Daniel AronsonKorach and the Pursuit for Human Rights
Enjoy this devar Torah created by ChatGPT based on the prompt: “Create a 7-minute devar Torah connecting Juneteeth with Parashat Korach.”
Author: Daniel Aronson
Second Chances
Parashat Beha’alotecha
Purifying Israel from the plague of settler violence
In the double portion of Tazria-Metzora, we encounter the laws of tzara’at, an affliction often misunderstood as leprosy but recognized by the rabbinic Sages as a physical manifestation of a spiritual rot, primarily lashon hara (evil speech) and the breakdown of communal ethics. When a person was diagnosed with tzara’at, they were commanded to dwell “outside the camp”. In the Rabbis’ imagination, this his was not merely to prevent physical contagion, but to force a period of isolation when the individual could reflect on the negative consequences of their speech or actions, and how those actions had led to the rupture of their relationships with the community and with the Divine.
Today, as we look at the hills of the West Bank, we see a different kind of “rot” manifesting on the land. In just the first three months of 2026, settler violence has reached unprecedented levels, with organizations like Save the Children reporting that ten times more Palestinian children have been displaced compared to the average of the previous three years.[1] This is not a “fringe” phenomenon; it is a systemic ailment. Just as tzara’at could infect the very walls of a house (Leviticus 14:34), we see reports of coordinated arson attacks on homes and vehicles in villages (e.g. Deir al-Hatab[2] and Silat al-Dhahr and others[3]). There is nothing “isolated” about the acts of violence perpetrated by the radical settler nationalists.
A central theme of these parashiyot is the vulnerability of the body. In fact, the opening verses of Parashat Tazria discuss the spiritual power of childbirth (Leviticus 12:1-8). In contrast to the reverence for bringing children into the world that we see in the Torah, the current reality in the West Bank is one where even children are under siege. Within the last week alone, reports from one village detailed how settlers installed coiled barbed wire to block Palestinian children’s path to school. When these children and their parents protested, they were met with tear gas.[4] Where is the reverence for life and respect for childhood among these settlers, our fellow Jews, many of whom claim to be living “Torah-true Judaism”?
One of the lessons of our Torah reading this week is that we must not be silent in the face of a spiritual malady. The Torah demands that the metzora (the afflicted one) themselves cry out, “Impure! Impure!” to warn others (Leviticus 13:45). Would that the perpetrators of attacks on Palestinian villagers recognize that they are affected by a terrible illness, a blindness to humanity and reason. But no. Instead, today, the cry is coming from the victims and observers who see the reality clearly. On April 16, 2026, hundreds of Israelis gathered in Tel Aviv’s Habima Square to protest this escalating violence, marking the first large-scale demonstration specifically targeting settler attacks.[5] They are crying out that the impunity granted to these “militias”—thugs who often act with the backing of security forces—is a stain on the moral fabric of the state. To the extent that you and I love Israel and advocate for Israel, we must recognize that all is not well with the Jewish State. We must cry out, “Impure! Impure!”
In the biblical text, the Kohen (Priest) acts as the witness and the judge. He must physically see the affected individual, look at the lesion, and declare its status. Only then can the Kohen prescribe the actions necessary for the person to heal so they can ultimately rejoin the community. What do we learn from this? We cannot heal what we refuse to see.
Recent events have shown a dangerous trend toward blindness.
- Reports from the Israeli government watchdog Yesh Din indicate that over 370 incidents of settler violence occurred in just a 40-day period during recent hostilities.[6] It is not an accident that there has been a surge of incidents in recent weeks: the media’s attention is focused on the war in Iran and Lebanon. The settlers know the world is not paying attention to their crimes. The violence surged during the war in Gaza after October 7th for the same reason, at least in part.
- On April 11, 2026, a 23-year-old Palestinian man, Ali Majed Hamadneh, was killed during a settler raid on the village of Deir Jarir.[7] The details of what happened are not clear, but the IDF’s early assessment of a riot essentially instigated by Palestinian villagers strains credibility.
- Former security chiefs and international observers have warned of “government-sponsored Jewish terrorism” running wild, as new laws facilitate land takeovers with minimal oversight. According to a report in The Times of Israel:
“Last week, 22 former security chiefs signed a letter warning about such violence, referring to “an extremist group, backed by irresponsible ministers and enabled by the silence of a prime minister.”
“The rampant Jewish terrorism in Judea and Samaria [the West Bank], carried out under governmental auspices, is not only a moral disgrace but also a severe strategic blow to Israel’s national security,” the former officials wrote.[8]
Later in the Torah portion, we learn something about our biblical ancestors’ concern for human property and human dignity. When “something like a plague appeared upon” someone’s house, before the Kohen enters the house to inspect the walls, his first duty is to order the house emptied before he declares it impure. He does so to save the belongings from becoming impure (Leviticus 14:36). Even in the home’s possible state of impurity, the Kohen has people around him go to great lengths to protect the contents of the house. In contrast, settler terrorists show no concern for the property of villagers nor for the villagers’ dignity. Current reports describe a strategy of “maximum territory with minimum Arabs,” where violence is used as a tool for forced displacement and annexation.[9]
The Path to Purification
The ritual for purifying the metzora involves two birds: one is sacrificed, and the other is set free to fly over the open fields (Leviticus 14:4-7). This symbolizes the release of the negative impulses that led to the affliction.
To “purify” our current situation, we must move beyond verbal condemnation toward active accountability.
- Breaking the Silence: We must follow the lead of the ten settler rabbis who recently warned against “violence of any sort,” insisting that Jewish values cannot be used to justify terror.[10]
- Upholding the Law: We must demand that the “era of impunity” end. Just as the Kohen must follow a strict legal process to diagnose tzara’at, the state must enforce the law against those who commit these crimes.
- Protecting the Vulnerable: Our Torah begins with the miracle of life in Tazria. We must ensure that the “path of fear” for children in the West Bank is replaced by a path to education and dignity.
What does this mean for us in the Diaspora? How do those of us outside Israel speak up, hold lawmakers, the military, and the settler terrorists accountable? How can we be involved in protecting the vulnerable? These are essential questions that I cannot address adequately in this devar Torah, nor do I have ready answers to these questions. Our task is to be thoughtful in discerning how we might rise to this occasion and take action that will make a difference.
In our Torah reading, the metzora is eventually brought back into the camp, but only after they have truly changed. After they have done teshuvah, repentance through change. As we read these portions, let us remember that the land itself is sensitive to our moral conduct. Indeed, the Torah is replete with references to the land rejecting and ejecting Israel if Israel does not follow God’s commands. If we allow the “plague” of settler violence to spread unchecked, we risk the spiritual health of the State of Israel and the Jewish People more broadly. May we have the courage of the Kohen to look at the wound, name it, and begin the difficult work of purification.
Personal statement: This devar Torah was written with assistance from Google’s Gemini 3 AI platform based on my prompts to highlight lessons from Parashat Tazria-Metzora that will allow us to understand and respond to settler violence as a spiritual malady among the Jewish People. I have edited the AI response for accuracy and clarity, added my own words and views, and included footnotes to authenticate factual assertions. The views herein are either my own or accurately reflect my current thinking.
[1] “685 children were displaced in the first three months of 2026, compared to an average of 63 across the same period in the three previous years. A total of 122 children were displaced in the first three months of 2025, 17 in 2024, 51 in 2023.” https://reliefweb.int/report/occupied-palestinian-territory/west-bank-rising-settler-violence-forces-10-times-more-children-their-homes-2026. Accessed April 17, 2026
[2] https://www.timesofisrael.com/death-of-atv-driver-unleashes-new-outburst-of-settler-attacks-on-palestinians/. Accessed April 17, 2026.
[3] https://www.haaretz.com/west-bank/2026-03-22/ty-article/.premium/settlers-set-fire-to-buildings-vehicles-across-west-bank-in-saturday-attacks/0000019d-1438-d210-abbf-77bd99500000. Accessed April 17, 2026.
[4] “Israeli settlers block Palestinian students’ path to West Bank school with barbed wire”. https://www.jpost.com/middle-east/article-893285. Accessed April 17, 2026.
[5] “’Stop Settler Terror’: Hundreds of Jews and Arabs Rally in Tel Aviv Against West Bank Attacks“. https://www.haaretz.com/israel-news/israel-politics/2026-04-16/ty-article/.premium/stop-settler-terror-israelis-and-palestinians-rally-against-west-bank-attacks/0000019d-96e1-d9bd-abfd-ffe5bd2a0000. Accessed April 17, 2026.
[6] “378 incidents of settler violence in West Bank over 40 days of Iran war, left-wing group reports”. https://www.timesofisrael.com/liveblog_entry/378-incidents-of-settler-violence-in-west-bank-over-40-days-of-iran-war-left-wing-group-reports/. Accessed April 17, 2026.
[7] “Reservist soldier fatally shoots Palestinian amid alleged rock-throwing near Ramallah”. https://www.timesofisrael.com/reservist-soldier-fatally-shoots-palestinian-amid-alleged-rock-throwing-near-ramallah/. Accessed April 17, 2026.
[8] Ibid.
[9] “Maximum Territory with Minimum Arabs: How Israel’s Far-Right Government Uses Settler Violence to Pave the Way for Annexation”. https://jstreet.org/maximum-territory-with-minimum-arabs-how-israels-far-right-government-uses-settler-violence-to-pave-the-way-for-annexation/#:~:text=Organized%20attacks%20by%20armed%20settlers,maximum%20territory%20with%20minimum%20Arabs.%E2%80%9D. Accessed April 17, 2026.
[10] “10 settler rabbis warn against ‘violence of any sort,’ amid attacks on Palestinians”. https://www.timesofisrael.com/settler-rabbis-warn-against-violence-of-any-sort-amid-attacks-on-palestinians/#:~:text=10%20settler%20rabbis%20warn%20against,settlers%2C%20endangering%20project%20at%20large. Accessed April 17, 2026.
Heartless people? Joseph has the remedy.
Parashat Vayeshev 5786
Genesis 37:1-40:23
One pop song from my childhood that has been playing repeatedly in mind in recent months is the song from the 1967 rock musical Hair, “Easy to Be Hard”:
How can people be so heartless
How can people be so cruel
Easy to be hard
Easy to be cold
How can people have no feelings
How can they ignore their friends
Easy to be proud
Easy to say no
And especially people
Who care about strangers
Who care about evil
And social injustice
Do you only
Care about the bleeding crowd?
How about a needing friend?
I need a friend.
How can we look around us today and not ask the question: How can people be so heartless and cruel? How can people who claim to be against social injustice and evil be so hard and cold? “Easy to Be Hard” is tackling the hypocrisy of people fighting for civil rights and opposing the war in Vietnam while abandoning the people closest to them. In today’s world, we might apply the song to people carrying the banner for Black Lives Matter, for LGBTQ+ rights, or for justice for Palestinian people. Too many Jewish progressives I know say they have felt ostracized over the past two years by their fellow progressives, with whom they share a commitment to social justice – even for the Palestinian people – because they also believe in and love the Jewish homeland. Too many Jewish progressives have noticed how easy it is for friends to become hard and cold.
On a personal level, we all have neglected friends in need from time to time and we all have felt neglected. As human beings, we have our blind spots. For whatever reason, we do not always recognize when people closest to us are suffering. We are in denial. We do not feel equipped to give our loved ones and friends what they need. We are preoccupied with the stuff of life. Occasionally, we all find ourselves both communicating and hearing “no,” when what we need to communicate and what we need to hear is an unqualified “of course.”
On a national level, we are witnessing the brutalization of immigrant communities by ICE and local law enforcement agencies who have signed contracts with ICE to arrest “violent immigrants who are in the US illegally.” The truth is that most immigrants who are being rounded up for detention and deportation by masked ICE agents or uniformed police are not violent people, are not threats to anyone, and are not criminals. Many of these immigrants have been working in the US with proper authorization for years and have been wending their way through the legal system to become naturalized, permanent citizens. Some of them have even been pulled out of line moments before they were to take the oath of citizenship! But even peaceful, hard-working immigrants who are, nonetheless, flouting our nation’s immigration laws and are in the US illegally – people whose rights to stay in the United States are matter of legitimate debate – even they deserve due process and to be treated with dignity and respect. They hardly deserve to be disappeared or taken away by masked thugs in view of their children.
How can people be so heartless?
One answer to this question appears in the story of the biblical Joseph. Joseph’s brothers despise him. They despise him because their father Jacob coddles him and gives him wonderful things, like a beautiful coat. They despise him because Joseph tells them about his dreams, dreams in which Joseph lords over them. The brothers are both jealous and fearful of Joseph. Who could blame them?
But how do they come to degrade themselves to the point where they choose between killing their younger brother or selling him into slavery and then convincing their father that a wild beast devoured Joseph? The story itself gives us the answer.
The brothers can be cruel because Joseph appears distant to them. They see only the spoiled younger brother who has no filter. They do not see the reasons there might be a special bond between Joseph and their father. They do not see that Joseph has a gift that, one day, Joseph might use for great good. It is doubtful that his brothers see or care about whatever inner turmoil Joseph might be wrestling with.
This distance between Joseph and his brothers may be what the Torah is alluding to when it says, “They saw him from afar, and before he came close to them, they conspired to kill him” (Genesis 37:18). On the face of it, the Torah suggests the brothers, who are working in a field far from their home and upon whom their father has sent Joseph to keep tabs, hasten to plan Joseph’s demise before he gets close enough to catch on to what is about to happen. A deeper meaning, though, suggests that the brothers’ hearts were distant from Joseph, and it was in that distance that the brothers became capable of plotting to kill him.
The same verse foreshadows the story’s ending: the reconciliation of Joseph with his brothers and Joseph’s reunion with his beloved father. “He kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; only then were his brothers able to talk to him” (Genesis 45:15). Until the brothers could perceive Joseph as “close to them” physically or emotionally, they had no regard for his life or his very being. They could barely talk to him! The brothers could dehumanize and throw Joseph into a pit filled with snakes and scorpions — so the ancient rabbis imagined — only because the brothers detested Joseph as if he were a snake or a scorpion. Their heartlessness and cruelty dissipates only when they are no longer distant from their brother. In the end, they see him as a human being, as a family member, as someone who, like them, is created in God’s image.
All people who “care about the bleeding crowd” or who love another person or who honestly believe they are acting in their nation’s best interest are capable of being heartless, cruel, hard, and cold. The antidote to this malady is overcoming the distance between “us” and “them.” The antidote is coming close enough to one another to see the fullness of our shared humanity and to recognize that everyone is “a needing friend” who needs a friend. Let us work together to bring about that day when all humanity embraces, weeps, and talks face-to-face respectfully, lovingly, closely. That day cannot come soon enough.
Parashat Vayishlach 5786
Lessons from the Gettysburg Address
Conflict, suffering, warfare. It seems that they are unavoidable. No sane person wishes for conflict, suffering or warfare, and though we may not have to accept them as inevitable, we do have to contend with them as a reality, as part of our existence. How we deal with their aftermath is entirely up to us. We can choose a path of darkness and live our lives in a constant state of despair, fear, or resignation. Or we can choose a path of light and resilience. We can mine our experiences with adversity for lessons that will make us stronger, and we can resolve to build a better world in which conflict, suffering, and warfare are less frequent, less costly, less deadly, or — in the perfect world we pray for — non-existent.
This week in history, President Abraham Lincoln exhorted the American people to choose a path of light, resilience, civility, and peace.
Between July 1 and July 3, 1863, the Union Army and Confederate Army fought a deadly and decisive battle in the fields of Gettysburg, PA. After the Union’s victory and after Robert E. Lee’s forces had retreated towards Virginia on the night of July 4th, 1863, over 50,000 casualties were to be counted among the estimated 170,000 soldiers who fought in that battle.
Four and a half months later, on November 19, 1863, the Gettysburg Cemetery Commission consecrated those fields, creating one of the earliest national cemeteries. Though he was not the keynote speaker at the dedication of the cemetery — that honor went to Edward Everett, the former president of Harvard College, former U.S. senator, former secretary of state, and one of the country’s leading orators, who delivered a two-hour speech by memory — it was Abraham Lincoln’s 275 words that we remember to this day:
“Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
“Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
“But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us,that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion, that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain, that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”
Lincoln’s words call to mind the words of Pirkei Avot:
Lo alecha ham’lacha ligmor,
V’lo ata ben chorim l’hibatil mimena.
It is not your duty to complete the work.
But neither are you free to desist from it.
In other words, after the guns go quiet, the healing begins, and it is up to us to build a more peaceful world.
This week we read in the Torah about two brothers, Jacob and Esau, who were already at odds with one another in utero. The younger stole the birthright from the older, and the older, holding the younger in contempt and vowing to take his life, instilled a fear in Jacob that would only abate decades later. But, indeed, the brothers reconciled and eventually stood together at their father’s grave.
The story of Jacob and Esau could be any of our stories. We could be either of the brothers, and we could find ourselves contending with family members, life partners, friends, co-workers, and total strangers. When we are not our best selves, we can cause pain in ourselves and in others. We then must find ways forward, ways of reconciliation and healing.
Also in this story, we read about the struggle over water rights between Isaac and the Philistines in the wadi of Gerar. This tension was eased when Isaac put some distance between himself and the Philistines and dug a well at Rechovot, a place of ample space. In some ways, this small episode foreshadows much of Jewish history. We’ve been a people unwelcomed in strange lands, strange lands that we’d prefer to call home. Here, too, we’ve searched for and found ways to move on.
In the larger world we live in today, we are forced to contend with war, authoritarianism, terrorism, religious nationalism, and other threats to our safety and ways of being. This is as true for us in the United States and in Israel as it is for many peoples over all over the world. Indeed, the message of the Gettysburg Address is as salient for us as it was for the Union in 1983.
What Abraham Lincoln taught us eight score and two years ago is that we should not let ourselves be defined by our conflicts, but rather by the meaning we make in their aftermath. We will fight if we must, but it is incumbent on all of us to work for the betterment of our selves, our people, our nation, and our world. We may not finish the task, but nor are we free to desist from it.
Shabbat Shalom
Life Happens. Count Your Blessings. Give Back.
Parashat Vayechi
Genesis 47:28-50:26
This week we read the closing chapters of our founding ancestors’ story. Simply put, Jacob dies and is laid to rest in the Cave of Machpelah, next to Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, and his first wife, Leah, (His other wife, Rachel, was buried near Bethlehem). Then Joseph dies and is “embalmed and placed in a coffin in Egypt” (Gen. 50:26) after making his brothers swear to carry his bones to the Land of Israel at some time in the distant future. It’s a neat ending to a story filled with twists and turns.
As conniving as Jacob was earlier in his life, and as brilliant as Joseph was at interpreting dreams and saving Egypt from the ravages of a seven-year famine, neither was fully in control of his life. Jacob’s departure from his home was precipitated by the fear that his brother Esau would enact revenge upon Jacob for stealing the birthright and their father’s blessing, both of which were Esau’s by right. Later, his father-in-law kept Jacob in indentured servitude for 20 years while switching Leah for Jacob’s intended wife, Rachel. Joseph, for his part, fell victim not only to his brothers’ scheme to sell him into slavery but also to their lifelong ruse to convince their father that Joseph had been killed by wild beasts. Once in Egypt, Potiphar’s wife frames Joseph because he refused to sleep with her, and he lands in prison. Then a whole chain of events that leads to Joseph rising to viceroy of Egypt. For two characters who seemed to be so much in control of their lives, they actually had very little control.
It is the chain of unforeseen circumstances, however, that leads to the entire family thriving in Egypt. Had any one piece of the story not occurred, who knows how the story would have ended? The family might have perished in the famine that struck the Land of Israel as hard as it struck Egypt, and all of Egypt might have been reduced to dust. Instead, the Book of Genesis hands us a happy ending: the family is reunited, Jacob gets to “bless” his sons before he dies a natural death, and Joseph gets a state funeral, or so we imagine. The journey to this point might have been rough, but there are plenty of blessings to count at the end, at least until the beginning of the Book of Exodus, when “a pharaoh arose who knew not Joseph”(Exodus 1:8).
It is against the backdrop of this happy ending at the end of a series of unfortunate events that I share the following story of how my family and I were spared the horror of this week’s devastating wildfires in and around Los Angeles. And it is against the backdrop of our own good fortune that I appeal to you to aid those who suffered immeasurable losses. Read on.
In 2013, I was honored to be a finalist for the associate rabbi position at one of the world’s largest Reconstructionist congregations. My “audition” Shabbat service was on Friday night, April 19th. Earlier that week, two homemade pressure cooker bombs detonated near the finish line of the Boston Marathon in Copley Square, killing three, injuring hundreds, and leading to the loss of 17 limbs. I had spent much time in that area when I visited Boston as a child and again as a graduate student at Brandeis when I interned at the ADL’s New England office in downtown Boston. The horrific attack in what felt like my own backyard left me shaken, and it’s all I could think about as I composed the devar Torah (sermon) I would deliver that Friday night that would determine the course of both my professional life and the life of my family.
Adding to the emotional weight of the Boston Marathon bombing was a hellacious day of flying from Philadelphia to Los Angeles on Thursday, April 18th. Anything that could go wrong with our flights did go wrong due to a massive freak winter storm that shut down the entire middle part of the country. We arrived into Los Angeles very late at night. “Refreshed” is not a word I would use to describe how I felt after a short night’s sleep.
That Friday night, there was a bar mitzvah happening at the synagogue that would be hosting me, and the Torah portion was Acharei Mot-Kedoshim. This particular reading is exceedingly rich with material to teach about in a way that would be appealing to any congregation on the eve of a bar mitzvah. To give you an idea of how easy it would have been to hit a home run that night, picture a league-leading first baseman fielding a routine grounder to make an easy out. A real gimme.
Now, imagine that player missing a game-winning play, like the Red Sox’s Bill Buckner did in game six of the 1986 World Series when he let an infield grounder roll between his legs. The Boston Marathon bombing was top of mind for me as I composed the devar Torah but, in hindsight, the message of looking for light at a time of darkness may not have been the uplifting message expected on the eve of a bar mitzvah. The devar Torah was long and bleak. Immediately after the service, the senior rabbi said to me, “Too many words.” Nothing else. It was a humbling moment, and I knew I had missed an important opportunity.
Years later, as I reflect on this incident, I am struck by how unpredictable and fragile our paths can be. The congregation where I was auditioning on that Shabbat in 2013 was Kehillat Israel in Pacific Palisades, CA, a flagship Reconstructionist congregation, set in a stunning landscape outside of Los Angeles, and this week, located at the epicenter of the most destructive wildfire in the history of Los Angeles. The synagogue, built primarily of Jerusalem stone, has so far survived the fire, but all three of the rabbis — the senior, the associate, and the emeritus — two of whom are my colleagues in the Reconstructionist Rabbinical Associate, have lost their homes to the fire. (For Rabbi Emeritus Stephen Carr Reuben, this is the second time he has suffered a fire in his home in ten years.) Sadly, the rabbis are not alone. In the congregation of about 900 households, a full third — 300 households! — have reported their homes have been destroyed.
As St. Francis of Assisi said, “There but for the grace of God go I.” While Beth, Kro and I dealt with floods in Houston for almost eight years before moving to Keene, we were, nevertheless, delighted to call Houston home. Of course, it stung not to be hired to be rabbi to Billy Crystal and Adam Sandler and live with a view of the Pacific Ocean, but none of us can imagine a better life for ourselves than the life we had in Houston and, now, Keene. Had it not been for a human tragedy, foul weather, and a misstep during my visit to KI in 2013, we very well might not be living safely in Keene today, and we very well may have been left homeless at this very moment. Believe me, we are counting our blessings.
Profoundly aware of our good fortune, we extend our hearts to my colleagues at Kehillat Israel, to their congregants, and to all those people in the path of the Los Angeles fire — the tens of thousands of people — who have suffered loss of home, loss of irreplaceable possessions, and loss of life.
While many of the people at KI enjoy extraordinary wealth, all of them are ordinary people like you and me. Even though Pacific Palisades is home to the rich and famous, many people have suffered catastrophic losses and need financial assistance. We cannot turn our backs on any of them. We should trust that those who need assistance will receive it and those who can offer assistance will give it.
If you feel moved to help, I urge you to donate to one of the many relief efforts already underway, such as the KI Community Palisades Fire Assistance Fund (https://www.ourki.org/firefund) or the Jewish Federation of Los Angeles Wildfire Crisis Relief (https://www.jewishla.org/wildfire-crisis-relief). Additionally, Time Magazine lists several organizations doing relief work in the affected area: https://time.com/7205547/los-angeles-wildfires-how-to-help-victims/. You may also check online for other organizations you may feel more inclined to contribute to. Together, we can support those facing unimaginable losses.
Our lives are guided by forces beyond our control. Acts of terror, bad weather, a last-minute invitation to visit a friend, a chance encounter with a kind person — all these things and more can influence the course of our lives. While we must be grateful for the blessings that have graced our journeys, we must also remember the suffering of others who, by the same unforeseen circumstances, remained in harm’s way. Join me in sending prayers and offering a helping hand to a community I might have served, if not for the twists of fate that ultimately guided me here.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Dan
Advice for when one encounters a burning bush
Parashat Vaera 5784 / פָּרָשַׁת וָאֵרָא
Torah Portion: Exodus 6:2-9:35
Here’s an article that I really enjoyed once I got past the title.
The gist is that antisemitism will never disappear so our energies are better invested in strengthening the Jewish people. I, for one, see many communities becoming stagnant in their educational, cultural, social, and religious programming because they are so focused on the threats — real and perceived — around them. We mustn’t stick our heads in the stand and pretend antisemitism doesn’t exist, but looking over our shoulders all the time prevents us from holding our heads up high.
As I wrote to the author, his advice would have emboldened Moses when Moses needed to be emboldened the most, i.e. at the burning bush!
When you read the article, be sure to read my comment at the end. I rarely comment on anything online, but this time, I couldn’t resist.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Dan
The Best Advice Against Antisemitism — From an Antisemite
It could just be that great Jews never bother about antisemitism.
The Reward of Truth
Parashat Vayigash 5783 / פָּרָשַׁת וַיִּגַּשׁ
Torah Portion: Genesis 44:18-47:27
The news of late has been dominated by the unmasking of liars and cheats. What can we learn from them?
Remember Pastor Lamor Whitehead, who was robbed at gunpoint of the expensive jewelry he was wearing while preaching during a livestreamed service in his church’s sanctuary above a Haitian restaurant in Brooklyn? Before becoming a pastor, he had served time for swindling acquaintances of huge sums of money and this week he was taken into custody again on federal fraud charges. Among his alleged crimes was conning a parishioner into giving him $90,000 from her retirement account under the pretext of helping her to buy a new house. “I am a man of integrity,” he said, “and you will not lose.” He spent the money on luxury goods for himself, and when she asked for the money back, Whitehead said it was too late.
Then there’s the not so nice Jewish boy, Sam Bankman-Fried, founder of the crypto-currency trading platform FTX, who was indicted on multiple charges of fraud and conspiracy, defrauding customers, lenders, and investors of billions of dollars.
Even more unbelievable is the story of the nice, not-Jewish boy, George Santos, who won his race to represent New York’s 3rd congregational district in the U.S. House of Representatives by presenting himself as a well-educated, successful Wall Street investor, the grandson of Holocaust refugees “fled Jewish persecution in Ukraine, settled in Belgium, and again fled persecution during WWII.” It was all a lie, but he’ll still take the oath of office next week. Unlike with his friends Pastor Whitehead and Mr. Bankman-Fried, the victims of congressman-elect Santos’ charade seem to have zero recourse. New York has no provision for a re-call vote!
My heart goes out to all those voters, investors, and parishioners who were taken in by these three con-men. It just goes to show you how vulnerable we are, even the shrewdest among us. I’m pretty sure if you open the dictionary today and look up the word gullible, you’ll see pictures of all of us!
One biblical character who was a trickster in his youth is Jacob. Having coerced his brother Esau to renounce his birthright and then having masqueraded as Esau to receive his father’s blessing, Jacob ended up suffering under the weight of his misdeeds. You could point to his toil as an indentured-servant to his father-in-law or his bout with a messenger of God the night before reuniting with the brother he had wronged as karmic payback. But where Jacob’s character flaw really blows up in his face is the hoax perpetrated on him by his own sons, a hoax that resolves itself in this week’s Torah portion in a way that offers us hope.
You will recall that in a fit of jealousy Jacob’s oldest sons sold their younger brother Joseph into slavery. They then brought their father the fancy coat that he had gifted to Joseph — now torn and blood-stained — as evidence that Joseph had been devoured by a savage beast. Jacob then spent 40 years mourning the death of his favorite son, while doing everything he could to protect his youngest son, Benjamin, from a similar fate.
The cost of Jacob’s punishment becomes clear when he finally reunites with Joseph, now the viceroy of Egypt, and has this exchange with Pharaoh (Gen. 47:8-9):
Pharaoh asked Jacob, “How many are the years of your life?” And Jacob answered Pharaoh, “The years of my sojourn [on earth] are one hundred and thirty. Few and hard have been the years of my life, nor do they come up to the life spans of my fathers during their sojourns.”
While Jacob lived 130 years, his grandfather, Abraham, lived to 175 and his father, Isaac, lived to 180. Perhaps the stress caused by Joseph’s feigned death shaved 40 years off Jacob’s life. Perhaps, too, the hardships he endured sapped his life of joy and meaning. Could it be that the 130 years that Jacob did have on this earth were much less full of life than they could have been had he been a trustworthy mensch in his youth?
What are the consequences for individuals of wealth, power, and fame who lie and cheat? The story of Jacob suggests that pieces of their soul rot slowly away. Maybe that will happen to the men I wrote about earlier.
This week’s story doesn’t end with Jacob’s misery, however. It ends with his redemption. It ends with the redemption of knowing that his children have learned from their father’s and their own eros and that the cycle of lying and cheating has come to an end.
Before introducing his brothers to Pharaoh, Joseph counsels his brothers to say they are occupied as breeders of livestock, not as shepherds, which they are, because shepherds were held in low esteem by Egyptians. However, when Pharaoh asks them (Gen. 47:3) “What is your occupation?,” they respond, “We your servants are shepherds, as were also our fathers.” Not only do they “out” themselves as lowly shepherds, they also “out” Joseph as a descendant of shepherds! That took guts! It surely says as much about the pride they feel as shepherds as the growth they have undergone over 40 years since selling Joseph into slavery.
How does Pharaoh respond to the brothers’ revelation? Not how Joseph or we might have predicted. Rather than spurning them, Pharaoh rewards them! He says to Joseph (Gen. 47:5-6), “As regards your father and your brothers, the land of Egypt is open before you; settle your father and your brothers in the best part of the land; let them stay in the region of Goshen. And if you know any capable men among them, put them in charge of my livestock.” Pharaoh gives Joseph’s family the most fertile land in Egypt and offers them jobs caring for his livestock!
Joseph’s fear that his family would become outcasts in Egypt was overshadowed by Pharaoh’s gratitude for all that Joseph had done to prepare Egypt for the impending famine and helping the nation survive the drought. The fact that these new immigrants were shepherds and that Joseph was related to them was a non-issue to Pharaoh, as it should have been.
We have to wonder what would have become of Whitehead, Bankman-Fried, and Santos if they had told the truth all along. Maybe they would have lived as ordinary people, but they would have lived their years fully, with joy and satisfaction, with decency and dignity. They would have taught us that what is important is not how many years in your life, but how much life in your years!
May we all aspire to be the best versions of ourselves, staying true to ourselves and true to those who put their trust in us.
Not feeling grateful? Fake it ’til you make it.
Parashat Ki Tavo / פרשת כי־תבוא
Torah Portion: Deuteronomy 26:1 – 29:8
This week’s Torah reading offers an important lesson on gratitude: put simply, “fake it ‘til you make it.” Even when we are not feeling grateful, sometimes we should act as if we are. We should say “thank you” as if we mean it, even if we don’t. After a while of “faking it,” we start to look at the world differently, and the gratitude starts to become real. It’s amazing how much we can deal with, even overcome, if we just remember to be grateful. It’s no accident that we begin each day say “Modeh ani lefanecha — I give thanks to you, Holy One.”
Speaking to the Israelites, Moses instructs them that, upon entering the Land of Israel, they are to bring some of the first fruits of their soil in baskets to the Levites at a place of God’s choosing. Once they have set their offerings on the ground in front of the altar, they are to recite these words, which have become familiar to us through the Passover haggadah:
My father was a fugitive Aramean. He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there; but there he became a great and very populous nation. The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and oppressed us; they imposed heavy labor upon us. We cried to the Lord, the God of our fathers, and the Lord heard our plea and saw our plight, our misery, and our oppression. The Lord freed us from Egypt by a mighty hand, by an outstretched arm and awesome power, and by signs and portents. He brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. Wherefore I now bring the first fruits of the soil which You, O Lord, have given me. (Deut. 26:6-10)
Through this ritual, the Israelites will express their gratitude to God for having brought them out of bondage to a place of safety in their own land. The words they will recite focus succinctly on the grace that God had bestowed upon them. With this gesture of thanksgiving, Israel will go on to thrive in the Holy Land. Given Israel’s history of complaining about hardships throughout during their 40 years of wandering in the wilderness, it is refreshing to read this narrative that focuses solely on Israel’s gratitude for the loving kindness that God has bestowed upon her.
Let’s face it, though: We don’t get the impression from the Torah that showing appreciation comes naturally to the Israelites. Indeed, before we credit the Israelites with taking on an attitude of gratitude, we should note that it’s Moses who prescribes the exact words they are to say. Moses doesn’t assume that his people will naturally set aside their troubles and wax sincerely in gratitude before God. He provides the script that he hopes will lead to the attitude adjustment that God desires of them. He is teaching them to fake it until they make it.
Wouldn’t it be nice if we all had such a script in hand at times when we’re inclined to rant on about all our suffering, to run through a litany of all that we lack? Sure, we’re raised to say “please” and “thank you,” but we aren’t always given the tools to see the blessings in our lives in those dark moments when we feel our lives lack everything except misery.
Every child at one time or another has melted down, proclaiming that they have the worst life of anyone in the world. After listening to what is upsetting them, affirming their feelings and then helping them put their misery in perspective, they eventually come to see that life is not nearly as bad as they imagined. With any luck, we help bring them to a place where they can actually feel grateful for all they have. We need not require them to lay a tenth of all their toys or a basket of fruit before the rabbi. It’s enough for them to acknowledge their privilege without introducing a ritual from the bible.
As the New Year approaches and we take stock of our lives, we should know that is alright to express our regrets and setbacks from the previous year. Sometimes, we too, feel like our lives are a mess, that we’ve really messed up or that the odds are stacked against us.
But the message this week is that we need to keep a sense of perspective. We need to balance the negative with the good. Should we be stuck in a dark place, unable to express gratitude for our bounty, we should seek out someone like Moses who can hand us a rosier script that is as true as the script we find coming out of our mouths. Sometimes we, like our ancestors, just need to be reminded how good life is in order to carry on and thrive in our own lands. Even then, we might need to fake it for a while. Eventually, we will make it to a place where we truly do feel grateful.
Daniel Aronson 