthen him, outsider and settler, that he may live with you.” (Vayikra/Leviticus 25:35)
וְכִֽי־יָמ֣וּךְ אָחִ֔יךָ וּמָ֥טָה יָד֖וֹ עִמָּ֑ךְ וְהֶֽחֱזַ֣קְתָּ בּ֔וֹ גֵּ֧ר וְתוֹשָׁ֛ב וָחַ֖י עִמָּֽךְ
The placement in this sentence of the words “outsider and settler” – in Hebrew, “ger v’toshav” – has an ambiguous meaning. The rabbinic interpretations of this, from order of my least to greatest preference, are that:
- you support someone needy so that they retain a status at least that of the outsider and settler in the community;
- you support your brother (or fellow community member) no less than you would an outsider or settler; or
- you support an outsider and settler no less than you would a brother.
A key word in understanding this requirement for compassion and tzedakah is the repeated word “imach” (עִמָּךְ) – with you. The verse could easily be complete without either mention of this word, i.e.: “If your brother becomes destitute and his hand falters… you shall strengthen him… that he may live.” One of the important tenets of Torah interpretation is that no word is superfluous. What does “with you” signify?
The wording of the passuk (verse) suggests that we collectively hold some accountability for the downturn of any fellow community member. If someone’s hand falters “with you”, you cannot readily neglect or feign ignorance of this distress. The Talmud states that “poverty in a person’s home is debilitating” (Baba Batra 116a). Commenting on this Talmud quotation, Rav Meir Leib Frye (via Yismach Yehudah and Rabbi Yissocher Frand) explains that unlike evident poverty, poverty “in a person’s home” describes someone who displays the trappings of wealth, but whose actual poverty is hidden. For example, a person living in a fine house in a well-off neighbourhood, with a seemingly comfortable lifestyle, may in fact be going through great financial distress – from debt, loss of income or employment, or other misfortune of business or economic downturn. And yet, such knowledge may be hidden within the four walls of that person’s home. In such case, only a few close individuals may be aware of this person’s distress.
In this instance, it is a mitzvah for those in the know – trusted confidants or others – to strengthen this person how they can, and prevent them from a potentially debilitating downfall, not only in income but status. There is a story in the Talmud (Ketubot 67b), where Hillel buys a poor member of an aristocratic family a horse to ride and a slave to run before him. Fairness in tzedakah does not preclude the exceptional provision of material help to prevent a person from undue distress. Elishai Ben Yitzchak of Bar-Ilan University notes that there is a distinction, however, in the dispersal of tzedakah from public/community funds vs. from one’s private assets. Funding must be equitably disbursed from the public purse (e.g., a Federation or Jewish Family Service) so that there is a fair standard shared by all those in the community. However, an individual (or small, close-knit group) may have the social responsibility to prevent the economic collapse of someone close.
The repeated term “with you” signifies the potential situation and its remedy. It may well happen that someone with you may experience economic distress. In such a situation, the Torah mitzvah is to “strengthen them”, preventatively if possible, to hold them up that they neither collapse nor arrive at more dire need. That way, you ensure that they may continue to “live with you”, to maintain their well-being until they can stand on their feet again.
The Warning
The double parsha also contains the dreadful warning of the “Tochecha” or rebuke. It is a series of increasing threats and dire admonitions by Hashem to the people, lest they defy the ways of G-d’s Torah. The extreme urgency of the Tochecha may be compared to the warnings a parent gives their child about dangerous situations: bad, harmful things may happen. The greater the danger, the harsher the warning. Such warnings, clearly, are intended as a deterrent.
The sudden impact of the current pandemic has driven home how critically we must avoid taking for granted our good fortunes. A careless communal and societal response can lead not only to illness and death, but also to psychological distress and financial ruin. At the same time, it may be unwise, or an unreasonable expectation, to simply return to the prior status quo – socially, economically or otherwise.
Given that we know, in our wisdom, that “it could be worse”, we are challenged to respond to the deterrents of our time. Let’s continue in our precautions with the ultimate intent of preserving life. We are challenged to hold together, as friends and community, to help one another in need.
With that in mind, I strongly encourage everyone to wear facemasks in any public indoor or crowded space. And let us do the mitzvot needed to prevent grief and to preserve one another’s well-being.
Shabbat Shalom!

Dear Members and Friends of Kehilat Shalom,
 
This weeks’ double Parsha, Aharei Mot – Kedoshim, contains a fascinating sequence outlining the elevation from lowliness to sacredness.  At the beginning of Aharei Mot, Aharon, the high priest, is commanded to an expiatory sacrifice on behalf of not only himself and his family, but all the people of Israel.  This atonement was to take place on the tenth day of the seventh month: Yom Kippur.  Recall that two of Aharon’s sons, Nadav and Avihu, died instantly when they brought a “strange fire” to the Lord.  The incidents of Aharei Mot, literally meaning “After the death”, follow in the wake of this tragedy.

When we find ourselves in the direct presence of death, we enact mourning rituals which traditionally included the sprinkling of ashes on one’s head, and sleeping/sitting on the ground.  It is as though we are returning to a primeval state, where we symbolically depict our mortality of beginning and ending in the earth; indeed the word “Adam”, signifying humanity, literally means earth.  In our lowest spiritual form, we are but earth – indistinct from the elements that surround us.  It is from this base that one begins one’s climb to sacredness.
 
We do not truly know Aharon’s state of mind upon the horrible death of his two sons, for his immediate reaction was silence, then compliance.  The expiatory sacrifice performed by Aharon may have been necessary to indicate to him, and to the Jewish people collectively, that Hashem did NOT regard the people as inherently laden with sin or evil.  Humanity has the right to begin each year, and indeed each moment, with the potential to do good and to be sacred in Heaven’s eyes.  Even when one is utterly bereft, one has the choice to live life with a sense of purpose and meaning.  This is the first rung on the path to sacredness: the recognition that, even if our bodies be molecularly indistinct from the Earth around us, we have the choice to live our lives with purpose and potential.
 
The laws of sacrificial atonment are followed by laws pertaining to the consumption of animals.  A person who randomly kills an animal for personal consumption, without providing an offering at the Tabernacle, is considered a spiller of blood (Vayikra/Leviticus 17:4) and “tameh”, i.e. in a state of spiritual subjection.  The Sages explain that in the primeval world of the Garden of Eden, humans did not eat animals, as it is written, “Hashem said, ‘See, I give you every seed-bearing plant that is upon all the earth, and every tree that has seed-bearing fruit; they shall be yours for food” (Bereshit/Genesis 1:29) – indicating plants, rather than animals, as humanity’s food.  In the casting out from Eden, humans came to depend upon animals as a source of food.  Nonetheless, Jews are commanded not to eat the animals’ blood, but to offer it up to G-d.  This is because blood represents the fundamental life-force; and such life-force belongs to Hashem and not to humanity.  This suggests a next rung up on the ladder of sacredness: recognizing the soul inherent in every living being.
 
The Torah then includes a famous verse which is fundamental to our attitudes towards life and death:

• “And you shall observe My decrees and My laws which a person shall perform, and live by them; I am the Lord.” (Vayikra/Leviticus 18:5).

According to the Sages, the two words in Hebrew “v’chai bahem” – “live by them” – signify that we are meant to live by Torah, and not die from it.  This is the source of the fundamental precept of “pikuach nefesh” – for the purpose of saving lives, we are permitted (in fact, commanded) to transgress virtually all other tenets of Torah.  It is for this very purpose that our synagogues are halachically commanded to remain shuttered during the COVID-19 pandemic.  If we Jews choose to refrain from gathering as a congregation now, it is so we can remain alive to come together for many more Shabbats to come.  As we work up the ladder of holiness, we must recognize the inherent sacredness of life itself.

This is followed by a strange, perhaps even disturbing passage prohibiting all manners of incestuous or taboo sexual relationships, spelled out one-by-one.  (These are preceded by the prohibition of acting like the inhabitants of Egypt or Canaan, who presumedly violated such taboos.) We are required to acknowledge that some acts are so perverse, that they fall in the realm of “yehareg v’al ya’avor” – better that we should die than violate such extremes.  Surprisingly, this passage is traditionally one of the Torah readings recited on Yom Kippur!  The connection between taboos and atonement may correspond to the very ladder we have outlined.  Atonement includes recognition that our ultimate purpose is not merely to survive for the sake of survival, or at the disregard of everyone or anything around us.  To lay the groundwork for sacredness, one must acknowledge that there are matters more important than our very lives.
 
It is at this point, in the double parsha, where we begin the section of Kedoshim.  Kedoshim means holy (in the plural form), and G-d commands the entire people of Israel, “You shall be holy, for I, the LORD your God, am holy” (Vayikra/Leviticus 19:2).  The parsha of Kedoshim outlines a wide variety of fundamental ethical tenets and laws, including:

• respecting parents and honouring the Shabbat;
• willingly committing to serving and offering up to G-d;
• leaving harvest gleanings and vineyard grapes to be culled by the needy;
• respecting the needs of the disabled, and showing deference to the elderly;
• providing feedback to correct others and help improve themselves;
• prohibiting idolatry, lewdness and adultery;
• loving the stranger;
• chukim, i.e., selected laws with no evident rationale except to obey G-d.

Each of these various laws and tenets are manners in which we make sacredness manifest in our selves and our world.

Yet, our double parsha reminds us that there are core elements which must lay the foundation.   The choice to live with purpose, the recognition of the living soul in all creatures, the preservation of life, the acknowledgement that there are matters greater than survival itself – are necessary precursors to the potential for holiness.  Through these crucial perspectives, we can indeed become “Am Kadosh”, a sacred and beloved nation in G-d’s eyes.
 
Let’s all do our best to make this a very, very, very special Shabbat!

Shabbat shalom!

​

 
G’mar Tov.
 
The Torah reading on Yom Kippur recounts the service of Aharon, the High Priest, on the day of Yom Kippur.  The ritual involved casting out a goat into the wilderness – the original scapegoat – along with an elaborate procedure for lighting incense and the sacrifice of a second goat.  The service of the High Priest on Yom Kippur was fraught with great portent and peril.  The Torah states that a Kohen Gadol who failed to execute the service with exact precision, did so at the risk of death. 
 
Behind this storylies an even more difficult one.  The Torah portion is from the parsha “Acharei Mot” – which means, “after the death”.  G-d’s instructions to Aharon, and his carrying out of the Yom Kippur ritual, occurred directly after the tragic death of two of Aharon’s sons, Nadav and Avihu, who died after committing a tragic error while performing religious service.

It is impossible to read of the service of Aharon Hakohen without being stuck by compassion for what he was undertaking.  Still in grief for his two sons, still required to lead the worship of the Jewish people, Aharon undertakes to attain Hashem’s atonement to the people at his own danger.  It is perhaps no wonder that he became known and beloved as the Pursuer of Peace and Beloved Guide of the people.  Even more so than Moshe Rabbeinu his brother, Aharon epitomized chesed and rachamim – kindness and grace – for the Jewish people.


The  Priestly ritual on Yom Kippur was done in order “l’khaper”, to atone, for the Jewish people and their transgressions.  While the great responsibility lay with the High Priest to enact the atonement ritual, the responsibility for atonement lay with the entire people of Israel.  The people were instructed to cease all labours and “afflict their souls”, which according to the Sages signified fasting, among other deprivations.


For Aharon the Kohen Gadol, and indeed for the High Priest for generations to come, inscription in the Book of Life was not taken for granted.  The Yom Kippur ritual was fraught with danger, symbolizing the grave danger that hung over the Jewish people at this time of year.
 
Today, despite the gravity of the liturgy, we do not directly face the imminent presence of death on Yom Kippur.*  (*Note: This D’var Torah was written prior to the shooting of two people outside of a synagogue in Halle, Germany, during Yom Kippur services on October 9, 2019.)  Today, the 10th of Tishrei 5780, finds our community here in Calgary generally living in physical safety.  Our community is a prosperous one, where housing and food are available to us.  Despite our historical awareness of the threats of antisemitism, we do not encounter mortal danger in our daily lives as Jews.  Our issues are beyond those of mere survival.  We engage in activities for personal and communal prosperity; for spiritual engagement and fulfilment; for the strengthening of our health and safety; and for the pursuit of happiness.
 
Given these blessings, it may seem mere neurosis to occupy ourselves with troubles beyond the scope of our everyday lives, which can be challenging enough as is.  Nonetheless, this community takes on bigger challenges willingly.  We have people who are active in a range of social, political, health and economic causes, as well as strengthening the Jewish people and Israel.  We as Jews do not take our own or our society’s well-being for granted; we consider it a sacred charge to go beyond our own lives to help those of others.
 
In recent years, I personally have taken a great interest in matters related to climate change.  I appreciate that this is a cause that not everyone in this community aligns with.  My interest in environment and climate matters stems from my given scientific perspective, with a belief that scientific knowledge and pursuits can transcend political parties and polarization, and a faith in our capacity as humans to effect change.

I am aware that, especially in the time of a Canadian federal election, the prioritization of one cause over another can suggest partisan leanings.  Whether a person prioritizes economic growth, community safety, preservation of heritage, women’s rights, personal liberty, indigenous rights, or climate can in turn influence the political parties they align with.  I wish to emphasize that it is not my intention to favour one party or another.  There is no one cause that is sacrosanct above all others, and indeed we make our choices informed by a balance of interests.  I share my particular interest in climate, to illustrate lessons that apply across the broad variety of interests in which our congregation is engaged in.  These lessons apply as fully to matters regarding health, public safety, economy, human rights & Zionism.
 
Recently, in an argument with a friend about the validity of a particular article related to climate change, she shared with me a religious insight that helps inform my perspective.  She pointed out how in G-d’s covenant with Noah, Hashem promised not to destroy the world.  In this covenant, and later in the covenant with Avraham, G-d granted us to be fruitful and multiply, to populate the Earth, to live in and watch over it. 

A sceptic might scoff and reject the notion of a divine covenant as archaic.  Yet there is important insight to be gained.  Despite the fearful rhetoric around climate or other causes, there is no point in regarding our existence on this planet as doomed.  Humanity is meant to exist and proliferate. 
 
Fear is no reason to refrain from doing the work of growing our world.
 
On the afternoon of Yom Kippur, we read the Book of Jonah, the reluctant prophet.  Jonah warns the people of Nineveh that they will be destroyed by G-d – yet they repent, change their ways, and the divine wrath was averted.  When Jonah grew angry about this – how dare Hashem change their mind and save this once-wicked people? – Hashem reminds Jonah of the divine desire to preserve human and even animal life.  And more importantly, we learn about our capacity to effect dramatic change and turn around our society’s very fortune.

Another important religious learning from Yom Kippur that can be applied to our pursuit of important causes, is to refrain from despair. No matter how grave we perceive a situation, we believe Hashem’s presence is somewhere at hand, ready to sustain us, in compassion.  Rather than throw our hands up in defeat and despair, we as Jews choose somehow to discern meaning in the trials we face.  My memory is seared with the image and sound of the Jewish survivors of Bergen-Belsen, upon liberation by British troops, breaking spontaneously into the refrain of Hatikvah – the hope. 
 
There is a difference between anxiety, grief, and struggle on the one hand, and despair on the other.  There are times in our lives where we may find ourselves feeling broken.  In reference to the words of the Shema, The disciple asks the rebbe, “Why does Torah tell us to ‘place these words upon your hearts? Why does it not tell us to place these holy words in our hearts?”  The rebbe answers: “It is because as we are, our hearts are closed, and we cannot place the holy words in our hearts. So we place them on top of our hearts. And there they stay until, one day, the heart breaks, and the words fall in.”
 
Yom Kippur is a day that epitomizes that brokenness.  Sometimes our reality is shattered, and a new one emerges.  Yom Kippur reminds us that such shattering does not mean the end of hope – rather, the beginning of a new one.
And in this new light, we come back to the epitome of Yom Kippur.  As announced by Isaiah in the Haftarah for Yom Kippur morning, G-d does not seek merit in the suffering of our fasting.  Rather the prophet conveys the following message from G-d:  “No, this is the fast I desire: … It is to share your bread with the hungry, And to take the wretched poor into your home; When you see the naked, to clothe him, And not to ignore your own kin… If you banish oppression from your midst, and evil speech,  And you offer your compassion … Then you can seek the favor of the LORD. I will set you astride the heights of the earth, And let you enjoy the heritage of your father Jacob— For the mouth of the LORD has spoken.”
 
Whatever it is that inspires and guides you in this world, may Yom Kippur be a time to access the very vulnerability that strengthens us.  May you find in Hashem the strength to sustain you above worldly challenges.  And may you be inspired by the ideals of Tefilah, Teshuva and Tzedakah to discover strength, hope and a happy, healthy New Year in the book of life in 5780.