Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Parashat Terumah: The Eternal Mishkan

Every time we read the Torah’s account of the building of the mishkan, it is reasonable to ask why we devote so much time reading about a physical structure that no longer exists to make sacrifices we no longer offer.  This question was not lost upon our medieval commentator Isaac Abravanel, who argues that Parashat Terumah has a timeless meaning that transcends the historical question of whether or not a mishkan still exists.   Abravanel writes:

“Everything recorded in the Torah is designed to provide us with a permanent source of inspiration and Divine Wisdom, to perfect our souls therein….The doing consists in the study of the text and deriving of the spiritual lessons to be learned by the student and scholar, whether during the time they were actually performed or afterwards (when they were no longer in vogue)” (Abravanel on end of commentary on Parashat Terumah, Shemot 27).

According to Abravanel, when God says to Moses, “And let them Me a sanctuary, that I may dwell amongst them” (Shemot 25:8), we must see how the command to construct a sanctuary is eternal, rather than temporal.  This week, I would like share three different commentaries that take this approach, each providing us the opportunity to think about what lessons the mishkan holds for future generations of the Jewish people.

The first commentary comes from Rabbi Hayyim Ibn Attar, otherwise known as the Or Ha-Hayyim, who embraces the idea that the construction of the mishkan is not a one-time event, but a task whose completion represents a timeless symbol in the relationship between the Israelites and God.   He writes:

"And let them make Me a sanctuary (Mikdash)." We must understand why He called it a Mikdash, and immediately went back and called it a Mishkan, as it is written, "the pattern of the tabernacle (Mishkan)." It seems that "Let them make Me a Mikdash" is a positive precept that embraces all times, whether in the wilderness or after their entry into the land, at all times that Israel will be there for generations” (Or Ha-Hayyim on Shemot 25:8).

Or Ha-Hayyim notes that the Rambam states in his Mishneh Torah that, “There is a positive precept to build a house for God...as it is written, “And let them make for me a sanctuary” (Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Bet Ha-Bekhirah 1:1, from Or Ha-Hayyim on Shemot 25:8)).  Given the fact that the Rambam acknowledges the mitzvah of building a sanctuary thousands of years after the command from our parasha, the Or Ha-Hayyim concludes that the command from our parasha represents a timeless mitzvah, rather than a liminal one.

In the modern period, the Italian rabbi and scholar Umberto Cassuto argues that the construction of the mishkan is inherently connected with the revelation at Sinai, thereby creating a timeless connection between the construction of the mishkan and God’s covenant with the Jewish people.  Cassuto states:

“...we must realize that the children of Israel, after they had been privileged to witness the Revelation of God on Mount Sinai, were about to journey from there and thus draw away from the site of the theophany.  So long as they were encamped in the place, they were conscious of God’s nearness; but once they set out on their journey, it seemed to them as though the link had been broken, unless there were in their midst a tangible symbol of God’s presence among them.  It was the function of the Tabernacle to serve as such a symbol.   Not without reason, therefore, does this section come immediately after the section that describes the making of the covenant at Mount Sinai.  The nexus between Israel and the Tabernacle is a perpetual extension of the bond that was forged at Sinai between the people and their God…” (Umberto Cassuto, A Commentary on the Book of Exodus, 319).

According to Cassuto, the construction of the mishkan is a direct extension of the revelation at Sinai.  Therefore, the mishkan is a living, movable symbol of the perpetual bond between God and Israel, a symbol that need not lose meaning even in an era without a physical mishkan.

Finally, in his scholarly commentary on the significance of the mishkan in biblical literature, Harvard professor Jon Levenson argues that because God’s presence resides in the mishkan, the mishkan itself provides a physical testament to the divine-human relationship.  Levenson writes:

“The Tent is the vehicle for communication with God; in it oracles are received.  God’s visible “Presence” (kavod) renders the Tent and its sacrificial apparatus sacred.  But the sanctity does not preclude immediate human contact; it only restricts it to the chosen priesthood (kohanim), Aaron and his male descendants.  The Tent is a visible relationship between God and Israel, a relationship whose other great testimony is the exodus” (Jon D. Levenson, “The Jerusalem Temple in Devotional and Visionary Experience,” Jewish Spirituality: From the Bible Through the Middle Ages, ed. Arthur Green, 37).

Reflecting both the commentaries of the Or Ha-Hayyim and Cassuto, Levenson argues that the mishkan alludes to the revelation at Sinai and the exodus from Egypt, thereby making the mishkan a living, breathing, eternal symbol of why God matters.  In turn, the Israelites are not commanded to built a mishkan in our parasha for themselves alone; they are commanded to be build a mishkan to be an eternal marker of their divine purpose.

It is entirely possible that the Jewish people will never engage in a collective spiritual activity on the level of constructing the mishkan (if wishing made it so).  That being said, our commentators challenge us to see the mishkan’s construction as a symbol of the relationship our people must maintain with God, one that transcends time and space.  By extension, when we succeed in helping our children reaffirm that relationship with God on a daily basis, we do more than strengthen their faith; we allow them to “build” sanctuary in which God will dwell for the rest of their lives.

Shabbat Shalom!

Thursday, January 23, 2014

Parashat Mishpatim: Our Consuming Fire

Sometimes, when my faith is at a nadir, I wonder why God never appears to me, my family, or the Jewish people.   To be clear, there are moments in my life when I feel God’s presence, but it is difficult to read the weekly parasha, see how much God’s presence is known to Moses and the Israelites, and not wonder why that presence cannot be experienced in the same way today.   The conclusion of Parashat Mishpatim describes a confirmation of the covenant between God and the Israelites, where fire and clouds accompany God on Har Sinai.  The text states:

“When Moses went up on the mountain, the cloud covered it, and the glory of the Lord settled on Har Sinai.   For six days the cloud covered the mountain, and on the seventh day the Lord called Moses from within the cloud.  To the Israelites the appearance of God’s glory was like a consuming fire on top of the mountain.  Then Moses entered the cloud as he went up on the mountain.  And he stayed on the mountain for forty days and forty nights” (Shemot 24:15-18).   

Clearly, the above text is a miraculous event, almost beyond human description.  In particular, Nahum Sarna notes that the limitations of language leads the story to describe God’s presence as “like a consuming fire,” for using that metaphor translates “the supernatural reality into terms approximating human experience” (Nahum Sarna, The JPS Torah Commentary: Exodus, 154).   However, I cannot read this passage and not imagine how much different our collective faith would be if we could experience a moment even remotely like one from our parasha.

Commenting upon this passage from our parasha, Jack Miles writes in God: A Biography that God’s presence on the mountain underscores the significance of God making his presence felt in this liminal moment in the Israelites’ history.  Miles writes:

“The Lord is a menacing and, if for that reason alone, an overwhelmingly real figure in this long passage.  Despite the fact that Israel has shouted in unison, “All the Lord has spoken we will faithfully do,” no one knows whether the elders of Israel will be in danger when they enter his presence.  They manage to do so safely, however, and look upon him, and eat and drink.  The concreteness of these actions of theirs, not to mention the words the Lord speaks or the cloud or the fire, underscores his own concreteness.  There is not the slightest question that he is an active partner in the making of the covenant” (Jack Miles, God: A Biography, 388).

For Miles, this passage from our parasha makes explicit that God’s might and majesty is decidedly present in revelation.   However, when reading the verse that, “The appearance [mar’eh] of God’s glory was like a consuming fire” (Shemot 24:17), our commentators struggled with the question of whether or not the Israelites can ever be as close to God’s presence as they were in that moment.   Below, I will share two different perspectives on the issue, one which focuses on the misdeeds of the Israelites in the past, and the other focusing on our spiritual potential in the present and future.

On the one hand, we find an early midrash that argues that this verse from our parasha describes a contrast between how the Israelites received God’s presence before and after the Golden Calf.  The midrash states:

[R. Yishmael said]: “Before the Israelites sinned, what is written in their regard?  “The appearance of the glory of the Lord was like a consuming fire on the top of the mountain before the eyes of the children of Israel”” (Shemot 24:17).   Said R. Abba bar Kahana, “There were seven veils of fire, one covering the next, and the Israelites gazed and did not fear or take fright.” But when they had sinned, even on the face of the intercessor [Moses] they could not look: ‘And Aaron and all the children of Israel feared...to come near’” (Shemot 34:40)” (Pisiktah D’Rav Kahana 5:3).

Prior to the Golden Calf, the Israelites were able to view God’s consuming fire, but not unable to gaze upon it.  However, following the Golden Calf, the Israelites would be consumed with fear when even approaching God’s consuming fire.   Taking this perspective, the midrash argues that this verse provides us a window for what could have been in terms of how the Israelites related to God, taking the position that the sin of the Golden Calf led to our inability to approach the divine presence  today.

On the other hand, Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berdichev writes in the Kedushat Levi that our verse from our parasha provides us a spiritual roadmap to join in a union with God, a roadmap that is conceivable for any Jew who takes Torah seriously. The Kedushat Levi states:

“One who serves God through Torah and mitzvot brings about great joy above.  But how do we know if God takes pleasure in our service?  The test lies in whether the person’s heart burns constantly with the ecstatic flame of God’s service...This is the meaning of the “the appearance [ma’reh] of God’s glory was like a consuming fire.”   [The word mar’eh can also mean “mirror” or “reflection.”]  When you want to know if you are truly gazing upon God’s glory and doing what pleases the blessed Holy One, see whether your heart is burning like a consuming fire” (Kedushat Levi on Shemot 24:17).

In this commentary, we are told that it is possible for anyone to feel God’s imminent presence, but it requires a passionate focus on the mitzvot and God’s Torah.    The Israelites in the pre-Golden Calf period were not the only one who could gaze upon God’s presence, but receiving that reward today requires an immersion in Torah through our mind, body, and spirit.

At some point, every person in the Schechter community will experience a spiritual nadir, a moment where they wonder if their faith is reasonable and will be, in some sense, rewarded.  In those moments, we need to decide whether or not we want our faith to be dictated by the midrash, or by Rabbi Levi Yitzhak.  We can believe that God’s imminent presence is a thing of the past that we cannot grasp or experience even if we wanted to, or that an awe-inspiring encounter with the divine is possible for anyone willing to immerse themselves in God’s Torah.  Although I can experience low-points in my faith, like any person, I try to remind myself of the Levi Yitzhak perspective every day, knowing if I approach my faith with passion and purpose, God’s fire will appear before in ways both unexpected and (yes) miraculous.   All the rest is commentary.   

Shabbat Shalom.

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Parashat Yitro: Our Sinai Moments

I used to think that one of the most cliche questions rabbi could ask was, “When did you experience a Sinai Moment?” For whatever reason, I found this question forced and naive, as it assumes that any of us can really imagine what it was like to experience Sinai, a moment shrouded in mystery.   However, as I studied this week parasha, and looked at how the commentaries understood the message implicit in the Israelites’ journey to receive the revelation at Sinai, the more I understood how a “Sinai Moment” is an experience that all of us can have, and is a challenge that every Jew must feel in their soul in order to be worthy of receiving Torah.

Parashat Yitro describes an encounter between the Israelites, Moses and God prior to the receiving of the Aseret Ha-Devarim, where individuals ascend or descend based on the needs of the moment:

“On the third day, as morning dawned, there was thunder, and lightning, and a dense cloud upon the mountain, and a very loud blast of the horn; and all the people who were in the camp trembled.  Moses led the people out of the camp toward God, and they took their places at the foot of the mountain.  Now Mount Sinai was all in smoke, for the Lord had come down upon it in fire; the smoke rose like the smoke of a kiln, and the whole mountain trembled violently.  The blare of the horn grew louder and louder. As Moses spoke, God answered him in thunder.   The Lord came down upon Mount Sinai, on the top of the mountain, and the Lord called Moses to the top of the mountain and Moses went up” (Shemot 19:16-20).

In the passage, our commentators paid great attention to the dramatic scene painted by the Torah, and how the notions of ascending and descending reflected the powerful charge God would make to Moses and the Israelites.  In each case, our rabbis see the revelation at Har Sinai as a moment where the Israelites were commanded to elevate themselves, literally and figuratively, in their relationship to God, a message that would remain timeless for all generations of the Jewish people who would come afterwards.

Our rabbis imagined in an early midrash that the Israelites were completely unprepared for the physical experience of standing at Sinai, experiencing shock and awe when God descended towards the Israelites.   At the same time, the midrash states that God only sought to create a shocking experience because of the powerful message contained in the revelation:  


““Who shall not fear You King of the nations!” (Jeremiah 10:7).  This can be compared to a money-lender who filled his pocket with gold coins and stood calling out, “Whoever wishes may come and borrow!”  Everyone heard him and fled--thinking, “When he comes to reclaim his debt, who will be able to stand, to bear it?”  So, God came down to Sinai to give the Commandments and prevent the world from falling apart, as it is said: “The earth trembled, the sky rained because of God” (Psalms 68:9); and “The mountain quaked” (Judges 5:5); and “The pillars of heaven tremble” (Job 26:11).  And Israel shuddered, as it is said, “The whole people shuddered” (Exodus 19:16); and the mountain shuddered, as it is said, “The whole mountain shuddered violently” (Exodus 19:18).  Why all these tremors?  Because he spoke words of Life!  And the prophet cried out: “If a lion roars, who shall not fear?”  (Amos 3:8)” (Shemot Rabbah 29:3).

Lest we think that the experience at Sinai was one of shock and awe because God wanted to punish the Israelites, the midrash reminds us that because God had such a powerful purpose in speaking to the Israelites, God’s message was packaged in a way that made the Israelites feel the importance of that moment.   Additionally, because God’s message was so powerful, and was delivered through a powerful medium, the hope of the midrash is that the Israelites would heed God’s message and rise to the occasion.

Recognizing the metaphorical meaning of this passage, Isaac Abravanel argues that Moses’ ascent towards Sinai represents a spiritual, not physical, climb up the mountain, where Moses must prepare himself to be worthy of what he shall receive from God on behalf of the Israelites.  Abravanel states:

“And Moses went up to God”: This may be taken to imply that as soon as the Israelites encamped opposite the Mount, Moses communed in solitude in his own tent and “went up,” in the metaphorical sense of scaling the intellectual heights of communion with God, preparing himself for the prophetic experience whenever it would descend upon him.  Then in the midst of his self-communing: “The Lord called unto him out of the mountain” (ibid.) bidding him ascend.  Accordingly, the phrase “went up” implies a spiritual lifting up and not a physical ascent of the Mount” (Abravanel on Shemot 19:20).

For Abravanel, Moses knew meeting God in this revelatory moment required a spiritual preparation unlike any other moment before or since.  As such, the Torah reminds us that the vision at Sinai contained an implicitly aspirational message, one where Moses would only be worthy of God’s revelation if he lifted himself up spiritually.

Finally, Professor Jon Levenson of Harvard University writes in Sinai & Zion that Sinai is a typological moment, an example of what the Israelites can be, in the past, present, or future, if they choose to wholly devote themselves to God, a much-needed needed reminder at certain low points in the Israelites’ history.  Levenson writes:

“...the Sinaitic “event” functioned as the prime pattern through which Israel could re-establish in every generation who she was, who she was meant to be.  The experience of Sinai, whatever its historical basis, was perceived as so overwhelming, so charged with meaning, that Israel could not imagine that any with or commandment from God could have been absent from Sinai” (Jon D. Levenson, Sinai & Zion: An Entry Into the Jewish Bible, 18-19).

For Levenson, Sinai matters because it offers a vision for how the Israelites should live their lives, and how God entrusted them to represent a certain way of being to the rest of the world.  As a result, when the Jewish people fall short in their mission, they need only to look towards Sinai to remind themselves of what they are capable of being and becoming.

If I had choose one thing I wish every Jew would take away from this week’s parasha, I would say that the experience of Sinai challenges every Jew to ask themselves if they are elevating themselves in a way that reflect the ascent of Sinai as understood by our commentators.   Every day, we have the opportunity to elevate our families, our work, our Schechter community, and every aspect of who we are.  In this way, every day offers the opportunity to have a “Sinai Moment,” a moment when we elevate ourselves to be the best of what we can be, and what the Torah commands us to be.

Shabbat Shalom!

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

Parashat Beshallah: Our Spiritual Sustenance

Michael Pollan writes in his introduction to The Omnivore’s Dilemma that the act of eating is not merely a means of physical sustenance, but an act with ethical, political, and even spiritual implications. He writes:

“...how and what we eat determines to a great extent the use we make of the world--and what is to become of it.  To eat with a full consciousness of all that is at stake might sound like a burden, but in practice few things in life can afford quite as much satisfaction” (Michael Pollan, The Omnivore’s Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals 11).

According to Pollan, the food choices we make signify how we relate to the agricultural and natural world, thereby making the choice of what food to eat a matter of great significance.   In Parashat Beshallah, our commentators ascribe great spiritual significance to the act of receiving and eat the manna, the food-source that will nourish the Israelites throughout their journey to Canaan.  When describing the giving of the manna, God adds a mysterious inclusion to his instructions regarding how to gather the food each day (emphasis mine):

“I will rain down on you bread-from-heaven; and the people shall go out and gather a day’s portion every day that I may prove them whether they will walk in My law or not” (Shemot 16:4).   

Regarding this statement, our commentators asked what was the connection between the giving of the manna and the question of whether or not the Israelites will follow God’s laws.   Our commentators’ answers show how the manna is a symbol of how the Jewish people can form a relationship with the mitzvot in the past, present, and future.

The Sefat Emet’s commentary argues that God provided manna for the Israelites because Abraham provided bread for the three angels-in-disguise who came to visit him in Sefer Bereishit.  He writes:

“On the manna: the Midrash claims that Israel merited the manna because of the food that Abraham our Father had given to the ministering angels.   The manna first came to them in Alush (Bemidbar 33:14), because Abraham had said to Sarah “knead (lushi) and make cakes” (Bereishit 18:6).   The Torah hints that Israel’s souls were so purified that they could eat the food that sustains the angels.  This came about because of Abraham, who himself had become pure enough to feed the angels.   “He stood over them beneath the tree and they ate” (Bereishit 18:8).  The deeds of the patriarchs were so holy, and the Shekhinah so dwelt in their midst, that the angels ate of their food.  Of this, Scripture says: “Go eat of My food” (Mishlei 9:5) [for the manna is called “bread from heaven”] (Sefat Emet, Shemot Commentary 2:84).   

According to the Sefat Emet, providing the manna is a form of what is known in Torah commentary as midah-kneged-middah, or “measure-for-measure,” where our previous acts, good or bad, are reflected in future rewards and punishments.   Using this principle, the Sefat Emet argues that because Abraham provided God’s emissaries with bread, God will provide the Israelites with “bread from heaven” when they journeyed in the desert, an example of how past actions lead to rewards in the present.

The Ramban writes in his commentary that God deliberately wanted to send the Israelites on a circuitous route to Canaan so that he could test their loyalty, yet this route required that God provide a regular food source so that his people would not starve.   The Ramban states:

“For it was a trial for them not to have food of their own and not to have any alternative but the manna which they had hitherto never seen nor heard of from their fathers, coming down daily, and they hungering for it; in spite of all this they obediently followed the Almighty, and thus He spoke to them (Deuteronomy 8:2): “And you shall remember all the ways which the Lord your God led you forty years in the wilderness, in order to afflict you and prove whether or not it was in your heart to keep His commandments or not.”  For he could have led them through cities round about, yet He led them in a serpent and scorpion infested wilderness where their only bread would come from heaven in order to test them and promote their ultimate well-being, that they should always keep faith with Him” (Ramban on Shemot 16:4).

According to the Ramban, sending manna sent a message to the Israelites in the present, reminding them that God would provide necessities on their journey, yet that gift required that the Israelites reciprocate through obedience to God’s commandments in the short-term and the long-term.

Finally, Rabbi Aaron of Toledo writes in his Divrei Hafetz that the example of the manna should inspire us to not waste time when looking for opportunities to study Torah, which is the why the Torah specifically connects the giving of the manna with following God’s law.   He writes:

“You are always ready with an excuse that you cannot delve into the studies of Torah, since, “If there is no flour, there is no Torah”- and you are too busy earning your livelihood, But here I will test you and “I will make bread rain down for you from heaven” and we will see if now you will want to learn Torah- “That I may prove to them whether they will walk in My law or not”” (Divrei Hafetz on Shemot 16:4, Rabbi Aaron of Toledo).

In this commentary, while the deeds of the Israelites in the Torah vis-a-vis receiving the manna are important, how we follow the Israelites’ example in our own observance is a more difficult test with even greater rewards.   In turn, the manna of our past is a symbol of our potential growth in the future.

Next week, our school will be celebrating Tu B’Shevat, and many of our students will learn about what this holiday can teach of us about making food choices that reflect a commitment to environmental care.   While each of the three approaches focus on a different aspect on the experience of the Israelites receiving manna from God, each of the commentaries attempt to draw a connection between how the physical sustenance that the Israelites received in the desert was a reflection of a broader ethical core that they demonstrated in the past, or needed to continue demonstrating in the present or future.   May each of us embrace the Torah’s challenge, and see our food choices as matters of great spiritual importance, merging the physical and the divine together with each and every bite.   

Shabbat Shalom!



Thursday, January 2, 2014

Parashat Bo: Making Time Count

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel writes in his Epilogue to The Sabbath that, “A world without time would be a world without God, a world existing in and by itself, without renewal, without a Creator” (The Sabbath, 101).   I used to have great difficulty with this quote, as it does not appear obvious as to the connection between time and godliness, yet an answer is found in this week’s parasha, where a mitzvah connected to keeping a calendar is seen by our commentators as a way for God’s presence to become eternally known to the Jewish people.

Immediately prior to the Israelites’ departure from Egypt, God commands Moses with the Torah’s first ‘official’ mitzvah, a commandment to make that month the first month in the calendar.  The Torah states, “The Lord spoke to Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt, saying, “This month shall be to you the head of the months; to you it shall be the first of the months of the year”” (Shemot 12:1-2). After a first reading, it does not appear obvious why God decides that this moment is the right moment to command Moses to begin keeping a calendar.    However, our rabbinic commentators argue that this mitzvah makes an essential connection between the sanctification of time and God’s covenant.

In his Torah commentary, the Ramban points out that the mitzvah to begin counting the months in this week’s parasha not only conveys the message that the Israelites’ history officially begins after they leave Egypt, but that any time the Israelites marking the passing of a month on their calendar, they are simultaneously recalling the miracles God brought to bring them out from Egypt. The Ramban writes:

“The explanation of “This shall be for you the beginning of the months” is that Israel should count [that] month as the “first month,” and from it they should count all the months, “second” and “third” until the completion of the year with twelve months.   The reason is so that this should be a remembrance of the great miracle, for on every occasion that we mention the months, the miracle will be recalled.   And for this the months have no names in the Torah” (Ramban on Shemot 12:2).

According to the Ramban, God wants the Israelites’ memory of the exodus to be intertwined with their observance of the mitzvot, and since counting the months is considered by the rabbis to be the first mitzvah in the Torah, it is fitting that this mitzvah would be uniquely linked to Israel’s acceptance of the entire Torah shortly afterward.

Echoing the Ramban’s commentary, Nahum Sarna points out being able to make the choice about how to keep a calendar officially marks the Israelites’ transition to becoming a free people.   He writes:

“The impending Exodus is visualized as the start of a wholly new order of life that is to be dominated by the consciousness of God’s active presence in history.   The entire religious calendar of Israel is henceforth to reflect this reality by numbering the months of the year from the months of the Exodus” (Nahum Sarna, JPS Torah Commentary: Exodus, 54).

Sarna’s commentary emphasizes that establishing a calendar firmly establishes the Israelites’ independence from Egypt.   Presumably, as slaves the Israelites were required to operate entirely under the schedule of their masters, and going forth from Egypt means that they will now need to take responsibility for linking the yearly cycle to their covenant with God.

Finally, the Hayyim Va-Hesed, a Hasidic work of the Lithuanian hasid Hayyim Hayka of Amdur, argues that God commanding the Israelites to count the months of the year is a reminder of the way in which we can bring the divine presence into our everyday lives.  He writes:

“This is the meaning of “This month [hodesh] is the first [rosh]...for you”...it is through [paying attention to] the heads of things (rosh) that we are renewed and raise ourselves up to God.  That is why the verse is introduced by, “Speak to all the community of the Children of Israel…”  The whole community can come to behave in such a way because of this renewal” (Hayyim Va-Hesed on Shemot 12:2, in Speaking Torah: Spiritual Teachings from around the Maggid’s Table, Vol. 1, 186).

In this commentary, we are reminded that while counting hours, days, months, and year might seem trivial and mimetic, marking time provides us the opportunity to acknowledge God’s presence in our lives, for only God can control the passages of time.    By recognizing the way in which time turns over, we are acknowledging God’s role in our everyday lives.   

While the Torah obviously does not mark the coming of the secular new year, it is important to recognize how coming back to school in a new calendar year offers an opportunity for every student, teacher, staff member, parent and community to find spiritual renewal.   Counting days and months may not seem like much, yet using that counting as a means to find deeper meaning in our lives provides the opportunity to make all of our days count.   As we return from our winter vacation, and begin filling the halls of Schechter with teaching and learning, may we never lose sight of the ways in which we can make each day count, thereby creating a deeper relationship to our community and our God.

Shabbat Shalom!