There is a marked contrast set up by two similar events in the book of Braishis. We read

this week in Vayeitzei about Jacob having a dream that is really a vision from God. He
sees a ladder stretching, Midrash tells us, from his home in Beersheva to the place he was
sleeping, Mount Moriah, site of the Akeida and future home to the Holy Temples in
Jerusalem. There are angels ascending and descending from the ladder, proving, the
Rabbi’s tell us, that Jacob was being guarded by heavenly creatures during his travels.
The sages tell us that because the first angels are going up the ladder, they must have
been with Jacob all along. The ones coming down are arriving to take up the guard duty
that is being passed to them from the first set of angels. And, one might ask, what about
the time that Jacob was unguarded, the time in between the two sets of angels? At that
time, our commentaries state, Jacob was being guarded by God Himself. The message
from God then is given to Jacob. It is a reiteration of the covenant given to his father and
grandfather; God will be blessing the fledging Jewish nation and will give to them the
land upon which Jacob is sleeping. God will be with him wherever he goes.
This metaphor of Divine protection seems so comforting to me. From Jacob’s dream,
perhaps we can all conclude that we are under the shelter of God’s wings.
Another story of a dream is related later on, in Parshat Miketz. Pharaoh is sleeping and
has a vision from God. The dream is about seven lean cows and fat cows, a warning to
the king about impending doom to his country. Of course, as we know, it would take
Joseph to interpret the puzzling metaphor.
Besides the obvious differences in tone of each dream, there is another telling difference
between the two narratives. When Pharoah awakened from his sleep, the Torah relates
that he went back to sleep. What a departure from Jacob’s reaction to his dream! The
Torah tells us in Vayeitzei that when he awakens, he is immediately aware of the
Presence of God and dedicates himself to Divine service. Quite different than turning
over and going back to sleep.
The Baal Shem Tov, the first Chassidic master, quoted the Talmud that each day a
Heavenly voice emanates from the mountain of Sinai urging people to make teshuvah, to
return to the mitzvot. “Of what use is this voice,” asked the Baal Shem Tov, “since no
one has ever attested to hearing it?”
He then explained that although this voice is physically inaudible to the human ear, it is
heard by the neshamah, the soul. The moments that we are moved to do teshuvah are due
to the neshamah perceiving the voice from Sinai.
As we see from the two reactions to a call from God, there can be two results. We can
ignore the call and go back to the hibernation of ingrained habits, or we can emulate
Jacob and rouse ourselves to an awakened state and take constructive action.
The Divine voice calls to us. Let us heed the call.


Rabbi David Grossman
Rabbi Joshua Grossman

Last week’s parsha ended with the death of Abraham, and the long line of descendants from Ishmael, who lived to be 137 years old. There is also a brief mention of Isaac—that he was blessed by God after his father’s death and that he settled near Beer-lahai-roi.  So he’s sandwiched between his father and his brother.

And he doesn’t do much better in this week’s parsha, TOLDOT.  It opens:

יטוְאֵ֛לֶּה תּֽוֹלְדֹ֥ת יִצְחָ֖ק בֶּן־אַבְרָהָ֑ם אַבְרָהָ֖ם הוֹלִ֥יד אֶת־יִצְחָֽק:



“This is the story of Isaac, son of Abraham.  Abraham begot Isaac.”  And suddenly Isaac is 40 years old and living his life.

As the Torah recounts that life, you might begin to have a real sense of déjà vu.  Like Abraham, Isaac digs the same wells. Like Abraham, Isaac lies about his wife being his sister. Like Abraham, Isaac has a wife who has difficulty conceiving, and then has boys who are jealous rivals.  So those opening lines of the parsha gain more significance.  The Torah seems to be telling us that what matters is Isaac’s lineage. He may not be much of an original thinker or doer—but he has yiches, an inheritance,  from his father.  The lines that open Toldot seem to be offering us a circle—Isaac, son of Abraham, Abraham, father of Isaac.  

Isaac, as the Eytz Hayyim notes, is the sole heir of Abraham.  Though the passage may seem redundant—of course we know that Isaac is the son of Abraham—but here the emphasis makes clear that Isaac is the ONLY successor to Abraham.  Regardless of what he accomplishes, and regardless of how unoriginal his life seems to be, Isaac is going to make possible the survival of the Jewish people.

Rabbi David Grossman
Rabbi Joshua Grossman

​The Parsha this week, Chayai Srah, gives us many of our traditions surrounding end of life, mourning and respect for our departed, including making sure that someone has a respectful burial and period of mourning.  But, apart from these issues, I want to ask a question which you may not have considered lately. Or ever.  ARE JEWS ALLOWED TO CELEBRATE THANKSGIVING?

          I know—do we really have to analyze everything? Aren’t we on safe ground with Thanksgiving? Maybe Halloween is iffy, but isn’t Thanksgiving the ultimate secular holiday? Well, it’s not as clear as you might think.  It turns out that the Thanksgiving holiday has been a source of debate for years in the Jewish community.

          First, we probably realize that the Thanksgiving holiday mirrors, in many ways, the festival of Sukkot.  It is, like Sukkot, based on ancient harvest feasts that were so typical of agrarian societies.  In 1621, 90 Native Americans and 50 Pilgrims sat together to eat a meal and to thank God for their survival under truly awful conditions.  The holiday was adopted as a national holiday in 1789, when George Washington was President. Some people saw Thanksgiving as a religious holiday; if that’s the case, then Jews would certainly not be able to participate in the celebration. But most people today maintain that Thanksgiving is a completely secular holiday. So why is there still a controversy?

          Well, the basis for the controversy comes from a line from Vayikra, Leviticus, that reads as follows:  God commands Moshe:  “You shall not copy the practices of the land of Egypt where you dwelt, or the land of Canaan to which I am taking you; nor shall you follow their laws.”  So some scholars argue that we are forbidden to do anything that mirrors or imitates Gentile society. In other words, we are forbidden not only to avoid idolatrous customs but also anything that seems to copy customs of non-Jews.  If that’s the case, then it would seem that Thanksgiving would be out of the picture. 

          Rabbis continue to disagree about this practice, though most now say that Thanksgiving is permitted for Jews.  One scholar, a Rabbi Feinstein, pronounced that we are allowed to celebrate Thanksgiving as long as no songs are sung.  Another, Rabbi Hutner, argued that Thanksgiving must be forbidden to Jews because the day is based on the Christian calendar, and that any holiday based on the Christian calendar is off limits for Jews.  Some scholars argue that it’s not only idolatrous customs that are forbidden but also customs that are “foolish.” I guess I don’t see Thanksgiving as foolish, so I’m not sure how it applies. And if “foolish” is forbidden, what do we do with PURIM?

          However you see this issue, I think that this is another example where Jews have so many different perspectives, even on something that seems pretty straightforward at first. But I like the idea of celebrating the holiday and making it our own. Maybe that means a kosher turkey. Maybe that means we bench after the meal. Maybe that means that we open our doors to people who have nowhere else to go. All of these are so Jewish and can give ANY holiday our own unique imprint. I will mention one idea that I read about and really liked: One Jewish writer suggested that we treat the Friday after Thanksgiving as a day of LISTENING rather than a day of shopping. This also can  become a family tradition that has its roots in our history. Perhaps a remembrance of those who are no longer with us and no longer at our Thanksgiving table can be the order of the day. I can’t imagine a more Jewish way to celebrate a life and a holiday.


Rabbi David Grossman
Rabbi Joshua Grossman

​You might be surprised to learn that while most doctors don't make house calls these days, apparently God still does. That's the lesson that we learn from the Torah portion, Parshat Vayerah.  

Any discussion of the mitzvah of Bikkur Holim, visiting the sick, begins with Genesis, chapter 18.  While the Torah doesn't specifically mention this Mitzvah, this commandment, it does teach us this lesson by example.  The opening words of the Parshah are "Vayerah Adonai elav - And the Lord appeared to Abraham."  What a dramatic statement this is!  Elsewhere God speaks to Abraham, he calls on him, but He never "appears" to him.  As our above-the-line text mentions, this is the rare occasion when God appears without any formal act or worship or the building of an altar. Why then, did God choose to appear to Abraham at this particular moment in time?  

This story, we're told, is the basis of an important but oft-forgotten Mitzvah – Bikkur Holim, visiting the sick. The sages point out that last week's Torah portion ends with Abraham's circumcision at the tender age of ninety-nine.  As you know, Abraham has done this circumcision himself, and he’s done (or overseen) the circumcision of all the males of his extended family—including Ishmael, who was 13 years old at the time, and all the household slaves.  As Parshat Vayerah opens, Abraham is recovering from his self-inflicted surgery. God appears to him at this moment, we are told, in order to comfort him as recuperates.  The sages teach us that Bikkur Holim is not just a nice thing to do.  Bikkur Holim is nothing less than an imitation of what God does.  Just as God visits the sick, we must do the same.

As we think about a sick visit from God—THIS sick visit from God—we may be noticing that something we might expect DOES NOT happen.  It seems strange, doesn’t it, that, despite the fact that God visits our forefather Abraham, the Torah says nothing about God curing him or lessening his pain.  If the Rabbis were right -- that God appeared at Abraham's tent during his recovery from surgery, then one would have expected nothing less than a miracle from "Rofey Kol Basar," "the Healer of all Flesh,"  as our tradition calls God.

So, what's the point of God's house call, if not to heal Abraham?  Jewish tradition teaches us that the purpose of Bikkur Holim is to provide the patient with the healing that precedes the cure. Nature will follow its own course, and we cannot control that course.  Medicine and therapy, obviously, can help. And we must allow doctors and nurses to do their jobs.  But visitors bring something equally important to the sick.  A visitor brings the healing power of love.  She has the ability to bring caring and empathy into the sick room.  Like God, the visitor reminds the patient that he is created in the image of God.  The visitor reaffirms the humanity of the patient at a time when the patient may feel more like a statistic or a diagnosis than a human being.  

Let us remember this Mitzvah to fulfill it as often as we can. 

Rabbi David Grossman
Rabbi Joshua Grossman

We are told that our father Abraham underwent ten tests over the course of his lifetime, and that he passed all ten tests. Though there is no consensus on what those ten tests were, we do know that the first was at Ur Kasdim, where Abram (as he was then known) was thrown into a fiery pit for his refusal to pay homage to the idols of that society.  He survived that furnace, and emerged not only physically unharmed but also committed to his monotheism. In addition, we know that the second test Abram faced was God’s command to LECH LECHA, to “go forth from your native land and from your father’s house to the land that I will show you.” 
As we know, he passes that test as well.
So why do we hear so much more about the second test than the first? In fact, the Torah is almost totally silent on the first test, the only mention being a quick reference in Lech Lecha to UR.  It would seem that surviving a fiery furnace would warrant more attention than a journey, a departure from one’s home.  And yet the fiery furnace is barely mentioned and comes to us mostly through midrash.  Why?
One scholar believes that the trial at Ur Kasdim was barely mentioned because that experience was of Abram’s own choosing. He was an iconoclast in his own day and time, and his devotion to monotheism required that he be willing to give up his life for his belief. On the other hand, this scholar claims, the command to “go forth” comes directly from God, and that makes that test even more important because it was divine. Therefore, it is worthy of more time in our text.
I want to propose a slightly different reason.  I think it’s clear that being willing to stand in a fiery furnace is a BIG test.  I’m not sure too many of us could do it!  But that was a once-in-a-lifetime event, and it was GLAMOROUS. A little like the trials of Hercules or some other spectacular super-hero.  In contrast, the journey that Abraham undertakes is one that is on-going, and not the least bit glamorous.  In fact, he doesn’t even know where he is going—God tells him “go forth from your native land and from your father’s house to the land that I will show you.” Now there’s faith! No sense of what that end destination might be. And the Torah tells us, “And Abram went forth as the Lord had commanded him.”   
Think about how hard it is to leave one’s childhood home. No matter how much we might resist the strictures of our parents and older adults, there is a certain safety in being someone’s child and in remaining a child. There is safety in what we know, in being cared for. No doubt Abram felt that safety as well, even though he must have hated living in a land of idolaters. 
But that isn’t all. Abram doesn’t simply leave his childhood home. He leaves without any knowledge of what his destination might be. That journey is one of seeking, not one of exile (like Adam and Eve), and the mystery of that journey demanded enormous faith of Abram. 
So much of life is like this, isn’t it? Life often feels like a journey whose end is uncertain, where even the mileposts along the way might not be marked for us. Where we are headed somewhere, and we often don’t know exactly where. Where we might have even less information than Abram did—remember that God tells him that he and his descendents will be blessed, and that his enemies will be cursed.
Unlike Abram, we never know whether blessings or curses follow us as we journey on our way. So much of that journey requires a leap of faith, a trust that we will be OK.  And, often, if we try to control our circumstances, the “best-laid plans” often go awry—we end up realizing that the more we try to exercise control, the less control we actually have. 
Maybe some of you have read or heard about some of the predictions people have made about the future.  For example, Charlie Chaplin once said that “the cinema is little more than a fad. People want the flesh and blood of the stage.”  Margaret Thatcher once said, “A woman will never be prime minister during my lifetime.”  Marconi, famous for his invention of the radio, thought that radios would make warfare impossible.  Economist Irving Fiske predicted that “stock prices have reached what looks like a permanently high plateau.” Anyone want to guess what year that was?  Yes, it was 1929, actually THREE DAYS before the market crashed.  Popular Mechanics in 1959 said that computers might some day weigh less than 1.5 TONS.   And my personal favorite:  in 1924, Science and Invention Magazine predicted that there would soon be a MATING machine that you and your partner could be hooked into to determine if you’re compatible.
Dealing with mystery is touch and challenging. Under some circumstances, it can be terrifying. I don’t want to minimize that reality. But, sometimes, when we open ourselves up to the mystery of the future, we find that we are truly blessed in ways that we did not or could not imagine.
Let us pray that we can have the faith, like our father Abraham, to trust the future and to go forth . . . 

Rabbi David Grossman
Rabbi Joshua Grossman