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Rivy Poupko Kletenik
• JTNews Columnist
Dear Rivy,
In honor of Mother’s Day I decided to prepare a speech, a d’var Torah, about mothers and daughters in the Torah. I thought it was a good idea. I began my research in earnest but had quite a hard time finding material. Where did I go wrong?
I am not sure that you went wrong anywhere. I appreciate your experience and empathize with your consternation. I too have attempted such investigations. It is not simple to fashion a d’var Torah about mothers and daughters in the Torah, primarily because there is not much from which one might glean.
When considering father and son relationships, there are a number of quite complex narratives from which we can garner timeless interpretations, meanings and inspiration. Without much strain to the brain we can tick those sets off quite swiftly, including Noah and his sons, Abraham and Isaac, Isaac and Jacob, Jacob and Joseph, Saul and Jonathan, David and Absalom.
Though a number of these relationships give us pause and are fraught with intense conflict, they are relationships nonetheless. Without a doubt, they mirror the intricate and oftentimes precariously complicated nature of the father-son bond.
When we turn to inventory mother-daughter connections, the list is disappointingly sparse. Our first task must be to identify mother-daughter pairs in the Torah. In this discussion, we are use a broad definition of Torah, including all 24 books of what we call the Tanach: the Torah, the Prophets and the writings. Some call these the Hebrew Scriptures. At first glance we can quickly identify two visible mother-daughter duos; Leah and Dinah in Genesis, and Yocheved and Miriam in Exodus, the former receiving much less fanfare than the latter.
A second more comprehensive page-turning, concordance-checking, CD-ROM-searching exploration yields nothing more. I hesitate to utter the words, but I think we are done. I invite you to prove me wrong — I would rejoice with you.
Keep in mind we are searching for a meaningful kind of mother-daughter citation not a flavorless reference in a genealogical “begat” list. Those are decidedly exceptional as well, what with the father-son genealogy by far outpacing the mother-daughter statistics.
Proceeding with our identified mothers and daughters, although limited, I wonder whether these scant twosomes may yet offer us a fertile patch of earth from which we can grow some big ideas about mothers and daughters and their relationships. What pearls of wisdom do these mothers impart upon their daughters? What gems preserved through the ages are recorded?
This is where we get even a bit more discomfited. Upon further investigation, it becomes apparent that there is not a single word of dialogue between any mothers and daughters in the entire aforementioned 24 books of the Hebrew Scripture. Implausible as it may sound, it is true; not one word is exchanged in the entire Tanach between any mother and daughter.
Now what? Skip the mother-daughter d’var Torah? I think not. There are, after all, narratives that can mined for meaning. There may be no words exchanged between mothers and daughters, but there are deeds that can provide inspiration and insight. In spite of this discerned dearth of dialogue, I believe there is something to be learned. Concepts can be extracted from the little we do have in the texts.
For example, Rebecca meets, waters and welcomes the servant of Abraham and his camels in Genesis, Chapter 24. Bedecked with gifted jewelry, she runs to her mother’s house to report on the arrival of the stranger. Though no words are directly exchanged we notice that here the beginning of a hint of a motif: Mother’s tent or Mother’s house. Later, Isaac is comforted after the death of his mother only when he brings Rebecca into what had been his mother’s tent.
In one of the five Megillot, the dreamy beloved of “Song of Songs” speaks to her adored suitor and tells him that she will bring him into her mother’s house. There the relationship will blossom — Mother’s house again.
Mother is the original comfort of intimacy and love. The run to Mother’s house is the eternal impulse for return. Mother’s house is a womblike shelter and security — the place of primal warmth. The potential romance between Isaac and Rebecca is set in motion as she runs to her own mother’s house with news of the unfamiliar person who had been bursting with intentions which are then later ultimately realized as she enters the tent of Isaac’s mother. Mother’s love gives way to the promise of intimate love of the future.
The Torah is suggesting a blueprint for mothers and daughters. Let’s understand that first place of tenderness and grow from there. Perhaps this sweet phenomenon of “Mother’s house” can help us to break down those tensions that sometimes build between mother and daughter.
One more incident where nary a word is spoken takes place by the banks of the Nile. Miriam, sister of baby Moshe, sets out to watch as the daughter of Pharaoh reaches for the Hebrew baby meant to be drowned. What to do? A nursemaid is needed. Again the dash to mother with no words recorded, but we can imagine the swift urgency with which they are delivered. Mother and daughter share an intense purpose: this baby must be saved and cared for by its Israelite mother. Perhaps no words need be spoken. There are understandings that transcend the spoken word.
These two voiceless episodes speak to me deeply. I see these patterns played out with my own daughters, the silent knowing and understanding, the trusting intimacy of relationships and the comfort of eloquent trust. The d’var Torah of mothers and daughters is a talk that does not abound with examples but it certainly resounds with meaning, sometimes actions transcend words.
Rivy Poupko Kletenik is an internationally renowned educator and Judaic Principal at the Seattle Hebrew Academy. If you have a question that’s been tickling your brain, send Rivy an email at kletenik6@aol.com.
Posted May 26, 2006 |
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Rivy Poupko Kletenik
• JTNews Columnist
Dear Rivy, As our family sang Shalom Aleichem this past Friday evening, I began to think about the song. We seem to be greeting ministering… Posted April 28, 2006 |
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Rivy Poupko Kletenik
• JTNews Columnist
Dear Rivy:
Though we have been members of a congregation for many years and have led an involved Jewish life, neither my husband nor I have ever been to Israel. Now our daughter wants to go to Israel next year on a high school program. On one hand, I am thrilled that she is so connected to Judaism, yet on the other I am afraid and conflicted. We have never been — why should she go? Is it safe? How will it change her? What do you think? Is it a good idea?
While I have traveled on a number of occasions to Israel, spent extended periods of time there, and have had children study in Israel in the past and, in fact, currently, I appreciate your question. It is not a casual deed to send a child to Israel. Given the political landscape, the distance, and the simple foreignness of any country abroad, your concerns are compelling. Despite these challenges, you probably already suspect that I would strongly advocate travel to Israel, especially for youngsters.
Of course, I genuinely recognize any parents’ reservations. Here are some of my experiences, beliefs and deeply felt emotions about Israel. Perhaps they will help you make peace with your daughter’s plans.
There I was, 10 years old. The year was 1968 and we were taking off from Lod Airport to head back to Pittsburgh after a summer family trip to Israel. “Jerusalem of Gold” was playing over the airplane’s intercom and to my youthful consternation, tears were trickling down my cheeks. I was overwhelmed by feelings I could neither identify nor understand.
Now I know: I was in love. In love with everything that was Israel — the sand, the soldiers, the holiness, the heat, the astonishing landscapes, the language, falafel and pita, the rush of the people, the proximity to Torah and history, the unbelievable palatable feeling of being home. That was 1968. Some of that has never left me, and despite the fact that so much has changed, the romance lingers on.
Subsequent trips, growing up, and deeper knowledge have seasoned and complicated my initial impressions, but this I know: no one travels to Israel and returns the same as when they left. Perhaps this phenomenon reflects the deep primal connection that we as a people have to the land. From Abraham’s ancient journey to the Israelites’ entry into the land, through the medieval mystical pilgrimages up until the modern aliyah movement, our people have sacrificed to make the connection.
Travel for teens is essential to their growth. Being away from home and learning how to cope with the vicissitudes of life without Mom or Dad is a step toward maturity. Laundry, tummy aches and homesickness are the stuff of growing up and small challenges that are good for the soul. The ability to navigate and negotiate peer relationships is critical and can sometimes be hard tests, but these can happen anywhere and should be a part of growing into adulthood.
Why Israel? Here are my three most compelling reasons why I think study and travel for teens in Israel in particular is meaningful:
1.Israel is the authentic hands-on classroom. Education for students in Israel is like nowhere else. You open the Bible and head out to the locales of the action. Scenes of Joshua, Deborah, David and Goliath come alive with the reality of standing where they once stood. The land becomes the text as you traipse through the excavated cities from the time of the Mishna. The Second Commonwealth comes alive as you walk through the Old City of Jerusalem and see Herod’s Palace and the Burnt House. Great as any of our lessons and classrooms are, here nothing replaces the reality of being there at the very spot of the action.
2. Hebrew is the language that connects all Jews. It is the idiom of the Torah, the cadence of our prayers, the nuances of our heritage, and the vessel of our collective memory. Any study that one will hope to embark on Jewishly is profoundly enhanced with knowledge of Hebrew. To truly master the language one must be given the opportunity to speak it fluently. A teen trip will launch your daughter on a lifelong relationship with the language and equip her with future potential.
3.Though Israel is a modern, tech savvy, up-to-date, Burger King, Ikea, Home Depot kind of place, it exudes a spirituality that cannot be missed. The holiness of sacred sites joined with cadres of devout penitents creates an ambience of otherworldliness. Once experienced in the Holy Land itself, it cannot be replicated elsewhere. Standing at the Holy Wall in Jerusalem on Friday night is a sight to behold. A miscellany of languages sprinkle the air as peoples from the entire world stream through the gates of Jerusalem headed toward prophetic fulfillment.
Finally, I am not sure that I have any definitive answer in regard to safety, and I am not sure that anyone can provide that sort of comfort. Israel programs take tremendous efforts in regard to security. They plan carefully and spare no costs, but there are no guarantees.
I can tell you that our children have studied there and our daughter is spending a year studying there right now as well. Teen programs have an impeccable track record in terms of security and steer away from potentially volatile areas. It is one of those leaps that we parents take as our children leave the shelter of home.
Finally, this thought: experiences throughout our lives build upon each other. They become a multilayered, rich texture with shades and hues that change over time. Each lesson informs the next. That first trip to Israel becomes the first installment — hopefully many others will follow. For me, nothing will ever replace that emotional plane ride home in 1968, but others sure have come close.
Rivy Poupko Kletenik is an internationally renowned educator and Judaic Principal at the Seattle Hebrew Academy. If you have a question that’s been tickling your brain, send Rivy an email at kletenik6@aol.com.
Posted April 28, 2006 |
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Rivy Poupko Kletenik
• JTNews Columnist
Dear Rivy,
This year I am making my first Pesach seder. Help! I don’t know where to begin. Our side of the family has always been guests of the other side of the family. But this year because of certain family realities I need to step up to the plate — the seder plate. My head is racing — how to manage the kids, the food, the guests, the preparations. Where do I begin?
First, remain calm, Second, get out your notebook. Organization is essential. But before you launch into any of the nitty gritty, you must get your head into the right place.
The key to the entire production is joy. Be thrilled to be able to place before your family a meaningful experience: the gift of love as reflected in the food, the table and the deep devotion to our people and tradition.
Keep in mind that this is not just a meal, and not just a holiday. You are facilitating perhaps the most essential ritual in Judaism. Your home will be transformed and your table elevated as you lead your loved ones into the enchanted transcendent mysterium that is seder night.
Now for the planning: enlist the help of your family. Their being a part of the effort is indispensable. Make sure that each member feels a part of the process and that they each have roles that match their age and inclinations. Keep in mind that the meaning of the word seder is order. Embrace this “Big Idea” right now. With order and deliberation you will make this happen!
Begin with the goal in mind: for me, it is sitting serenely at the seder table. Then work your way backward, listing what will need to be done the day of the seder, the day before the seder, the week before the seder, and even the month before the seder.
Think through not only your menu but the ritual foods as well. Now is the time to call relatives and get those heirloom recipes. Get a folder and start placing the Pesach recipes in it — you will use this for the rest of your life. Start perusing Passover cookbooks with Post-it notes in hand, but don’t get carried away.
Plan familiar recipes and introduce only one or two new ones. The brisket you made on Rosh Hashanah is not much different than the one you will make on Pesach. List each food you will need to prepare and generate a shopping list of the ingredients you will need.
Set up a cooking and shopping timetable. I put up a huge piece of butcher paper on the wall of the kitchen and list each food in big letters. This helps me keep track of what needs to get done. You’ll find that crossing off each item is deeply satisfying.
Another part of preparing for the seder involves doing some spring cleaning. With the inner sanctum of the home being the kitchen, work your way through the house. Plan to leave a week for the kitchen, and set aside the cabinets where you can begin putting away your Passover foods. Mark the Passover ones clearly.
The cleansing of the home from chametz, leavening, has a symbolic significance. It represents the refining of our souls. As we search our pockets and drawers for crumbs, we must similarly search the deep recesses of our beings as well. Now we work at letting go of notions that have puffed us up. It is time to rein in our very human tendencies that our own selves exaggerate out of proportion.
The great scholar Rabbi Saadia Gaon understood it this way: “After the deeds follows the heart.” Sometimes the actions lead and the thoughts follow along. As we inspect and cleanse our outer dwelling, we scrutinize and search out our most inner of abodes. The cleaning of a closet can be deeply satisfying on many levels; it mirrors the inner work of the soul.
Let go, give it away, divest your self. We need not possess all of the stuff filling our closets, nor our mental space. The closets are an easy start to get the practice going. My rule: if it has not been worn in the last year-and-a-half, someone else could be wearing it, and if the ruminations of your mind continue to lead you nowhere positive, stop going there!
Set time aside to plan the seder as well. With your family, determine who the leader will be. Take a trip to the Jewish bookstore and consider all the different Haggadahs. Do you want everyone to read from the same book, or would your prefer sprinkling different ones around? What Haggadah will the children use? While acquiring Haggadahs, purchase some engaging Passover story books for your children. This is the time to build up their excitement.
Depending upon who your guests are, you might divide up pieces of the Haggadah or simply rely on their participation on the night of the seder.
The Haggadah has become a palate upon which many thinkers have drawn their story. We are no different. We each have a Pesach story to tell. Perhaps it is your family’s narrative of coming to America. It might be your own individual struggle with your own personal slavery.
By studying the Haggadah ahead of time, you will find the appropriate place to add your own original thoughts. Seder means order, yes, the order of the rituals that we perform seder night, but there is more. Seder must also be the ordering of the world, the grappling with life and all its messy phenomena.
What message of the Exodus speaks to you most? What questions yet remain? This should all be part of a meaningful seder experience.
Though the task seems daunting, be assured — you will make it to seder night. As the demanding weeks of planning and commotion unfold before us, let the joy in.
Remember generations past, whose monumental efforts have segued into ours. Let us appreciate the breezy way we load those groceries into our shopping cart and pack them into our car. The ease with which we switch on the stove, twist the oven dial and turn the faucet for hot water. Enjoy your preparations: the journey may turn out to be as rewarding as the destination.
Rivy Poupko Kletenik is an internationally renowned educator and incoming Head of School at the Seattle Hebrew Academy. If you have a question that’s been tickling your brain, send Rivy an e-mail at kletenik6@aol.com.
Posted March 24, 2006 |
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Rivy Poupko Kletenik
• JTNews Columnist
Dear Rivy,
While recently waiting for a flight out of the Dallas airport to Seattle pretty early in the morning, a fellow passenger, obviously Jewish, took out his tallit and tefillin and, right there at the gate, proceeded to put them on and to pray. Other travelers began to stare. I kept thinking, Why did he not do this in the privacy of his own home? But then I thought, Maybe the praying would be okay in public, but why with the tallit and the tefillin? I have seen this at the El Al terminal, which I can understand. But this, I feel, was out of place. What do you think?
I confess on occasion I have traveled with individuals who have been wont to whip out their own tallit and tefillin and perform similar acts of public prayer, indeed in a multiplicity of airports throughout the world. Though airports are not synagogues, I guess they sometimes become impromptu places of prayer when there is no other recourse.
Allow me to unpack each of the three components of the scenario that you were privy to witness: prayer, tallit and tefillin in the hopes that we can understand the situation of prayer in public.
Traditionally, Jews pray three times a day. Early reference to this practice is found in Psalms 55:18, “Evening, and morning, and at noon, I pray, and cry aloud;” and the Book of Daniel 6:11, “Now when Daniel learned that the writing was signed, he went into his house; his windows were open in his chamber toward Jerusalem, and he kneeled upon his knees three times a day, and prayed.”
People are usually surprised to hear that the notion of praying three times a day has such an early mention in our literature.
In the Talmud, sages debate the origin of the three daily prayer phenomenon. One opinion contends that prayers are recited three times a day because each of the forefathers established one of them. Abraham introduced Shacharit, the morning service; Isaac initiated Mincha, the afternoon service; and Jacob instituted the evening service of Maariv. The second rabbinic opinion is that three times daily prayer was established in place of the sacrifices that were offered twice a day in the Temple, with the leftover portions burned in the evening on the altar.
The precise and accurate time of prayers is the subject of extensive discussions in the Talmud, the detailed study of which always painfully taxes my non-mathematically inclined brain. The pedantic precision of the conversations of these times are startling: Shacharit should preferably be offered after sunrise, but before one third of the day has elapsed; Mincha is recited from one half-hour after midday and before dark; Maariv is said when it is night.
All these specifications beg the question; why does the exact time of the prayers matter? Shouldn’t prayer be a spontaneous burst of spirituality, an unplanned expression of devotion? Why all the time constraints? Prayer, one would think, must have that holy, other-worldly, non-automatic quality.
Yet, there is much to say for disciplined devotion. It displays tireless faithfulness, consistent steady servitude, and engenders patterns of constant commitment. Our lives are packed with constrictions and limitations of time — meetings, appointments, events, classes and yes, air travel, all operate by virtue of precise timing. We bow to their demanding schedules and comply with humble cooperation. This is how we function.
Prayer also has a schedule, though at times it may be inconvenient. The morning prayer cannot be offered before or after the appropriate time, even if you’ve got a plane to catch. The only time to get that prayer in might just be that very public gate.
Both tefillin and tallit are symbolic ritual objects mentioned in the Torah: tefillin in Shemoth 13:9: “And it shall be for a sign unto thee upon thy hand, and for a memorial between thine eyes, that the law of the Lord may be in thy mouth; for with a strong hand hath the Lord brought thee out of Egypt.”
Our tefillin are remarkably identical to the ancient ones found at excavations on Masada. They are made from leather boxes and straps used to bind them on the arm and on to the head. Inside the boxes are four paragraphs from the Torah written on parchment — a symbolic memorial of the Exodus from Egypt. The word tefillin is related to the word tefillah — prayer. It is considered a very sacred act to wear tefillin and is therefore not embarked upon until Jewish adulthood.
Tallit are mentioned in Bamidbar 15:38: “Speak unto the children of Israel, and bid them that they make them throughout their generations fringes in the corners of their garments, and that they put with the fringe of each corner a thread of blue.” The tallit, commonly referred to as a prayer shawl, is simply a four-cornered garment with fringes attached. The fringes were traditionally blue and white, the blue dye coming from the rare sea creature the Chilazon. Though the blue has a practical use to discern the arrival of daylight, it also represents the transcendent.
Rabbi Meir used to ask, “Why is blue specified from all colors?”
Because blue resembles the color of the sea, and the sea resembles the color of the sky, and the sky resembles the color of the sapphire, and sapphire resembles the color of the Throne of Glory.
These ritual objects are worn during prayer, though tefillin may be worn all day on the condition that the wearer is engaged exclusively in holy pursuits and capable of retaining a high level of thought. Though tallit are not worn usually outside of prayer, tallit katan, or tzitzit, as they are usually referred to, are often worn by many all day long.
But back to the airport and the public display of devotion. Though the act may have engendered glares, for the devout there may be no other alternative but to don the tefillin and tallit, even in such a non-intimate of settings. Probably not the individual’s own first choice either.
The next time you witness such behavior, you might embrace the path of the legendary Reb Levi Yischak of Berditchev. Once, while walking, he saw a Jewish wagon driver donning tefillin while fixing a broken wheel. His companion scoffed pejoratively, “What kind of Jew wears tefillin while doing such lowly work?”
Reb Levi Yischak remarked, “What a holy Jew, even while working he serves God.”
Rivy Poupko Kletenik is an internationally renowned educator and Judaic Principal at the Seattle Hebrew Academy. If you have a question that’s been tickling your brain, send Rivy an e-mail at kletenik6@aol.com.
Posted February 17, 2006 |
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Rivy Poupko Kletenik
• JTNews Columnist
Dear Rivy,
We have just finished 12 weeks in the Torah reading service of the book of Bereshit — Genesis. I am left wondering about all the brutal sibling episodes found in the text. Are these stories that we should be telling our children? Are they not frightening and potentially damaging? Should we be censoring? What are the possible lessons here?
Your query demands a two-track response — about the nature of children and regarding the nature of the book of Bereshit.
First the children: when thinking about the kind of stories appropriate for children, I often turn to Bruno Bettleheim. He was an American Jewish psychologist who spent time in Dachau and Buchenwald and author of The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales.
Not that our Torah is fairy tales — of course not — but from Bettleheim’s discussions we can garner an approach to Torah stories that at first glance may seem inappropriate for children.
He emphasizes the positive nature of fairy tales. They are an effective way for children to externalize their inner anxieties and to find orderly images and stories by which to begin to shape their lives. Stories serve to liberate children from their emotions. Though some stories need to be held aside for a more mature stage in life, most Torah stories, when told in a loving secure atmosphere, ultimately contribute to the child’s sense of well-being. These tales tell our story and deal with issues relevant to children: sibling rivalry, jealousy and favoritism. They provide a Jewish backdrop for important issues that children often need to explore.
James Fowler identifies six stages of spirituality in his work, Stages of Faith. In his description of Stage I, the Intuitive Projective faith, Fowler writes that in this stage, commonly found from ages 2-6, children can be powerfully and permanently influenced by examples, moods, actions and stories. He tells us it is desirable to expose children to death, poverty, treachery and maliciousness in the context of Bible stories — when told by trusted adults.
So let us consider the details of Bereshit and explore some of the narratives that may concern you. Yes, the book begins with a brutal primal fratricide, but it ends with a stirring brotherly reconciliation. It starts with a story of silent, distant parents but ends with the bestowal of impeccably sculpted patriarchal blessings. When taken in measured weekly doses, Bereshit provides us with a steady array of compelling and often unsettling family situations. When taken as a whole, the book suggests growth and healing.
The Torah does not provide a single word of dialogue between Adam and Eve and their children Cain and Abel. Did they exchange words? I am sure they did. That not one sentence and not one word is recorded, however, speaks volumes — there was no record-worthy interchange between parent and children, reflecting a deep and striking absence of relationship.
Not a few readers note that Adam and Eve have no parental models — created directly from the earth and not the womb, they understandably lack parenting skills. As such, they are far from perfect parents. In a scene absent of parental supervision, one son’s offering is accepted, one is rejected. The hurt is too painful to bear, the burning jealously is inextinguishable, and the one son murders the other. The chain of sibling rivalry episodes is launched.
Sibling rivalry reaches its most complex and detailed level of narrative as the story of Joseph unfolds. Preceded by Ishmael’s banishment and Esau’s disinheritance, the Joseph stories provide us with an intensely cathartic tale of favoritism and jealously, loss and reinstatement. That Joseph is preceded first by Isaac and Ishmael, then by Jacob and Esau, is indispensable to the unraveling of the story’s nuances.
At this final installment in the sibling strife series launched with Cain and Abel, it builds upon those that came before and most satisfyingly concludes with hope: brothers can make peace. The Joseph parshiyot, in their length and depth, are a profoundly fulfilling conclusion to Bereshit.
As Joseph is thrown into the pit, his precious coat ripped from his body, we pause in frustrated scorn: again a brother is victim to brotherly hatred? The selling of Joseph comes on the heels of a birthright sold under duress and the banishment of a son that does not belong. But final installment must be considered in context.
First the banishment: Ishmael is born from a liaison fraught with self-interest and conflict, bereft of love and commitment. He does not belong and as he plays with the chosen son Isaac, Sarah senses danger. Ishmael must be banished.
Isaac grows up in a home from which the ill-fitting son has been cast away. Yet when faced as a parent himself with an ill-fitting son, he chooses the opposite technique. Esau is embraced and held close while Jacob must scheme to receive the blessing he deserves. Isaac’s affection for Esau is puzzling, and to some even disturbing. Perhaps his hope was to bring close rather than to banish, to embrace rather than to alienate, the loss of his own brother ever fresh.
Jacob’s seemingly inelegant exchange of lentil soup for birthright is followed by the deceptively acquired blessing. For these deeds Jacob is rewarded with years of pain. His beloved Rachel is switched on the wedding night for Leah. As was Isaac blinded and unknowing, so too was Jacob fooled. Children are born of wives competing for the love of one man; jealously ensues. And we arrive at the saga of Joseph.
Wearing the privileged coat of colors, he becomes a talebearer bringing reports of his brothers back to Father. He has dreams of night that reflect daytime thoughts of grandeur. This lording over his brothers lands him stripped of the coat, in a pit waiting to be sold down to Egypt. Textual confusion notwithstanding, years later he identifies himself, “I am Joseph your brother; you sold me down to Egypt” — trading of humans; father purchases birthright; son is sold into slavery.
While Jacob’s preferential treatment of Joseph leads to no good, times change Jacob. As he prepares for the end of life, blessings are bestowed upon each of the brothers. Jacob, unlike Adam, speaks to each son and with carefully measured words each receives a fitting eternal message.
The book that began with the arrogant theft of life, as Cain brutally denies Abel his right to live, not knowing that God in His divinity is the sole author of life, concludes with the powerful humble pronouncement of Joseph, “Do I stand in the place of God?”
Lessons are learned. Generations teach generations; repair is made. Perhaps Joseph’s peace with his brothers begins the healing for the murder of Abel. Though the episodes are at times disturbing, the resolutions are lofty and reassuring. Personally, it is painful for me to say goodbye to Bereshit, but Shemot awaits our attention with promises of similarly engaging text.
Posted January 20, 2006 |
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Rivy Poupko Kletenik
• JTNews Columnist
Dear Rivy,
As this Hanukkah season approaches, the issue of gift giving rears its complicated head yet again. What do you think? Should we be exchanging presents at Hanukkah? Is gift giving an authentically Jewish tradition or are we adopting a Christmas practice and willingly participating in the hugely skewed overload of commercialism?
Let’s take a Jewish look a gift giving in general, then gift giving specifically at holiday time, and finally, gift giving at Hanukkah in particular.
Giving is very Jewish, to be sure. All of creation and life can be viewed as the ultimate gift that God bestows upon each of us. Existence is the original gift that God has extended to humankind. According to kabbalistic works, God’s name spelled in Hebrew, Yud Heh Vav Heh, symbolizes this act of splendid giving. The smallest of letters, Yud, represents a coin placed in the letter Heh. Heh, being five, represents the hand of God stretching out with the hook like-letter Vav to the human receiving hand, represented by the last letter in the Divine name, the Heh. This very name of God symbolizes giving. You may have heard of God as the First Mover. I would suggest that God is the First Giver.
God grants us each life and in turn expects us to perpetuate this giving pattern with a lifetime of kindness and generosity. This is no small matter. If we know God as giver and each of us is created in the image of God, then we are, if nothing else, charged to give. Bear in mind, I would not use the word charged lightly, and certainly not in this season. It may be a frightening foreshadowing of significant spending yet to come. But more on this later.
What may have indeed solidified us as a nation was our capacity to bring offerings and to present gifts. In the wilderness, immediately after the giving of the Torah at Sinai, the very first of many capital campaigns in our history was launched. The Israelites were asked to donate prized materials and precious metals for the construction of the Mishkan, the portable tabernacle. This perhaps is the only time that fundraisers must beg donors to stop giving. According to the Book of Exodus, Chapter 36, the call was put out into the camp of the Israelites: “Let no man or woman make further effort toward gifts for the sanctuary!”
So the people stopped bringing; their efforts had been more than enough for all the tasks to be done.
This matchless demonstration of gracious and overwhelming generosity not only allows for the building of the holy Mishkan and leads to the descent of the Divine Presence; with openhandedness comes sacredness and an intimate proximity to the Holy One. Our nation was built, in no small part, through this munificence.
An observation: the very first verses of the Book of Exodus describe 12 separate tribes, each with their own house, who descend to Egypt. By the concluding verse, we have undergone an amazing transformation. We are the “House of Israel” upon whom the Divine Presence rests. I would suggest it is our capacity to give that solidified our people — we are a gift-giving group.
This notion, giving leads to holiness and intimacy, seems to apply to gift giving between people as well. Setting aside the obvious romantic nature of gift bestowal at betrothal, the act of exchanging presents is an act that engenders warmth and closeness.
On two occasions in the Bible, our people are urged to exchange gifts with each other. In the Book of Esther and Nehemia, the occasions are celebratory and indicative of closeness between community members and a time for great rejoicing. The practice described in the Book of Esther lives on today as we exchange gifts of food with one another on the holiday of Purim. The custom is understood as one that builds genial relations between people and leads to joyous camaraderie — it creates connection.
When giving gifts for family, Maimonides echoes Talmudic rabbis in codifying the general holiday practice of gift giving to spouse and children: they should fit each person. Some gift suggestions from the sages include wine, clothes, and nuts. I will let you guess which gift matches which category of relatives. Indeed, gift giving is a custom surrounding all holidays.
Holidays are wonderful, but rarely easy. The exchange of gifts between family members acknowledges each individual’s extra effort in preparing for the festival. It smoothes over many a tense moment and truly prompts closeness and intimacy. The peaceful holiness learned from giving found once in Mishkan of old makes its way into our homes with what is known traditionally as the mikdash me’at, the miniature sanctuary. We too can create a holy abode worthy of the Divine Presence.
In my family, as we raised our own children, we gave gifts at all holiday times: appropriate clothing or books fitting the particular celebration, and even a surprise new toy. It seemed to be in the spirit of the holiday state of mind. Moreover, this tradition precluded the exclusive association of gift giving with Hanukkah. All holidays should be occasions for loving gift giving.
Easily said now, but we may be a little late for this year. We all know that as Hanukkah approaches, we are facing a heavy-duty gift-giving season and if we have yet to do our ground work on the other holidays, we face the inappropriate association of our Hanukkah gift giving with the other December holiday. What recourse have we now?
I would suggest three strategies: first, recall that though gift-giving is fairly new, Hanukkah gelt, the giving of coins to children, is a reliable authentic tradition going back many generations, so we do have precedence for special Hanukkah giving. Second, make your gift-giving Jewish in nature — books, music and crafts. Finally, remember the poor.
No holiday is a happy one without the loftiest of all giving — helping the needy. Give your family the gift of giving. Arrange a family volunteer outing over winter break. Your kids will never forget the experience.
Giving can be deeply spiritual. It connects people and is a God-like practice with historic Jewish precedent. Let this be your guide; sincerely motivated giving brings people closer together; over-the-top, exhausting shopping does not. Plan accordingly.
Posted December 23, 2005 |
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Rivy Poupko Kletenik
• JTNews Columnist
Dear Rivy,
I have been struggling with weight loss my entire life. I have tried every avenue possible from dieting to hypnosis. Nothing works. I was wondering if there is some light that can be cast on this great effort of mine from a Jewish perspective; is there a Jewish approach to weight loss?
As you might guess, I think that there is a Jewish approach to everything, and certainly to food. But to dieting? Well, I will give it my best shot. To begin, one could say that the very first expectation God had of human beings was of a dietary nature.
After being placed in the Garden of Eden, God turned to the first human beings and commanded them: “Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it; for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.” How’s that for diet consequences?
Humor notwithstanding, I find it illuminating that the one and only prohibition placed upon the first humans was that of a consumptive nature. Perhaps it was a not-so-subtle foreshadowing of eons of weight control foibles to follow, hitting its peak of course in the year 2005, when headlines decry the current state of the national waistline.
This directive at the very get-go of our stay on this earth is instructive. It tells us right away that inherent in an individual’s intake is a primal notion of self discipline, that endemic to the human function of eating is the human opportunity for restraint.
It is an expectation set out early on, perhaps for the People Israel a harbinger of elaborate and intricate guidelines of kashrut yet to come: humans must employ control in their ingestion of food. So critical is this expectation that it is indeed, in a sense the first commandment: “Thou shalt not eat of it.”
How’s that for a postable soundbite for that most ubiquitous of billboards employed by each of us, the refrigerator door? Those terse five words might just do the job. Certainly they are a step in the right direction.
Would that it be so simple, but fear not, there is more to the Jewish approach to dietary self-restraint than this parsimoniously worded instruction.
Perhaps a less pedantic and more philosophical approach to this ever-present human shortcoming is the philosophical path of Maimonides, a 12th-century Jewish great; he was at once a scholar, philosopher, codifier and physician.
Maimonides lays out his renowned ideas of discipline in his introduction to Pirke Avot, the ethical treatise of the Mishnah. His short but extremely edifying work is called Shmoneh Perakim (Eight Chapters). Here Maimonides unveils his simple but profound thinking on the perfecting of the human body and soul.
Good conduct is balanced between two extremes, each of which is unfavorable; one is excess and the other restriction. Personal virtue refers to tendencies of excess and restriction. For from one’s character traits comes one’s conduct. For example, restraint is the intermediate quality between indulgence and the lack of any feelings of desire. Gluttonous desire, by contrast, is one extreme and the lack of desire is another extreme.
Though this seems quite basic, it is deeply profound; Maimonides cites examples both in reference to the healing of the soul and to the healing of the body. Ultimately, together these both lead to the formation of good character. This thinking of Maimonides forms the core of his belief, known as the Middle Path or the Golden Mean.
Summing up the concept, he writes, “a person should realize the importance of directing his conduct to the middle path and that it is improper to deviate to either extreme except for the purpose of healing his conduct.” I hear dieting.
According to Maimonides, in order to correct a specific inappropriate behavior, one must temporarily embrace the opposite extreme behavior. With extraordinary generosity one can heal miserliness; with excessive humility one can heal arrogance.
Extreme behaviors are introduced to correct the misalignment; less eating in order to correct overeating, disciplined consumption in place of chaotic out-of-control eating.
Most important though, is the concept that the center is the place to be situated. The Goldilocks approach, if you will: not too small, not too big, life not in the fast lane, but rather in the middle lane.
Of course, from personal experience, this is much easier said than done. Discipline in regard to eating is a mammoth challenge, particularly given the food-centered nature of Jewish life. One barely gets the diet stared and suddenly it is Shabbat again. This calls for quite the inner fortitude. Perhaps knowing that it is indeed a Biblical command to maintain one’s health might be of assistance in this conversation. Deuteronomy 4:15 reminds us that we must guard ourselves very carefully; lead a healthy life.
The Torah expects us to take care of ourselves. It is a specific mitzvah and an essential element of leading a Jewish life to be healthy and to look after the body that God has lent to each of us for the balance of our lives here on earth. Our bodies house our souls and are the instrument through which we each are able to achieve our mission here on earth.
Think of yourself as the custodian, the noble trustee of your Divinely bestowed body. Our physical beings are a magnificent gift given to us by God, none of them perfect, but each one blessed with great potential. Part of each one of our callings here on earth must involve the maintenance of our body. How much time in your day have you set aside for attention to your Divine gift?
The Jewish approach to weight loss would then be an elegant blend of discipline, responsibility and spirituality. The discipline of the original command, the responsibility of leading a balanced life and the spirituality in knowing that we are both body and soul.
Finally, keep in mind that at the end of our lives here on earth, we will appear before our Maker. According to the Talmud we will be asked, have you enjoyed the delights of My world? Hopefully, our well-toned souls will respond yes — but in moderation.
Posted November 25, 2005 |
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Rivy Poupko Kletenik
• JTNews Columnist
Dear Rivy,
The issue of children and chores is steadily escalating in our home. The conflicts have been compounded by the onslaught of the High Holidays and the intense amount of activity surrounding the preparations. I grew up not doing anything in the kitchen and was totally ignorant about food preparation when I married. I don’t want that for my children. However, when I demand that they participate, they balk. At times they do help but it’s usually when they’ve been threatened with punishment or if the chore itself is a punishment. Is there a Jewish insight on these issues?
This is an important Jewish matter on three levels. First, as Jewish parents, you are raising the future of the Jewish people, and this demands excruciatingly expert exactitude on your part. Though no parent wants to mess things up, so to speak, I feel we have an additional responsibility considering the giant of generations that have preceded us and the great stake we each share in the destiny of our people. Our children, and their approach to serving, is critical.
Second, the center of Judaism is the Jewish home. You cannot afford to fail at creating a loving, engaging and dynamic Jewish space for your children to grow up in. No school or synagogue can replace the authentic Jewish ambience that only you can create in your own home. Your children’s Judaism will grow intensely and be nurtured to a large extent within the walls of your home. Upkeep of the Jewish home is the upkeep of a mikdash me’at — a miniature holy space. Attitudes to chores that contribute to the maintenance of holiness are of great consequence.
Third, honoring parents is one of the Ten Commandments. That’s big. We usually think about the commandment in terms of what children must do for parents, I like to think of the fifth commandment in terms of parenting. What are we doing as parents to ensure that our children are able to observe the commandment to its fullest? What kind of parents are we? Are we parents for whom honor will come naturally? Or are we failing them by placing obstacles in our children’s paths?
The method we use for expressing expectations to our children is a delicate matter. We do not want to frame commands and demands in words or tones that discourage adherence. Rather, we want to express our expectations in a framework that is conducive to obedience, joy and delight and lead to satisfaction upon achievement.
No small task. In my mind, chores are an honor and should not ever be a punishment or construed or presented as such. It is an honor to help prepare dinner, to help cook for Shabbat or for a holiday. It is a privilege to clean the house and to perform even the most mundane and routine tasks. Chores become the conduit through which order, commitment and love flow through to the humans who live in the house.
This should be the tone: positive, respectful and full of high expectations. Just as we each feel honored and joyful at being able to do for the ones we love, so too our children must learn the deep satisfaction and pleasure of participating in these seemingly commonplace activities.
I say seemingly, because at first glance peeling the potatoes seems far from lofty. But when those potatoes grace the dinner wherein a family gathers to share its day and lovingly connect with each other suddenly that potato is very special and, dare I say, holy.
There is an additional element contributing to the lofty nature of the Jewish table. This teaching from Pirke Avot expresses it perfectly: “Do not seek greatness for yourself, and lo, do not crave honor; …do not lust for the table of kings, for your table is greater than theirs and your crown is greater than theirs.”
There is a regal nuance to the Jewish table that transcends the ordinary serving of food. Shabbat meals, holiday celebrations and even an ordinary weekday repast are elevated to nobility when they are meals that reflect Jewish notions of holiness, gratitude and appreciation reflected in the practices and parameters of kashrut, blessings and conversation. The food on our plates is prepared with deliberation and discipline. Our food is eaten with blessings ahead of and after, preventing the ugliness of ungratefulness.
Finally, our talk is talk of uplift and never of pettiness or gossip. Our tables are tables of greatness. Hence the actions that lead to the actualization of the royal table are in and of themselves holy, noble and the stuff of greatness. Our children deserve to have a share in that transcendence.
The actualization of all of this is, of course, a challenge. Here are three guidelines: first, you must embrace the joy of serving as well. You cannot expect it of your children if they cannot see it in your own countenance. Put on Jewish music, be lighthearted, and try not to feel pressured. Organization and planning help with this.
Second, let go of ideas of perfection. If you want your children to perform tasks in the house you need to genuinely appreciate their help and respect their efforts. Offer lots of positive reinforcement and let them do the fun creative jobs and always offer choices. Humans like to have choices.
Finally, articulate the why. Explain the value of a beautiful table, share your ideas of love of tradition, and help them understand how they are learning in order to prepare for their own home. There is no greater joy than seeing your values living on in your children’s homes. Do this right and you will!
Rivy Poupko Kletenik is an internationally renowned educator and Judaic Principal at the Seattle Hebrew Academy. If you have a question that’s been tickling your brain, send Rivy an email at kletenik6@aol.com.
Posted October 28, 2005 |
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Rivy Poupko Kletenik
• JTNews Columnist
Dear Rivy,
As we approach the High Holidays this year, the words of the prayer “who by fire who by water” keep going through my mind. What does it mean that we are being judged on Rosh Hashanah? Does this mean that last year God decided who would die in Hurricane Katrina? In the tsunami? What about the all the good people who seem to suffer, were they too “judged”?
The prayer that you mentioned is often thought of as the “centerpiece” of the services on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. It is beyond doubt one the most awe-inspiring prayers in our liturgy.
“On Rosh Hashanah it is inscribed
and on Yom Kippur it will be sealed,
How many will pass from the earth
and how many will be created;
Who will live and who will die;
Who will die at their appointed end;
and who before their time;
Who by water; who by fire…”
Your questions are well placed. No one would argue that this prayer is appropriately stirring and deeply moving. But what does it mean to be inscribed? Where are we inscribed? What does “sealed” mean? Why would someone die before his time? Is death a punishment?
A passage in the Talmudic tractate Rosh Hashanah is a good place to start investigating all of these issues.
Rabbi Kruspidai said in the name of Rabbi Yochanan, three books are opened on Rosh Hashanah: one of the completely wicked, one of the completely righteous and one of intermediate people. The completely righteous are written and immediately sealed for life. The completely wicked are immediately written and sealed for death. The intermediate people are held in abeyance from Rosh Hashanah until Yom Kippur. If they merit, they are written for life; if they do not merit it, they are written for death.
The Talmud then cites proof texts for the notion of God having a “book.” In Psalms, David requests that his enemies be erased from the “book of life,” as did Moses beseech God to remove his own name form the “book.”
Though it satisfying to learn origin of the “book” idea, this Talmudic passage poses its own problems. It seems to indicate that the righteous are rewarded with life and the wicked are punished with death. That indeed, as the prayer seems to indicate — if we are good, we will live and if we are sinful, we will die. Death might be visited upon us in a host of diverse scenarios including, but I suspect not limited to: fire, water, sword, beast, famine, thirst, storm, plague strangulation, and stoning.
Is this indeed the case? Will the wicked die this year? Furthermore, if you do indeed die this year, are you to be deemed wicked? Something does not seem right with this hypothesis.
We would not be the first amateur thinkers to observe the world and notice that this simplistic theory does not seem operational. The Bible itself observes, in the words of Jeremiah, this discrepancy. The prophet cries out with despair, “Why does the way of the wicked prosper?”
King Solomon notices, in his wisdom of Ecclesiastes, “Sometimes a righteous man perishes for all his righteousness and sometimes a wicked man endures for all his wickedness.”
We have a problem. On one hand a meticulous judgment is promised by an All-knowing God and yet on the other hand we have detected something amiss: the good suffer, the wicked prosper.
The Menorat Hamaor suggests an approach to Theodicy; the problem of God and evil in this world that may help with this dilemma. He points out that if we were to “fix” the world and readjust its evil/righteous barometer, making sure that the wicked suffer and that the righteous would prosper, human beings would become ridiculous. The purpose of the world would shift.
We are not on Earth to earn a nugget of cheese as we navigate our way through the foibles of complex mazes set before us. We are here to wrestle. To be challenged. To rise to the top after moral struggles.
If we were to earn reward in this world upon our immediate good actions with dollars miraculously deposited into our bank accounts, what would happen to the pure motivation to be good? “Therefore, the Creator has designed the world in such a way that material reward and retribution are not always in direct proportion to righteousness and sinfulness. Only this will people serve Him for the sake of fulfilling His will and achieve spiritual reward.”
Additionally, the Menorat Hamaor reminds us that the world could not operate on a strictly “sin/punish, do good/reward” basis, because it would wreak havoc with the balance of nature. The natural order of the world is determined by positive and negative factors within nature itself.
Could you imagine? If you were evil, your own private cloud would follow you around while your righteous neighbor was treated to sunshine. If you were righteous, you might expect to pass before a speeding train and remain unharmed. “Nature must be permitted to run its course, at least in outward appearance.”
Though we have solved the world’s problems, we still have our centerpiece prayer to figure out together. There is a multiplicity of approaches to this tension between knowing that the world does not operate on a strict reward/punishment basis and the belief that we are judged on Rosh Hashanah.
The Tosfot’s answer is simple and direct: “Who shall live and who shall die” are references not to this material world, but to the everlasting existence beyond this Earth. Our human existence is limited, the eternal life of the noble soul is vast and infinite, and it is there we find our ultimate reward.
And that’s what this season is all about: becoming decent, gracious people leading lives of loftiness, motivated not by corporeal reward but by the satisfaction of doing what is right.
But what of the fire and the water? The prayer reflects the notion that this is the season for repentance. We are being judged for the year ahead. The time between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is designated as a time of intimacy and good will between God and the People Israel. Consider your deeds of the past year, make amends, and pledge to yourself to do better this year. If not now, when?
Rivy Poupko Kletenik is an internationally renowned educator and Judaic Principal at the Seattle Hebrew Academy. If you have a question that’s been tickling your brain, send Rivy an e-mail at kletenik6@aol.com.
Posted September 30, 2005 |
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What's Your JQ?
Using the Torah as example, renowned educator and the Seattle Hebrew Academy head-of-school, Rivy Poupko Kletenik, takes questions from readers about Judaism and living a Jewish life. Send your own question to mailto:rivy@jtnews.net.
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