None can be Holier than Thou - Tzav

One day, a man came into his synagogue and said to his rabbi, “Rabbi, I want you to make me a Kohain.” The Rabbi said, “I’m sorry, no.” The man insisted, even pulling out his checkbook, “Look, Rabbi, you know, you know I’ve got money and I like to spend it on the synagogue, tell me what it takes to become a Kohain.” The rabbi said, “No, really I can’t do that. That’s just not how it works. Why do you even want to be a Kohain?” And the man said, “Well, my father was Kohain, and his father, and his father before him…”

For those that don’t get the joke, don’t worry, it took me a while the first time I heard it too (being a Kohain is dynastic, so if the man’s father was a Kohain, he was already one too). However, the joke (in fact, especially if you didn’t get it) does point to how prevalent Kohanim or priests are in our modern Jewish society. That is to say, most Jews have no concept anymore of what they were really about. In this week’s Torah portion, the rituals of sacrifice are again detailed, but this time with more discussion of the priests’ involvement. It is the priests’ obligation to expiate the sins of the people bringing sacrifice, and so they are to eat parts of the sacrificial offerings (G-d’s leftovers), they are quite literally “holier than thou,” or at least are given a holier role in the society, being direct conduits for Divinity.

Reform Judaism emphasizes the concept from Genesis 1:27 that every human being is created “b’tzelem Elohim” – in the image of G-d, all of us, equally. Because of this, I have no modern day analogy for the priests or their role in the rituals of sacrifice. None can be more holy than any other; none can excuse us but ourselves. It is up to each of us individually to use the timeless spirits of self-sacrifice and atonement (which I talked about last week), to make our own peace with each other, with ourselves, and with G-d. We cannot look to our spiritual leaders or anyone else to do that for us, although obviously they are there to help guide us through that process if we need it. But it is still up to each of you individually to make your own sacrifices, your own apologies, your own excuses and explanations, to be forgiven by other individuals, to have your own arguments with G-d, and above all to find your own peace within yourself. And may you do so with comfort, ease, and speed. Amen.

Sacrifice: Vayikra

I was looking for a story or example to help me explain to all of you about self-sacrifice and how we still keep the spirit of sacrifice and atonement alive in our modern age without the slaughter of animals dictated in the Torah. So I’m going to read to you my adaptations to a Chasidic story I found on the interwebz to help illustrate this point.

The school bell had just rung; school was over. Dana and Danny, two 13 year olds, jumped up from their seats, grabbing their coats and bags as they dashed for the classroom door. They were in a rush, because tonight they were going to their friend Pat’s house to play on his new Nintendo Wii. The boys were enthralled by the brilliance of the games and they spent the whole Wednesday evening playing on the Wii, until Pat’s mother's "Time to go!" shook them out of the reverie.

"Don't worry," said Pat with a bleary eyed broad smile. "We can play some more tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after too!" And they did. A week later, Dana and Danny were on their way to Pat’s house to play Wii for the seventh evening in a row, talking about how awesome they were at video games. But then Dana paused, stopped short, and said, "Hold on. I've just realized something."

"What is it?" asked Danny, panicking.

"Nothing really," said Dana, "I've just remembered the sacrifices," just as I’m sure all of you often stop in your tracks and think about the parsha of the week, especially the ones detailing the most archaic of our laws.

"Sacrifices?!" exclaimed Danny. My thoughts exactly.

But Dana continued, "The sacrifices in the Temple, Rabbi was explaining today that nowadays we can't offer up physical sacrifices in the Temple in Jerusalem since it was destroyed two thousand years ago. But instead each of us is like our own Temple and we need to offer up spiritual sacrifices from our soul."

"Man, Dana, that sounds deep!" exclaimed Danny. "I mean, how exactly do you offer up the animal inclination? Should we go let some blood?" He laughed at his own sense of humor.

"Very funny," Dana said, shrugging. "But really, no blood is needed! We don't need to hurt ourselves to offer a sacrifice. Rabbi said it's much simpler and that it is good for us. Like right now our soul’s desires say that we should just spend another evening playing Wii. The sacrifice we could make is being more responsible instead, for example studying our prayers and Jewish texts, so we can be prepared for our Bar Mitzvahs!”

“Okay, are you officially a rabbi?" asked Danny sarcastically. Dana’s righteousness was a bit boring, but ultimately, Dana was right…a full week playing Wii maybe was a little much, even for Danny. "Okay, philosophy aside," said Danny, "according to you it's not so difficult to offer sacrifices nowadays, so let's go to your place and study!"

The least explicit part of this story, is that in the Torah, sacrifices were used to atone for guilt. There are different sacrifices dictated in this week’s parsha for communal guilt, guilt of a leader, guilt of individuals, cases of accidental guilt versus intentional sinning, cases where the offender is not totally sure whether what s/he did was right or wrong. What was the guilt in this story? (Hear responses.) Neglect? Irresponsibility? The point is, that everyone does things sometimes that they shouldn’t, everyone has things to atone for from G-d and from each other (maybe in this case, a teacher whose homework they didn’t do while they were too busy playing Wii).

In this week’s haftarah reading, G-d, through the voice of Isaiah, says, “You have not worshiped Me, O Jacob [that is to say, O Israel, or O Jews], That you should be weary of Me, O Israel. You have not brought Me your sheeps for burnt offerings, Nor honored Me with your sacrifices… It is I, who for My own sake – wipe your transgressions away And remember your sins no more. Help me remember! Let us join in argument, tell your version, that you may be vindicated!” It seems that sacrifice alone was not sufficient to make amends for wrongdoings. In the Torah portion, when a person sins against another person, the "bad guy" must make reparations to the person they have wronged before they take their animal to the Temple for sacrifice. Then the priest says okay thanks for the sacrifice you are forgiven by G-d. But there is no mention of the person who has been wronged forgiving the person who has wronged them. Was financial compensation enough to repair the lost trust? The haftarah seems to be addressing this, that there needs to be a discourse, an apology, excuses, understanding reached. Now, the practice of prayer have by now replaced animal sacrifice and meal offerings for our need to make peace with ourselves and G-d, and evolved to meet society’s changing needs. But the spirit of sacrifice is timeless, and it’s still important for us utilize our guilt toward self-sacrifice that makes amends with people we’ve wronged and help guide us toward better decisions in the future. This is not to say that you should feel guilty for every little transgression, or that you should dwell too much on fear of sin or G-d. But, you will do something you shouldn’t at some point. We all do. So, when you do, let that feeling propel you toward a more noble future. Sacrifice today should be productive, not destructive.

I sincerely hope that all of you take away from this that good can come from bad, we can learn from our mistakes if we allow ourselves to confront them, and that we will all make such mistakes at some point or another. May you all find the paths away from sin easily, find the atonement and reconciliation after inevitable sin even easier, and above all, may you find in prayer peace and forgiveness from yourself and from G-d. Amen.

Ostentation: Parasha Vayakhel-Pekudei

In this week’s Torah portion, Moses assembles the people of Israel and tells them of G‑d’s instructions regarding the making of the Mishkan (Tabernacle). The people donate the required materials in abundance, bringing gold, silver and copper, animal skins, wood, olive oil, herbs and precious stones. Moses has to tell them to stop giving. A team of wise-hearted artisans make the Mishkan and its furnishings: three layers of roof coverings (we barely have one!); 48 gold-plated wall panels, and 100 silver foundation sockets; a veil that separates between the Sanctuary’s two chambers, and a screen that fronts it; the Ark and its cover with the Cherubim; the seven-branched menorah with its specially prepared oil; the golden altar and the incense burned on it; the anointing oil; the outdoor altar for burnt offerings and all its implements; the hangings, posts and foundation sockets for the courtyard; and the basin and its pedestal, made out of copper mirrors. An accounting is made of the gold, silver and copper donated by the people for the making of the Mishkan (so they can get their tax refunds at the end of the year). The building is completed and all its components are brought to Moses, who assembles it like an Ikea desk and blesses it. A cloud appears over the Mishkan, signifying the divine presence that has come to dwell within it.

Aside from the parts of the mobile sanctuary that pertain to animal sacrifices, which many believe to be barbaric and may not be practiced even if we still had a Mishkan to perform them in, there are other questionable parts to this building story. The ornaments of the tabernacle are rather extravagant. Forty-eight gold panels?! One hundred silver foundation sockets? And the cherubim, essentially angels, on the ark covering? Why such ostentation for a transitory building in the wilderness? This is not the permanent Temple that would later be used in Jerusalem; this is a sanctuary that has to be taken along with them for the next forty years across the desert. So, why bother? Furthermore, how did all the children of Israel have so much stuff? Some gave jewelry, while others just gave non-descript pieces of gold and silver and precious stones. These are refugees from slavery. It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the idea that they just happened to have more than enough for the Mishkan’s needs.

Look around at our synagogue for a moment. You’ll notice, it was built with intention, it has some ornate artistry on the ark, but not to the extent that is described for the tabernacle. It would be considered fiscally irresponsible and embarrassingly showy and unnecessary by modern standards to have so much attention to detail and expensive materials. And the cherubim? I don’t think I’ve ever seen an ark with angels on it. In this parsha, there is no description given to the cherubim, and in other areas when heavenly beings are described, they are vague and confusing, sometimes they have 6 wings, they’re described differently in different prophet’s visions of them. So we don’t really know what the ark cover would have looked like. But I think it’s safe to assume it didn’t look a whole lot like the designs common on arks now.

What does it say about our biblical ancestors and what does it say about us that they were so much more ostentatious? In a time when they didn’t even know where their food or water would be coming from, when their very survival was in question, they spent time and energy making a structure beautiful enough for G-d to dwell in. Now, we enjoy making a structure beautiful enough for us to feel G-d’s majesty, but the beauty is more for us than for G-d, who is with us everywhere and not confined to or contingent upon a building, however beautiful. Perhaps it was merely a change in tastes and understanding of needs and of G-d. Perhaps it’s due to economic forces. In the wilderness, they were completely dependent on G-d’s mercy and help. That gold and precious stones were not going to be used for currency, because there were no stores to shop at, no goods to trade for. Now, there is a constant competition for our stretched dollar. Do I pay my rent and buy my family food, or do I give all my resources to the synagogue? It’s a much harder choice to make. As such, I don’t know of any congregation in the history of Judaism that has had to turn down more donations. I think Moses was the first, last, and only spiritual leader to have that problem. It would be nice if we all had a little of the Israelite’s zeal for the structural integrity of our houses of worship, and even nicer if our funds had as little else to be spent on as those of the Israelites, but while maintaining a level of sensibility in our décor so as not to go overboard.

So as we go forward, let us be mindful of the upkeep of our building, without ever being too concerned with the superficial. And may G-d dwell in this Mishkan no matter what it looks like. Amen.

Tetzaveh

This week is Shabbat Across America. Last night’s services were led by members of the Youth Group. Shabbat isn’t going anywhere, and soon you will all have your turns at leading the Torah services at your Bar and Bat Mitzvahs and hopefully the Friday night services for Shabbat Across America in the future. So I want to ask you all now:

· What does Shabbat mean to you?

· What does it mean to be Jewish in America?

· This week’s Torah portion describes a lot of rules for Priesthood and guidelines for holiness that don’t mean anything anymore. There are a lot of other rules that could or might still be meaningful or relevant to some Jews, but we as Reform Jews don’t follow them. Maybe because they get in the way of your American identities, maybe because you haven’t been able to find the meaning or relevance in them, maybe just because the people around you don’t observe them and you wouldn’t even really know how if you wanted to (keeping kosher, observing Sabbath, etc). So then, what makes you Jewish?

· Why are you here? And please don’t say because your parents made you.

How about community? Maybe you’re here for that? In this week’s parsha, the Israelites are still newly freed from Egypt, still sort of figuring out what kind of community they are, and G-d commands them to take two onyx tablets and inscribe onto them the names of the 12 tribes of Israel. This LITERALLY sets into stone the Jewish community.

In today’s world, it probably feels like it doesn’t make much sense to set your name into stone for anything. We have a lot of choices in this country, in this century, and beliefs change. People join a congregation, people leave a congregation. Some people switch from Reform Judaism to Orthodox, Conservative to Reconstructionist, Lutheran to Jewish. Some people lose their faith in G-d completely, some people find or regain it.

But everyone needs a community. And this is yours. Your names are inscribed here. Shabbat Across American celebrates the idea that there are Jews of all sorts across this multicultural country. Wherever you go, there’s always someone Jewish, and that gives you an instant connection. Ideally, that should extend your community across America, too. In this week’s parsha, G-d already feels the need to remind the people, “They shall know that I am the LORD their G-d, that led them out of Egypt that I might dwell among them.” All of them. Together. In our fickle world, with all the choices and distractions and hardships and secular joys and scary adventures, it’s important to have a home to come back to. As you go on your scary adventures, make your choices, get distracted, fall on hardship, find your secular joys, Judaism can always be your home. Across America and across the world, there will always be a community to embrace you as a Jew. And may G-d always dwell among you, wherever you dwell. Amen.

Mishpatim

Tomorrow night I get to give the adult sermon at Erev Shabbat services. It's a good thing to because I could not give this drash to the religious school kids on Saturday morning.

Hillel famously said, “That which is hateful to you, do not do unto others.” Was there an implied “unless they did it to you first” to this statement? Sometimes this “Golden Rule” is reiterated as “Treat others as you would like to be treated,” but how often do we subconsciously reinterpret that as “Treat others as they treat you.”

Just as famously, Ghandi proclaimed, “An eye for an eye will cause the whole world to go blind.” I was raised with these two adages side by side: treat others as you would like to be treated, even when they don’t equally respect you. It makes sense in theory and on a purely day-to-day level. If someone is rude to you, keep that smile plastered on and say, “Have a nice day!” But some days are harder than others, and we all have moments where we hear the snarky or angry responses coming out of our mouths before we can even think to stop ourselves. And if you think that’s hard, when we move out of the realm of the ordinary, it becomes even harder to maintain these beliefs.

I don’t remember how old I was when I first read in the Torah, “Thou shalt give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe,” but I do remember this awful realization that Ghandi’s message which I held so dear was a response to a Jewish text, a correction of my holy text. In Ghandi’s phrasing, “an eye for an eye” had nothing to do with eyes. It was a wonderfully abstract metaphor for generic passivism. In the Torah, alongside “life for life” suddenly it came alive for me. What does it mean to demand such exact retribution? It added a very personalized face to it. When it came to supporting passivism in the large and distant context from which Ghandi was speaking, the rejection of an “eye for an eye” made sense. When thinking about the direct issue of the death penalty as a punishment for murder, the question gets more emotional. When Amnesty or the Religious Action Center circulates its petitions to end the death penalty, I hem and haw about joining their crusade. I am afraid to sign, because I feel bad for the people who have to look their loved one’s murderers in the eye, but I can’t not sign, because I believe in the value of every human life and the possibility of redemption. I agree with Reform Judaism’s condemnation of the death penalty, but how could I tell Annie Le’s parents or fiancé that 44 years in prison was enough punishment for a 25 year old murderer, because “an eye for an eye would make the whole world blind.”

Beyond a life for a life, this week’s Torah portion also lists kidnapping and cursing’s one parents as punishable by death. Witchcraft, bestiality, and pagan worship – death. If an ox gores a person, the ox should be killed. But if the owner has been warned before about the animal’s tendency toward violence, the owner will also be killed for his negligence. Beyond this parsha, the Torah calls for the death penalty for 36 different offenses. The Reform Movement, however, has followed rabbinic interpretations that condemn the death penalty. Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5 stresses the importance of presenting completely accurate testimony in capital cases, for any mistakes or falsehoods could result in the shedding of innocent blood. If any perjury were to cause an execution, "the blood of the accused and his unborn offspring stain the perjurer forever."

The passage goes on to liken wrongful executions to Cain killing Abel, concluding that it is for this reason that God created only one human in the beginning, and here is the birth of yet another famous saying: he who destroys one life, it is as though he had destroyed all humankind; whereas he who preserves one life, it is as though he preserved all humanity.

The rabbis of the Talmud ruled that capital cases required a 23-judge court, while only three judges sat for non-capital cases (Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:1). Two or more eyewitnesses were required to testify to the defendant's guilt, bearing in mind that it was their hands that would, "be the first against him to put him to death" (Deuteronomy 17:6-7). In a capital case, a one-vote majority could acquit a defendant, but could not convict. Furthermore, if there was a mere one-vote majority or if any judge was undecided, additional judges were added in pairs until the majority ruled against conviction, or until one judge in favor of conviction was persuaded to err on the side of innocence (Mishnah Sanhedrin 5:5). In practice, these guidelines made applying the death penalty nearly impossible. Nearly, but not entirely, showing that the rabbis, too, had this emotional conflict with the Torah’s declaration of a “life for a life.”

In another passage, the rabbis show distaste for executions. "Said one: The Sanhedrin that puts to death one person in seven years is termed tyrannical. Rabbi Eleazar Ben Azariah says, ‘One person in seventy years.’ Rabbi Tarfon and Rabbi Akiba say, ‘If we had been in the Sanhedrin, no one would have ever been put to death.’ Rabban Gamaliel says, ‘They would have thereby increased the shedders of blood (Mishnah Makkot 1:10).’"

While the last line indicates a belief that the death penalty, if carried out judiciously, can be a deterrent, prevailing Jewish thought in every movement has followed the previous opinions, which either oppose the death penalty outright, or allow for it only in the most extreme -- once in seventy years -- circumstances. Following this line of thinking, the major Jewish movements in the United States all have specific policy supporting either abolition of the death penalty, or a moratorium on its use.

Since 1959, the Central Conference of American Rabbis (CCAR) and the Union for Reform Judaism (URJ) have formally opposed the death penalty. The CCAR resolved in 1979 that "both in concept and in practice, Jewish tradition found capital punishment repugnant" and there is no persuasive evidence "that capital punishment serves as a deterrent to crime." The URJ notes that: "We believe that there is no crime for which the taking of human life by society is justified, and that it is the obligation of society to evolve other methods in dealing with crime. We appeal to our congregants and to our co-religionists and to all who cherish God's mercy and love to join in efforts to eliminate this practice [of capital punishment] which lies as a stain upon civilization and our religious conscience."

For now, I tow the party line, but I continue to read this Torah passage with a furrowed brow. I pray that anyone in the position to make such a judgment call do so fairly and with the sanctity of human life in mind, and for my own peace of mind on this matter. If this Torah passage has caused your brow to similarly furrow, may G-d also grant you that peace of mind, and may our judicial system continue improve in its entirety.

Parashat Yitro

It may not hold a candle to Rabbi Goldenberg's Peace Parashat featured in the American's for Peace Now blog ( http://peacenow.org/entries/peace_parsha_becoming_truly_free), but it is for a vastly different audience.

Once there was a tiny, absolutely helpless baby who was all alone. He couldn't feed or clothe himself. He could hardly move. Left on his own, it seemed impossible for him to survive for even one day. Yet he did! How did he ever make it?

This baby was very fortunate. As out of nowhere, certain people came along and voluntarily agreed to take on the enormous expense and responsibility of providing for his every need. They took him into their home, bought him plenty of food and clothing, and even changed his dirty diapers. They spent many long and sleepless nights watching after him when he didn't feel well. They loved him and worked hard to teach him everything he needed to know to grow up and lead a good and successful life. It was a difficult task for a single person or two people to teach the baby everything that he needed to have a balanced education. The wonderful people taking care of the baby, now a big kid, sent him to school. They needed other people to share in the task of making sure he would become a competent adult. Now that the big kid was in school, the people providing for him had to have jobs to pay for his education and other needs, which meant sometimes the big kid had to rely on a babysitter after school.

When the child was grown up, he realized what these amazing people had done; he felt a tremendous sense of gratitude. He would always treat them with the utmost respect and do whatever he could to please them. He felt that it was the least that he could do. Sometimes, the child did not like his teachers, or did not want to be with his babysitter. He wished he could rely completely on the people who had taken him home from the hospital when he was a baby. Sometimes, in his frustrations, he lost sight of the importance of the roles in his life, or the sacrifices others were making to aid him in his journey toward adulthood. But in the end, as a grown up, he understood that teachers and babysitters had enriched his life, too, and that the special people who took care of him throughout his whole life wouldn’t have chosen incapable chaperones for him. Eventually, when it came time for him to take care of a baby who grew to be a child, he even realized all the reasons why one person or few people alone simply cannot do EVERYTHING. It takes a village, as they say.

In truth, each of us is that baby, that big kid, that grown up. And those special, wonderful people are our parents. In the beginning of this week's Torah portion, Moses’ father-in-law suggests that Moses appoints judges or chieftains to help him take care of all the Israelites. Of course, each individual person would rather ask Moses than anyone for advice on how to live correctly. Only Moses is so close to G-d! But they must understand that Moses alone cannot take care of all of them. Sometimes it is necessary to delegate responsibility. It also made things easier for the Israelites, making help more accessible. Besides, sometimes it’s helpful to get be able to get advice from more than one source. Our teachers and babysitters and other authority figures sometimes fill this role. They’re not our parents. We’d rather hear get the advice from, spend the time with, our parents. But they are good, smart people. If they weren’t, Moses wouldn’t have appointed them to help guide the people of Israel, your parents wouldn’t have sent you to learn from them or allowed them to take care of you.

Later in the parsha, G-d presents the Jewish people with the Torah, including the Ten Commandments. One of these ten things that G-d chose to especially emphasize was to remind us to appreciate and honor our parents. It's the least we can do. But we should remember to also appreciate and honor all of the adults who enrich our lives, just as the Israelites respected the chieftains. When teachers assign a lot of homework, remember that it is to give you more opportunities to learn. When babysitters monitor TV or internet use, remember it’s to ensure you don’t stumble upon something your parents wouldn’t want you to see. May you all learn and remember to show respect for all who deserve it.

Tu B'Shevat sermon

There's so much more to this sermon in my head, but for tomorrow's religious school tu b'shevat seder, this will have to do. Maybe in a room full of educated adults when I have next year's job security, I'll write the rest.

Tu B’shevat, or the 15^th day of the month of Shevat in the Jewish calendar, marks the New Year for Trees. Ecologically, this is the general point in the year where trees in Israel begin to bud anew. Jewishly, this date is specified for the start of the new cycle of tithes relating to the budding of trees. The idea of celebrating Tu B’Shevat formerly and the creation of the seder comes from the 17^th century kabbalists’ understanding of the line in Deuteronomy, For man is like the tree of the field. The full passage says, When in your war against a city you have to besiege it a long time in order to capture it, you must not destroy its trees, wielding the ax against them. You may eat of them, but you must not cut them down. Are trees of the field human to withdraw before you into the besieged city? I read an old Hasidic story from the 6^th Rebbe of Lubavitch about a boy and his father taking a walk in the woods, and the father, gesturing around at the trees, exclaims to his son, See G-dliness! Every movement of each stalk and grass was included in G-d's Primordial Thought of Creation, in G-d's all-embracing vision of history, and is guided by Divine providence toward a G-dly purpose.

So far, now, we know that trees are really important and should not be innocent casualties of war, a man’s life is no more important than that of a tree, and G-d created the natural world perfectly, with every plant exactly where it is meant to be. As Jews, when we celebrate the New Year for the Trees, we should keep these ideas in mind.

The phrase, “making the desert green” or “bloom” has become so embedded in the images and language surrounding Israel that its origins are now difficult to trace, and we lose track of what it really means. Before the creation of the state of Israel, Jews were kicked out of many countries, oppressed, and persecuted around the world. Planting trees in Israel is a way of setting in our people’s roots as well as the plants’. But it’s really important to know that we plant the right kind of trees.

If G-d made the world as it was meant to be, than we can assume that the desert was meant to be a desert. Deserts are not green. They should not be made green. We can set down our roots in olive trees, a few date and fig trees, a cactus or two, but turning the desert green the way North America or Eastern Europe (the places where most Jews who “plant trees in Israel” are from) is just ecologically bad.

For a long time, the Jewish National Fund planted evergreens in Israel. Evergreens require a lot of water, of which there is not much in the desert, and they also deposit acidic needles which kill all other plant life that share the same plots of soil. This created a large “Green Belt” around the areas where the trees grew, making miles of land unusable for anything else. It created lasting environmental problems, and displaced a lot of farmers whose olive groves were destroyed.

There are parts of the northern country that get enough water to sustain greenery. Lebanon’s national plant is the evergreen, so planting along that border would probably have been fine. But this Green Belt was being planted closer to Jerusalem, an area that already had a lot of environmental issues due to overpopulation and substantial infrastructure, and pressures on water resources and land ownership relating the divides and conflicts between the Jews and Arabs in the area. Adding this dead zone of acidic needles was the pine cone on the camel’s back, and the JNF has subsequently been blamed for lost utility in Palestinian lands close to the West Bank/Israel border.

Now, the JNF and others have learned that we can’t make Israel look like the countries we come from. Now, more environmental awareness is spreading and people are realizing it is just as an important Jewish value as human rights. So now, the JNF has its new campaign to uproot the evergreens, and is planting desert-friendly trees in your name instead. It’s really important that we take note of this. I’m sure you all know, it’s not easy to admit such a big mistake. Their pride or legitimacy as an organization could have been damaged, but they knew it was more important to just fix it. When you send money to groups like the JNF, send a letter or note with it, saying, “Hey, we support you. Thanks for cleaning up your mistakes,” so that they know you want them to keep doing it! Spread the word, not the pine needles. And the next time someone says something about making the desert green, you say, “No, we’re making the desert healthy.” L’Shana Tova L’ilanot!