Reflections during עשרת ימי תשובה (Aseret Yimei T'shuvah/Ten Days of Repentance) 5775

B"H

!!אַ גוט געבענטשט יאָר

!!שנה טובה ומתוקה

!! גמר חתימה טובה

Happy New Year to all of my readers who celebrate Rosh Hashanah!!

-- 

I suppose it's been awhile since I last updated this blog. With the launch of my medical school blog, I'm still trying to find a way to synthesize all my thoughts in one place. However, I kinda like keeping my religious thoughts in a separate entity from my general medical school ramblings, especially during this time of year known as עשרת ימי תשובה (Aseret Yimei T'shuvah/Ten Days of Repentance).

As a kiddo, I went to services because my parents forced my little toches into shul. My memories of the High Holy Days consist of having to pee every two minutes (read: I wanted to leave so bad that I used a weak bladder as an excuse) and asking my dad where we were in the מחזור (makhzor/special prayerbook for the holidays) because I couldn't keep up with the Hebrew (...not that it mattered. I didn't understand what the heck it meant in English anyway)! There were some positive memories, such as my (still experienced today) state of awe when the Ark is opened or the Torah is paraded around the aisles of the congregation. Or, twiddling with the ציצית (tzitzit/fringes) on my dad’s טלית (tallit or tallis/prayer shawl) as he recited prayers. And of course, the שופר (shofar/ram's horn), which is so mystical to hear. I enjoyed the family time and being with the congregation, and I think I had internalized the basic premise of this reflective period in the Jewish calendar, but it was more frustrating than anything in all honesty. Especially the unrelenting fast of יום כיפור (Yom Kippur/Day of Atonement). 

But, I suppose it wasn't until after my Bar-Mitzvah that I started to feel the gravity of the ten day period and its ability to transcend my soul. Something about the first Days of Awe as a "certified adult" struck me: the sound of the שופר (shofar/ram's horn) no longer became a novelty, but a call to action. I felt the blasts reverberate my bones, the shrill cries shook awake my soul, the final תקיעה גדולה (Tekiyah Gedolah/Large Blast) opened my eyes to a new perception of the world around me, the words of "אבינו מלכנו" ("Avinu Malkeinu"/"Our Father, Our King") caused my body to tremble in my heartfelt request for forgiveness. This time reminds me to take time to re-center, to change for the better, to strengthen relationships with others, and seek to better myself in a way I cannot fully explain. My attendance at shul during this period has thus become essential in my development as a man, a brother, a son, a friend, a Jew, and a person. I look forward to these Days. I anticipate their impact. The Ten Days of Repentance (particularly in my post Bar-Mitzvah “adult” life) hold a special place in my heart: traditions abound, spiritual purification, mental realignment, physical challenge, personal reflection, (and an excuse to drown EVERYTHING in honey without judgement). 

This year, this period has been rough to say the least. My time in shul was limited with the demands of medical school. I got seats for one person knowing that I was going without friends or family for perhaps the first time ever. I performed the service of תשליך‎ (Tashlikh/Casting Off) at a fish pond on campus because I don't know of other places to do it locally (the service requires a moving body of water). It has been lonely, depressing, and quiet. I wasn't so sure I'd have the same experiences as I usually do during this very sacred period. 

But, interestingly, this year HAS allowed a sense of uninterrupted introspection, which has presented itself in interesting manifestations:

• I've accidentally rediscovered Barbra Streisand's version of "Avinu Malkeinu," which is obviously flawless.
• Medical school enhances one's ability to perceive, to feel, and to connect with others (if one allows it), and, thus, my already reflective nature has been hyper-stimulated. And my self-searching has blossomed despite studying furiously for this upcoming examination on blood/cancer/genes/"random things that kinda go together but not really." (This is a HUGE 'win' in my book).
• I've flirted with the idea of wearing a כיפה (kippah/skull-cap) full-time. I don't know why, but this year, I've tried it out a few times outside of shul, and I'm seeing how it makes me feel. Jury's still out.
• During the recitation of  "עלינו" ("Aleinu"/"Our Duty") during the High Holy Days, it is customary for some Jews to fully prostrate themselves before G-D. As I reached the floor for recitation during ראש השנה (Rosh Hashanah/The New Year), I found it difficult to rise again, not from physical ailment, but from spiritual oneness I haven't felt in a long time. I am still trying to understand what happened in that moment, because I could have stayed in that position for a lifetime...I've never felt this way before, and I'm still processing those emotions.
• I have listened to several YouTube recordings of various cantors chanting "הנני" ("Hineni"/"Here I Am"), a.k.a. "The Cantor's Prayer," and have found myself thinking about its importance in the service, and the role of a cantor. Sometimes, I wish I could sing like a cantor just to say this prayer.
• After the Ten Days, I can say that I have awakened a new person, revitalized and ready for a fantastic year to come.

In the spirit of introspection, I have been thinking a lot about life and the things I need to change about myself. [EDIT: After Yom Kippur concluded, I change my list from "shoulds" to "wills" because it's time for change in my life]:

• I should will call home more often, just to say hi...so perhaps my parents' endless love can be reciprocated.
• I should will go to shul more often.
• I should will plan my weeks better to help my study schedule, and realize my free time in advance.
• I should will travel while I still can...plan a fun trip because I deserve it.
• I should will be more understanding of people...allow differences make for conversation and enlightened education.
• I should will reach out to the "new kids on the block" more often...in remembrance of what it's like to be new somewhere.
• I should will befriend new people while continuing to cultivate the relationships I have.
• I should will "get that beer" with friends...because life is too short.
• I should will be better to myself...in health, in self-perception, in confidence, and in recognition of my self-worth.
• I should will be proud of my opinions.
• I should will allow myself the freedom to love another person...instead of fearing the unknown.
• I should will trust more in others and in G-D...maybe then, I wouldn't be so paranoid.
• I should will stop fearing and find happiness in mistakes.
• I should will find happiness in the little things...like I did when I was little.

It's a tall order, but I have a good feeling for a good 5775 to come with friends and family.

Experimenting with Judaism: A Personal Reflection of Pesach in the Woods

B”H       

If I were to describe life as a first year medical student, I think it would go something to this tune. Imagine sitting in a well-lit corner and reading a textbook or syllabus for nine months, with breaks for eating, toileting, and other necessary vital functions – along with occasional freak-outs of impending sense of failure and inadequacy…especially during test weeks. A bit hyperbolized, but suffice to say, it’s stressful, intense, anxiety-inducing, and grueling.

But every so once in a while, med students crawl out of our dark study caverns (read: library) and rediscover the world beyond the text. This blogpost recounts one of those precious instances in my life.

               One thing about medical school – it makes one dream about freedom. Freedom from piles of pages to read, hours of lecture to retain … freedom to just live! A testament to this yearning for freedom comes in the form of almost ritualistic post-examination happy hour celebrations or victory dinners seen throughout the first year class, with my friend group certainly not an exception. Recently, a few of us wanted to plan a special post-exam getaway: camping. I had sadly missed the group’s previous outing last semester, and my inner Eagle Scout was determined to make the weekend getaway possible. Camping, I thought, would be a fantastic reward and fun retreat.

However, the initials plans did not go over so smoothly, as the weekend was booked at the park. Thus, a friend set reservations for Monday night – April 14^th – the first night of Pesach (Passover). When I realized the change of plans, I’ll admit I was very disheartened, because I really wanted to head out to the woods with everyone else. But, being one of the only Jews in this circle of friends, I did not want to burden my friends with all the complications of Pesach rituals: the seder meals, the dietary restrictions, the traditions, etc. Plus, I’d be missing a school day, and making up lectures is a pain in the toches. And so, I had backed out in saying that it was Passover, and I couldn’t go due to religious observance.

               Two of my friends then asked, “Well, can we do Passover in the woods?”

               I remember my first thoughts, “Pesach in the woods!? Who’s heard of such a thing? Not me! What mishegoss!! Pesach in the woods. I couldn’t bring good plates out to the woods, or possibly replicate the seder’s ambiance in the woods. And how would we read the text…by flashlight?! Pesach in the woods…what a silly suggestion!”

               But, I hesitated to respond. My friends’ question was said so matter-of-factly...so innocently…so objectively curious…Pesach in the woods, eh?

               I replied to my friends with an honest confession of uncertainty. Truth be told, I had never envisioned a seder outside of the home environment, synagogue, or Jewish community. I asked for some time to think about it.

               Later that evening, I started to think. I could make food in advance, I guess. Print out a bunch of e-Hagadot (books for the meal, oh does this word look so odd) from the Internet. But, can it work? Can you make a seder in line with Jewish laws and customs in the woods? I deconstructed the seder—its elements, its requirements, its symbols, its liturgy, its adaptations, its essence. Never in my life had I thought so much about the seder. WAIT A SECOND! NEVER IN MY LIFE HAD I THOUGHT SO MUCH ABOUT THE SEDER! The whole point of Pesach is to bring oneself into the story of Exodus, and if bringing Pesach to the woods is providing this avenue, then I would be a fool to abandon this path to heightened Jewish learning.

It was when I made this realization that I told my friends to prepare for a seder in the woods.

Cue anxiety. I had never led a seder before. Typically, I’m the youngest at the table who is willing (or able usually) to read Hebrew, so my role is reading the Four Questions, not leading the meal. And, I was going to be the only Jew on the trip, so nothing I say could be implied knowledge. I was to be the only source of knowledge and expertise. Not to mention, while I’ve attended non-traditional seders in years past, I’ve never attended one in which I am the only Jew at the table. Part of the celebration of the holiday is the joy of freedom of the Jews from Pharaoh’s rule, and I would have no one with whom to partake in celebration of freedom. Basically, I just agreed to do something given zero leadership experience, no previous involvement in seder planning (logistics or really even cooking), and a newly-realized struggle of deconstructing and reconstructing the seder for non-Jewish attendees while maintaining the Jewish connection to the story and its overall integrity.

But no pressure.

               Setting aside these reservations, I took on the challenge. I read the Hagadah probably a dozen times, attempting to find the meaning…to search for the clues to make this work. My heart told me that this process is imperative to my personal Jewish growth, and I needed to follow it. I read online articles about alternative seder ideas, considerations, and the like. And suddenly, inspiration took over! I had a clear vision for this crazy seder…and how it just might be meshuge enough to work and be true to custom. Pen and paper in hand, I started to draft out the plans. (More on this “aha” moment later)

Fast forward to Sunday before departure. I yelled at basically everyone and everything trying to find Passover food supplies. I used a third of a tank of gas yelling in my car something to the tune of:

               OHMYGOSHKROGERFAILSATPASSOVERSUPPLIESWHYWHYWHYINEEDMATZAHBOXESNOW…CENTRALMARKETHASONLYONESTANDOFPASSOVERSUPPLIESANDNOVARIETYLETSTRYTOMTHUMB…OHCRAPIWENTTOTHENONKOSHERTOMTHUMBWHICHHASNOTHING…OFCOURSETHEKOSHERTOMTHUMBISONTHEOTHERSIDEOFTHECITYWHYDOESNTDALLASHAVEKOSHERFORPASSOVERSUPPLIES? After a few hours of driving in Dallas rush hour traffic all around the freaking city, I finally made it to the “Kosher” Tom Thumb, which had everything I needed, except wine. Thank goodness for good ol’ Spec’s kosher for Passover wine section…easily labeled, decently priced, and good variety. And the evening was spent making matzo ball soup, charoses (apple-walnut mix), hard-boiled eggs, and other goodies for the meal.

The kitchen smelled like memories.

Monday afternoon. Somehow, between a pickup and an SUV named Dexter, along with everyone else’s camping gear, I managed to stuff everything into the vehicles. Car rides are interesting for me…I always feel as if I learn something unexpected, but until a dialogue gets going, they are kinda awkwardly quiet. This time, I found out that one of my friends on the trip pointed out the window to show us his hometown. Somehow, that connection made the car ride much more intimate, and before we knew it, we had arrived at the state park. Campsite was set up, and I started heating up the matzo ball soup over the camp stove once the charcoal turned grey.

As night fell, we began the ceremony. The seder plate was constructed on a paper plate, matzo ball soup served in plastic bowls, and libations served in cheap cups. I think it’s almost a requirement to “leave one thing” at home when going camping. And the seder started with a bummer, as I realized what I had forgotten this time: a bowl or vessel for washing hands (a custom done twice in the seder ritual). So, I surmised a grungy water faucet from the ground would just have to do

I started to read the text, made snide quips about the references of slavery reflecting current experiences in medical school, and discuss the symbols and order of the seder. Eventually, through the comfort of friends, I found my voice to carry the ceremony (I even sang Dayenu alone since no one else reads Hebrew … oy vey). As I went through, I delivered my explanations of the fundamentals and spiritual meanings behind everything. I said kiddush over grape juice/wine, and it brought me back to the intense feelings I had when I said the same brachah (blessing) during my Bar-Mitzvah service. I explained karpas (parsley appetizer), maror (bitter herbs…sorry fellow campmates…I didn’t warn you that you’d be eating horseradish), and the other components with my new-found appreciation for the symbols of the service. I felt a spiritual connection unlike any order seder.

I finally got to the part in the seder which provided my initial inspiration for how to conduct the service: the pointing of the symbols and the direct explanations. After the traditional elements were explained, here I inserted two very important additional symbols to the seder plate: Miriam’s cup (a testament to the embrace of female strength and equality of the sexes in Judaism) and the orange (a symbol of inclusivity of ALL peoples of any sex, race, creed, sexuality, or ethnicity). In bringing these symbols into the seder, finding a way to merge the concept of inclusivity so essential to my faith, and tradition in the customs of the service, I found a way to invite my friends to be welcomed into this ritual meal with me –to learn about my customs and faith.

Throughout the service I was receiving questions about the customs, text interpretations, and Hebrew translations. Never had I been in a seder where so many questions were asked. This was a blessing, for the motif of the seder is to ask questions (the Four Questions, the questions of the four children, etc). A seder SHOULD promote thoughtful questions. We SHOULD question the text. We SHOULD bring meaning to the tradition in our inquisitiveness. So often, the seder ends unchallenged, undiscussed, not internalized. Thus, perhaps one of the truest seders I ever had was not inside the walls of a synagogue, not in the community of a Hillel/Chabad/JCC/other Jewish youth center, not in the comforts of a Jewish home– but in a state park in Glen Rose, Texas (population 2,444 and likely no Jews), under freezing conditions (yes, it DID ice over that morning), over a picnic table with no accoutrements or fancy seder plate, and in the presence of friends unfamiliar with my traditions, but ever-accepting. And I couldn’t be more grateful to share my traditions, but also my discoveries about the essence of Pesach.

               Beyond the service itself, though, the act of joining friends in finding comfort in the wilderness (and yes, in so doing, playing hooky from class), I found a personal liberation from the toils of medical school. This trip was an oasis of happiness for me in traveling to a new place with friends, boundless bonding, and celebrating life beyond the books. I spent the part of Yom Tov (the holy days/nights of Passover distinguished from the middle days/nights) frolicking in the wilderness, taking a nature hike, laughing with friends, discussing faith and religions, asking the tough questions … simply being free!

The fourth of the Four Questions reminds us to recline and relax during Pesach, for the Jews are freed from the enslavement of Pharaoh. Being outdoors with some of the most amazing people brought meaning to these words. I may not have been sitting on a pillow or fancy recliner, but I was relaxed in the serenity of the woods. Somehow, among the Solo cups, charoses in Tupperware, a food-snatching raccoon, the clear night sky, and dear friends, I rediscovered the meaning of Pesach. And it is truly beautiful.

חג שמח/Chag Sameach/Happy holidays to all who observe the Passover season this year!

Four Years Later

Dear Bubbe,

            I still cannot believe it has been four years since you passed away. It’s still an odd feeling thinking I can’t pick up the phone and call you. I still have your number in my cell phone—I just cannot delete it. You know, it’s funny. I almost called you on accident a few months ago! Yeah, I was dialing a friend who I guess had a similar number, and my phone offered your number as a suggestion. It took me by surprise.

            You’d be so proud!! Bubbe, I graduated from college (with honors), and I got into medical school…my top choice one too! I always wanted to tell you that in person. You were my “number one” cheerleader in my pursuits, and it pains me to not have you by my side in my successes. I knew you were adamant I stay in school, keep my nose clean, and find success in my studies…and I did! I always dreamed you’d be there with me and would squeeze my hand so tight like you used to do. Always two squeezes...the second one a tad longer than the first. It was like our secret code…I miss that.

            Med school is tough. Lots of hard work, long hours, and little patient interactions so far make the days seem boring. But, I’ve met so many amazing friends here…I wish I could fly you down to meet them. You’d think they were very special and one-of-a-kind.

I reconnected with Dr. Faraday, your physician…she’s quite an amazing doctor. (She remembers you fondly). She has given me such words of wisdom in terms of how to become an excellent healthcare provider and a servant to my patients. I wish more physicians were like her…why am I not surprised how well you chose your physician? I hope I can have an ounce of her passion for medicine and her ability to connect so well with her patients.

I’ve been thinking more and more about entering geriatrics...actually it started around the time you passed away. I think the cases are interesting, the patients are even MORE fascinating, and I get to treat a population which whom few physicians really want to work. I think it’d be such a rewarding field. I know you’d be proud of me, and I hope you are looking down upon me in good graces. I always want to make you proud. Even now.

Family’s doing well...especially George! He’s doing some research with a laboratory at his university, and he is truly becoming immersed in his field. It’s nice to see him open up and finally branch out. Bubbe, your “buttons would pop right off” with such naches for your grandchildren. I miss hearing you say that. You know, when I was little, I thought you were literal, and I feared that one day, I’d make your buttons pop and ruin your shirt?? I never got a chance to tell you that.

Say hi to Zayde and Aunt Es for me.

May you continue to enjoy the graces of G-D’s warm embrace.

I pray I will be so blessed to join you one day once again.

Miss you and love you, always and forever.

Love,

Herbert

Tu Bishvat: When Evolution Meets Religion [יתרו/ Exodus 18:1-20:23]

B”H

This week’s parshah is Yitro (יתרו, lit. “Jethro” who is Moses’ father-in-law). It’s a family reunion of sorts in which Jethro, Moses’ wife Tziporah, and her kids Eliezer and Gershom, meets up with Moses. Jethro tells Moses that he needs to make a system of magistrates to assist him in various judicial affairs. And then, Jethro departs.

Three months of wandering the desert has finally let Moses and his people to the Sinai desert. G-D tells Moses that his people will be a “kingdom of princes and a holy nation,” so long as they obey the word of G-D. As the entire people stand trembling at the base of Mt. Sinai, the shofar’s blast beckons Moses to climb the mountain and approach G-D. The famous Ten Commandments are revealed to Moses. The pomp and circumstance of G-D’s presence, however, frightens the Jews, who ask Moses to speak to G-D on their behalf for the rest of the revelation. And so ends this week’s Torah section.

Yitro coincides with the celebration of a very interesting holiday: Tu Bishvat (ט"ו בשבט, literally, the fifteenth of Shvat). Colloquially, it’s been deemed the Birthday or New Year of the Trees…a Jewish Arbor Day of sorts (literally so in Israel)! Tu Bishvat is an odd holiday, even in Jewish circles. If asked about the holiday, most Jews would probably do one of three things: (1) quite frankly admit they have never heard of the holiday (or vaguely remember it from religious school but have NO idea about it), (2) confidently (but mistakenly) confuse it for Tisha Be’av—one of the most solemn days on the Jewish calendar a few months down the road that has nothing to do with trees, or (3) say “it’s the Birthday of the Trees,” and leave it at that.

Well, I say, that’s not very fair…especially for such a vibrant, relevant holiday, even in today’s time.

A bit of history on the holiday: Tu Bishvat is actually one of four “new years” celebrated in the Hebrew calendar. The most famous of “new years” is Rosh Hashanah, on 1 Tishrei, as the “new year of seasons” for the civil calendar. 1 Nisan refers to the season of remembering the exodus from Egypt, and a few legal accoutrements surrounding house rental and vows. Finally, 1 Elul is the fiscal “new year” for tithing cattle.

Tu Bishvat, between Rosh Hashanah and 1 Nisan, marks the “new year” for labeling fruits for tithing and, in some rabbinic opinions, as orlah – (literally “ uncircumcised,” referring to a prohibition that fruit that may not be eaten in the first three years of the tree’s planting). Ecologically, Tu Bishvat typically comes at a time when trees finally begin to bear their fruits in the warmer climates of the Holy Land. It marks a time of offering fourth-year fruits (the first year which they are edible legally) as sacrifices, and of a tithe given to the poor.

In “contemporary” times by Jewish standards (i.e.: during the 16^th century CE), the famous Kabbalist Rabbi Luria created a Tu Bishvat meal, in which ten fruits and four cups of wine were consumed in a specific order so to bring people towards spiritual harmony. Such sederim (lit. “orders,” but refers to the meals and prayer associated with certain occasions) are a trending avenue for revived celebration of this agricultural new year. Additionally, in the tradition Mizrachi Rabbi Ze’ev Yavetz, many will plant trees for reforestation efforts and ecological awareness.

Great, I’ve bombarded you with information about Jewish Arbor Day….but Herbert, you ask, how does Yitro link to Tu Bishvat?!?!

Tu Bishvat revolves around the handling of fruit. So what is a fruit? Biologically speaking, it is the ripened ovary or ovaries of a flowering plant. The seeds of the fruit are the potential descendants of the plant, assuming its environment is optimal for growth. This fruit contains the DNA of its parental roots, and, in a way, is the plant’s offspring. Thus, a fruit can be seen as the child product of a particular plant. But a fruit isn’t always the same. That is to say, an apple, try as it might, cannot be 100% genetically identical to its parental counterpart. Even self-pollenizing plants have some genetic mismatch due to random genetic events, such as homologous recombination. (Well, in nature at least...sadly, we’ve corrupted the beauty of nature in the creation of genetically modified foods).

But, the point is…the fruits are a new organism with a different genetic makeup.

Like these fruits, Jewish traditions and customs are finding new “phenotypic expressions” as the religion evolves over time. It’s interesting that such a holiday like Tu Bishvat has taken on such new meaning and great traditions in the sederim and planting of trees. And politically, Tu Bishvat is a wonderful time to think about one of the most pressing issues of our generation: global warming and natural preservation. Many a Tu Bishvat sermon has discussed the concept of rebuilding nature (often accompanied with “Plant a Tree in Israel” donation cards through the Jewish National Fund).

Yitro is a period of evolution for the Jewish people, namely in the establishment of the legal magistrate system which codifies an early sociopolitical system for the newly-freed Jews and in the revelation of the Ten Commandments. In such way, the Jews in the Sinai desert are the fruits of their descendants. G-D promised to free the Jews from enslavement and establish them as a nation. Finally, in this generation of Jews depicted in Yitro, we finally begin to see the creation of a more established and autonomous society. Thus, I find a great spiritual connection between the biological, physical, and cultural ties to fruit on Tu Bishvat and the metaphorical evolution of the newest seeds of the Jewish people in this week’s parshah.

In this season of growth, may you and your loved ones find happiness in the joy of new adventures and allow these journeys to permeate your soul. And may life always change you for the better. 

To Sing a Song: The Collective Power of a Niggun [בשלח/ Exodus 13:17-17:16]

B"H

Parshat Beshalach (בשלח, literally, "when he let go"), as the name implies, recounts the release of Moses and the Hebrews from enslavement. But, G-D doesn't really make the journey so easy. G-D tells Moses that, oh by the way, Pharaoh's heart will be hardened, and thus will pursue them...and that is precisely what Pharaoh does. The Egyptians amass a huge army to squander the Hebrews, who are trapped geographically between the desert (where the Egyptians reside) and the sea. The Hebrews see Pharaoh's army out in the distance, and freak out to Moses in saying, "Hey Moses, not cool. We'd rather be alive and under Egyptian rule than dead in the desert." Moses reminds his people not to worry and to wait for the salvation of G-D.

G-D instructs Moses to raise his staff across the sea to split it and thus create a passageway for the Hebrews to escape. The Egyptian army will follow. True to fact, the sea splits and the Egyptians follow the Hebrews. G-D instructs Moses finally to return the waters and drown the Egyptian army (and so, he does). Safe on the shorelines, the Hebrews praise G-D in song.

Moses and his wandering brethren find themselves in Marah (מרה), where the water is too bitter for consumption. (Marah is Hebrew for bile or bitter). Upon the complaints of the community, Moses taps G-D for suggestions. G-D sweetens the waters and tells Moses that if his people obey the commandments and statutes of G-D, they will be healed. But, alas, in the desert, there's no food or bread! The people rebel, Moses bothers G-D again, and G-D tells Moses that he is testing his people for fidelity. For six days, the skies will rain bread in the morning and the land will have quail aplenty in the evening. But, on the seventh day, they may not gather food or bread, because it is a day of rest; thus, G-D advises they take a double portion on Day Six. Some disobeyed and sought out for more food, only to find that G-D wasn't kidding. No bread. No quail. G-D expresses his frustration and disappointment to Moses that his people still aren't following the commandments. As a reminder of G-D's sustaining power, Aaron made a symbolic testimony of sorts: a jar of manna. They will eat manna for 40 years in the desert.

The portion ends with a skirmish, as the Amalekite army sought to plunder the Jews, but the children of Israel proved too powerful through Moses' prayer and Joshua's army.

This parshah holds special importance to me, as it was the first section that I really analyzed (well, beyond my Bar-Mitzvah portion). My Jewish journey has certainly not been smooth, but one of the highlights in my life was the ability to rekindle my relationship with Torah, and grapple with the text. One year ago, I gave my analysis of the song of the triumphant Jews said today in daily prayer, known commonly as Mi Khamokhah (מי כמוך, "Who is like You?"). In it, I discussed the interesting phenomenon that the second iteration of the phrase changed the letter slightly to read Mi Kamokhah, not Mi Khamokhah. The dot in the letter khaf hardens the letter to make a "K" sound. In context of the song, it is interesting to think that perhaps this change arose from the peoples' throats filling with sea water such that the softer "KH" sound is not pronounceable. Such an analysis was derived from a previous sermon I had heard on this section of Torah many years ago. But it was my first...nay, the first time I dared challenge others and state my own opinions on this text. And it represents a HUGE step in my Jewish journey. It is now my challenge is to CONTINUE my study of Torah, to find new ways of approaching this ancient work, and find new meaning in each pass. I find that this repetitive look at material from different perspectives allows me to experience life in many perspectives as well, to better connect with people around me, and to find passion in my everyday activities. It's all so hard to explain...but my one year reflection shows that I've grown immensely, conquered some great demons, and find great joy in this adventure.

This week, I continue to focus on an element close to my heart found in this week's parshah: the music.

After finally crossing the Sea and the defeat of the Egyptians, the Jews all suddenly burst out into song. No decisions on what to sing, or how to praise G-D, but it just...well...organically happens! It's a long, specific song too...not a generalized prayer of praise...how is this even possible?

I've been thinking about this concept for awhile, and I can't help but think about times when I'm not sure how the lyrics go to a song, but I can hum the tune ... or when I fudge my way through the verses so that I can sing the chorus line with gusto. Admit it, we've ALL faked knowing a song or two. In synagogue, I've noticed that some congregants who don't know the words will utter the niggun (ניגון, literally "tune"), or, many times, the entire congregation bursts out in these niggunim towards the beginning or end of prayer. A niggun is a series of syllables such as "lai-di-dai" or "na-na-na" that are sung in concert with the melody in lieu of the real lyrics. Niggunim are important in many Jewish communities, but are worthy of particular within the Chasidic movement in invoking the higher joys of prayer. That said, I find their spiritual value in my own community too, and niggunim are certainly NOT restricted to the Orthodox or Chasidic communities.

My vision of the Jews singing praises in Beshalach takes on perhaps a unique form. In many ways, I see the Jews each saying one of these lines, while the others hum or utter a niggun to the tune. Why? Because each line is so radically different from the next, despite expressing the same basic point of praising G-D. The metaphors or imagery are so immensely diverse that only a group of people, who bring different experiences to the song, could create such a piece. Furthermore, I argue that the intensity of this song is heightened in synthesizing the individual prayer, the community prayer, and the prayer of an entire people in one display of devotion. Together, these people have allowed, through their shared experience, the creation of a great song that came together in a piecemeal fashion but was supported by the entire community in the embrace and continuity of the niggun.

In many ways, the niggun brings together community over something shared...something relatable among all of its members. And in Beshalach, we find a fusion of ideas coming together in the ultimate praise of G-D perhaps accompanied by the first niggun ever recorded! In such way, the message of this section of Torah enlightens the amazing power of different people coming together with a similar idea. Each person brings a slightly different experience to the table, and with the right intentions, the whole can truly be greater than the sum of its parts.

In truth, no one utters the same syllables or even necessarily the exact same tune when uttering a niggun, but, despite the lyrics of a niggun being just short of gibberish, the intention of coming together as a community arises from the spirit of niggunim. Even in the great cacophony in nonsensical syllables, the ruach ("spirit/wind" in Hebrew) can be felt in any Jewish religious service in the utterance of these tunes. My hope is that we can all take this parshah as a decree...to come together with all the experiences we carry, find the similarities we have, and engage in dialogue that promotes tikkun olam (literally, "healing/repairing the world" in Hebrew). Each of us can learn from the essence of niggunim to make the world a better place by focusing on our similarities, our common goals, and our shared desires.

May you be blessed to discover your inner niggun, sing it loudly, and rejoice in the company of others who share your worldly passions.

Wrap It Around Seven Times: A Personal Reflection [בא/ Exodus 10:1-13:16]

B"H

This week's portion, Parshat Bo (בא), translating as "Come," remembers the final three plagues experienced in the land of Pharaoh: locusts, darkness, and the eminent death of the Egyptian firstborn sons. A calendrical system of sorts is established, and the details of the Passover sacrifice are detailed. Through this sacrifice, the Hebrew people's firstborn sons are spared as G-D carried through with his final plague. Finally, Pharaoh frees Moses and the Hebrew people from slavery. Without a second to spare, the Hebrews pack up their belongings (and borrow treasures from the Egyptians), the firstborn Hebrew children are consecrated before G-D, and the tradition of Passover is established in ridding one's house of leavened goods, i.e.: the holiday of...you guessed it - Passover (פסח, Pesach). The commandment of wearing tefillin (תפילין) is codified as a reminder of G-D's actions in freeing the Jews from Egypt.

G-D gives to the Jewish people the first of many commandments this week (interesting timing with the secular calendar this year given this week also commemorates New Years), and the final commandment  involving tefillin is of particular interest to me. For my non-Jewish readers, tefillin are unfortunately a bit difficult for me to describe...the English equivalent I've heard is "phylacteries," which is also not a particularly useful word. For a visual, just do an image search for "tefillin..." ... they are those black doohickies. Basically, they are black leather boxes containing a prayer written on a piece of parchment, and they are attached to long straps. A person has a pair of tefillin--one wraps seven times on your arm and the other on your head. A specific order is associated with the action and special prayers are said in accordance with this ritual. Jews who observe this custom will wrap the tefillin (more colloquially, the action is called "laying" tefillin) during weekday morning prayer.

In a prayer that I say when I wake up and go to sleep called the Shema (שמע), there is clear reference to G-D's commandment to lay tefillin, with the English translating something like: "And you shall bind [the tefillin] as a sign on your hand and they shall be a symbol upon your forehead." Although, I would be lying if I attest that I fulfill this commandment each and every day. People who know me, my customs, and my spirituality would readily recognize that I'm DEFINITELY not the stereotypical picture of an "observant Jew." Sure, some customs I do observe very strictly, but laying tefillin... honestly, I think the last time I laid tefillin was on my Birthright trip with Hillel at the George Washington University (three years ago today upon looking at some old photos I have from the trip...wow how time flies)! Laying tefillin is a tradition my dad introduced to me in conversation, but my synagogue's congregants didn't have a lot of people who readily observed this custom...as I recall in the few times I actually attended weekday morning service. However, in the times I can probably count that I have laid tefillin, I can certainly say, somehow in the complexity and meticulous nature of the ritual, it instills a very powerful spiritual connection to G-D.

While I cannot reconcile the fact I don't lay tefillin daily, I can say that my intention behind the act is present everyday. Let me elaborate: this commandment requires one's total focus. Actually, it is forbidden to speak or be distracted when one allows themselves in the embrace of tefillin. Another tradition is that the arm-tefillah (tefillah is the proper singular for tefillin) is placed on the weaker arm (so right-handed people put it on their left arm, and left-handed people put it on their right arm). This custom symbolically allows us to recognize that our strength is derived from our connection with G-D in the fulfillment of this mitzvah (commandment). In my very abbreviated, and technically non-complete act of daily prayer, when I make these prayers, I dedicate all that I am, in the minutes I give, in my prayer to G-D. For me, especially in morning prayer, I praise G-D for the strength G-D gives to me, my friends, and my family, for I recognize G-D's contribution to my life each and everyday.

So, the big take away from Bo and the act of laying tefillin: find a way to reflect daily on the good in your life. Forget the stress, the anxiety, the worry...and be thankful for all of the wonderful things in your life. Many religions, faiths, and cultures have somewhere in their texts this isolation and introspection. However you personally wish to express that satisfaction: through tefillin, meditation, daily prayer...whatever is meaningful to you, may it be a blessing for you.

As for me, I pray that I continue to foster my connection to my faith in daily prayer and that perhaps I find the personal strength to one day approach the humble act of laying tefillin.