If there’s one thing we Jews can agree on, it's that the Ten Commandments are the most important commandments in the Torah, right? Not so fast. Sure, murder is really wrong, and honoring your parents is very important and Judaism wouldn’t be a monotheistic religion if idol worship was permitted. But it doesn’t say anywhere in Parashat Yitro, the account of the revelation at Sinai that we read this week, that these mitzvot should be prioritized above all others. Nor is the punishment for coveting your neighbor's wife or stealing as severe as the one for eating chametz on Passover (for which the offender is “cut off” from the Jewish people and from God).
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by Rabbi Adam Roffman While driving around Dallas this week, I listened to an interview on NPR with Dr. Duane Bidwell, a professor at the Claremont School of Divinity. The topic of the interview was his new book, When One Religion Isn’t Enough: The Lives of Spiritual Fluidity. His argument, essentially, was that there are a growing number of Americans who don’t identify themselves as being solely Christian, or Muslim, or Jewish but rather a combination of different religions. While much of this 21st century phenomenon is the result of intermarriage (he cites marriage between Jews and Christians as a primary example,) he argues that in today’s society it is becoming more and more acceptable to take on a much less dogmatic, more flexible religious identity. by Rabbi Ari Sunshine This past weekend was an incredible high for our family as we celebrated our daughter Elana’s Bat Mitzvah. We were so proud of Elana, the wonderful job she did, the poise she displayed, and her warmth that shone through. Moreover, we were so delighted and honored to be able to share this simcha with so many of you in addition to our out of town family and friends. Your presence and the outpouring of your love and support for Elana and for our family added so much to this experience and elevated our Shabbat and our weekend. Sermon/Bat Mitzvah Charge for Elana Parashat Chayei Sarah by Rabbi Ari Sunshine At the end of last week’s parasha, Vayera, we experienced the harrowing and traumatic story of the Akeidah, the binding of Isaac. The narrative relates to us, the readers, of God’s test of his faithful servant Abraham, demanding the sacrifice of Isaac, the beloved son of his old age and the key to the continuation of the lasting covenant that God had promised Abraham. Hearing God’s command, and despite any apprehension or doubt he may have felt at the incongruity of this demand with the covenantal promise, Abraham zealously gets up early, saddles his donkey, and sets off with Isaac on what Abraham initially can only assume will be a journey that will end in personal heartbreak, even if it simultaneously affirms his faith in God. And what does Isaac know or understand about this journey? Not much, it would appear, until the third day, when Abraham and Isaac separate from the two servants who were travelling with them and take the wood, the firestone, and the knife and continue their trek alone, with Isaac himself bearing the burden of the wood while Abraham carries the firestone and the knife, “vayelchu shneyhem yachdav”, “and the two of them walked on together”. It is only at this juncture that Isaac begins to wonder what is happening here, as he notices that they have the instruments necessary for a sacrifice, but they are missing the most critical element of all: a sheep. by Rabbi Adam Roffman When I found myself arm in arm with Shira, walking down the hallways of Levine Academy earlier this week after dropping Hannah off for school, suddenly struggling to stifle my sobbing, I realized that this is the kind of grief that gets worse before it gets better. And before the day was over, I understood why. I was stunned on Shabbat morning by the news of the shooting at Tree of Life in Pittsburgh. On Sunday evening, I was uplifted by the rush and emotion of the remarkably diverse gathering in the Aaron Family Sanctuary. And on Monday morning, once the details of a mass murder like this that we all seem to seek out, despite their horrific nature, had made their way into the daily papers, I was newly devastated. by Rabbi Adam Roffman Remember Eleanor Rigby? Eleanor Rigby who picked up the rice in a church where a wedding has been. She lived in a dream. She waited at her window, wearing a face That she kept in a jar by the door? But who was it for? If you remember Eleanor Rigby, you probably also remember Father MacKenzie. Who sat writing the words To a sermon that no one will hear Because no one comes near. We saw him working, Darning his socks In the night when nobody’s there. What did he care? It was these two figures that sprang from Paul McCartney’s imagination that provoked him to ask this profound question in 1966: All the lonely people…where do they all come from? by Rabbi Ari Sunshine and the Klei Kodesh As we reconvene in these coming days and weeks, we want to share with you a few important changes in our ritual life that you will notice when you come to shul. Our first core value in our new vision statement is that we are a caring community—one that is inclusive, warm, and welcoming to members and guests. We believe that each of these changes will help ensure that each soul who walks into our building, and participates in the life of our community, can see themselves represented in our rituals and liturgy. We also believe that these new initiatives will make our services more accessible and inviting, building and strengthening connections between each of us and our tradition and between us and our fellow congregants. |
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