Parshas Vayakhel: Our Adelaide Kehilla

Community is a very important concept in Judaism.  However, as we see with many words in the English language, “community” is not an adequate translation of the original Hebrew.  In Hebrew, there are three words for the one English word “community.”  And, as former Chief Rabbi Sacks once pointed out, each of them has a different meaning.  Here in Adelaide, which are we?

The first word for community is “edah.”  “Edah” means community, but it comes from the word “eid,” which means “witness.”  So an edah is a community that has witnessed something – together.  Together, the Jews stood at Sinai and witnessed G-d speaking.  They then became an edah, of one mind.  They became a homogenous community.  But this does not seem to fit the description of our Adelaide community.  Although we may all be Jewish, we all have differing ideas of what that means to us.  Some of us keep kosher, others don’t. Some keep Shabbat, others don’t.  And we are all very different people with diverse interests and personalities.

The second word for community is “tzibbur,” from the Hebrew “tz-b-r,” which means “to heap” or “pile up.”  A tzibbur is what happens when a bunch of random people are thrown together in one place.  When you show up at the Kotel to daven with a group of people, you are a tzibbur.  You will likely never see those people again, but you’ve come together temporarily out of a common interest (praying).  Adelaide, although a community composed of many and varied people, is not a tzibbur.  We are too small for that.  We all know one another and see each other time and again.

The third and final word for community is “kehilla.”  A kehilla is something of the best of both worlds.  It is a gathering of diverse people who intentionally come together to accomplish a goal.  This can be good or bad.  The Jews at the golden calf were a kehilla.  So were the Jews in this week’s parsha who came together to make donations to the mishkan.  Ah, so this is the Adelaide Jewish community: we are all very different individuals, but we come together to make things happen, hopefully for the good!

And there are many opportunities to be a part of the kehilla in Adelaide.  Like the Jews in this week’s parsha, we can come together to give tzedaka or to build things like sukkot.   We can come together weekly for Shabbat services, to help make a minyan.  We can come together to do mitzvot, like visiting the sick or cheering the elderly.  We can come together to celebrate the holidays, like Purim, which is coming up, or Pesach, which is not long after.

I doubt Adelaide will ever become an edah, nor would we want it to.  We love the diversity and individuality of our members too much.  And we don’t want to see it become a tzibbur, with the members coming together so infrequently that they don’t even know one another.  We love our little kehilla and hope it stays this way: diverse and strong.  So come be a part of the kehilla! We look forward to seeing you!

Shabbat shalom!

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Parshas Ki Tisa: More Than Just a Number

We each have numbers that “represent” us.  There are Social Security Numbers and Tax ID numbers.  There are Personal Identification Numbers and Student ID numbers.  We have driver’s license numbers and passport numbers.  And, sadly, many Holocaust survivors have numbers tattooed on their arms.

Assigning people numbers to identify them is an easy way for schools, governments, and other large organizations to keep track of them.  We no longer live in small villages, as we did hundreds of years ago, and it is now harder to keep track of all the people.  Yet we still refer to ourselves by our names, not our “numbers.”  To be referred to by numbers alone seems somehow degrading.

And perhaps even these numbers are not strictly necessary.  When Moses takes the census in this week’s parsha, there are surely too many Jews for him to know all of them, and yet he deliberately does not count them.  Rather than take a census by counting, he collects half a coin from each person and counts those.  Then he is able to know how many Jews there are.

Why do we not count Jews? In this week’s parsha, Moses is told, “When you take the sum of the children of Israel according to their numbers, let each one give to G‑d an atonement for his soul when they are counted, then there will be no plague among them when they are counted.”  Later, King David also counts the Jews, but this time the conventional way – and a plague strikes.

This is because counting individuals singles them out for judgment.  As a community, we hope to have enough merits to avert any negative judgment.  However, as individuals, many of us may have too many sins for our current merits to overcome.

Additionally, viewing a community as a whole entity, rather than as a collection of individuals, brings blessing to the community.  The Talmud teaches that blessing is not found “in something that has been weighed, nor in something that has been measured, nor in something that has been counted,” so that if we want blessings we should not count.  In other words, when we Jews are united, we all receive blessings, but we when we divide ourselves up into individual units, we invite individual judgments.

Thus, if we want to receive blessings and help our fellow Jews to receive blessings, we must be united.  Rather than counting ourselves and dividing ourselves up, we must join together.  Shabbat is an excellent time to practice this by coming to Shabbat services, where you can spend time with a nice group of other Jews.  You can also join us for our upcoming Purim gathering.  We are looking forward to having so many people that we could not count them all even if we tried!

Shabbat shalom!

Read more on Parshas Ki Tisa: Parshas Parah: Taking the Bull by the Horns

Parshas Tetzaveh – The Nose Knows

Studies show that of all our senses, our memory for smells is the strongest.  Indeed, most people will agree that certain smells bring them back to earlier times and experiences, even if they no longer remember what those experiences looked, sounded, or felt like.  One smell will remind you of your grandparents’ house, which you last visited when you were three years old.  Another smell will forever remind you of the day your first child was born.  Smells are very powerful.

Our sense of smell is also our most G-dly sense.  Indeed, when he comes, Moshiach will judge not by sight or by hearing, but by smell. (Sanhedrin 93b)

When Adam and Eve sinned in the Garden of Eden, the sense of smell was the only one of the five senses that did not participate.  Hearing listened to the snake (and Eve).  Sight saw the apple.  Touch gripped the apple. Taste tasted the apple. But at no point did Adam or Eve stop to smell the apple.  The sense of smell did not participate in this, the first sin of humanity.  So the sense of smell retains a level of spirituality and holiness.

So when it comes to the building of the tabernacle, it makes sense (pun intended!) that the instructions for its construction should “save the best for last.”  So we see that after the rest of the tabernacle is built, only then do we receive the instructions regarding the incense.

But leaving the incense for last also teaches us something about human nature.  We are building a “house” for G-d, who is Himself not tangible.  Can G-d, who cannot be contained even by the heavens above, be contained in a little dwelling here on earth?  As humans, we are inherently limited.  We cannot possibly fathom something so intangible as G-d.  Because we are unable to rise to His level, we have to bring G-d down to ours.  So we build him a house, a physical tabernacle, in which He can “dwell.”

Yet, just having a physical place with trappings fit for the King of kings is still not enough.  We have to be able to feel G-d’s presence there.  Otherwise, it would be like walking into a king’s palace only to find it empty.  This is when the incense comes in.  The sweet, heady smell of the incense taps into our purest and most spiritual sense.  This intangible smell helps transport us, helps us enter the right frame of mind to perceive our intangible G-d.

This is why the instructions for the incense altar are left until last, even though it is placed inside the mishkan with the other altars and vessels.  Because as humans we first need to build and see the physical, then we can more easily tap into the spiritual.

We hope you will join us soon at our own house for G-d, where you too can better access your spirituality.  And invite G-d into your own home, where Shabbat is the perfect time to fill your house with the smells of mitzvot: fresh-baked challah on a Friday night, cholent on Saturday, and besamim on Saturday night.

Shabbat shalom!

Read more on Parshas Tetzaveh: What You Wear IS Important

Parshas Terumah: It’s Okay to Ask for Help

In Western society today, being tough and independent are qualities that are praised.  We expect men to be macho and strong and not to cry.  We even hear songs saying things like, “big girls don’t cry.”

It is hard to allow oneself to become vulnerable.  By letting down our guard, we open ourselves up to attack and criticism in the places where we are weakest.  Sadly, in modern society, there is a good chance that we may just be attacked if we do so.

But this is not the way of Judaism.  Judaism is a religion of compassion and love, as we learn from our forefather Abraham.  In Judaism, we should be able to open ourselves up and meet with comfort from others, not criticism.

Take for instance the emotion of grief.  Grief as an emotion is inherently vulnerable because we are already suffering a loss.  Yet, modern society seems to dictate that we have to be strong.  We are told to “accept it,” to “move on,” and, if we cry at all, we are expected to quickly wipe our tears away.  Most jobs today do not give time off to deal with grief – they expect you back at work as scheduled.  Judaism, on the other hand, embraces grief and its natural progressions.  Familial losses require one to sit shiva for a whole week, then to follow certain mourning rituals for the first 30 days and first year following the loss.

That is because in Judaism, vulnerability does NOT equal weakness.  If anything, vulnerability is yet another gift from Hashem.  Just as there are poor people in the world to give us the opportunity to help them through giving charity, so too each and every one of us has vulnerable moments to allow all the others to give them strength and love, caring and compassion.

Sadly, even asking for help these days is seen as a weakness!  (According to the book “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus,” men have an especially hard time with this, but it seems to us that it more likely stems from societal norms.)  Asking for help means you aren’t independent enough to do it on your own. And in modern society this is seen as a fault.

But even Moses had to ask for help sometimes, and he was certainly not a weak man.  Take for instance, the building of the menorah in this week’s parsha.  We see that Moses learned on Mount Sinai how to construct the menorah.  But when Hashem explained its construction to him, Moses didn’t understand. So he asked for more explanation.  G-d then showed him a vision (made of fire) of what the golden menorah should look like.  Still, when it came time to construct it, Moses still didn’t understand! So, as the Midrash says, Moses threw the gold into the fire and G-d himself constructed the menorah.  Moses was not afraid to ask for help.

So too us as Jews.  We must always be able to ask for help from our fellows.  It is not a sign of diminishment or weakness – it is actually a sign of humility and strength.  And, as Jews, if others open up to us and ask us for help, it is our job to give help, compassion, and love.

Shabbat shalom!

Read more on Parshas Terumah: Doing Things the Hard Way, Procrastinating, and Overcoming Laziness

Parshas Mishpatim: Treating Everyone Well

Most of us have heard of the “Stockholm Syndrome.”  This is when captors or prisoners begin to identify with their assailants, even to the point of rejecting their freedom or defending their abusers.  It is Stockholm Syndrome that keeps people in abusive relationships, so it is not as uncommon as it might seem.

In this week’s parsha, we read about what is to be done to a Jewish slave if he/she refuses to go free.  This seems irrational.  Why would someone not want to go free when offered their freedom?

At first one might think this is yet another example of the Stockholm Syndrome.  These slaves have, as a coping mechanism, begun to identify with their masters in such a way that they no longer value freedom.

Yet, this is not the reason for this behavior in the Torah.  Torah laws mandate that slaves must be treated well.  In some parts of the world, slaves are locked in small rooms and made to sleep on hard floors. (Sadly, slavery does still exist.)  They are beaten and are not allowed to communicate with their families.  Not so in Judaism!  Yes, slavery is allowed, but it is not the barbaric kind of slavery of which we hear so many tales.  Jewish law has no jails, so sometimes slavery was an appropriate way for a person to right the wrongs they have done.

In Judaism, even slaves must be treated with dignity and respect.  They are not beaten or abused.  They are given a comfortable place to sleep and good food to eat. Indeed, if a master has only one pillow, he must give it to his slave!

The lives of Jewish slaves, although made to work, was undoubtedly much, much better than being placed in the penal systems of today.  Today, prisoners in jails are only allotted a few hours of outdoor recreational time (if they are lucky!).  Prisoners who are on good behavior are allowed to work as a reward.  Being locked in a cell all day with nothing to do may sound restful and relaxing for a few days, but soon both mind and body begin to itch for something more to do.  Prisoners today come out of jail with a stigma that makes it hard for them to find work, even if they have attended educational services while incarcerated.

Jewish slaves, on the other hand, would have had no stigma once freed.  They could move to another city and nobody would be checking their criminal record.  They could start a new life.  And what’s more – they spent their time as a slave doing things.  They felt needed.  They might even have learned some new skills!  So slaves, once freed, were able to be even more valuable members of society than they were when they first entered slavery.

Being a Jewish slave would have been a relatively comfortable life.  Sure, the work was hard and long, but then again, many professions require long hours of hard work.  Slaves would not have needed to worry about where their next meal was coming from or how to pay the mortgage.  And they would have been treated nicely, with dignity and respect from their masters.  Once out in the wide world, there are no guarantees.  They might not have a job, they might live in poverty, they might have to beg.  For some, life as a slave was definitely preferable.

And if we as Jews have to treat our slaves so well, then how much more so does this show us we must treat all human beings with dignity and respect, compassion and care.  No matter what another person’s life history, background, or position in society, we must always show them this kind of respect and love.

Shabbat shalom!

Read more on Parshas Mishpatim: Welcoming the Strangers

Parshas Yisro: Valuing Our Converts

Our community in Adelaide, as with many small communities we know, is composed of a mix of Jews from a variety of backgrounds.  A handful grew up in observant homes, some grew up secular and later returned to Judaism, and quite a few converted.

Those people who converted often become an integral part of our community.  They are unique in that, like the Jews who left Egypt, they truly have the chance to accept upon themselves the obligations of Torah.  Spiritually, they stand at Sinai and say “na’ase v’nishma” – “we will do and we will understand.”  Anyone who is born Jewish is born with the weight of Torah obligations upon their shoulders, but a convert chooses to take them on for himself.  And often we see that these converts and their “love match” with Judaism really shines through, as they make a huge difference in the world around them by taking on the obligations of Torah and Judaism.

We are fortunate in that our community, although small, is very close and loving.  The Jews here do not judge or look down upon others for their levels of observance.  Especially we have noticed that nobody is judged for their background, convert or not.  Sadly, this is not so in every community, where sometimes converts are judged poorly, perhaps because they are different.  Yet, choosing to convert is a massive undertaking, a radical life change, and so converts should be admired for their taking on this commitment.

The importance of respecting converts and of recognizing their contributions stands out in this week’s parsha.  Yisro (Jethro), Moshe’s (Moses’s) father-in-law, has an entire parsha named after him.  Not only did he convert (Rashi), but he also went home and converted his entire family (Ramban), so great was his passion and love for Torah, so convinced was he of its truth.

Yisro’s contributions to the Jewish people were massive.  He proposed the essence of the judicial system Moshe employed, thus enabling Moshe to most appropriately direct his energies, and reducing the strife amongst individual Jews.  Perhaps because he was a convert, Yisro came to the Jewish people with a fresh new outlook.  He was able to apply his past experiences to his present state and use these as tools to help him improve the world around him.

Jewish history is riddled with stories of converts who have attained the highest of spiritual heights.  From Ruth (who was grandmother to King David and ultimately to Moshiach) to Onkeles (whose commentaries even today grace our Chumashim), we owe a debt of gratitude to the converts who have chosen to follow the path of Judaism. Let’s continue our Adelaide tradition of not only accepting, but embracing them!

Shabbat shalom!

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