January 1, 2011: Parashat Va’eyrah A Jewish person was feeling a bit depressed, so he went to see a psychiatrist, who showed him a collection of random ink blots and asked him what he saw.  The Jewish person stared at the blots for a full two minutes, then said, “Tell me doctor, are you Jewish?” “Why [...]

For the past six years, I’ve enjoyed lunch and Torah study every Monday with a very loyal group of students, many hailing from Ohev Sholom. We started out at Irv’s, and when that establishment closed its doors moved to the Heritage Center, where the class has been a regular part of that JCC program for seniors almost four years. Among the dozen or so regular attenders are Jeanne Mallin and Harriet Prevan – sisters who are never afraid to disagree with each other, Louise and Warren Siegel – who have remained steady attenders even when Warren wasn’t feeling 100%, Shirley Levine – always seated just to right of me, and Myrna Rosenthal – who always is kind enough to clear my plates when I’m finished eating lunch.

Wednesdays are my day off. That’s when tinker around the house. A bit of cleaning, a bin or two of laundry, a nice long walk with the dog. I like to stay industrious. This week, I broke a year’s worth of fallen branches and twigs into kindling for my fireplace this coming winter. Then I vacuumed all the blinds.

This week’s parasha, Toldot, gives us the story of Isaac and Rebecca and their twin sons, Jacob and Esau. The story begins in a familiar way: like Isaac’s parents, Sarah and Abraham, he and Rebecca are unable to conceive. For nearly 20 years, they’ve tried, to no avail. Isaac entreats of the Lord, who answers him, and soon Rebecca is with child – not just child, but children, as she learns from God after she complains to Him about the terrible pains in her abdomen. The forefathers of two nations lie within, God tells her, and they have begun a struggle destined to stretch far beyond their lives, a struggle between the peoples that will descend from them, far into distant centuries.

Remember last year, when we had the privilege of a visit from some of our friends from Westboro Baptist Church? A few of their shock troops – including some of very tender years – held a protest across from our property. They showed up right on time, and left when they said they would. They were well behaved, relatively – for a protest rally. Very professional. They carried their signs – among them “God hates Jews.” They sang some songs – “We hate you Jews, O yes we do” – while they walked around in circles. Pretty harmless stuff, given that they’re total nut cases that nobody takes seriously.

No sooner are Abram and his retinue settled in the Promised Land, than he parts ways with his nephew, Lot. Lot and his family will move to the east, towards Sodom. Abram’s family will remain in the west. Their herds no longer will compete for grazing, which had been a source of strife among the family.

Kol Nidre is not a prayer. It is a statement, a formula for the annulment of vows. Its provence – when it was written and why – is unknown. More than likely, it emanated from someone faced with a choice between converting to another religion or an even worse alternative. Perhaps the author was someone among the conversos of 13th and 14th century Spain, who, to save their lives, took a vow – to follow another faith. Perhaps one night a year, secretly, they intoned Kol Nidre, and thereby annulled – between them and God – that vow. A powerful formula, indeed.

The story is told about Yehuda Leib Ayger, before he became a great rebbe. He was born into an illustrious family. His father and grandfather were renowned scholars. His family were Mitnagdim, “opponents,” who took a firm stance against the growing phenomenon of Hasidism. But shortly after becoming Bar Mitzvah, Yehuda Leib expressed a desire to study in Kotzk, with the Kotzker Rebbe, at the Rebbe’s yeshiva, a Hasidic yeshiva.