Ki Tetzei: The Glory of Giving

Copyright 2015 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Ki Tetzei

When you beat down the fruit of your olive trees, do not go over them again; that shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow. (D’varim/ Deuteronomy 24:20)

Good afternoon!

You know why I love studying Torah? Well, among many other reasons, I always see something new in the weekly portion that I never noticed before. In this case, it’s one little word, which leads to a comment by Rashi and then a twist on that by yours truly.

The verse above refers to leaving some of the produce of the field, vine or orchard for the poor to glean; this is often referred to as peah, or “corners,” referring to the corners of the field left unharvested. Verses pertaining to this form of sharing occur both in Leviticus and in Deuteronomy; you can see here and here for details. What struck me this week was the particular wording related to the olive trees: when you beat your olive [trees], lo t’fa’er acharecha. . . .

You may have heard the word tiferet, or glory, which Rashi connects to t’fa’er, which is usually translated here “go over,” as in, don’t go back and get whatever you missed. Rashi instead says that this means, “don’t take the glory” of the tree, implying that the fruit is the glory of the tree, which is subject to the mitzvah of leaving gleanings for the poor.

We could also read Rashi as saying, “don’t take the glory of the tree” to mean, don’t take away the glory of the possibility of giving in this situation. If you take every last olive off the tree, there is no letting the poor come to share; tiferet,glory, in this context is not something visually splendid but spiritually excellent. This is one more reminder that Judaism finds beauty and honor in humble acts. In this case, the glory is in walking away while the harvest is slightly unfinished, so that others may sustain themselves. Humility, generosity, self-restraint; these are what the Torah considers the truest measure of a beautiful, even glorious, deed.

Shabbat shalom,

The views expressed are my own and do not reflect those of Vassar Brothers Medical Center or Health-Quest.

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Re’eh: The Easy and the Hard

Copyright 2015 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Re’eh 

All that I command you, be careful to do it.  You shall neither add to it, nor subtract from it. . . . .(D’varim/ Deuteronomy 13:1)

Good afternoon! Well, we seem to be in an every-other-week Torah commentary pattern around here. Alas, the spirit is willing but the time-management skills are weak.

At least we’re in for Re’eh, a very interesting Torah portion, which encompasses a tirade against idolatry, an impassioned plea to care for the poor, rules for kosher eating, and a review of the shaloshregalim, or pilgrimage holy days. The beginning of Chapter 13 (no, not that Chapter 13, though after buying an old house that needs work, I’m considering it) is a warning against following false prophets who might lead the people away from the laws or practices of the Torah, and most commentators see the opening verse above in that context. In this view, a commandment to do “all that I command you,” and “don’t add or subtract from it” is the beginning of the injunction against false prophets, who might claim to have a Divine mandate to change, abrogate, or add new laws to the Torah.

Obviously, the whole idea of adding to, or subtracting, from the Torah is the subject of much debate in the modern world; we see some laws of the Torah very differently than a premodern society, and have in some cases a different sense of the overarching moral sensibility of Judaism within which the specific laws are interpreted. On the other hand, our friend Rashi takes the first clause of our verse and lets it stand on its own, interpreting “All that I command you” as implying that you have to be careful to do both “the easy things and the hard things.”

What strikes me about Rashi’s comment is we don’t have to agree on the particulars of any practice, commandment or principle in order to recognize that all of us- you and me and the rest of humankind- have a tendency to avoid tasks that challenge our self-image, stretch us beyond a comfort zone, confront us with difficult truths, or demand something we don’t want to give. I would even say that we often confuse what’s hard and what’s easy in Judaism: after all, in the age of Tofurky and national supermarkets, it’s not that hard to keep kosher, but it’s never, ever been easy to guard one’s speechwhen talking of others.

I think every branch of Judaism, from the most liberal to the most stringent, would agree that some of the commandments and principles are harder than others, including:

Forgivness (requires letting go of moral certitude and owning our piece of the mess)

Humility    (requires foregoing privilege and being other-directed)

T’shuvah   (requires accepting our own imperfections and letting go of righteous blame)

Visiting the Sick  (requires confronting mortality and the inevitability of suffering when we encounter the fragility of the body)

Tefillah  (prayer, which requires acknowledging that we are not in control of almost anything except our own spiritual orientation)

These things are hard– harder than we like to imagine- hard to do right and hard to keep doing. Yet if we’re only doing the fun and easy parts of Judaism- or any spiritual path- we’re not really engaging the tradition at all, but just using it as the theme of a nice meal or colorful cultural tradition. I like to drink sangria in the Sukkah as much as anybody (to name one particularly pleasurable mitzvah), and to be fair, Judaism insists on a regular practice of holy joy on Shabbat and the festivals. Yet Judaism also teaches: push yourself to forgive more, give more, love more, connect more. The hard mitzvot never let us off easy, but then again, nothing great comes without effort.

Shabbat Shalom,


The views expressed are my own and do not reflect that of Vassar Brothers Medical Center or Health-Quest.

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Va’etchanan: Wisdom in Action

Copyright 2015 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portioni: Va’etchanan/ Shabbat Nachamu

This d’var Torah is in memory of Carl Sloane, who passed this week and whose support and friendship changed my life.

Good afternoon!

Apologies for not posting much in recent weeks; between work, kids and vacation some things have slipped through my fingers. Hope to be back on track for the rest of the season!

This week’s portion exemplifies the central theme of the Book of D’varim, or Deuteronomy, which is Moshe’s review of the history and laws of the people since leaving Egypt as a way of exhorting them to stay loyal to the covenant upon entering the land of Israel. In D’varim, living in the land is reward for loyalty, which is due God for liberating Israel and giving us the Torah. So, for example, the following verse reminds them of the laws they are to follow, but also gives them a reason to stay true to Torah, which is that other nations will regard them as wise:

See, I have imparted to you laws and rules, as the Lord my God has commanded me for you to abide by in the land that you are about to enter and occupy. Observe them faithfully, for that will be proof of your wisdom and discernment to other peoples, who on hearing of all these laws will say, “Surely, that great nation is a wise and discerning people.” (D’varim/ Deuteronomy 4:5-6)

What the Hebrew makes clear is that our first order of business is not to learn the Torah in order to become wise or learned intellectually, but to do the commandments, so that others, when they hear of our laws and observance of them, will be impressed with our wisdom and goodness as a people. In this verse, wisdom is not only knowing a lot of important things, but acting in such a way that others will want to seek out the same sources of knowledge and inspiration. To put it another way, to be light unto the nations is not about how much Torah you know, but how much Torah you live, and live in such a way that the world is transformed through an irresistible example.

This doesn’t mean we aren’t supposed to study, but rather that religious study is never purely academic. Religious study leads to religious action, in the broadest sense; if it doesn’t, it is neither wisdom nor discernment, but just facts from a book. Just imagine, for a moment, if our synagogues, schools and Jewish institutions had the mission of helping Jews become such inspiring figures of kindness, generosity, reverence and honor that people around them- Jewish and not- would just naturally say, “I want to be like that too!” That would be the highest form of leadership, piety and kiddush Hashem.  [Literally “making the Name holy,” but understood to mean acting in a way that honors God, Torah and Israel.] Plus, you’d never need a marketing budget, because our actions everywhere would speak our deepest truths.

Sounds hard, right? It is, but there are people who do it and I’ll bet you can think of one you already know. Carl Sloane, a congregant at my former synagogue in the Boston area, who passed away earlier this week, was just such a person: his patience, wisdom, caring and generosity inspired me to learn more, do better, give more freely and think harder. A long time ago, when that synagogue was struggling with hard decisions about its future. When I  was feeling stuck with trying to help, Carl gave me a big stack of books, written by his colleagues at Harvard Business School, and said something like, “read these and let’s have coffee.” Those books, and more importantly, the conversations that followed over the next few years, opened me up to new worlds of thinking and deeply affected my perspective on being a rabbi, leader, teacher, role model, and human being.

Carl was a true leader, with deep knowledge earned through long experience, which he shared freely. Yet what impressed me the most about Carl was his acceptance of others, his humility, and his integrity. In giving of himself, he inspired me to want to serve others with a bigger heart, and in sharing his knowledge and experience, he inspired me to be more patient and thoughtful in all my roles. In other words, he helped me with knowledge, but he changed me with love. That’s what the Torah means by “proof of your wisdom and discernment;” not a proof of logic, but living your life such that others can’t help but want to be better people. What a powerful way to redeem the world! What are we waiting for?

Shabbat Shalom,


The views expressed are my own and do not reflect that of Vassar Brothers Medical Center or Health-Quest.

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Chukat: Detours On The Way

Copyright 2015 Neal Joseph Loevinger
Torah Reading: Chukat 
“They set out from Mount Hor by way of the Sea of Reeds to skirt the land of Edom. But the people grew restive on the journey, ” (Bamidbar/ Numbers 21:4)
Good morning! 
Sorry I’ve missed some weeks recently- we’ve moved offices and I just fell behind, that’s all. 
There is so much to choose from in our Torah portion, which begins with the famous (and mysterious) Red Heifer and continues with two chapters of strife, conflict, war, and grief as the Israelites travel through the wilderness. Today we’ll look at the verse above, which occurs shortly after the death of Aharon, Moshe’s brother, and immediately after a few terse lines describing a battle with the king of Arad. (21:1-3)
The few words of this verse don’t capture the full weight of the narrative: the Torah seems to be saying that the Israelites went from Mount Hor, near the kingdom of Edom, in what we would now call southwest Jordan, almost all the way back to Egypt, to the Sea of Reeds where they crossed when escaping Pharaoh. We know Mount Hor is near Edom- in the Torah’s reckoning- because just a few verses earlier, the place where Aharon died is called “Mount Hor, on the border of Edom.” (See 20:23
Archaeologists and historians have differing theories about the exact location of various places mentioned in the Bible, but for our purposes, you don’t need to know precisely where they went to get the sense that after the death of Aharon and a horrific battle with Arad, the Israelites were in retreat, emotionally if not geographically. The text says they were heading back west in order to “skirt” or “circle” the land of Edom, perhaps to avoid danger or because they weren’t allowed through, but one can only imagine the tremendous disappointment and discouragement they must have felt to be so close to the Land of Israel and yet moving further away.
The Torah describes this discouragement as vatik’tzer nefesh ha’am, literally “the spirit of the people was shortened.” Rashi imagines the people saying “we have to turn back just like our ancestors did 38 years ago!,” which would have been an unbearable burden. Yet as readers, we know the people were very close- just a few weeks, probably, from their camp across the Jordan River from which Moshe would deliver his final speeches (what we call the book of D’varim or Deuteronomy) before they entered the Land. 
This is the problem of hope: when our “spirits are shortened,” we are unable to see how far we’ve come but can only see the roadblocks and difficulties ahead. This is when bitterness sets in, and indeed, the Torah tells us that after their detour back to the Sea of Reeds, the people complained against God and Moshe about the manna, of all things. Change is hard, and take time, and is never without its challenges. Even this very day, today, as the U.S. Supreme Court rules in favor of marriage equality – a goal that some have been working towards for a generation or more, there are those who react with bitterness and complaint and vow to resist. There will be detours, setbacks, roadblocks and challenges- it is to be expected with any big change. Even today, this week, as the nation has, with astounding speed after the Charleston massacre, begun to reckon with the racist legacy of the Confederate battle flag as a symbol of resistance to integration, there is already a backlash to the backlash. There will be backlashes, arguments, political struggle and resistance- this, too, is to be expected, so let us never lose sight of our goal of reconciliation and equality for all. 
The Israelites were “short of spirit” even when their wandering was near its completion; all of us sometimes get negative, kvetchy and blaming when the journey seems long and never-ending. The challenge, then, is to remember that “shortness of spirit” is an opportunity for broadening one’s vision, making the spirit big and free and open and taking in the widest perspective possible. If our spirits can be made short, they can be made big, too- but only if we choose faith, hope and patience. These are not easy virtues, but who said a journey to the Promised Land would be easy? 
Shabbat Shalom, 
The views expressed are my own and do not reflect that of Vassar Brothers Medical Center or Health-Quest.

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Naso: The Limits of Hearing

Copyright 2015 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Naso

Manoach pleaded with the Lord. “Oh, my Lord!” he said, “please let the man of God that You sent come to us again, and let him instruct us how to act with the child that is to be born.” (Shoftim/ Judges 13:8)

Good evening! This week’s haftarah is the story of the birth of Shimshon (usually called Samson in English), who grows up to be a great, albeit greatly flawed, hero of ancient Israel. The connection with the Torah portion is probably the laws of the nazir, or nazirite, a kind of special religious status that people could choose for various lengths of time. (See more about that here and go here for a light-hearted but insightful theory of why this haftarah was chosen for this portion. )

Among the laws of the nazir are refraining from alcohol and letting the hair grow uncut; these are the instructions that an angel gives to Shimshon’s mother in the opening verses of the haftarah. Manoach’s unnamed wife then repeats these instructions to her husband, who offered up the prayer above- to be instructed on how to raise the child, even though his wife has just told him what the angel said!

Not only that, but when the angel returns, Manoach asks again what his instructions are, even though he’s heard them from his wife, and the angel patiently repeats what he had said earlier. Perhaps there’s a teeny bit of angelic snark when he adds “she must observe all that I commanded her,” (verse 14) thus implicitly reminding Manoach that he’s already given these instructions once before, but nevertheless, the angel repeats the commands for raising their child and doesn’t overtly rebuke Manoach for needing to hear things again.

I’ve usually read this story with the thought that Manoach is not the brightest light on the memorial board, given that he seems not to understand fairly straightforward narratives and instructions. This year, however, I read this story in light of my work at the hospital, where I often encounter smart people unable to grasp simple but shocking statements, usually because they are overwhelmed by the changes and new realities implied by what they are being told. In its most poignant form, I’ve seen families listen to a doctor explain what can or cannot be done for a loved one and then turn to each other in almost blank incomprehension after the doctor leaves. They are not stupid, but rather not ready to hear that their loved one is near the end or that their family will face difficult challenges of caregiving, to give just two common examples.

In Manoach’s case, perhaps he had a certain dream for his child, a dream wildly interrupted by the angel proclaiming that his son will be a nazir who will save Israel from the Philistines, or perhaps after years of infertility he had given up on his hope for children and can’t quite believe that his quiet life will be turned upside down by parenthood after all. The important point for us is to see in Manoach someone who is taking in only as much as he can, under circumstances which might otherwise completely overwhelm his natural resilience. We’ve all been there, and all of us will someday have a chance to be a patient angel to another person when they need help in slowly awakening to a new and disorienting reality. Manoach isn’t just the father of a great hero, he’s also everyone who has desperately wanted the world to slow down when it’s moving too fast. This calls for great mercy and compassion, which may be easy for angels but requires thought, love and dedication from the rest of us.

Shabbat Shalom,


The views expressed are my own and do not reflect that of Vassar Brothers Medical Center or Health-Quest.

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Behar-Bechukotai: What Do We Do With Rebuke?

Copyright 2015 Neal Joseph Loevinger

I am proud that this week’s commentary was first published as the Mekor Chaim weekly email by the Jewish Federations of North America. 

The Torah portion Bechukotai, often doubled up with the preceding portion, is not easy reading. A big portion of the text is called tochecha, or rebuke, which here means detailed descriptions of blessings and curses from Heaven that will ensue if the Torah is either followed or disregarded. For many contemporary Jews, linking sin with suffering is both an intellectual and moral impossibility: intellectually, we know that many good people suffer without cause, and morally, we cannot blame God for the choices of human beings which cause pain, grief and despair.

So perhaps it makes more sense to read these the tochecha as descriptive of the people’s spiritual or emotional experience rather than as a promise of Divine retribution. A people that makes itself worthy by acts of justice and compassion will feel itself blessed, but a society built on idolatry (worship of vain things), greed and oppression will tear itself apart and feel itself to be in a hostile cosmos. While at first glance the blessings and curses seem to be economic in nature- blessing comes from the land and the curses are when the land no longer produces- the text also makes clear that ultimate blessing is a sense of the Divine in our midst:

And I will walk among you, and will be your God, and you shall be My people. (Vayikra/ Leviticus 26:12)

Conversely, the rabbis imagine that the ultimate punishment is the loss of a spiritual center:

And if, for all that, you do not obey Me, I will go on to discipline you sevenfold for your sins,  and I will break your proud glory. . . . .  (Vayikra/ Leviticus 26:18-19)

In this case, they interpret “proud glory” (or “pride of your power”) as referring to the Temple of Jerusalem, which was “broken” not once but twice in Jewish history. While it’s hard to imagine God breaking the Temple to make a moral point, the ancient sages believed that losing the Temple, the symbol of Jewish spirituality and vitality, was a greater calamity than bad harvests or military defeat. Without reading these words literally- as a promise of Heavenly retribution- we can read them with great empathy, as expressing the experience of those who lost the sense of the Divine Presence when Jerusalem was overthrown.

So what do we do with these difficult texts? First we should to allow ourselves to be moved by the intense spiritual longing in the Torah and its commentaries: the feeling that the poetry conveys is that the ultimate blessing is nothing material but the Divine Presence itself, and when that is lost, hardly anything else matters. Second, we should allow the tochecha to challenge any moral complacency we have about ourselves or our community: are we really as individuals or a polity doing all we can to be loyal to the Torah’s values of justice and mercy, or are we letting these things slip from us without a care? Are we going to a society which makes and shares the blessing, or do we deserve the rebuke these verses offer?

These are hard questions, but nothing important was ever easy.

Shabbat Shalom,


The views expressed are my own and do not reflect that of Vassar Brothers Medical Center or Health-Quest.

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Achrei Mot-Kedoshim: Authentic Atonement

Copyright 2015 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Achrei Mot-Kedoshim

And Aaron shall present the bullock of the sin-offering, which is for himself, and make atonement for himself, and for his house. (Vayikra/ Leviticus 16:6)

Good morning!

This week we have a double portion, the first of which is rules for Yom Kippur and then lots of laws of sexual conduct, and the second of which is beautiful ethical principles and then lots more laws of sexual conduct.

Going back to the beginning of the first portion, Achrei Mot, the Kohen Gadol, or High Priest, is instructed to purify himself before doing the complex rituals of offering atonement sacrifices on behalf of the people. Not only that, but as in the verse above, before he can offer a sacrifice of atonement on behalf of the entire Israelite community, he has to do so for himself, and his household. Presumably, not only is the Kohen Gadol’s personal offering an example of repentance and humility for the rest of the Jewish people, but it’s also a matter of kavannah, or personal focus/ intention/ mindfulness. After all, how can he be completely spiritually present in offering atonement for the nation if he has not fully atoned for his personal mistakes and misdeeds?

The issue of leadership and collective atonement is actually in the news this week, so let’s look at current example. Perhaps just in time for Achrei Mot- Kedoshim, the Prime Minister of Japan, Shinzo Abe, gave a speech to a joint session of Congress, in which he expressed a personal “deep repentance in my heart”along with prayer for the dead of WWII, followed by a collective regret:

on behalf of Japan and the Japanese people, I offer with profound respect my eternal condolences to the souls of all American people that were lost during World War II. (full text of speech here.)

Now, to be fair,  he did say later in the speech that his country’s actions “caused suffering” in Asia, and his people “felt remorse,” but still, one is struck by the lack of apology or explicit acknowledgement of Japan’s aggression and imperialism. His personal “deep repentance” is appropriate, but while a Prime Minister is not a priest, I and many other commentators (go forth and Google) felt that he missed an opportunity to be a true leader, to go against his parliamentary pressures and express a real apology on behalf of the nation he represents. That would have taken personal and political courage, but what else is leadership?

Yet debates about what a politician should or shouldn’t have said are endless, but ultimately the real question is: what about the example of the Kohen Gadol applies to us, who do not lead nations or occupy high office? First, let’s note the order in which the Torah presents the High Priest’s atonement offerings: first for himself, then for his family, then for his people. We cannot ask others to do what we are not willing to do- if the people’s job was to think hard and humble themselves on Yom Kippur, then the job of the Kohen Gadol was to go first, to show the way in taking his own moral inventory.

Besides the imperative to do our own work before rebuking others, let’s note that according to the commentators, the atonement of the High Priest also involved confession, which in Judaism is always a verbal enumeration of specific ways we fall short. Just as in our Yom Kippur liturgy, confession is explicit- we recite long lists in synagogue but it’s meant to be personal, something we apply to our own unique actions. This is where the contrast with Mr. Abe’s political speech (and so many other wishy-washy vague “apologies”) becomes apparent- there is little confession, little grappling with hard, specific truths, without which atonement and confession become a matter of “mistakes were made,” which leaves both parties incompletely reconciled.

The language of sin, atonement, and confession is difficult- it seems so archaic and “judgmental.” Yet here’s the beautiful thing: it’s not meant to weigh us down, but to unshackle burdens of guilt and fear, to leave us free, to effect reconciliation and promote a forgiving love. The only path forward to that forgiving love is speaking hard truths, but nothing could be more worth it.

Shabbat Shalom,


The views expressed are my own and do not reflect that of Vassar Brothers Medical Center or Health-Quest.

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