This week, we read Parshat Beshalach (Exodus 13:17-17:16). It narrates the miraculous splitting of the sea and the sublime song of praise composed by Moshe and sung by all of Israel, including his sister Miriam and the women who joined her with music and dance. This Shabbat is, therefore, known as Shabbat Shira, the Sabbath of Song. It is an occasion to reflect upon the central role of music and song in Jewish religious tradition.
Pharaoh was just the first. One way of looking at Jewish history is as a series of encounters with evil rulers. Pharaoh, whom we have been reading about these past several weeks, was just the first tyrant who persecuted us. Over the millennia, he was followed by Nebuchadnezzar, Haman, Antiochus, Titus, Hitler, Stalin, and others too numerous to mention.
For several weeks now, we have attempted to define the nature of redemption, geulah, in this column. We have struggled with the challenge posed by the Passover Haggadah: "In every generation, each one of us is obligated to see himself as if he had personally left Egypt."
Teaching young children has always been a joy for me. One of teaching's special advantages is the clarity that emerges from conversation with people under the age of ten.
Every human being following Adam and Eve has had this experience, yet none of us can ever recall what it felt like. I refer to the first event in our lives—our birth.
Did you ever sing in a choir? If you did, you will easily be able to appreciate what I am about to describe.
I couldn't believe it. One of my trusted old reference books failed me for the first time.
There are questions that people ask when they have experienced great disappointment. One such question, a theological one, is, “What did I do to deserve this? What sin have I committed that warrants such a painful punishment?”
For the past several weeks, this column has addressed a challenge that we all face during Passover, Pesach, which is now barely two months away. The challenge is posed in a passage in the Haggadah, which ultimately derives from a Mishna in the tractate of Pesachim. The text reads, "In each and every generation, one is obligated to see himself, lir'ot et atzmo, as if he had personally left Egypt."
Since back in early autumn, when we began reading the Book of Genesis in the synagogue, we have been reading one long story. It has been a very dramatic story, extending over many centuries.
Our tradition teaches us to avoid using the divine name. We are instructed not to pronounce it in vain, and not to refer to it directly in writing. Some permit the name to be spelled out in languages other than Hebrew, whereas I personally follow the stricter opinion and use other terms to designate the deity.
I have been asked questions about my Jewish faith since I was a very young boy. Back then, it was the tow-headed children of the Irish family in whose large summer home we spent our summers who pestered me with questions about the yarmulke on my head and the tzitzit dangling from underneath my shirt . Later, the questions were addressed to me by college classmates, mostly non-Jewish, but sometimes Jews who had little knowledge of our mutual religion and its beliefs and practices.
Our tradition teaches us to avoid using the divine name. We are instructed not to pronounce it in vain, and not to refer to it directly in writing. Some permit the name to be spelled out in languages other than Hebrew, whereas I personally follow the stricter opinion and use other terms to designate the deity.
Sometimes we feel inspired. We may be working hard, but we don’t seem to mind, because we love the work we are doing and believe in it.
Sometimes we feel inspired. We may be working hard, but we don’t seem to mind, because we love the work we are doing and believe in it.
I recently was interviewed by one of my great-granddaughters. She is a high school student and was assigned to interview one of her ancestors. After responding to her questions about the different stages of my many careers, she commented, “Wow! You had some very colorful experiences!” Among those “experiences” were my various encounters with non-Jews who took their Bible seriously. They included famous politicians such as President Bill Clinton, college professors of philosophy, and Christian clergyman. They also included students of biblical criticism.
In preparation for this week’s parsha column, I did a search for famous quotes about success. I found hundreds of examples of high-sounding praises of success, ranging from Winston Churchill’s, “Success consists of going from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm,” to Benjamin Disraeli’s, “Success is the child of audacity.”
This week's column follows up a thought that I shared with you last week. I suggested that one of our most difficult religious tasks is to "see ourselves as if we had personally left Egypt." I stated that it required a skill of imagination which most of us lack.
“They don't make them the way they used to.” We have all heard this comment with reference to all sorts of things. Despite all the technological advances from which we benefit, we often are convinced that certain things were of superior quality in the old days.
There was a time in my life when I was fascinated by the works of the great psychoanalytic thinkers. Chief among them, of course, was Sigmund Freud, whose attitude towards his Jewish origins piqued my curiosity.