blogs/rabbi-huberman

In January 2008, PBS aired a series titled Jews in America, which documented the evolution of the Jewish people in America from the mid-1600s to the 21^st Century.

In its closing moments, the series offered an insightful observation about how Judaism in America has radically changed over the past 500 years.

“When Jews first came to America, they joined a synagogue because they were Jewish. But in 2008, they join a congregation in order to be Jewish.”

It was an amazing insight, reflecting that we, as Americans, spend so much of our time programming our lives.

In the words of Ecclesiastes 3:1, “There is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven.” And as the documentary seemed to suggest, there’s also a time to be Jewish. 

Within our contemporary culture, we often “zone” our religion in the same way we block off other activities. The idea is that somehow by managing time, we can achieve the type of balance each of us craves.

The Mussar movement, a Jewish ethical practice that emerged during the 19^th Century in Lithuania, strived to achieve a balance among the 48 middot, or human character traits.

The point that Mussar and many other Jewish movements have tried to make over the years, is that Judaism is more than attending synagogue on specific days or assembling our families for Jewish holidays. Rather, it is a commitment to certain ethical standards every hour, every day.

That’s why this week’s Torah portion – titled Vayetze (And Jacob Departed)—is so important as we continue to wrestle with Judaism within an increasingly diverse and complicated world.

I find it revealing that fewer Jews are regular synagogue attendees these days. But since October 7, more Jews than ever proudly identity as being Jewish.

If so, the question emerges—as openly posed by many of our Limud students—if not at Temple, “Where exactly does God live?”

In last week’s Torah portion, we witnessed Jacob tricking his father and brother into receiving the family birthright. When Essav realizes what has occurred, he becomes infuriated and threatens to kill his younger brother.

Jacob runs.

In this week’s parashah, as we rejoin Jacob after a day of flight, he falls asleep on a rock in the desert.

In a dream that would eventually be known as Jacob’s Ladder—or more recently, Stairway to Heaven—Jacob sees a ladder extending to heaven with angels ascending and descending from the ground up.

God tells Jacob that his descendants shall extend in all directions, and that ultimately, God will protect Jacob’s people wherever they go. (Genesis 28:14-15)

When Jacob awakens on this most barren place on earth, he utters a phrase that has inspired Judaism for thousands of years—no matter where we have lived:

“Surely, the Lord is present in this place, and I did not know it.” (Genesis 26:16). This line seems even more appropriate during these challenging times, as we become so caught up in our daily routines.

Often, as we drive, we become impatient and even hostile toward the driver in the car that has been less than courteous.

Politicians often lie, manipulate, and then proclaim that their “thoughts and prayers” are with others.  Family members are so often short and impatient with those closest to them.

The Yom Kippur ritual encourages us to shed our bad habits and enter the New Year cleansed. But many rabbis take issue with that idea: Shouldn’t our religious ethics be with us all the time?

The great Kabbalist, Rabbi Isaac Luria (1534-1572), known as the Ari, had a vision of the universe where you didn’t have to wait for Yom Kippur, enter a synagogue, or travel to Israel in order to find God. 

He envisioned an endless number of sparks scattered throughout the universe.

Simply stated, the Ari taught that each time we perform a mitzvah – a commandment—we liberate one of these sparks from the forces of evil and return them to the “Upper World.”

We call this process “Tikun Olam” or “the repair of the world.” In recent times, we have zoned the idea of Tikun Olam into performing acts of social justice—but it is more. 

It’s about volunteering, donating to those in need, calling someone who may be alone or ailing, deciding to let go of a grudge, putting up a Mezuzah, lighting candles, or bringing God to earth within each act we perform.

And perhaps during this long weekend, as we gather to give thanks, we will spend less time on our devices and more time face-to-face with our loved ones.

Specifically, the Jewish view of Thanksgiving is to expand the idea of gratitude and consider how we can share that privilege with those less fortunate.

Notes our Shabbat morning siddur in its prayer for Thanksgiving: “Let us not take our blessings for granted. Let us share them with others, with thanks.”

As we take time with family and friends, let us be mindful that within each kind gesture—each act of patience, giving and love—we possess the capacity to liberate sparks.

As Jacob inspires us to consider in this week’s Torah portion, “God is in every place.” When I was a child, my mother used to sing us a Pete Seeger song. It has resonated throughout my life as a model for Tikun Olam – the healing of the world.

If we could consider each other

A neighbor, a friend, or a brother

It could be a wonderful, wonderful world

It could be a wonderful world. 

As my mother taught us so many years ago, perfecting this world isn’t something we “zone” in at certain times a year. It is a lifelong commitment. And it continues this weekend, as we give thanks, not just as Americans, but as Jews, for this blessed country and the comforts we enjoy.

Despite the tensions currently surrounding us, I still believe in the possibility of a wonderful world.

As Jacob inspires us in this week’s Torah portion, we can embrace God and goodness by releasing sparks every day – from the ground up – wherever we may be.

For God is present in even our most desolate times, and we are just as good as the next thing we do.

Shabbat Shalom, v’kol tuv.

Rabbi Irwin Huberman