Feel free to print out the guide and leave it on the pulpit. I do it so I don’t have to remember what day goes where! If you find use for it, let me know! Download yours today! (This year’s guide is brought to you courtesy of Make Tech Better, Inc.!)

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This week’s Torah portion of Toledot presents us with one in a multitude of conflicts between siblings and the challenges of parental favoritism. We read of the brothers Jacob and Esau and with whom the destiny of the divine promise bestowed on their grandfather, Abraham, will be carried. This destiny—this birthright—is first outright sold by the older Esau to his brother Jacob for a pot of lentil stew. But the more valuable ancestral blessing can only be given by their father, Isaac. In Genesis 27, we find Isaac old and blind. Before he passes on, he must bless one of his sons to ensure the passage of God’s promise from one generation to the next.

Rebecca, Isaac’s wife and mother of the twins, insists that Jacob, the younger of the two, should inherit this promise and blessing. Although Esau is the stronger of the two, Rebecca sees in Jacob a spirit and a mind that is more fitting to be the father of a nation. As we know today, Jacob gets a new name: “Israel,” and all his children and we here today, are called, “B’nei Yisrael,” the Children of Israel. She has Jacob disguise himself enough to fool his father into thinking him to be his hairier brother, Esau, and he is successful in receiving the blessing from his father.

In this story, much of the responsibility of blame is not on Jacob performing this deception, but on Rebecca, who says, “Upon me be thy curse, my son; only hearken to my voice.” [Gen. 27:13] And at the same time, what of Isaac? Is he truly blameless and thoroughly blind to this rouse?

From Wikipedia:

The 20th century Reform rabbi and author Gunther Plaut argued that Isaac was not really deceived. Reading the story with close attention to the personality of Isaac, Plaut concluded that throughout the episode, Isaac was subconsciously aware of Jacob’s identity, but, as he was unable to admit this knowledge, he pretended to be deceived. Plaut thus saw a plot within a plot, as Rebecca and Jacob laid elaborate plans for deceiving Isaac, while unknown to them Isaac looked for a way to deceive himself, in order to carry out God’s design to bless his less-loved son. Plaut argued that Isaac was old but not senile. In his heart, Isaac had long known that Esau could not carry on the burden of Abraham and that, instead, he had to choose his quiet and complicated younger son Jacob. In Plaut’s reading, weak and indecisive man and father that Isaac was, he did not have the courage to face Esau with the truth. His own blindness and Rebekah’s ruse came literally as a godsend. Plaut noted that Isaac did not reprimand Jacob. Plaut concluded that no one, not even Esau, was deceived, for even Esau knew that Jacob was the chosen one.

Conversely, Rabbi Norman Cohen (in his book Self, Struggle & Change) suggests that Isaac knew of the deception, but wanted to give his son, Jacob, a chance to redeem himself from it. He writes:

If Isaac did recognize Jacob, why then is he pictured as asking his son a series of repetitive questions about his identity? “Who are you, my son?” “Come closer that I may feel you, my son—whether you are really my son Esau or not!” “Are you really my son Esau?” These piercing questions have another purpose. When Isaac asks Jacob, “Mi ata beni” (Who are you, my son?), he is giving him the opportunity to acknowledge who he is and what he is doing, since the decision is already made as to who will receive the blessing. He is really asking, “What is your makeup?” “What is your essential nature?” “Are you Jacob or Esau, or both?”

Sometimes we act blind to the acts of others in order to give them the benefit of the doubt when they act basely. Other times we wear a veil that shields our eyes from actions which we know need to be taken, but have trouble reconciling with our moral compass. It is the challenge of being a parent: Sometimes our children must get hurt in order to learn how to avoid pain. And at the same time, we sometimes need to avert our eyes when our children act in ways we know they must despite our reluctance to fully endorse their actions.

Is it deception? Is it lying? Are we fooling ourselves, or is honesty always the best policy? The world is not black and white. Sometimes the shades of grey are so gradual that it is challenging to determine whether our actions are right or wrong. What is most important is that we be thoughtful and reflective on our deeds. In this way, we may gain more enlightenment and lift our own personal veils.

Bonia Shur

This post was originally written for HUC’s Blog of Continuing Jewish Learning on September 5, 2012.  Bonia passed away August 30. He was a great inspiration to me personally, and I was honored and privileged to call him “friend.”

The world, the Jewish world, and the music world has lost a special soul. Bonia Shur was a unique shining star whose fire burned brightly. He dedicated himself to the Jewish liturgical arts. Bonia could have easily used his talents to create commercial success. Instead, his Judaism and love of prayer spurred him to compose for the sake of Heaven. I was privileged to have known the man behind the works.

Just after my Investiture from HUC-JIR, I took a position at Temple Israel in Omaha, Nebraska. My rabbi, Aryeh Azriel, was a very enthusiastic and creative partner. He insisted that I go in the middle of Sukkot (in my first year as a cantor, mind you!) and spend several days studying with his good friend, Bonia Shur. I had met and worked with Bonia briefly my first year in Jerusalem (he was a visiting composer-in-residence), and I was taken by his composition and energy. Aryeh’s offer to me was like asking if I wanted a brand new car and here are the keys! So Aryeh called Bonia, made the arrangements, and I was on my way to Cincinnati, with really no idea what to expect.

Bonia was truly a gracious host. He gave me a wonderful tour of the Cincinnati campus (I remember distinctly him pointing out a block of sidewalk in which someone had indicated, in Hebrew, not to urinate on the grounds!), and made arrangements for me to stay in the dorms there. Since it was during Sukkot, he and Fanchon hosted an annual meeting of the second year students at their house. Bonia and I went together to the supermarket and picked out food for the evening. He mused over the quality of the grapes, and actually fed me one! At their home, we prepared for the festivities. It was an evening of music, story sharing, and sitting on large, inflatable exercise balls!

Back at the college, Bonia was preparing for the annual performance of his Hallel Psalms (one of his greatest works, in my opinion) and he invited me to join the choir of rabbinic students and ringers. I was more than happy to oblige. In our downtime from rehearsing, he exposed me to the depth and breadth of his work, sharing with me his opinions on composing for the synagogue. I drank in his wisdom and was taken by his deep commitment to artistic integrity.

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What is it about singing that is so vital to the human condition? Retired Professor of Vocal Performance at Emporia State University, John Lennon (who is living, an American, and not a former Beatle) teaches:

Except for birth defects, we all begin with the ability to audibly express emotion. Most animals use sound to express emotion. The primal utterance of a newborn child is emotional resonance in response to the drastic change in immediate environment. The spontaneous release expresses the mood experienced by the neonate at that particular moment: a perfect blend of sound and movement as all energy combines in emotional release. This energy release may be observed throughout early maturation as the infant becomes more aware of the surrounding environment and emotionally responds to stimulation. Neonatal and postnatal experience is almost always an oral investigation coupled with vocal sound in response to mouth contact.

Singing expresses that which words and thoughts alone cannot. We sing in joy and in sorrow. Singing moves us in ways inexplicable. When we hear others sing, we can glean their innermost emotions. When we sing ourselves, we experience release and sometimes, relief. Singing the Blues is not about being sad, but about shedding a dour mood by giving it voice.

But that voice need not be trained in order to be expressive. Professor Lennon goes on to say:

Thinking that singing is only a ‘talent’ or an ‘art form’ is a denial of a very basic human need, the need to express emotions in a way that completely satisfies the unified BodyMind of each individual. The idea that ‘talent for singing’ is the prerequisite fosters the idea that sustained vocal sound must first and foremost be perceived as ‘pretty.’

Spontaneous sound almost always incorporates a dimension of noise in its release. In order to communicate effectively, resonance must first release the emotional expression without impediment. Emotional release effectiveness is how well it satisfies the one expressing.

Sadly, modernity has passed judgement on many of us, rendering our singing voices mute. Avant-garde composer and musican, W.A. Mathieu, describes in his work, “The Listening Book” the following:

If, in your early student life, you were slightly slower to perceive pitch relationship, it wasn’t long before you were given, by your peers or an insensitive teacher, the identity of “The One Who Can’t Sing.”

D’ya call that singing?
Stop that noise.
You be a hummer.
Why don’t you sit here, where the others can’t hear you?
Shut up.
Yuk on you.
Just move your lips.

He continues:

This is deep pain. Singing is a special code that identifies us as human—our collective password. Not being able to utter the password is a kind of nightmare a child must live out during the daytime. Pretty soon we have a kid who can’t sing and who feels partially ostracized. Then we have a grown-up, capable if not extraordinary in every way, who can’t sing.

Amusia, a musical disorder which affects processing pitch and musical memory, is actually very rare in human beings. Tone deafness seems to be more of a conditioning rather than an actual condition. In other words, those who were initially told that they couldn’t sing probably can but think they cannot.

The crime here is that there are so many who believe themselves incapable of singing. It is a denial of their innate ability to express themselves in a way wholly musical, something that is not only so vital to our humanity, but is part and parcel of Jewish catharsis.

According to the Mekhilta of Rabbi Ishmael, there are ten songs in the Hebrew Bible:

• The one that the Israelites recited at the first Passover in Egypt (Isaiah 30:29—“You shall have a song as in the night when a feast is hallowed.”)
• The Song of the Sea in Exodus 15
• The song that the Israelites sang at the well in the wilderness (Numbers 21:17— “Then sang Israel this song: ‘Spring up, O well’”)
• The song that Moses sang before he died, which is in this week’s Torah portion of Ha’azinu (Deuteronomy 31:30— “Moses spoke in the ears of all the assembly of Israel the words of this song”)
• The song that Joshua sang (Joshual 10:12—“Then spoke Joshua to the Eternal in the day when the Eternal delivered up the Amorites”)
• The song that Deborah and Barak sang (Judges 5:1—“Then sang Deborah and Barak the son of Abinoam”)
• The song that David sang (II Samuel 22:1—“David spoke to the Eternal the words of this song in the day that the Eternal delivered him out of the hand of all his enemies, and out of the hand of Saul”)
• The song that Solomon sang (Psalm 30:1— “a song at the Dedication of the House of David”)
• The song that Jehoshaphat sang (2 Chronicles 20:21— “when he had taken counsel with the people, he appointed them that should sing to the Eternal, and praise in the beauty of holiness, as they went out before the army, and say, ‘Give thanks to the Eternal, for God’s mercy endures for ever’”)
• And finally, the song that will be sung in the time to come (Isaiah 42:10— “Sing to the Eternal a new song, and God’s praise from the end of the earth,” and Psalm 149:1— “Sing to the Eternal a new song, and God’s praise in the assembly of the saints.”)

It should be noted that although the Bible speaks of singing, voices are not described—merely the words of the songs are recorded. They are words of great emotion, often of gratitude and praise. In this week’s Torah reading, as example, Moses is on the top of Mount Nebo, looking out on the Promised Land. Moses knows he will be unable to enter the land despite all his leadership and dedication in leading the Children of Israel. After wandering 40 years in the desert, his goal almost reached, he is moved to sing.

Moses implores heaven and earth to give ear to his song. He proclaims God’s faithful and true nature. He describes God as the ultimate guide and protector of the people. The song is 43 verses long, and we can only imagine the great elation Moses felt at seeing the land of Israel and the sorrow he must have felt at not being able to lead the people further.

There are no recordings of Moses’ swan song, nor are there any of Deborah, or David, or Solomon. But we know they sang. No one stood up in the midst of their emotional melody and said, like a Biblical Simon Cowell, “That was terrible, I mean just awful!” It’s even ludicrous to imagine this having happened.

And yet this happens every day. Not only when we sing, but when we express ourselves in writing, in art, or in speech. Somehow it is socially acceptable to be critical of others in how they express themselves. We listen less to what is in people’s hearts and more to how they are being conveyed. In today’s climate, a poet like Bob Dylan would never have become a critical success. Thankfully, he is considered a voice of a generation. He did it in song. And his voice resonated with so many. But what of the next Bob Dylan? Will his or her voice and spirit be crushed by a parent or teacher?

Our ability to express ourselves freely is important for two reasons: One, because in our vulnerability, when we emote, we become lucid communicators, letting others know our authentic selves; Two because when we experience others’ vulnerability and expressiveness, we become emboldened and empowered to express ourselves.

On this Shabbat, as we hear Moses’ final song, we should be grateful for a Biblical role model who was willing to let it all hang out. Moses, knowing full well he was going to die without seeing his dream fully realized, had nothing to lose in singing with passion and zeal. At the same time, none of us have anything to lose by acting likewise. There is nothing shameful in being true and authentic and expressive. It makes us more honest. It makes us more open. It makes us more real.

But sometimes we have trouble finding our inner voice. Our psychology and baggage have muted us. This is why we come together as a community. It is a place to sing together. And when we sing together, we can lean on each others’ hearts and spirits. It is comforting to sing with a friend or a loved one. As we become stronger in spirit, we then find our own voice and take that chance of being heard above the din of apathy and despair. Each of us has something to sing about—some have tragedy and loss which needs to be heard; some have joys they must share.

When we finally find our voices, may we, as the Psalmist suggests, sing to the Divine Source which strengthens and supports us. The song is within each of us. Now let us sing!

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I get these kind of solicitations all the time: Whether online or in my mailbox, there are many who reach out and ask for help of one form or another. And because the person asking isn’t right there in front of me, it’s very easy to delete or throw away their request. Invariably, I remind myself of the good I have already done through my charitable giving and other volunteerism in order to justify disposing of these other requests—all in an effort to assuage myself of the guilt of knowing I’m declining the obligation to do right elsewhere.

The question: Are we obligated to take action when presented with a moral imperative, or are we allowed discretion as to which causes we feel merit our attention?

In this week’s Torah Portion, Ki Tetzei, we read in Deuteronomy [22:1-3]:

You shall not see your brother’s ox or sheep straying, and hide yourself from them. [Instead,] you shall return them to your brother. But if your brother is not near you, or if you do not know him, you shall bring it into your home, and it shall be with you until your brother requires it, and then you shall return it to him. So shall you do with his donkey, and so shall you do with his garment, and so shall you do with any lost thing of your brother’s which he has lost and you have found. You shall not hide yourself.

The Hebrew, “Lo tukhal, l’hit’aleim” can be read several ways: Most literally, “You shall not hide yourself.” More figuratively, “You shall not ignore it,” or more to the point, “You shall not remain indifferent.” Medieval commentator Rashi interprets thus: “You must not cover your eyes, pretending not to see it.” In other words, as you see your brother’s livestock wandering aimlessly, you can’t ignore your obligation by saying it’s not your problem. Once you’ve spotted the problem, you’re under the obligation to fix the problem.

As a society, we seem to respond when the cause is terribly great or popular: When Hurricane Katrina hit, we couldn’t sit idly by; when the tsunami hit Japan, we felt compelled to action; when the earthquake hit Haiti, we responded quickly. All those tragic events, which affected so many, forced us to rise up and answer the call of our hearts without having to be asked.

At the same time, we get inundated with other calls to action: The television is filled with ads from the ASPCA, Save The Children… this being Labor Day Weekend the annual Muscular Dystrophy Association telethon is Sunday (without Jerry Lewis, I’m to understand)… But along with these televised requests comes a remote control. “Lo tukhal, l’hit’aleim” the Torah calls out, and yet we turn the channel, allowing us to hide our eyes from obligation.

Obligations don’t appear solely in the form of social action. Living in this country, civil action is also demanded of us. I’m reading into the text quite a bit, but I find it interesting that the Torah refers specifically to seeing a donkey. An elephant is mentioned nowhere in the Torah, but even so, with the Republican National Convention having just ended and the Democratic National Convention soon approaching, I couldn’t help but connect this particular text to what is happening in our country and our political process.

Many in our Temple community are very politically aware if not active, but across our nation, between voter apathy and ignorance, the political landscape of the United States is time and again decided by a minority. It is far easier to complain about our lot as citizens without getting involved than to take action, ensuring our government hears our needs and concerns. Many consume news from pundits and reporters, but justify their inaction by claiming to be helpless to change the situation or too busy to be bothered. “Lo tukhal l’hit’aleim,” the Torah reminds us, and once again, we turn the channel, and once again, hide our eyes from obligation.

We often hide our eyes in an effort to avoid doing things that deep down we know are the right things to do. Some of us do this so well it has become second nature. Fortunately, there are many who jump to action when action is warranted: They give when asked, but give even when they are not asked; they participate when asked, but lead the way even when they are not asked; they demand justice when asked, but pursue justice even when they are not asked. Understanding the notion of obligation is turning away from apathy and engaging life. Indifference should not be a human condition. Life demands connection, action, and participation.

In 1986, holocaust survivor and Nobel Peace Prize winner Elie Wiesel said:

The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. The opposite of beauty is not ugliness, it’s indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it’s indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, but indifference between life and death.

But let me be clear: The opposite of indifference is not necessarily action. It is engagement. When I am asked personally for help in one form or another, I don’t respond to each request the same: For some charities, I give; for others, I make it clear that a particular charity, while worthy, is not my priority; and still for others I might redirect people to individuals who care more for that charity than I. But to ignore the request entirely is not fair to the one asking. It denies their existence and their need.

The same goes for our government: We don’t have to work on a political campaign, give money to a political party, or run for office in order to participate in our governmental system; but we can and should at the very least vote. We should be aware of how our government works and strive to fix that which we see as broken instead of simply complain. We should engage our elected officials and challenge them instead of allowing them to act freely without hearing their constituency.

Sometimes, people don’t engage because of a lack of hope. That is certainly understandable. Hope has become a rare commodity in recent times. But its lack or absence doesn’t excuse us from not being engaged. Quite the opposite: If we need hope and encouragement in order to engage, then our engagement can be found in that quest. It is for that very reason we come together as a congregation in prayer and meditation. Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote:

Prayer cannot bring water to parched fields, or mend a broken bridge, or rebuild a ruined city; but prayer can water an arid soul, mend a broken heart, and rebuild a weakened will.

We engage in prayer to rebuild our will. We employ our will to engage the world. We engage the world to make it better for ourselves and others.

Our engagement does not have to be heavy. It simply has to be present. Often, we ignore problems and challenges that face us instead of engaging them. But we discover that engaging them can be much easier than the effort of procrastinating or sweeping them under the rug. In fact, life becomes more satisfying and rewarding when fully engaged.

On this Shabbat, let our hearts and our prayers be engaged. Let us not allow indifference to fill our hearts. Let us acknowledge our principles and values and act on them. We are not obligated to respond to every call to action, but we should not ignore them. And let us acknowledge the challenges that face our society and accept that which we can do as individuals to make the world a better place.

Amen.

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Or so I thought.

Two weeks ago, I was looking through the iTunes app store for a timer that would keep track of these study times and breaks. One of the timers had a curious logo: a tomato. “Why a tomato?” I thought. Then I discovered something called, “The Pomodoro Technique.” Turns out that this great idea I thought I had invented was already published back in 1992 by Francesco Cirillo!  I was really surprised! But I also felt validated.

My main focus in working with bar/bat mitzvah students is not primarily about the Hebrew or prayers; it’s about giving my students life lessons to apply as adults-in-training: How does one become fully responsible for oneself? How does one manage one’s stress, one’s time? How do any of us discover how to be truly authentic and present? These things are living Torah to me. So I’m happy that I discovered on my own that which Francesco created before I started formally teaching my students. I just shared with a couple of my students this story and the technique and hope they’ll go to his websites and discover that what I’ve been teaching them is not some crazy idea I had!

I briefly mentioned some Pomodoro Technique timer apps for the iPhone, iPad, & iTouch. Here are four free ones that I really liked:

• 30/30: What’s great about this timer is that you can make the intervals up or down to whatever you want and label each interval with a task, like a break, studying blessings, chanting Torah… and it’s very clean
• PomodoroPro: This app is very clean, simple to set up, and can show you stats. It also has stars to mark your pomodoros, which is super-cute. I think I got this one free on a “free app a day” special. I saw it listed for $2.99, but it’s still worth checking out
• RepeatTimerFree: This app is really straight forward. What is convenient is you can set up how many repetitions of the time interval you want to do
• iTomato: This one actually looks like the Pomodoro timer which inspired the technique! For that, it gets points. Basically you just set it like a conventional timer

I also want to mention one other thing for my students (and anyone else who finds it worthwhile): Metronomeonline.com. Some of my students study waaaaay too fast when studying. I keep telling them to slow down, but they still don’t get it. Going to this website, you can set a metronome, normally meant for practicing music, hear an audible “click,” and that pulse can be set as fast or as slow as you like. I tell my kids to set it to 60. Nice heartbeat pace.

So to my students who read this, slow down, breathe, take your time, and follow in the path of the tomato!

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I have found that the pieces that turned out the best were the ones over which I sweated the most, but wrote in a short amount of time. For a few months I sat at the piano, would come up with a motif, shake my head, and look at the text again. Like a lot of Hebrew prayers, the Modim is not a metered text and has no rhyme scheme. My inspiration came from the guidance Rich gave me at the onset of his request: He wanted the work to sound both traditional and modern. And then… it finally came to me. I wish I could explain the process better, but I suppose that’s the nature of art.

The Modim is now available at my MusicaNeo.com site where you can see a sample score and listen to an mp3 sample. Or you can hear it right here!

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The article (which I would encourage you to read), tried to explain how Republican National Committee Chairman Reince Priebus believes in dignity and respect for all Americans, but that this doesn’t mean marriage equality. Apparently, he said:

“I don’t think it’s a matter of civil rights. I think it’s just a matter of whether or not we’re going to adhere to something that’s been historical and religious and legal in this country for many, many years… I mean, marriage has to have a definition, and we just happen to believe it’s between a man and woman.”

Ahem. “Marriage has to have a definition” and he gets to define it?

I am so incensed at the presumptuousness of the majority of the GOP. I’m actually more troubled by their co-opting of the religious narrative in this discussion because it has really been one of “religious people” versus “non-religious people.” But nowhere do I see my religious views, which are very liberal, represented. The assumption that all Western religions observed in our country reject marriage equality is baseless.

Further, I kept thinking of the arguments being used today and how the very same arguments were used until interracial marriage was made legal in the late 1960′s. The same arguments were made against so many minorities, demonized for the sake of control and power. I’m straight, but I identify with the feelings of persecution and simple unfairness.

Yeah… I do a bit of thinking at 4 a.m. And I couldn’t get back to sleep. Instead, a poem started in my mind in response. I’m sure if you’re reading this, I’m preaching to the choir, but I just wish people would remember that we live in a civil society, not a religious one. So here’s my response to Mr. Priebus and his ilk:

You might believe it’s unnatural but it is
Despite your beliefs
It may make you uncomfortable
But it doesn’t concern you
You might want to blot it out
But it’s not going away
You may want to fight it on grounds of morality
But it’s immoral to deny someone’s existence
You might think it threatens you
But you have created the threat of bigotry
You may want to lean on history to define the future
But the past merely points out our mistakes
You might want to make the world in your image
But it’s ours and it must be shared
You may think your position is the only right one
But you are wrong
The progress of humanity is a future where people can be who they are meant to be
Not who you want or need them to be
If my actions threaten you bodily
If I am violent towards you
Then defend yourself
If my actions threaten your mind or spirit
If my existence threatens you
Then you need to get over it
Because I exist
I have every right to be the fully realized human I was meant to be
Same as you
And just because someone tells you I am evil
Does not make it so
I am human
Same as you
I love
I hurt
I feel
I cry
I laugh
Your needs to feel better about yourself do not outweigh my need to be myself
Live how you will
But afford me the same
We are sisters and brothers in the human family
No matter whom we love
Or how we love
You are hurting your family

Stop it.

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So many people came to share in the celebration and even perform! It was really awesome to have members of the Westchester Chordsmen make an appearance, along with cantorial colleagues and musical compatriots.

They made an awesome online journal with all the details.

I’ll write more about the experience soon, but here’s a video directed by Daniel Mendelson that was a big hit during the evening:

TINR Gala Tribute

As an added bonus, a lot of politicians were on hand with proclamations and such. What’s cool is that these are actually read into official governmental records. Rep. Eliot Engel’s remarks appeared on CapitalWords.org. Awesome!

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I want to share it with you, for free! I just ask that you share it with others!