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Who Is The “You” in Tetzaveh

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

D’var Torah for Parashat Tetzaveh

This week’s Torah portion, Tetzaveh (“You shall command,” Exodus 27:20-30:10) is unique in that it is the only parasha in the Torah since the birth of Moses and with the exception of the book of Deuteronomy, which is told almost exclusively from Moses’s perspective, in which Moses’s name is not mentioned once. The use of the second person pronoun has been addressed by rabbis since the third century and possibly even earlier. Some explain it as a harsh response by God to the “You” used pointedly by Moses to remind God of His responsibility toward the People of Israel, the People God had created and chosen. “You talking to me?” God seems to ask; “How about you and what YOUR responsibilities are!”

The Chassidic Lubavitcher Rebbe has a softer interpretation. By using the familiar “you,” God bypasses the formality of calling Moses by name. It’s all about relationships, the Rebbe teaches.

Still, the question remains open. Why bypass the pattern the Torah uses so frequently, “And God spoke unto Moses, saying…”?

By traditional understanding, the Torah was given to Moses directly by God; the “you” therefore needs no further interpretation. To whom else would God be addressing these words?

The rest of the portion seems to bear out this understanding. The subject matter is mostly the clothing of the High Priests and his fellow Levitical priests. Moses receives instructions for the preparation of the High Priest’s clothing. The ornate nature of the weave, the expensive materials, the gold thread and precious stones and gems used for this outfit, are of the same pattern and mold as the materials and patterns used for the Tabernacle. The holiness of the Mishkan, God’s dwelling-place among the Israelites, extends all the way from the innermost Holy of Holies, to the outermost garments worn by the priest. Clothing may not make the man; yet it must have been difficult for the High Priest to distinguish between God’s holiness, encased by the Holy Tabernacle, and his own importance, encased by similar designs, forms and materials. Gems on his breastplate, gold stones on his shoulders, a golden diadem on his head—how easy it must have been for the High Priest to be carried away by his own self- importance!

It’s a lesson easily adapted to our own day. At almost-daily awards shows, popular media stars model the most lavish outfits, the most expensive accessories and the most costly jewelry. In their own eyes, and in the eyes of many of their followers, that qualifies them to give voice to outrageous thoughts and opinions as though they were the very words of God Himself. Sporting blue contact lenses, Famous Person Tila Tequila recently called herself “an Aryan Goddess.” Another popular media star, Kanye West, waxes exuberantly about his own superiority. And Presidential candidate Donald Trump, notwithstanding the many business ventures he has failed in, describes himself as being good—if not better or even best—at just about anything he touches and does. A true Midas, that.

It is easy to let the trappings of power go to our heads and turn us—in our own minds at least—into something greater than we truly are.

At CNN’s New Hampshire Democratic Town Hall, my friend and colleague Rabbi Jonathan Spira-Savett recently directed a pointed question at Presidential candidate Hillary Clinton: “How do you cultivate the ego a person must have to be the leader of the free world and the humility to know you can’t be expected to be wise about all the things that the President has to be responsible for?”

In her eloquent and appropriate response, Hillary Clinton did not place herself above or even alongside God. Rather, she explained that prayer and devotional readings sent to her by spiritual advisors keep her balanced.

The recognition that we are not gods, that we are fallible and prone to the excesses of ego and exaggerated self-worth, are essential qualities for any leader. If we are to remember the purpose for which we were elected or appointed, if we are not to be blinded and swayed from the goals set for us by the people we are supposed to represent, we must also understand that we are merely human beings, all flesh and blood, all equal under the clothing we wear and the masks we put on.

Perhaps this is behind the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s teaching regarding God’s use of “you” instead of addressing Moses by the name we know him by. A name, regardless of how good or royal, is no more than a handle. It’s a superficial symbol, an arrow pointing towards someone. “You,” however, is a direct address. It reaches all the way to the very core of a person’s being.

Still, without a name there, we can be excused for wondering. Is it Moses that God addresses?

On the one hand, of course it is Moses. On the other hand, the “you” that God speaks to is you and me, the ordinary people whose responsibility it is to appoint or elect our leaders. It becomes our charge to remind them—as many times as it takes—that behind the trappings of power resides a mere human being, as fragile and flimsy as anyone else. None of us has the one and only answer, the one and only right way. It is only by working together, with each of us fulfilling his and her role in life and society, that we have a chance to solve the many issues and problems that face us at any given moment in history.

“You” may refer to Moses, to a wise and kindly rabbi, or to a child who perceives that the king’s new clothing is no more than his birthday suit. Ultimately, the “You” in “You shall command” is each one of us, commanded to remember and remind one another that, underneath it all, in God’s eyes, we are all equal, all deserving of the same rights, all of us equally worthy of equal dignity and respect.

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From Sinai Forward

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Sermon/D’var Torah for Parashat Mishpati

One of my all-time favorite movies is “School Ties.” Set in the early 1950’s at a prestigious Massachusetts boys’ prep school, “School Ties” tells the story of David Green, a high school senior who is brought in from the grungiest part of Scranton, PA, to play on the school’s football team and help it win its annual homecoming game. Oh yes, David Green also happens to be Jewish.

Beautifully filmed, scored and acted, the screenplay (by Dick Wolf) is as sharp and incisive as can be. In one of the most powerful lines of the movie, Green tells the headmaster of St. Matthew’s, “You used me to win a football game; I’m going to use you to get into Harvard.”

Truthfully, it’s not a beautiful sentiment. People using people isn’t the way society ought to work. Yet that is exactly the picture that “School Ties” paints. The movie is a microcosm of America in the 1950’s, a time that, today, some of us gaze back at with a kind of romantic longing. For many Americans, those were, indeed, “the good ol’ days,” days of optimism and success. World War Two was over, the Great Depression was gone, and with America now a global superpower, the American Dream was finally becoming real for the common man.

Yet despite the shiny veneer in which the period was portrayed—think “Father Knows Best,” “The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet” and, of course, “Leave It To Beaver”—just beneath the surface were deep fissures, class, gender and race divisions that would blow up a mere decade later in the social upheaval and furor of the 1960’s.

A society so deeply divided, a society where people get ahead by using one another, is not a healthy society. Reliance on one another is a much healthier model. It’s a subtle distinction, I know, but it makes all the difference in the world.

A society of users cultivates prejudice, disparity and inequality. This is the kind of society Abraham Lincoln called “a house divided against itself,” in which some become rich and powerful, while others are marginalized, ridiculed and scorned. Despite claiming to be a model of freedom and opportunity, this kind of society is bound for trouble; it truly cannot stand.

Which brings me to this week’s Torah portion, Mishpatim (“Judgments,” Exodus 22:27—23:5).

Coming on the footsteps of last week’s Torah portion, Yitro, which contains the Ten Commandments, Mishpatim at first glance seems to be the total opposite of its exalted predecessor. In Yitro, Moses climbs up Mt. Sinai to receive from the very hands of God Himself the Two Tablets of the Law, those monumental principles that would become the cornerstone of Western Civilization. Mishpatim, on the other hand, delves into the most mundane subjects of all—those crimes and misdemeanors, legal torts and offenses, the rights and wrongs that have little if anything to do with God, and everything to do with the way we behave among ourselves.

In Mishpatim, we are told to observe the Sabbath not because God made it holy, but rather because the people and animals we rely on to do the hard labor in our fields and homes deserve a day of rest. The lofty commandment “Honor thy father and thy mother” here is replaced by the much bleaker ruling that states, “One who strikes his father or mother… or curses his father or his mother shall surely be put to death.” And the exalted vision of liberated slaves is replaced with regulations that merely limit the kind of abuse an owner can heave upon his slaves.

There is very little mention of God in Mishpatim, and only one reference to the holy days.

On the other hand, much weight is given in this portion to how we behave toward the stranger, the poor, the homeless, the widow and the orphan among us. We are told to treat the earth with respect and to feel compassion for the animals we would otherwise take for granted.

Mishpatim teaches us that it isn’t only God’s word that is holy. In our everyday transactions, our word becomes sacred. Honoring God means honoring one another. We dignify life not only by the clothes we wear or the sacrifices we offer, but also by the way we show dignity and respect to our humblest among us.

Mishpatim is all about how we create a great society versus an unhealthy one, the total opposite of the kind of society that “School Ties” portrays.

This year—in fact, this week, the week of the intensely anticipated New Hampshire primaries—we have an unparalleled opportunity not only to listen to the candidates, but also to observe ourselves. As we look at—and listen to—the various candidates that come begging, cajoling, promising, scaring and reassuring us in turn if only we vote for them, we have to also judge ourselves and our society.

As a nation, America is facing serious issues and problems. The issue of security is ever-present of course. Every decade brings its enemy, a culture so hostile to our own that it seems willing to stop at nothing short of mayhem, chaos and even total destruction. America’s position as leader of the free world has been made precarious not only by the advances of such a culture, by a group of people so ruthless and barbarian that it can rightly be called evil, but also by our own seeming indecisiveness at how best to counter this attack.

Poverty and marginalization in our cities have contributed to greater street violence than ever. Opioid addiction has reached epidemic proportions. The social media, once touted as tools of positive change, have become shouting matches where insults, bullying, bigotry and prejudice seem the rule rather than the exception.

Education, both in our elementary schools and in the institutes of higher learning, seems to have been taken over by a system that cares more for higher grades and measureable results—at any cost—than for true learning and scholarship.

These—and more—are huge problems, but they are not insurmountable. Yet the solution is not fear mongering or finger pointing. We can only achieve positive results when we work together; not when we use one another, but rather when we rely upon each other. Each component, every member of our society, from the highest to the lowest, is of equal value to the wellbeing of the entire community.

America’s greatness is not on some high mountaintop; it exists in how we relate to one another. If America is to keep its position as leader of the free world, it is not going to happen by spouting anger and frustration, but rather by the way we treat one another; by the way we treat the earth, water and air around us; by the way we treat the animals that we rely on for food, labor and companionship.

God’s holiness is not found only on this mountaintop or another. Nor is it limited to this house of worship or another. Rather, God can be found in our handshake. God’s holiness is in the word we give one another.

God’s oath is present not only in what we promise we will do in return for God’s favor, but rather, as Mishpatim teaches us, תִּֽהְיֶה֙ בֵּ֣ין שְׁנֵיהֶ֔ם שְׁבֻעַ֣ת יְהֹוָ֗ה –God’s oath is between a man and his neighbor (Ex. 22:10 in the Hebrew, 22:11 in the English translation). It’s OK to lift your eyes up to the mountain for hope and vision, but what really counts, what really matters, is what we do down here, on this earth, among ourselves, among our neighbors and among our fellow living creatures.

May the meditations of our hearts, the words upon our lips, and the deeds of our hands all lead us forward to that vision that Moses and all Israel saw revealed at Mt. Sinai—a vision of freedom, respect and dignity for all for all humankind.


Rabbi Heilman

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Installation Sermon

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

President Ostroff, Cantor Funk; fellow rabbis, educators and clergy of many faiths; members of the Board of Directors and congregants of Temple B’nai Israel; honored guests and friends, I begin with the most beautiful word in the Hebrew language, shalom! Peace!

Having just begun serving as rabbi of Temple B’nai Israel, you will forgive me, I hope, for still feeling a little bit like “the new kid on the block.” You see, I’m still looking around, still trying to familiarize myself with the area, the people and the culture.

To tell the truth, about a year ago, when I began looking at this fresh and new venture, I didn’t know what to expect. I was finishing a 20-year rabbinate in the Boston area, an area known for its erudition in academia as well as Judaica. What would I find in Laconia, New Hampshire?

The whirl of events surrounding my transition left me almost in a daze. It was good that soon afterwards I left for some R&R in Israel. Israel is my home. My mother lives there, my brother and his family – my family… It is where my entire being finds nurturance and replenishment, where my roots reach as deep as the most ancient strata of my people’s history, and where my boughs extend up and out, even to the most modern times and innovations.

When I returned at the end of the summer, I felt refreshed, ready to begin this new chapter in my life. Yet I still didn’t know quite what to expect, and the High Holy Days met me with a bit more than the usual trepidation in my heart.

What I did find astounded me – and still continues – to this day.

Not only did I find the kind of powerful and dramatic beauty of nature that New Hampshire possesses. Within the first few weeks, I found some time to hike up a couple of mountains and explore a couple of nearby trails. I experienced the magnificent kind of New England fall that artists and poets rhapsodize about.

Not only did I discover a slower, more patient, more easy-going way of life; a place where you don’t need to cut off another driver just to get in the line of traffic; where, if you want to stop and enjoy the moment, you can, and do.

Not only did I discover a thriving Jewish community here, but one that has been in existence for well over one hundred years!

I discovered a community of people so devoted to their Judaism that they took it upon themselves to make sure that it survived and even thrived. Working first with volunteers and then with student-rabbis–many of whom went on to become national leaders in their own right–this group took on the mitzvah – the imperative – of maintaining their Jewish way of life for themselves and their children. Volunteers all, they not only ascertained that the temple stood on solid financial ground, but also that it faithfully followed our customs and traditions and became a warm and welcoming home–in the fullest, most “heimisch” sense of the word–for all its sons and daughters.

Maybe that’s what has to happen in places like New Hampshire, where we Jews find ourselves more isolated and therefore more dependent on our own skills and abilities than in some other, larger and more specialized communities. The responsibility of being Jewish, of living Jewish, of making sure the Jewish People continue beyond us, is so much more incumbent upon us here.

At the same time, however, Laconia is not so isolated from the rest of the world, not in this age of social media and instant communication. The same problems and issues that Jews face all over the world are as crucial here as elsewhere.

Living as a small minority among other cultures has always made keeping Jewish traditions alive and meaningful a difficult task. It is possibly even more of a challenge today, especially in places where gathering to worship and study as a k’hilla, as a sacred community, means we have to get in our cars and drive nearly an hour just to get to a temple.

Throughout our people’s history, the study of our sacred texts has been key to Jewish existence. Yet today, in our time of unprecedented progress in research, science and technology, a day when the study of the cosmos can take us to the very first milliseconds of the universe’s existence, the stories of Creation that we find in the Torah seem – at least to some of us–irrelevant and childish.

Laws that once regulated our people’s behavior–what we wore, what we ate, even whom we socialized with and married – are less in keeping with our contemporary lifestyle than they ever were before.

Perhaps it was the Holocaust, less than a lifetime away, or maybe the advances of photography–particularly images of war and terrorism – that allowed the most horrifying crimes, the most horrendous cruelty ever exercised by human beings, to penetrate the safe havens that once were our homes and break down the walls of our carefully structured lives.

Israel, the homeland our people returned to and rebuilt as a safe harbor, a refuge from the age-old scourge of anti-Semitism, is still being attacked and delegitimized among its many enemies and detractors. Among us, too, some of us are examining our relationship to our homeland, trying to understand both the politics and the special bond that exists between Israel and the Diaspora, and what that means for us – and more importantly, for our children, who have never known a world without a State of Israel, without an Israel Defense Force to help defend and protect them, and to fill us with joy, gratitude and pride.

To quote a line from one of my favorite Broadway musicals, “Fiddler on The Roof,” these are all problems “that would cross a rabbi’s eyes!”

And yet, just as we’ve never lost hope in the past, so we remain hopeful today. Our strength as a people has never come only from within us. And surely, as our third patriarch, Jacob, learned to recognize so long ago, surely God is present here, among us, at this sacred time and place.

When I first walked into this community and sanctuary, I felt–as palpable and as tangible as anything in the physical world that can be perceived, measured and gauged – love and devotion that are nothing short of miraculous.

Our very presence here tonight is proof that, despite all the challenges and difficulties, we have not abandoned our faith, nor lost any of the love that we’ve always carried with us, throughout our journeys. Our love for our heritage, for our people and our land and, ultimately, for our God, is still the single most powerful force that has always inspired us to create and maintain our sacred communities.

Despite the relative isolation of this congregation – or perhaps because of it – Temple B’nai Israel has become hallowed ground for this community. They just can’t seem to stay away from it! From the Board of Directors to the volunteer teachers, caretakers, cooks and handymen (and women); from Cantor to Educator; from the children and the parents or grandparents who bring them here, to a rabbi who drives two hours every other weekend so we can all celebrate or mourn together, learn together, and worship together. Surely there is excitement here, a spirit of innovation, a true miracle of survival and existence.

Temple B’nai Israel is a staple in the rich communal life of the Lakes Region of New Hampshire. Every summer, it participates in the Food Festival, offering a wide array of traditional Jewish foods. In the fall, the school children glean the fields of local farms and prepare soup for Salvation Army lunches. The annual Interfaith Thanksgiving Service will take place here, in this sanctuary, a week from this Sunday; and proceeds from tomorrow night’s performance, at the Winnipesaukee Playhouse, of the Boston College Jazz Band and Vocal Ensemble will benefit the Central New Hampshire Visiting Nurse Association and Hospice.

Services at Temple B’nai Israel are a true example of what the rabbis called not only avodat hakodesh – the sacred service – but also avodat halev – the service of the heart. And the enthusiasm shown by the children as well as adults who come here to participate in Torah study and Jewish learning only highlights the nearness of the message of Torah and Judaism to our hearts and minds.

All these – beauty of nature, a vibrant community, challenges and blessings – and yet so much more, have I found here, at Temple B’nai Israel, in Laconia, NH.

Not too long ago, a child asked me a wonderful question. “Rabbi,” he said, “how do you know that God hears our prayers?” I looked him in the eye and answered, as truthfully as I could, “Because you are here.”

My friends, I feel blessed to be here tonight with you, to participate with you in this joyful occasion. I feel blessed to have been asked to be one of a long line of rabbis who found inspiration, purpose and meaning here. I am humbled by the kindness, trust and faith you have shown me by entrusting into my hands not only your own spiritual care, but also the care and education of your children and grandchildren. It’s a gift I will always treasure.

As always, I am filled with love and gratitude to my wife, Sally; to our children Hannah and Jonathan; to our parents, family and friends for always being there for me and supporting me along my path.

I feel particularly blessed and grateful to have a role in the history of our people, to carry God’s message forward, to help bring to reality the vision of the prophet Isaiah:

“These I will bring to my holy mountain and I will give them joy in my house of prayer. Their burnt offerings and sacrifices will be accepted on my altar; for my house will be called a house of prayer for all nations” (Is. 56:7).

Thank you and may God bless us all tonight and always. Amen