Not
only are Jews commanded to wipe out Amalek, who is the descendant of Esau, but
each Jew has to wipe out that negative part that is called Amalek hidden in his
or her heart. So long as the descendants of Amalek are in the world – and each
of us is also a small world, so when the power of evil in each of us arises
(that which leads us to sin) Amalek is still in the world – the reminder (to
wipe out Amalek) calls out from the Torah. (Kedushat
Levi, R. Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev- Hassidic Master)

In Jewish tradition, God created each person with a yetzer tov (an inclination for good) and a yetzer rah (an inclination for evil). Indeed, the prophet Isaiah speaks of God as "yotzer tov va-rah" — the Creator of good and evil, and we acknowledge this description when we pray and say that God is yotzer et ha-kol — creator of all. The ancient rabbis taught us that it is our job as humans to conquer our yetzer rah and harness our great energy and use it for good.

The personification of the yetzer rah in Torah is a people called the Amalekites (named after their king, Amalek) who attached our people after we fled from Egypt. Amalek attached from the rear, striking the Israelites in the back of the long procession - the weakest, the most faint, the exhausted. He becomes the symbol of the malignant use of power.

Shalom - Please note that the Yad Vashem reflections are by Franna Ruddell, a member of the community, and not by Rabbi Leila. They were mistakenly placed in the "Rabbi's Blog" section, but should be in the Members' Musings section.

In any case, may the memories of all those killed by the Nazi murderers be for a blessing - and may such an event never again be allowed to be perpetrated on any people, anywhere.

I stand in the blazing holy sun, sweat beads strung along my neck. Behind me a huge glass air-conditioned welcome center, ahead a series of black granite slabs set determinedly, solidly in the earth forming a ridge as long as a football field.

I know a team of architects carefully designed this site, triangular slabs peeking up from this Jerusalem hill, but it somehow feels eternal. Here is a gracious spot, a place for memorial and for names.

Not quite with dread, but with solemn anticipation I join silent groups of tourists, large and small, crossing a bridge towards the entrance, a bridge over a ravine symbolizing a transition from the fullness of life and hope into a monument documenting one of the most horrifying periods in human history.

Much like praying in community, one Jew amongst many — I am alone, joined in this serious venture by hundreds of thousands of others, all strangers, truly a mixed multitude. I begin a personal journey and a communal one.

As we enter, scenes of Jewish life before the Holocaust cycle over and over in sepia — homes, schools, parks, concert halls, synagogues and socialist demonstrations. Rich, diverse, but importantly alive, this huge wall of old film gives a taste of who we werem what we had and what the world lost. Now these Jews are moth immortalized and namless.

Turning away from the wall of life, I see a long straight pyramidal hall, walls angled to a painted roof. At the very top, a thin ribbon of glass allows the sunshine to send relief and hope to those who remember to look up.

Shalom once again from Israel! 

This is blog #3 from this most amazing land.

Today I start with GEO-POLITICS.. Last week, Franna and I visited with our friends, Robyn and Amnon, who live northern suburb of Jerusalem in a town (across the so-called "green line" - i.e., outside the pre-1967 borders) called Givat Ze'ev. At night, one must enter via a checkpoint guarded by armed soldiers, but once in the town feels light-hearted and safe. Amnon and Robyn's home is a delight - with a lovely and large outdoor garden and patio filled with their artistic creations - from stained glass, to a stone garden, to a year-round "sukkah" and a totally funky wall with layer upon layer and vintage upon vintage of beautifully wierd creations. Amnon has a workshop where he creates "stuff" with his golden hands, Robyn makes gorgeous jewelry of blown glass, Shani (their daughter) has just become a naturopathic healer of small animals and soon traveling to the Ukraine to teach her newly-acquired skills,  their  post-army son Erez is "finding" himself before he enters university, and their other post-army son is, at the moment, demonstrating in the tent city in Tel-Aviv with thousands of other young people for affordable housing, childcare, decent wages for doctors, less governmental favors for the ultra-Orthodox (haredim) and then... who knows?

Shalom from Israel!

This is my second blog from this Holy and not-so-whole Land. I had planned to write several days ago, but frankly, it's a daunting task- because it's exhausting to write about this country. I love it and I hate it. I am inspired by it and I am infuriated by it. I feel more keenly here the Torah's words, "I put before you a blessing and a curse." AND I feel very keenly that each and every person I have encountered - chooses life. Where to begin?

Shalom!

It's been a week since I arrived in Israel - a week filled with memories of once-held dreams of peace not yet achieved in my beloved land, a week filled with facing the realities of a country still struggling to define itself - secular? religious? something in between? more moral and ethical than other countries? just like all other countries with realpolitik as its driving engine? a week filled with contradictions — driving through the town of Herzliya, where on the town's water tower there is a huge silhouette of Theodor Herzl, father of modern Zionism, dressed in a black and white formal suit, long beard, passionate, visionary look in his eyes — and across the highway - the spinning golden arches of a MacDonald's fast food restaurant and the white upward swish of Nike, a week filled with memories as I walked with Franna in the Crusader and Roman ruins of Caesarea, the place where the Jewish Revolt against the Romans was sparked in 66 C.E., where my sister Ilana had a souvenir shop back in the seventies, and where a dreydl shop now inhabits that same space, a place where an Iced Coffee costs $6,00 (U.S.) and a fruit berry smoothie costs $9.00 (U.S.) — where children frolick on the grass between the ancient and medieval ruins, adjacent to a cement bomb shelter — just in case. . .

Shalom!

Do you remember the TV series from a few years back, Northern Exposure?  My colleague, Rabbi Tamara Miller recalls that “in one episode, the main character, Dr. Joel Fleischman, a community physician in a small Alaska town, wanted to say Kaddish for his beloved Uncle Manny. His community of mostly Native and Anglo Americans went out scouting for ten Jews for the obligatory prayer quorum (the minyan). Finding a minyan of Jews in the hinterlands of Alaska became a holy and humorous task.”

In the hinterlands of Alaska, I understand. But what about in the center of Arlington, Virginia?   A few weeks ago, someone sent me a funny song — funny, and yet a bit sad at its core. It’s called  “Nobody  Comes to the Minyan No More,” a humorous take-off on the folk song “Dey-O!” with the refrain, “Oy, oy, oy, oy,  oy, oy – nobody comes to the minyan no more!” Why do I say that this silly song is sad at its core? Because in our own community, Jews have come to say Kaddish and on a number of occasions, we haven’t been able to provide a minyan for them. How sad it is to think that a Jew seeks a place to remember and honor her or his loved ones by reciting Kaddish and there aren’t even nine other Jews to support that Jews.

In Jewish tradition, ten adult Jews are required to make a minyan (until contemporary times, ten MEN were required. Now, as we nurture egalitarian communities, ten men or women are required). Ten isn’t an arbitrary number. The number ten has its origins in the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, when Abraham and God negotiated and agreed that if God could find only ten righteous men in those towns, God would not destroy the towns and not even ten were found! So ten people is the minimum requirement for a legitimate community in Judaism. This doesn’t mean that each individual human being doesn’t matter. It simply means that in order to form a community of support, we need at least ten folks.

Shalom chaverim,



I am proud to let you know that tomorrow morning, December 22,  I will be representing  JRF, the Jewish Reconstructionist Federation  (to which Kol Ami belongs as a Reconstructionist congregation) as President Obama signs into law the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell Repeal Act of 2010, in the Sidney R. Yates Auditorium at the U.S. Department of Interior.  This is a long-awaited and historic moment and representatives of all the religious organizations that have been working in coalition to get DADT repealed. I am very proud to say that JRF has been at the forefront of the Jewish world in working toward the repeal of this abomination of an act for many years now.  If I have a chance to speak any words to President Obama, I will thank him for signing the repeal act with the words, “Thank you, Mr. President for following the teaching of our common sacred scripture: ‘justice, justice you shall pursue.’ ‘Be strong, and of good courage as you continue to do so.”



Deuteronomy 16:20  (Justice, Justice, you shall pursue)

Joshua 1:6 (‘Be strong, and of good courage’)



I will write more after the signing ceremony. As a Jew, a rabbi and a lesbian, I feel blessed to personally witness this moment.  I encourage of each of you, if your heart so moves you, to take a moment, take a deep breath and with you family and friends, pause this evening and recite the Shehechiyanu blessing together:



Baruch Ata Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha-olam shehechiyanu, v’kiyemanu, v’higi-anu la-z’man ha-zeh!



Blessed are you, Adonai, our God, Sovereign of the universe, who has given us life, sustained us in life, and enabled us to reach this joyous moment!



With joy in my heart,



Rabbi Leila

Shalom friends,

As we all watch the horrific images emerging after the earthquake in Haiti, our hearts ache, our eyes fill with tears at the scenes of the dead and dying, dazed and injured children, now orphaned, wandering through devastated streets, crying "Mama," "Papa," - a country utterly destroyed. Amidst the tears, there is hope - families reunited, people saved after days, locked in the grip of collapsed buildings, the courage of rescue workers,  doctors, nurses flying in from all the world to save the people of Haiti. How proud we are of all of them - Americans, French, Israel -- an Israeli field hospital set up, an American hospital ship sailing from Baltimore toward Haiti's shores, Germans, many, many countries -- all coming together - not war, not bombs blasting -- just compassion and caring and kindness. We are all fighting a great battle, as Philo the Jew wrote two millennia ago in Alexandria, Egypt - so we must be kind to one another.

Shalom!

Five millennia ago, our people fled the bondage of Egypt and moved toward a land "filled with milk and honey" that would offer them freedom and the opportunity to grow into a great nation. During our desert wandering, we listened to God's instruction [Leviticus 23:39-43] to build thatch-roofed huts. Decorating our huts with boughs of leafy trees and myrtle and willows of the brook, the people rested and gave thanks to God for their freedom. These former slaves envisioned a New World that they themselves would help to create on the soil of Canaan.

Once they reached the Land, the Israelites enjoyed its abundance and shared it, leaving the gleanings of their crops at the corners of their fields for the poor. Three times a year, they made pilgrimage to Jerusalem and brought thanksgiving offerings to God. And still today, in the Fall as the havest comes in, we Jews sit in thatch-roof huts, eating our meals under the stars, inviting guests into our Sukkah, and thank God for the abundance we enjoy.

Almost 390 years ago, pilgrims from Europe celebrated their first Thanksgiving here on the soil of America. They were expressing their gratitude for the survival of the Plymouth Colony during that first very difficult year. These pilgrims had wandered through their own wilderness. Fleeing from the bondage of religious oppression in Europe, they traveled towards a land that would offer them freedom and the opportunity to grow into a great nation. They too, envisioned a New World that they themselves would help to create on the soil of America.