A German-Trained American Rabbi in Yorkshire

I am not the first nor even the thousandth to comment on the dissonance between the name of this week’s Parashah and the content—although called “Chayei Sarah” or the “Life of Sarah,” the portion begins with Sarah’s death at the deeply symbolic age of 127 and then proceeds with Abraham’s attempts to procure a proper tomb.   One the one hand, there is no dissonance at all, as the “titles” of weekly Torah portions are not thematic headings, simple the first uniquely meaningful words in the section.   Yet on the other hand, I tend to believe the words of sages that state that every word and even letter in Torah has meaning—I may not believe this for the same reasons they do—but I believe it nonetheless.   Therefore I believe it important to think about the implications of naming a portion “the Life of . . .” where the content is “the Death of . . .” After having officiated at over 40 funerals in the last 18 months alone I have had to spend a lot of time finding meaningful words to of

             Years ago I worked as a pastoral counselor with a gentlemen who had a remarkable story. About 10 years before I began working with Matt, he had in a short time lost all that at the time had meaning to him.   In the space of several months his wife left him (taking most all of the family friends) after which he fell pray to a Reduction In Force – the painfully euphemistic way of saying “was laid off.”   Quickly the debt piled up until the only phone calls he received were those from creditors.   Feeling alone and without hope, he began to plan his own death.             Two warning signs of how serious a suicide wish is are having a concrete plan and physically writing out the note.   Both had been done, and on the day of the plan he recounted that he had said to himself, “If there is a single person in the world that still cares about me, I will not go through with this.”             That night, after returning from the last day of the temp job he had taken to try

There is an old joke that I heard in Montana – perhaps a little too real to be funny – but that seems to often be the case with the jokes that are worth using in a sermon. A couple, recently married, are very much in love.   They own an Ford pickup with those old bench seats that allow the two to sit arm and arm, shoulder to shoulder in the truck.   As they drive by, all see the loving couple sitting next to each other and smile. Twenty years later, after the relationship has naturally changed in the course of time, the partner in the passenger seat has a moment in a small argument that the two are having while driving and says, “Hey, why don’t we sit next to each other anymore?”   The partner that is driving replies, “Well, I haven’t moved.” It is not just that we seem to have an illusion that change in a relationship is bad, it is that when we notice that change has taken place – sometimes profound change – it is hard to deal with this without anger, sadness and disappoi

My dear friend and future rabbi Marisa James tells the story of the time that she leyned „Ki Tova“ at the Masorti Community of Moreshet Israel in Jerusalem.  The problem with leyning Ki Tavo is that when the long list of curses is read, 54 verses in all, it is done quickly and quietly, so as not to linger on the curses.  In order to read rapidly, Marisa had prepared for weeks, the horror of the curses balanced by her beautiful voice and the stunning Moroccan chant she uses.  Yet despite all the preparation, she very uncharacteristically struggled with actual reading in shul and in frustration afterwards apologized to the rabbi, Adam Frank, saying that she was sorry and really had prepared.  In a moment of deep wisdom he replied, “It is really ok.  Curses should never come easily to our lips.” I love this story, as it brings needed insight into one of the more problematic passages in Torah.   For starters, there is this strange image in Chapter 27 of Deuteronomy of the tribes of Is