Rashi offers three different reasons to explain Yitzchak becoming blind in his old age. One answer is that his eyes were affected by the smoke of the idolatrous incense offerings of Esav’s wives. Yitzchak had a greater sensitivity to the ill effects of idolatry due to his higher spiritual level having been the offering at the Akeidah. The second answer that Rashi offers is also Akeidah related. At the time of his being bound as a sacrifice the angels wept. The tears that fell from the sky came to land in Yitzchak’s eyes. These two answers are therefore along the same theme of the higher spiritual nature of Yitzchak. The third reason, the most practical of all and the one that is easiest for us to accept, is that Hashem purposely made Yitzchak experience failing eyesight so that Yaakov could perform the ruse and take the blessings from his older brother.
The Ramban is even more practical in his analysis. He wrote that this was a natural development of a person reaching older age. Not everybody is blessed with perfect eyesight to begin with and very frequently we see older people suffering with failing eyesight. The Seforno gives us a different theme. The loss of vision for Yitzchak was a punishment for not restraining Esav. This theme could be developed into a course on the responsibility of a parent in disciplining his offspring. The fact is that we still debate today how a child ends up in life is linked to the parents and the effective or defective method of parenting used in the home. There is a passage in the Talmud that states that how our children turn out can be attributed to Mazel. We recognize that there are many outside influences in the development of our children when they are in the maturing ages of their latter teens. Not everything is in the control of parents. Nevertheless, the Seforno tells us that parents should always live up to the responsibility that they have for bringing children into the world.
0 Comments
We know that the Torah is famously sparse when it comes to details – often we jump in a narrative and can’t help but wonder what happened in between. Or we read a very concise version of what could be a much longer story. But in this week’s parsha, Chayei Sarah, Eliezer, right-hand man of Avraham, gives us a very detailed description of how he came to the home of Laban to find a wife for Isaac. How important is that description? We have to assume that it’s very important, since it’s so long and drawn out. But what’s really remarkable is that Eliezer tells the story TWICE. And he tells it in almost exactly the same way each time. But for the spelling of ONE WORD.
In the first iteration of the story, Eliezer repeats what he has said to Avraham: “Perhaps (OOLAI) the woman will not follow me?” He’s wondering what he should do if that is the case. The Hebrew word in this sentence is spelled with a Vav, rendering it unable to be read as anything other than oolai, that is, maybe, perhaps. But when he recounts the dialogue with Lavan later, the Hebrew word is spelled without a Vav, rendering it possible to be pronounced aylye, to me. So—of course—we have to have a midrash here. The rabbis tell us that the two different word forms for perhaps or maybe make clear that Eliezer is ambivalent about going to find a wife for Isaac. Why would that be? He’s the faithful servant of Abraham, and has never declined to do as he instructs. The reason, according to tradition, is that Eliezer himself had a daughter. He was hoping that Avraham would give his approval for Isaac to marry the daughter to Eliezer. So, the second telling is the CLUE—if the word could be read as TO ME, perhaps Eliezer is hinting to Avraham that Isaac could just as easily be a member of HIS family. But Rashi tells us that Eliezer was a descendant of Canaan who had been cursed by Noach, so one who is accursed cannot marry one who is blessed. So, there is no possibility that Avraham would accept Eliezer’s daughter for Isaac. And that teaches us that ONE WORD can make a WORLD OF DIFFERENCE. I grew up addicted to the early Superman series on television. The opening voice-over informed us very clearly about the values for which Superman stands, “Truth, Justice and the American Way.” If we throw in motherhood and apple pie, the list of virtues is complete. I say this not to denigrate those values, but only to suggest that we seldom examine them in the depths they deserve.
Let’s take a look at one of those values: Truth. Philosophers have argued for centuries about how strict a demand human beings have for telling the truth. At the most extreme we find Immanuel Kant who argues that we have an absolute obligation always to tell the truth, despite the consequences. The famous example he gives involves a crazed killer who is stalking an innocent person whom you are sheltering. That killer comes to your home and demands to know if his prey is there. Kant would have us tell the truth. I think most of us are uncomfortable with this extreme and might cite righteous lies in Nazi Germany as the surest counter-argument to Kant. Another ethical view Utilitarianism instructs us to tell the truth only when doing so maximizes utility. This school of thought seems to negate the moral obligation most of us feel to tell the truth. An example would be telling a dying Temple member that his bequest will go to his pet project which you have no intention of funding. As tempted as we might be, I think we would all agree that that’s wrong. But notice that the default position here is utility rather than honesty. That too seems to contradict our intuitions. How does the Torah guide us through this moral thicket? In out Parshah, we have the story of three angels visiting Abraham. One of them says “I will return to you next year, and your wife Sarah will have a son.” Sarah overhears the conversation. She “laughs to herself, saying, ‘Now that I am withered, am I to have enjoyment – with my husband so old?’” In the very next verse, God reports her laughter to Abraham. But He does not tell Abraham the whole truth. Instead, He tells Abraham that when Sarah laughed, she said: ‘Shall l in truth bear a child, old as I am?’” God lied! Jewish tradition says that the God acted this way to teach that peace in the home is more important than telling the truth. Why should God tell Abraham that Sarah thinks he is too old? That would embarrass him. Better to tell a little white lie. Peace in the home is a principal virtue. A little deviation from the truth is a small price to pay. The Talmud derives a stronger principle. The rabbis assert there is a strong prohibition against “hurting with words.” It prohibits embarrassing anyone in public even if the words are true. The ancient rabbis noted that when someone is seriously shamed, the blood drains from his face. They equate this with murder, the shedding of blood, in its severity. The Bible teaches that it is better to tell a lie than to publicly shame anyone. In our story today, God avoids shaming Abraham even privately. So, we can see that Judaism is neither absolutist nor utilitarian. At the same time, it does not offer total flexibility and permit lying whenever we feel like it or whenever it serves our interests. Instead, what becomes clear is that doing Chesed, loving-kindness, is a greater duty than the duty to tell the truth. Just as God protected Abraham’s dignity, so should we strive for compassion in our dealings with our fellow human beings. We can’t leap tall buildings with a single bound, but we can do that! At the end of last week’s parsha, which we didn’t read this year, we are introduced to Abram. Abram who will eventually become Abraham. We also meet briefly Abram’s father Terah, and Abram’s nephew, Lot. In addition, we learn of SARAI, Abram’s beautiful wife. So, the cast of characters for Lech-Lecha, this week’s parsha, is there. But it’s a pretty dry recounting of the members of this family, and, in addition to that recounting, we also get a bit of an itinerary about where they have been and where they are going.
So, when we read this week’s portion, Lech Lecha, we are thrust immediately into a very dramatic moment—when God commands Abram, LECH-LECHA, go forth. Nothing dry about that. Go forth and leave your father’s land. We don’t know if Abram knows where he is going—has God told him of his destination, or does Abram simply have so much faith that he can trust that God will guide his way? And, as the Eytz Hayyim tells us, this is the first of many such moments when God lets the Jewish people know not only that Israel is our homeland but also that we are blessed. Abram is told LECH-LECHA, which literally would mean, TAKE YOURSELF, and midrash tells us that the expression means that Abram, if he obeys God, will find his true, his authentic, self. Another interpretation is that LECH-LECHA makes clear that Abram is leaving his homeland for his own good. Think about the last two parshiyot, the two parshiyot that begin the Torah, Breishis and Noach. In each, there is, like this week, a movement OUT. Adam and Eve, once they have sinned, are exiled from Gad Eden. They are forced to leave Paradise, and they do so in shame and humiliation. Cain, likewise, after killing his brother, is sentenced to wander the earth; again, another exile. Later, Noach also flees. He flees the flood, going to where he knows not, to populate another world. Trusting in God that God will save him and his entire family. Fleeing the awful sin that has surrounded him. But this week’s movement is very different from the travels of Adam and Eve, Cain, and Noach. In Lech Lecha, Abram is going to a homeland. Here Abram is not moving AWAY; rather, he is moving TOWARD. Toward Israel. Toward his destiny. Our destiny, as painful as the news has been over the last weeks. Unlike Noach and the others, Abram is not running away from anything; instead, he is traveling toward. He is leaving behind the idols of his father and heading toward a new future. Toward the establishment of a radical religion, of monotheism, and of the Jewish people. DVAR NOACH:
I know that we are all very familiar with parsha Noach—it’s part of every Bible coloring book, and you may have seen the movie, and once Diane and I had to carve a watermelon to make it into Noah’s ark for a birthday party. In other words, the story of Noah is VERY well known. Perhaps too well known. Because when something is that familiar, we tend to gloss over some things that might be worth a little more digging. There are some lines in Noach that I want to look at just for a few minutes to maybe convince you that there’s more here than the vivid picture of a large ark holding two of every animal. These lines occur very early on in the parsha; in fact, they are part of the first aliya. 12 And God saw the earth, and behold it had become corrupted, for all flesh had corrupted its way on the earth. יבוַיַּ֧רְא אֱלֹהִ֛ים אֶת־הָאָ֖רֶץ וְהִנֵּ֣ה נִשְׁחָ֑תָה כִּֽי־הִשְׁחִ֧ית כָּל־בָּשָׂ֛ר אֶת־דַּרְכּ֖וֹ עַל־הָאָֽרֶץ: 13 And God said to Noah, "The end of all flesh has come before Me, for the earth has become full of violence because of them, and behold I am destroying them from the earth." יגוַיֹּ֨אמֶר אֱלֹהִ֜ים לְנֹ֗חַ קֵ֤ץ כָּל־בָּשָׂר֙ בָּ֣א לְפָנַ֔י כִּי־מָֽלְאָ֥ה הָאָ֛רֶץ חָמָ֖ס מִפְּנֵיהֶ֑ם וְהִנְנִ֥י מַשְׁחִיתָ֖ם Notice that word ‘corruption.’ NEESHCHATA. The word appears twice in the earlier verse, and HAMAS—violence, sound familiar?—appears in the second. Many scholars have asked what exactly was the sin of mankind that was so terrible that God had to destroy the entire earth. And no one is quite sure. ‘Corruption’ is a pretty general term, and even ‘violence’ isn’t exactly clear. Not everyone even agrees that the correct translation is violence. For example, the Jewish Publication Society of 1917 translates the passage as “the earth was filled with violence.” But in 1985, that same society translated it as “the earth was filled with lawlessness.” And some texts interpret ‘lawlessness’ to mean idolatry. Finally, the Chabad site as well as the Judaica Press translate HAMAS as “the earth became full of robbery,” which in my humble opinion, just doesn’t make it. But, even if we agree on the word 'violence' we still don’t know what sort of violence. Violence, for example, can be psychological or physical. You can do violence to people, to animals, to property. Maybe this was a case of ‘all of the above.’ What is also interesting about this passage is that God has His own little play on words. When He states that he is going to destroy humankind, he uses the Hebrew “MASHCHEETAN,” which has the same root as the word translated as ‘corruption.’ Remember: NEESHCHATA? So, in a sense, God is telling us that God is going to do to us what we have been doing to the earth and to each other. Our retribution. One other interesting passage I want to highlight. And this is from the very first verse of the parsha. We open with “this is the line of Noah.” Wouldn’t you expect that the parsha would then give us Noach’s genealogy? Wouldn’t you expect to read about the sons of Noach? But that is not what happens. The next line is “Noach was a righteous man.” Doesn’t that seem like a strange shift, to go from Noach’s lineage to describe his deeds, including how he walked with God? Rashi has a very interesting and famous explanation for this odd shift. Rashi claims that here the Torah is telling us that our “line” is not our children or grandchildren or great-grandchildren. Rather, our “line” is our deeds. That is, what we DO is what we leave behind. Our actions, our deeds, represent our legacy. I know some of you are Yiddish mavens; or at least you know more Yiddish than I do. But tell me if you know what this means: ES IZ SCHWER TZU SEIN A YID.
Yes—it means it’s hard to be a Jew. Does everyone agree? I think we’d all probably agree that being Jewish, as rewarding as it is, is also challenging. We may be the Chosen People, but it’s a lot of responsibility. Whether it’s keeping kosher, or attending long services, or constantly doing mitzvot. It’s a lot. And sometimes, maybe especially this time of year, we may really feel the pressure. We try to maintain secular jobs and keep up with family and cooking and doing teshuvah. We try to live in the moment, but we are anticipating how big a brisket to get, or where we’ll be seated in the sanctuary, or when we’ll get out of services. Or maybe that’s just me! So: ES IZ SCHWER TZU SEIN A YID. BUT this week’s first of two Parshiyot—Netzavim—tells us something a little different. Now remember that we’ve just come off all those curses of Ki Tavo, and we have been hearing Moshe’s long, obsessively long, instructions to the Jewish people about what they will have to do once he is no longer their leader. How they will have to conduct themselves in the Promised Land. BUT Netzavim tells us that it’s really NOT SO HARD. And, after the nightmare curses that are described, and the demanding mitzvot that we are required to follow, this passage seems really strange, almost out of place. But I wonder if Moshe suddenly realizes that he’s not making Judaism very appealing. I wonder if he realizes that the people are dealing not only with the curses and the blessings and the high bar that God has set for them. They are also dealing with the impending death of their leader Moses. So perhaps he’s smart enough to lighten up. So what does he tell them? First, he tells them that the instructions are “not too baffling.” In other words, this shouldn’t be hard to understand. Don’t charge interest. Shoo away a mother bird before you take her eggs. Be kind to the widow and the orphan. How hard is that? And he also tells them: “It is not beyond reach.” In other words, there’s nothing here that a good, solid, everyday human being can do. You don’t have to be Superman or even Moshe to be able to follow these commandments. And then he’s very clear—these instructions are not in the heavens. If they were in the heavens, then you’d say “Who among us can go to the heavens and get it for us?” The answer is that you don’t need someone to do that because the rules and regulations are not to be found in heaven. Nor is it “across the sea.” In those days, it must have seemed just as daunting to go to the heavens as it was to cross the sea. So, Moshe tells the Israelites: you don’t need someone to cross the sea to get this wisdom for you. Instead, he completes his speech with a little bit of cheerleading: “The thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it.” No one is going to claim that observing the principles of Judaism is a piece of cake. (In fact, if you think about it, the cake has to be kosher, and the kind of cake depends on what you’ve just eaten, etc. etc. etc.). NO. It’s not easy, and I don’t want to imply that it is. But at this time of year, I think that we tend to focus so much on the challenges that this section from Netzavim is a good reminder. We can be good Jews. We can experience joy in being Jewish. Because, ultimately, this “THING” (as the Torah calls it) is close to us—it’s in our hearts and our mouths. And Netzavim begins with everyone assembled—from the water drawer to the woodcutter, from the Kohanim to the “stranger within your camp”--EVERYONE has to hear this message, because EVERYONE, no matter what their station in life might be, EVERYONE is capable of walking in God’s ways and keeping his commandments. I think that kind of sense of shared responsibility and equality is part of what makes Judaism so beautiful. Torah Reading:
This week’s Parsha, Ki Tavo, is full of both blessings and curses. The curses are vivid and frightening, and one rabbi referred to them as55 consecutive verses of nightmarish misery and torture. Many of We are cursed with confusion and bewilderment, which Rashi translates literally as a “clogging of the heart.” We are told that “you will grope at midday, as the blind man gropes in the dark.” Ki Tavo tells us that the strong and high walls and fortresses of our cities will all collapse, and I can’t help but think that this is meant in a metaphorical as well as a literal sense because we no longer have any real bearings. Ki Tavo even threatens us with insanity: “You will go insane”—the Hebrew word used here is MESHUGAH—and that “you will be in fear in your life.” You will have a trembling heart, dashed hopes, and you will not be calm. To me, one of the worst curses is that “you will not be able to believe that this is your life.” Rambam says that the worst is that no one will even want to buy you as slaves. There is a lot of tradition related to this Parsha. One is that the curses are read very quietly and very quickly—the obvious message here is that no one wants to spend much time on these terrible threats. There’s a story that the son of a rabbi had to laen Ki Tavo one Shabbat when his father was ill. The son later had to be hospitalized for shock and high blood pressure. The people asked him, “You hear this Parsha every year. Why would it affect you now?” And he answered, “When my father reads it, I can’t hear the curses.” Another tradition is that a number of rabbis take the curses and try to argue that they have all come true for the Jewish people. Some rabbis even single out the Holocaust and claim that Ki Tavo predicts it. This portion is also known as the to chechah, or rebuke. It is always read in close proximity to Rosh Hashanah and is intended to alert us to the realities of life so that we can do some soul-searching and introspection in order to improve our behavior before the coming Days of Judgement. It’s incredible that Ki Tavo represents almost the very last words that Moshe will share with the Jewish people. And there are only 14 lines of blessings, in contrast with the 55. But no matter what we think about why these curses are so lengthy and so harsh, we cannot ignore the fact that we are still here today, and our enemies have not destroyed us and scattered our ashes to the winds. We can still experience the joys we associate with Judaism, however challenging it may be to be a good Jew. As Moshe tells the Israelites, only today—after forty years in the desert have they attained a heart to know, eyes to see, and ears to hear. AND MAY IT BE SO FOR ALL OF US. Torah Reading:
The Torah tells us that an individual can be exempted from army service if he is a newlywed (24:5). The Sages derive that this one-year exemption applies also to someone who has moved into a new house, or redeemed a new vineyard, so that he is able to enjoy its produce for the first time. It is stated that he should spend the first year of marriage in rejoicing with his wife. This is a very important lesson that a loving and happy relationship can be the basis upon which marriage is built. We do realize that it is necessary to nurture any close relationship that we have with another individual. No relationship is closer between two individuals than the sanctity of the marriage relationship of a husband and wife. When the husband will dedicate himself to making his wife happy, this will go a long way in that first year to making it habitual so that it will permeate the total length of the marriage for decades and decades. A husband who dedicates himself to his wife will benefit greatly when she returns the favor and dedicates herself to the happiness of her husband. This way of thinking will guarantee that the future of their marriage will be one of stability and mutual caring. The Torah states that when it comes to harvesting olives, a person is not required to go on a ladder; he will have such an abundance of produce, with God’s blessing, that he will just have to stand on the ground and beat the branches with a stick and the olives will fall to the ground. “Do not remove all the splendor behind you.” The literal interpretation means: do not take off all the olives – leave some of them on the tree so that poor people can have some. Rabbeinu Bachya expounds on the Midrashic idea of not being over glorified and boasting of your financial status. When you give charity and help poor people, do not look for credit. Instead you should have an overwhelming feeling of thankfulness to Hashem that He has provided for you and you are able to be a giver and not a taker. Do not look for credit should be a message for many other mitzvot that we perform as well. Haftorat Ki Taytzai: The Jewish people have suffered from an insecurity about the future. With the cloud of anti-Semitism that is always hovering about, the Jew is extremely competitive in his or her fight for survival. Each ray of sunshine is met with caution because we know how easily our hopes can be dashed. We fear redemption because any sense of redemption is usually proved to be premature. No redemption has been complete and therefore we fear them to be false or at best, temporary. (Radak on Isaiah 54:4). The great fear that the prophet sees is that the Jewish people will develop a redemption complex. Even when it is actually beginning, the Jew will have a difficult time bringing himself or herself to believe that it is happening. Too many unfulfilled dreams will breed a heart that is incapable of dreaming and hoping. We must never lose Tikvah, hope, that we will all be ultimately redeemed. There are so many troubling parts of the Torah, and we struggle to interpret them. The laws about owning slaves, for example, are hard to grapple with, even if they were probably pretty progressive for their time. In addition, many of the Torah’s preachings about women might give us pause (to say the least). And should we really stone the disobedient child? Do we genuinely believe that idolaters should not be allowed to live? I have no doubt that we could provide many more such examples.
These concepts and principles force us to interpret the Torah through a modern lens. And rabbis over the centuries have struggled to do that as well. And, God willing, centuries of future Jews will face the same intellectual and spiritual challenge. But this week’s parsha has a very modern feel to it. Much of SHOFTIM is devoted to JUSTICE. Justice justice shall you pursue. The very repetition of the word makes clear how important a concept it is. And Shoftim gives us clear guidelines not only for how kings should be appointed over a people but also about limitations on the king’s behavior. These are VERY radical ideas. It wasn’t that long ago that many scholars and politicians defended what has been called the DIVINE RIGHT OF KINGS. That idea meant that the King was the direct descendent of God, and that God had actually APPOINTED the king. What would that mean? Well, it would mean that to question a king is literally to question GOD. It would also mean that the king had absolute authority over his people—in other words, there were no limits to what a king could do. And, finally, the idea of the divine right of kings meant that the successor to the throne was based on one’s ancestry. Any idiot son could (and DID!) lay claim to the throne. And that was not at all unusual. It was only in the 1600s and 1700s that real opposition to this idea became forceful. Think about THAT—only four or five hundred years ago radical thinkers challenged the idea that God appoints kings. But the Torah has something to say about that LONG before the 1600s. In parshat Shoftim, there are definite limits on a king’s power. First, one’s king has to be a “kinsman,” not a foreigner. A king, we are told, should not keep too many horses or have too many wives. In other words, kings should not be distracted by wealth or romance. As the Torah tells us, “He shall not have many wives, lest his heart go astray; nor shall he amass silver and gold to excess.” Even our own rulers (think about Shlomo) didn’t always follow those principles. And perhaps the most radical idea of all is that Shoftim tells us that the king should always keep a copy of the Torah by his side. “Let it remain with him and let him read it all his life.” What a powerful idea—this passage is instructing the king on how to rule. This passage is telling the king (and all of us) that rule cannot be arbitrary, that rule must be based on teaching, on scripture, on the Torah. So that we know that there is always something higher than the king. The Torah (and God) limit what the king can and cannot do; and that’s a very radical idea, not only for the time when it was written but even for today. This week’s parsha—EIKEV—is Moses’s final address to the Jewish people. He’s pretty long-winded—this begins on the first day of Sheevat and concludes 37 days later on the seventh of Adar, the day of Moses’s death. There’s quite a sense of urgency here; he reminds the people of their previous sins—of the Golden Calf, of Korach’s rebellion, of the spies who lack faith. He’s worried, for sure, and with good reason. As he tells them, “you have been rebelling against the Lord since the day I became acquainted with you.” I’m not sure that this is the best pedagogy (I know I don’t become better when I’m told about all the things I did wrong), but I’m guessing that Moses can’t imagine his people without him. I’m sure that he feels that he has to do his best to instill in this “stiff-necked” people the importance not only of NOT sinning but also of doing positive mitzvot and of creating a Jewish identity for future generations. No doubt he mourns the fact that he cannot be part of that future. Hence this death-bed soliloquy.
Most commentators believe that this parsha includes two negative commandments and six positive ones. The positive ones include the duty to bless God for the food we receive; from this we take the Birkhat ha-mazon, the blessing after meals. We are also commanded in this parsha to associate with Torah scholars and to invoke the name of the Lord when we swear an oath. My personal favorite of these positive commandments is the mitzvah to love the convert to Judaism. I want to look for a moment at the second word of this parsha, the word that gives this parsha its name: EIKEV. Most translations, including our own here, translate EIKEV as “IF.” Some go a little further and translate EIKEV as “because” or “in exchange for,” meaning that if you do X, then God will give you Y, presumably IN EXCHANGE FOR your obedience and your faith. But it’s also worth noting that there is another AKEIV—different spelling but same pronunciation –and that AKEIV means HEEL. Think about the HEEL. It is the part of the body that is most in touch with the ground. It is the true work-horse of the human being. Aikev/Ekev might represent a concrete way to remind us that it’s the small things that count. The little things under foot. It’s the mitzvot that we may tend to forget—perhaps the ones that aren’t quite so colorful—that matter in the day-to-day. Not likely that we’re rushing to kill anyone, for example, but grace after meals is something we might cheat on if we’re in a hurry or just not in the mood. If we take care of our heels, the rest of the body may follow. Similarly, if we take care of the smaller mitzvot, the bigger ones might follow. It’s a nice concept. Thoreau once said “heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.” Perhaps that’s why we can connect EIKEV—because—and AKEIV—heel. Connecting these concepts would suggest that nothing is really mundane in a Jewish life and that the so-called small mitzvot are not so small at all. I remember a brilliant speech I heard years ago in a local Temple delivered by Rabbi Harold Kushner. The topic of that talk was “what have the Jewish people given to humankind?” Of course, he spent a good deal of time discussing monotheism, and when we read Parshiyot like Eikev, we can see just how challenging the idea of ONE GOD must have been to the early Jewish people. But Rabbi Kushner also cited another major gift of Judaism—namely that Judaism makes the secular or the mundane the divine. Secular activities like eating, working, farming our crops, repaying a debt, even enjoying sex—these are all spiritual activities for Judaism. Each is imbued with a divine aspect, and the more we see and feel that spiritual component, the more we embrace Judaism and the more we reach toward God. So—with a debt to Parsha Eikev—we add the HEEL to the revered HEAD and the beloved HEART. Doing so means that we recognize that we walk on this earth even as we look towards the heavens. |
Archives
January 2024
Categories |
OFFICE HoursM-Th: 10am - 2pm
|
Telephone(781) 925-0091
|
|