Parasha B'reishit 5771

According to Plaut:

"Japheth: ...His name is identical with Iapetos, a Titan, father of Prometheus, Epimetheus, and Atlas, all of Greek mythic fame."

So I didn't exactly quite finish Deuteronomy on time, so now I'm trying to keep up with the beginning and the end of the Torah. One thing I've really enjoyed about the Plaut commentary is the explanations of the parallels between the Torah and other ancient Near Eastern literature and other written texts. I realize that the people who most need to hear that Scripture didn't spring fully formed from the head of Moses are those most likely to refuse to accept this, but I appreciate having context.

Simchat Torah!

Tonight begins Simchat Torah, where we read the end of Deuteronomy straight through the beginning of Genesis. In our synagogue, we unwrap as many Torah scrolls as it takes to encircle the entire sanctuary (I think it's about two-and-a-half); one rabbi reads the end of Deuteronomy; the cantor chants the beginning of Genesis, and then we re-roll the scrolls and dance with them.

I asked one of our rabbis, Rabbi New Guy (who needs a different alias), why it is that the end of Deuteronomy and the end of the Jewish calendar year don't exactly coincide. Of course, there's no one answer, but he suggested that it has, in part, to do with the parashot for each Shabbat and such, and also with hiding the seams between years.

My thought is that it's like an elided cadence in music; one part of the music begins before the next ends, creating a seamless transition into a new theme instead of an abrupt stop and restart.

I love Simchat Torah.

L'shana tova...Eid Mubarak

Here's an article about a group of Reform Jews who attended their local mosque and had lovely discussions with their Muslim neighbors about their respective holidays, forming deeper connections in the process.

I live closer to a mosque than I do to our synagogue, but I've never been in, not because I have anything against Islam per se, but because I'm afraid of making a terrible gaffe of some kind. I need to get over myself.

"Teshuvah, in Three Acts"

This was my first High Holy Days as a Jew. I have been surprised at how different it feels than past years. Although I don't think I'm really doing teshuvah "right", I do feel that there's more of a chance for me to get there now than there used to be. And I feel more at peace than I have in a long while. And that's about all I can say right now; I have to be with these feelings a while longer before I can write about them.

Meanwhile, I have some linkage to share, to take place over a few posts.

The first one is by Rabbi Ayelet Cohen, who here discusses teshuvah in the lives of three congregants.

Here we go again

The High Holy Days are upon us again...as our synagogue e-mails keep reminding us, "September comes early this year". Which I'm not sure is exactly what they mean, but no matter.

I've been meaning to blog this article since the last High Holy Days. Here's the first paragraph:

Somewhere along the way in Jewish history in North America, we created a myth. This myth continues to be perpetuated each year in most communities, though there are a few bold, practical thinkers who attempt to shatter it. The myth is that it costs money to pray, especially during the High Holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and advanced-purchase tickets are required.

C and I have long had issue with the way our synagogue handles dues, both how much they are and how they're determined. Yes, we get them abated each year, but it does something to one's dignity to have to go talk to the executive director every year and explain that we don't have any more money than we did last year because we both work for non-profits, and this isn't liable to change at any point in the foreseeable future. Yes, the executive director is very kind and understanding and interested in making sure we don't promise to pay more than we can afford, but still...it's demeaning. But for now, our synagogue is our crazy Jewish family of whom we are fond, so we keep returning.

More HHD fun to follow.

The corners of our fields

Leviticus 19:9] When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap all the way to the edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest. 10] You shall not pick your vineyard bare, or gather the fallen fruit of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger: I the Eternal am your God.

Plaut commentary: This passage (and its parallels) is not an appeal to the landowners' generosity. It confers the right to glean and to harvest the uncut edge on those who have no resources of their own. It is perhaps the oldest declaration that the disadvantaged members of a society have a right to support from that society. They should not be dependent on voluntary benevolence alone -- though the latter is constantly stressed as well.

Anath's comment: And so many people who would use Leviticus to deprive certain people of their civil rights will also insist that the poor, the homeless, the mentally ill are blights on our society who have no right to assistance. . . read a little further from your pet chapter and verse, folks.

I wasn't looking for this...

There is an answer to the doctor's question. All the Dachaus must remain standing. The Dachaus, the Belsens, the Buchenwalds, the Auschwitzes - all of them. They must remain standing because they are a monument to a moment in time when some men decided to turn the Earth into a graveyard. Into it they shoveled all of their reason, their logic, their knowledge, but worst of all, their conscience. And the moment we forget this, the moment we cease to be haunted by its remembrance, then we become the gravediggers. Something to dwell on and to remember, not only in the Twilight Zone but wherever men walk God's Earth.

The ending narration to Deaths-Head Revisited.