Rabbis Rice: Cast Aside Stones

"I am your brother Joseph!"

     They enter the gates of the cemetery at Congregation Micah and dutifully place stones on the gravesite. They recite the tradition's prayers and/or just stop to consider a few memories; savoring the sacredness of the space and moment. The stones they carry home are so much bigger than those they leave behind. Tiny pebbles are left on the headstones, but whole rocks remain in their hearts: rocks of bitterness, betrayal, and rage. Some of them are people still arguing with their parents, still longing for their approval. Others are alienated from a brother or a sister, the loved ones who know us our whole lives. Still others mourn for a cousin, a child, a friend.

     Commenting on this week's Torah portion, Rabbi Ed Feinstein points out the entire book of Genesis is now coming to a dramatic climax. It is not an epic battle, no momentous act of state, but rather it occurs in the heart of one man. Joseph sits next to Pharaoh, controlling the life of all Egypt. He is haunted by his memories: The brothers who cast him into a desert pit and then sat to enjoy an afternoon meal while plotting his murder. He recalls the days in the pit of Egypt's prison - alone, abandoned, forgotten. Why was there no rescue sent by Jacob to recover his favored son?

     Joseph's eldest son is named Menashe -- "for God has made me forget all my tribulation and the house of my father." Still, he remembers. And then, one day, the brothers show up. He delays them, toys with them, as he struggles with himself. If ever there was a man who deserved permission to turn his back on his family and his past, it is Joseph. But something won't let go. And when he hears his brother Judah offer himself in the place of the youngest, Benjamin, Joseph cannot hold back. "I am your brother Joseph!"

     There are times, as Ecclesiastes writes, to cast away stones. To let go. Not to forget but to forgive. Among all the ancestors of Egypt, Joseph is given the unique title of Tzaddik, the righteous one. To be a tzaddik is to vanquish bitterness and rage and find a way to love. To enjoy the release and renewal that comes with casting out the stones and becoming one again. So as the secular new year approaches, and we begin to close the book of Genesis and open the book of Exodus, let us all learn to leave the rocks of resentment and anger behind.

From Rabbis Rice: Season of Rededication

Rabbi David Wolpe teaches:  

When the Israelite spies enter the land of Canaan, they grow afraid. Returning to Moses, the spies report that after seeing the giant inhabitants of the land they looked to themselves as grasshoppers and so they must have looked to the inhabitants. (Num. 13:33) Was their sin fear, lack of trust in God's power? The Kotzker rebbe suggests that the sin was not. Their sin was in caring how they appeared to the inhabitants of the land. Drawing their self-image from these giant strangers negated their own identity. Rather than see themselves as God instructed, a sacred people, they saw themselves as they imagined the Canaanites saw them.

     Theolgian Thomas Merton diagnoses the same malady, still alive in us, in his autobiography The Seven Story Mountain:

"The logic of worldly success rests on a fallacy: the strange error that our perfection depends upon the thoughts and opinions and applause of other men! A weird life it is, indeed, to be living always in somebody else's imagination, as if that were the only place in which one could at last become real!"

     Are you real because you are on Twitter? Only alive on Facebook? Is your image of yourself a feedback loop, or do you know, deep in your soul, who you are, and how you stand before God?

     How do we stand before God? One way is by rededicating ourselves to ourselves and to our Judaism, our community, and our spirit. Chanukah is the holiday that celebrates this rededication. Just as the Holy Temple was saved and rededicated by the Maccabees, so too do we invite you to join us for our annual Chanukah dinner this Saturday evening at 6:00 pm to light the Chanukah lights and rededicate yourselves to Micah and to yourself in a new way. Bring your homemade Chanukiot and come celebrate the Festival of Lights with Micah!

Rabbis Rice: To Wrestle with Oneself

"Everything depends on the way a person measures him or herself."  

Kelim 17:11

      It is the middle of the night and you are alone with your thoughts. You cannot sleep. You toss and turn endlessly in your bed. Clearly you are worried about something, something that will happen in the morning. In this week's Torah portion, our patriarch Jacob cannot sleep either. Preparing to reunite with his brother after years of estrangement, Jacob lies awake in bed, all alone. And then all of the sudden the text tells us that, "a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn." (Genesis 32:25)
      Who is this person with whom he struggled? Take your pick: An angel? A thief? A reflection of God? Was it Jacob himself, wrestling with his own self-doubts? Perhaps it is the dark parts of Jacob himself. To overcome his brother's hatred and his concern for his own welfare, Jacob has to fight the evil inclination that is part of his very essence. One midrash suggests it was the angel of Esau, his brother, representing all of Jacob's fears and worries about the vengeance he might rightfully expect from him. Whoever you think the wrestling partner is, one thing is certain: Jacob is no longer the same man that he was before the wrestling match! For the first time in his life, Jacob has refused to run away from his responsibilities. He is ready to confront his own weaknesses.
        Who among us does not have doubts about ourselves? Our future? About what will happen in the morning? To be a member of the Jewish people is to constantly wrestle with ourselves, with others, and with the world. To be a member of the Jewish people is to recognize that there are no proxies for religious participation. No one can study for you; you must do it yourself. No one can rest on Shabbat for you; you must do it yourself. No one can give charity for you; you must do it yourself. And yet Judaism is also a world-wide community, where you need not be or feel alone.