A German-Trained American Rabbi in Yorkshire

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 De...

There is a tradition in Germany that is a bit difficult for both rabbis and cantors.  On Yom Kippur, after months of preparation, comes the big moment: an awe-filled day full of prayers, songs and important theological ideas.  Even though there are always some who attend the full day of services, the majority show up only for Yiskor – the memorial service on Yom Kippur afternoon. Naturally this is a much-discussed phenomenon among rabbis.  Some even perceive the great demand for Yiskor as a sort of insult.  “I prepare so much, and then people only come for 15 minutes…” It is, in fact, difficult for a rabbi to ask the question “Why?  Why Yiskor?” without sounding judgmental.  In my opinion, the answer is clear: people understand Yiskor. Judaism isn’t easy.  In fact, it is often unbelievably complicated.  Our traditions not only stem from the five books of Moses, which alone are very rich, but also from 3,000 years of ...

There are moments in our liturgy that can pass so swiftly and easily that we barely give them a glance.  One such moment passed recently during Pessach shacharit the morning after our Seder.  During the Musaf we add a special prayer said once a year that is echoed in a similar prayer also said once a year after Sukkot. “With the knowledge of the Eternal I will speak of secrets / That for this people, by this prayer / There may be joy in dew / May the valley and its flora / be renewed through dew / Flourishing anew under the shade of the Eternal / Sign of regeneration / Shield of future generations: dew.” After we speak this poem and the accompanying blessing, we change our daily prayers.  A line in the Amida changes from “mashiv haruach u’morid hagashem,” “You make the wind blow and the rain fall,” to “morid hatal,” “You cause the dew to fall.”  This will once again switch back during the morning service of Shemini Atzeret, the “Eighth Day of Gathering” of Sukko...

I wanted to add a few comments to the article that was published by “Die Zeit ” this Passover/Easter weekend: First of all, I am deeply grateful for the article— its breadth and its general positivity. Since I moved to Europe, most times when I have seen any article about Judaism in anything larger than a standard news item, the cover picture is that of the Exotic Jew – black hat, payot – which although represents a percentage of Jewry, is not in anyway representative of all or even the majority of Jewry. This article represents hope, as it is a different portrayal within a deeply complex society. That being said, from comments I have read and already received, I would like to comment specifically on one quote in the article that needs clarification and expansion. Frau Jeska and I spoke at length on a variety of topics for most of a day, and naturally complex thoughts needed to be distilled and redacted for the purpose of the space of an article. The comment, ho...

Hi all: I posted my first effort at a french sermon on my other blog HERE . I will try to translate and post the english here in the next day or so. B'shalom!

I would like to offer two stories today – one true and one that is merely filled with truth. The first comes from one of my favorite chassidic tales and relates the story of a father with a rather simple son. During the High Holy Days, he would pray in the synagogue of the Baal Shem Tov, but never would bring his boy with him to pray. Finally when the boy reached the age of Bar Mitzvah, his father took him to the synagogue for the first time, but only out of fear that the boy would out of sheer ignorance eat on the holy fast day. The boy had a flute that he would play while tending the flock. Without his father knowing, he took the flute to shul . All day long the boy sat in silence in the synagogue. During the musaf prayer, the boy whispered to his father, “Father, I want to play my flute.” Terrified, the father spoke sharply and quite harshly to his son and the boy relented. This happened again and again during the minchah service, and each time the f...