From the Cleveland Jewish News…Some Good News!
An Improvised Ode to Trees
O Trees, how do I love thee?
I love thy fruits: apples, pears, coconuts, and oranges.
I love thy leaves: they provideth us with shade on hot summer days, their rustling sings to us on breezy days, and their color guard in fall is without parallel.
I love thy barks: Root Beer…enough said.
I love thy roots: they holdest together the soil and preventeth erosion.
I love thy branches: they providest homes for the birds and iguanas, children climb them and create memories.
I love your boughs: they are the stuff from which we build our homes, schools and shules.
I love thy pulp: there is nothing like holding a paper book in one’s hand, and without thee there would be no toilet paper (only leaves–from you as well!).
I love your photosynthesis: I do not know how thou dost it, but thank thee for thy oxygen-producing nature.
O Trees, how do I love thee? Thy manifold beauty and purpose is beyond sufficient praise. I will show thee my love by vowing to forever safeguard you.
This coming Sunday evening and Monday, we celebrate Tu Bishvat, the New Year for Trees. It is a kind of “fiscal year” described in the Mishnah to help us observe the mitzvah of not eating tree produce during the first three years they bear fruit. More recently, it has become a day to honor trees, plant trees, and work to preserve our environment.
We have messed up our planet. I am not sure what can save us…but I think trees may have the answer…and they might be the answer.
Parashat Bo–the Torah Portion read yesterday morning–contains the last of the 10 Plagues that God visited upon the Egyptians. The last, the death of the first born of both human and beast, was the most devastating of all of them; it was the plague that finally convinced Pharaoh to let the Hebrews go.
Much interpretation has been written about the final plague. It is clear that this plague personally touched Pharaoh and his family. All the previous plagues may have affected the rest of the Egyptians, but Pharaoh’s powerful position may have prevented him from their full force. With the death of the first born, not a house in Egypt did not experience the loss–including Pharaoh’s palace.
There is a recognizable truth in this. We know that often we are not moved until something touches us directly. We may hear about injustice or war or suffering, but we don’t do anything about it if we are not affected by it. If it comes knocking at our door, however, we are the first to step up, complain, and act.Judaism teaches us that we cannot take this approach. We must remember our experience as outsiders to feel what others feel and act accordingly. This is called “having empathy.” It is something that Pharaoh seemed to lack. It is something that is often missing in our society as well. It is found at every level; unless we are somehow inconvenienced or aggrieved we are silent.
The price for not acting is a high one. When we do not stand up for others, when we do not feel what they feel…we cannot expect them to do the same for us. Setting that aside, wee stand up for others because it is the right thing to do? It is our sacred duty to be empathic. We know it means to suffer, and we should work to prevent others from having to experience it as well.
I am re-posting a post from my brother, Joel, on LinkedIn. We grew up in a home where athleticism wasn’t really a thing. Don’t think my mom every worked out–aside from walking. My dad used to swim, but not real heavy duty. Now my sister, brother and I are all gym regulars.
I never thought of myself as an athlete until a few years ago when my doctor referred to me as “athletic.” My brother encapsulates a lot of what I felt growing up and what the change has meant to him.
This Sunday there will be a Solidarity March in New York; it is a response to the terrible wave of anti-Semitic violence taking place in our nation.
I remember when I was in Rabbinical School that I attended a march in Washington, DC, in solidarity with Soviet Jews. Little did we know at the time that communism would fall in a few years and that hundreds of thousands of Soviet Jews would be emigrating. I also recall participating in rallies in support of political and social justice causes that did not directly affect me but that I felt were important to our society. I even brought my kids with me or made sure they knew about it; this kind of behavior reflected some of the best of what Judaism teaches.
It seems so strange that after Jews (and the organized Jewish Community) have marched and rallied and lobbied for decades on behalf of others we must now join together in order to protect ourselves. I sincerely hope that just as we have stood up for others, others will stand up for us.
These are trying times. We cannot be silent. At the same time we cannot allow ourselves to be divided; this is precisely what anti-Semites want. We cannot accuse others within the Jewish community of supporting the “wrong” political party; our tradition tells us that this kind of behavior brought about the destruction of the Second Temple. We must focus on what unites us.
Unfortunately, I will not be able to make it to New York on Sunday. Rest assured, though, there will be many opportunities to stand up and stand together–not just for ourselves but for others who are persecuted as well. The struggle, I fear, is only just beginning.
There was a big question mark back when my 20th High School Reunion rolled around. Would I go or wouldn’t I? I hadn’t gone to any of my previous reunions–mainly because I was usually travelling or it took place on Shabbat, but also because I didn’t really enjoy high school that much. I felt like I didn’t share a lot in common with most of the other students; I couldn’t get away to college fast enough.
When the time came, I did decide to attend. I went in with the following rule: “if you didn’t talk to me in high school, I’m not talking to you tonight.” I was pretty defensive about it all, but as soon as I walked through the door, it was great to see old friends. Past concerns melted away and they were replaced with warm memories and lots of laughs.
That was many years ago (when I lived in Toledo) and, while I have reconnected with a few on Facebook, most of them have once again drifted off.
That experience gives perhaps 1% of the drama and anxiety surrounding the 20-year reunion of Jacob and Esau in our weekly Torah portion, Vayishlach. The last time I saw many of my classmates we were getting our diplomas; the last time the brothers saw each other one had stolen a blessing and the other was threatening to kill! Despite Jacob’s trepidation and planning, the reunion went smoothly. In one of the most touching scenes in the Torah they come together, hug and weep. Overall, it is a fairly brief reunion and the two head their separate ways; they do come together again to bury their father, Isaac, when the time comes.
The story of these twins and memories of my high school reunion remind us all that people dear and not-so-dear come in and out of our lives at different times. It is rare that friendships last throughout the various stages of our lives; when it comes to friends, usually there are only a few to whom we hold on over the decades. Family, however, is another matter. Ultimately, it is sad that Jacob and Esau were never really able to patch things up, and our tradition tells us that we still suffer the consequences of that rift.
Not every relationship can be saved. Not every relationship deserves to be saved. Perhaps the lesson is to make the most out of the time we have with those we love; we never really know just how long they will be a part of our lives.Shabbat Shalom!
This Shabbat is not only Parashat Vayetze, but it is also the 78th anniversary of the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor that brought the US into WWII.
By December 7, 1941, Nazi forces had occupied Poland for over two years and their control over other countries by conquest or acquiescence continued to grow. The systematic persecution and murder of Jews had already begun. The US stayed out of the war for many reasons; after Pearl Harbor, there was no choice but to enter the fray.
Historians can (and have) talked about why we did not get involved earlier, especially when there was so much intelligence about the atrocities occurring in Europe. On a more personal level, we know that as human beings we tend to not get involved in matters unless they directly touch us. Judaism, however, teaches us that we cannot sit idly by the blood of our brothers and sisters–whether or not they are actually relatives, coreligionists, or fellow citizens. It is up to us to speak up and act whenever we see injustice.
Of course, this is easier said than done. We are risk averse, and getting involved often means taking a risk. We do know, though, that there are times when others have put their necks out for us; we know what it feels like to be helped. We also know what it feels like to be abandoned. Our experience shows us that we cannot sit by the sidelines; as Pearl Harbor Day reminds us, unless we confront evil and injustice, they will come and confront us.
We remember those who lost their lives on that terrible day and pray that we learn the lessons of WWII, a time that forever changed Jewish and human history.