Kristallnacht: Night of broken glass. Today, November 9th, is the commemoration of Kristallnacht –the night of broken glass. On this day, in 1938 the broken and vandalized windows of homes, shops, synagogues and schools throughout Germany became a terrible symbol of the great shattering that was to become the Holocaust. I woke up this morning with this image in my mind: a street strewn with heaps of broken shards of glass, empty except for one woman walking slowly, looking at the broken pieces reflecting a bright blue sky. She is pregnant. In some ways this image is related to the historical date, to this week’s Torah portion - and to what’s happening right now in the lives of the people who are a part of the Storahtelling community– so I wanted to share a brief thought that elucidates this haunting image and will hopefully be meaningful to all of you who are, in so many ways, part of my family.

Rebecca is the pregnant woman, and as this week’s portion, Toldot – Origins, begins, she is pregnant with twins. These are the first twins in history, and they are kicking in different directions, and Rebecca is confused and troubled – what is happening inside of her? She asks the first existential question in the Torah – ‘if this is so – who am I?’ And she is the first person in Jewish history to seek an answer, to investigate life’s challenges – so she goes to find God. The answer she receives is a complex blessing: she will become the mother of two boys, and they will become the fathers of two nations at war, two opposites who will fight for supremacy.

Jacob and Esau are born into struggle. The younger baby grabs the heel of the older one, already trying to grab the birthright, and so he is named ‘the heel grabber’ or Jacob. The older one, Esau, as told from the eyes of Jacob’s descendents, is marked as a hairy hunter that defies the gentle pastoral life of the Semitic household, he is ‘other’.

Fast forward to what Jacob and Esau will come to symbolize to future generations. In Judaic mythology, Jacob becomes Israel, and Esau becomes Edom, and then Amalek– later on identified as the Roman Empire, becomes Christianity, and Nazi Germany. Rebecca is walking down a street strewn with the fragments of war created by her children, then and now. What a haunting and hopeless image.
So what of the fixing? How do we avoid this grim prophecy? Where is the hope of healing and repThe Holocaust: Is there a way to heal this historical pain?air?

Perhaps the hope for repair, like this story of despair, is inside each one of us. I am reminded to read this saga the way we have read so many other biblical tales at Storahtelling – as a mythic allegory that is meant to give us insight into our inner struggles and that enables us to contemplate the difficult but basic truths of our lives. Each of us is Rebecca, carrying conflict and twin desires that sometimes clash, hurt others and hurt ourselves. And we are each Jacob, and Esau, and the sum of their struggle. If we read this passage as an invitation for personal growth, not as a historical and political justification of struggle, perhaps we can heal the historical pain by remembering and honoring the past, and we can commit to reducing the hatred between us that impacts our future.

Nazi and Jew, Israeli and Palestinian, Democrat and Republican, militant Muslim or fundamentalist Christian– and many others that are against each other in the fight for survival and supremacy: can the story be told differently? Can we tell this inherited story differently to as many people as we can? Can I recognize this story inside of me? Who is my Jacob, grabbing the heel of my inner Esau, where is my disquiet, what is the seed of my struggle to survive – and how does this stop me from being at peace with myself and other people?

So, yes, this is beginning to sound like the D’var Torah… a reflection that ends with a call to action, a charge. Writing to you – friends and family members of my Storahtelling tribe- I am reminded that this is precisely the core of sacred work: our goal is not to simply clarify and dramatize obscure biblical images but to actually address the burning issues of the day, to ‘translate’ the deeper meaning of this, or any other biblical story, into the inner life of each of us.

This weekend I will be presenting Maven at a synagogue in Boulder, Colorado, telling the tale of Jacob and Esau’s birth (and I think I just got my opening story..), and tonight Brian Gelfand, Naomi Less, Jake Goodman and Emily Warshaw will lead a Ritualab for the Tribeca Hebrew community in downtown NYC– focusing on the story of Rebecca’s search for meaning. At the same time, a team of Storatellers will premier the newest version of our show ‘Becoming Israel” in Philadelphia— about Jacob wrestling to become Israel. This show, marking Israel’s 60th year of independence asks some hard questions – how does this legacy of wrestling effect our modern identity and affiliation with Israel? Under Annie Levy’s directorial hand, Franny Silverman, Shawn Shafner, Melissa Shaw and Katie Down will become Israel this weekend – and I hope you will all see this show as we will begin touring soon. And as soon as Shabbat ends, Naomi Less and Jake Goodman are heading down to Nashville to represent Storahtelling at the UJC General Assembly —a whole other kind of struggle… what a packed weekend—one of many— where we get to share this new vision of the power of story with a world thirsty for new visions.
Israel: When will this struggle end?

So, on this very personal note –thank you all for joining me on the journey of fixing the broken glass of our heritage. I hope we all get to walk down the streets and see the reflected vision, in each shard, of a bright future, where Jacob and Esau, hand in hand, are walking down the same street, and behind them, a smiling Mother of All – ‘the mother of the sons is happy’ as it is written in the Psalms.

In the special Torah reading for the Shabbat of Passover, we continue reading about the Passover saga, starting from where the Seder left off: the day after the crossing of the sea.

Dayenu, cry the tired ex-slaves, on their eternal journey to freedom – enough already! But fed by manna, torn by ongoing strife, the children of Israel trudge on through the wilderness on their way home. Except that none of the “children” who left Egypt will actually make it there – their children, the next generation, born in Sinai, will inherit the promise.

This is Faith: Crossing this desert was probably just as much fun as it looks.Residues of how bitterly this story ends for so many are still in our teeth this post-seder morning, along with bits of horseradish and matzah crumbs.

Yes, we won and here we are, but at what price did we obtain freedom? Would they have left Egypt if they knew that they would die in unmarked graves in the middle of nowhere? Given the same opportunity today, would any of us make that sacrifice? Are we capable today of having so much faith in the unknown?

Faith is a big deal in this Passover story. Perhaps that's why our ancient sages chose the "post-golden calf" scenario for the weekly Torah portion that falls on Passover – telling us something about hindsight and perspective, teasing our endless fascination with our futures.

Even Moses, the greatest prophet, is eager to know what's ahead. Moreover, he wants to see the head – the very face of the boss for whom he labors. In a famous passage in Exodus 33 – the bulk of this week's tale – he pleads with the Divine for forgiveness for the cattle - worshipping Hebrews (which is granted, sort of), and then demands to see God.

What follows is a cryptic description of a revelation far more intimate than at Sinai – for most translators treat the event as “God showing Moses God's behind,” quite literally. Some translators surprise us by delving further into this metaphor – addressing the human demand for empirical knowledge that will enhance faith as well as the seemingly Divine reluctance to supply “proof.”

In chapter 33 God instructs Moses to stand inside the cleft of a rock, eyes covered by God's hands, until the following happens:

And I will take away mine hand, and thou shalt see my back parts: but my face shall not be seen (King James Bible 33:23).

Here the translators added a footnote to the word “back”: “As much of my glory as in this mortal life you are able to see.” Most translators render the Hebrew word “achorai" as “God's back parts,” breezing through this shocking striptease without flinching.Michelangelo even depicted the very muscular behind of the Lord on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, two panels away from that famous finger. (How did he get away with that?!) But the traditional Jewish translators simply couldn't bring themselves to portray God as so fundamentally human, and instead translated this verse as allegory:.

The Back of God?: If God were to show his back to Moses, it would probably look something like this.The Aramaic Pseudo Jonathan translation provides one amazing image based on lore: God shows Moses the divine (and possibly feminine) nape, adorned with the leather phylacteries, and Tefilin shel rosh, a blurred vision amid a mob of angels:

"And I will make the host of angels who stand and minister before Me to pass by, and you shall see the edge of the tephillin of My glorious Presence; but the face of the glory of My Presence you can not be able to see. "

Meanwhile Onkelos, the other premiere Aramaic translator, usually quite literal, gets very philosophical:

"And I will take away the word of My Glory, and you shall see that which is after Me, but My Aspect shall not be seen."

There is a lot of hide and seek going on during a Passover seder – broken matzahs traded in for expectations and prizes. But maybe the real hide and seek is more internal, echoed in this mysterious passage. If even the greatest of prophets cannot know the future, what about us mere mortals? Perhaps the search for faith -- for the ultimate proof of God, the possibility of hope in narrow places and hard times, the promise of redemption, something to hold on to during the long way home -- is even more difficult. It may not be much, but for us at Lauviticus Headquarters, seeing God's ass is plenty comforting, and we walk on, single file, all the way to the next part of the story.

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Last week, we ventured into the mysterious terrain of the Leviticus sacrificial cult and its possible modern application. This week, we are delving deeper into the small print of the priestly procedures, focusing on one element that has a lot to do with the upcoming holiday of Passover: the mysterious matzah.

Passover is a product of an elegant evolution. Today it is an elaborate feast, but Passover started around 2,000 years ago as a ceremonial BBQ conducted outdoors under a full moon, with greasy hands, freshly slaughtered lamb and quick words of praise.

Unleavened Only: Jews all over the world wince at the sight of matzah, the no-bread holiday. It's hard to believe that at one time, religious leaders ate matzah year-round.We may have lost the BBQ but we did retain some of the key ingredients, including a carbohydrate much loved, loathed, and possibly lost in translation. What is interesting about this week's Torah episode, Tzav, is that it shows us how matzah was not exclusively reserved for Passover. Rather, matzah was a sacred food associated with priestly privilege and with the boundaries of what is “kosher” or “holy” all year round.

Chapter Six in Leviticus describes the procedure of the “gift offering,” a donation of flour or grain handled by the sons of Aaron, the high priest. Verses Seven and Eight describe what they did with the leftovers:

“What is left of the offering shall be eaten by Aaron and his sons; it shall be eaten as unleavened cakes in the sacred precinct, they shall eat it in the enclosure of the tent of meeting… It shall not be baked with leaven."

The Hebrew word for “unleavened cakes” is “matzot,” translated elsewhere as “bread without yeast,” “unleavened bread,” “flat baked goods” or “holy things.” Basically, it refers to a type of bread that does not undergo the natural process of “rising.” Matzot appear throughout Leviticus – a familiar item for several other sacrificial procedures that have nothing to do with Passover. So how did it become the food that is most strongly associated with this holiday?

We know matzah from the story of the hurried escape from Egypt: it was the original fast food on the run. While this story may be true history or Judeo gastronomic mythology, it is also possible that the practice of eating this symbolic bread existed separately, as a way to honor life's sanctity and promote nutrition.

The priests had to eat the leftover matzot at a specific time and place, much like our modern obligation regarding Passover. Symbolic and still unleavened, this is one tough cracker that made it into history and rose to the top of the Jewish food list – yeast or no yeast. Ultimately, matzah became an icon of potential, of hopeful possibilities yet to come.

Bread Of Taste: Even if matzah is the bread of hope, make sure you fill up on bagels, cookies, and the like before Monday.It is the bread of hope.

This Passover, as you take your first bite of this biblical bread, we invite you to take your time, appreciate the sacredness of the moment, the amazing history of what you are about to ingest, and the transmitted half-baked mystery that helps keep some nights more exciting and special than all others.

Have a delicious and meaningful Passover!

This weekly Torah episode is Ki Tisa, Hebrew for “The Census,” in which the infamous Golden Calf shows up, among other guests. Moses is downloading revelation up on the mountain, while his brother Aaron is down below, in charge of the impatient masses who are hungry for their fix of the divine dose.

The Glitzy Factor: The masses were accustomed to the colorful and conspicuous Egyptian gods. They were sick of waiting for a message from this faceless God.The people have no patience for an abstract, faceless God. The gods they know from Egypt are tangible - they have faces, bodies, and are composed of glitzy substances that you can dance around.

And so, the first religious fundraising campaign takes place: one sacred young bull emerges from the fires, made from countless gold earrings. The people are ecstatic and they point at the idol exclaiming “This IS your deity, Israel!” – the ancient predecessor to “In God We Trust.”

This would have been a funny story had it not ended so tragically, with the wrath of Moses, the breaking of the Ten Commandments, and a civil war with 3,000 casualties. What are we to make of this story? What possible relevance does it have for modern times, when worship, money, idolatry and fundamentalism all seem to be so hopelessly interwoven?

The Israelites really believed they were celebrating the divine, but how far did good intentions go? All they wanted was fast food and instant gratification – don’t we all? One key to untangling this theological mess may lie in a Hebrew verb used to describe what exactly they did on that day. This word, not surprisingly, can be translated in a variety of different ways.

And they rose up early on the morrow, and offered burnt-offerings, and brought peace-offerings; and the people sat down to eat and to drink, and rose up to make merry (Exodus 32:6).

The Infamous Bull: It looks cute and sparkly, but the golden calf caused 3,000 deaths.The Hebrew word used here is “letzachek,” which means to laugh, mock, or play. It is, in fact, the word that gives Isaac his name: “the one who will laugh.” It is also a word repeated throughout the Bible to denote sexual play, general foolery, and, possibly, bloodshed.

In this case, the translators give us “rose to make merry,” while the King James and JPS versions offer “rose to dance” and Artscroll likes “got up to revel.” The Pseudo-Jonathan translation uses the quaint "rose up to disport themselves with strange service.” In the English language, there is not a single word that will serve up such an array of meanings – from the innocent to the erotic, from the pagan to the playful.

In the end we like "revel" because this word is distinctive, but also appears inside the English word "revelation." “Revel” makes a connection between what is occurring on the top of the mountain and what is happening at its base.

Everyone Likes a Party: The celebration of Purim entails both "reveling" and "revelation."This almost reminds us of the holiday we just celebrated, Purim, when we are instructed to celebrate the divine truth by becoming completely intoxicated – a paradox which suggests there is a sacred link between “reveling” and “revelation.”

Lauviticus would like to suggest: “And eagerly they woke up early on the next day, and lit the fires, and offered the meat; and the people sat down to eat and to drink and rose to revel.”

Tell us, honestly, had you been there, at the foot of Sinai, with no Moses in sight, would you have reveled, too?

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Remember when your cell phone ran out of battery when you needed it most? Or worse – your car ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. Or worse yet – on any given day of overload, you experienced major burn-out? These may seem like modern problems, but they were addressed thousands of years ago. In this week’s Torah episode, Mishpatim (Hebrew for “Laws”) the vital law for anti-burn-out is reiterated, among a motley crew of laws and regulations for kosher (i.e. holistic) living.Are You Working Too Hard?: You should only be doing six days of this, and then you need to recharge.

The one law that grabs our attention is the one that, perhaps, we need the most: how to take time to refresh, recharge, or recreate. These are all synonyms for one mysterious word that appears here in regard to the keeping of the Sabbath – a word that means both the human soul and the action that is required for the ongoing maintenance of the soul. Perhaps somewhere in this linguistic puzzle is a key to sustainable living.

Six days you shall do your work, but on the seventh day you shall rest, so that your ox and your donkey may have relief, and your home-born slave and the resident alien may be refreshed (Exodus 23:12, JPS).

The word translated as "refreshed" is the Hebrew word naphash, translated elsewhere as “rest,” “quiet,” “pause,” or “may-pause-for-breath.” The word for “being” here is nephesh, which shares the same root consonants as naphash. Nephesh makes its first appearance in the creation narratives: “And God blew into his nostrils the breath of life and Adam became a living being” (Genesis 2:7). While these Hebrew words are similar, in English, that kinship between “soul” and “rest” disappears.

For modern creatures craving sacred time and effective time management, this word/law suggests the concept of “recreation” – another word that has lost its original definition (re-creation) and now means everything from golf to drugs.Aaaaahhhh...: But even if you can't make it to a beach, you should still find time to pause and refresh your soul.

And so Lauviticus would like to suggest: You will work for six days and on the seventh day have rest, so that your household rests and all who work for you and with you may re-create.

How do you recreate? And is it enough to recharge your batteries?