The shofar blasts begin  today, exactly 40 days before the Day of Atonement. It’s an ancient, primitive alarm, a wake up call: repent!  Get focused! When I was a kid, I’d wait for this first blast, waking up earlier than usual, taking a long sleeve shirt off the top shelf because the Israeli summer heat starts fading into autumn chill, rushing to our synagogue just down the street, for the special prayers and the treat at the end – the first shofar sound of the season. Wake up! 

The shofar’s piercing cry echoes, according to Jewish mythology, are the sobs of Sarah the Matriarch; wailing as her son Isaac is taken by his father Abraham to be sacrificed to God, a victim on the altar of religion. Isaac ends up free, with a ram killed instead, and that ram’s horn preserved in our rituals – forever reminding us of the problems with religion – but also of the psychic power of these religious symbols and their potential power to help us make more meaning of our lives. Wake up!

In some communities, the shofar is blown each morning of the 40 days leading up to Yom Kippur: a daily rattle, calling for focus, reflection, preparing us for a new year of possibilities. For me it’s a reminder to look in the closet, dig up the skeletons, the old myths that make me angry, my own shameful moments and regrets from this past year. Then take a look in the mirror, full length, taking a hard honest look at who I am now and who I want to  become. Serious stuff. The shofar, ancient technology, is there to give this process a daily soundtrack. It’s the call of reckoning – and hope.

This call of hope was heard in Boston on another New Years day, over a century ago. On January 1, 1863 Lincoln freed the slaves. Emancipation Day was greeted with mixed reaction across the land, but Fredrick Douglas, at a church service in Boston, was jubilant. Hundreds joined him singing the hymn ‘’Blow Ye The Trumpet Blow’ and heard his speech that included a reference to the ancient Biblical ram’s horn, blown as slaves were freed on the Day of Atonement of the Jubilee year: "It was not logic but the trumpet of jubilee that everybody wanted to hear.. We were watching, as it were, by the dim light of start for the dawn of a new day…."

Not far from Boston, another abolitionist, Ralph W. Emerson, was also reflecting, dryly, on the role of trumpets in our lives, with a little less enthusiasm about the human condition:

"Melons and plums and peaches, eating and drinking, and the bugle, all the day long. These are the glorious occupations that engross a proud and thinking being, running his race of preparation for the eternal world. "

Emerson and Douglas, Abraham and Sarah, bugle, trumpets and shofars blow loud today: awake. 40 days to find your focus, clean up your act, free yourself from all those inner enslavements and glorious occupations that distract from life’s true purpose. Prepent, now.

I will blow a shofar in Denver this morning. You too can take a moment to quietly pause – or listen to a shofar, start the journey of a brave new year.

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"How happy are you, on a scale of 1-10?"

Inevitably, this quiz pops up during check-in phone calls with my mother, thousands of miles away. You can’t lie to mothers, it just doesn’t work, so I often go for a safe six, which seems to be just good enough.

But is it?   Yesterday I self-scored seven, but after we hung up I paused to ponder what would really help me score high enough that I not only make my mother smile, but honestly mean it/

I came up with a plan: PREPENT 5771, a 40-day self-reflection project, a journey/crash course/blog/conversation, off and online. PREPENT intends to give focus to those of us so easily distracted, to give those Days of Awe the biggest possibility of being Awesome.  

This 40-day ‘self help’ process is based on traditional Jewish methods for the annual period of repentance, but with my personal unorthodox twist: minus the guilt, and with belief in a Deity completely optional and open for discussion.  It’s great that this sacred system exists for us each year; an annual internal review board, the ultimate check-in call with Mom and Creator alike, and complete with a real deadline: The Day of Judgment, Yom Kippur.  [This year on September 18^th, 2010, the tenth day of the Tishrei , the first month of the new year, 5771.]

I like that it takes 40 days to travel within, towards the Day of At-one-ment, into this ritualized simulation of the trial for our lives.  In some traditions this day is a dress rehearsal for our death – imagine this is the last day of your life – how would you live it?  Some men wear white shroud-like garments as they fast, dead-like, determined to live more fully starting the next day. In some traditions, Shofars– primal and piercing, begin to blow 40 days before Yom Kippur, wake up calls for the soul. Special songs are sung during these days, cooking begins for the holiday banquets, and rabbis write sermons. It’s a time of reckoning, of lists and resolutions, of getting ready for feasting and fasting on the road to more happiness – and change.

This year, when the final blast is heard at the end of Yom Kippur, I want to know, and know deeply, that I pushed through to a higher happiness score. Ten on the Tenth Day.  I want to begin this brave new year with more focus, more muscle, and less distraction.  This year I will again be joined by friends, old and new, to co-lead the rituals that usher in the New Year in Downtown New York. Shofars will be blown, songs and prayers will be chanted, stories shared, tears shed, connections made.  I want to be there; more grounded, more open, able to lead and be led, give and receive, fully present.  It’s going to take some work. I’m ready. And I invite you to join the journey.

The PREPENT 5771 journey: 40 ways in 40 days to tip the scales toward happiness.  Each day at Jewcy, I’ll write short daily blog entries, complete with tasks and open questions, occasional songs and links, step by step into 5771. I want to think about what’s lost, and what I pay attention to the least, and make lists of all sorts. We’ll hit the (spiritual) gym together, check in with people, and take time out to focus, and to get inspired.

And you? Want to make your own lists, schedule check in time with someone (or with yourself?), or just journey along with me as we move towards the day of self-reckoning. We need friends for this sort of work. We can be each other’s travel companion and witness – reminding each other why we do this work: to be happy, more helpful to each other, better human beings

"We are all a little wild here with numberless projects of social reform. Not a reading man but has a draft of a new community is his waistcoat pocket. I am gently mad myself, and am restored to live cleanly. "

To live cleanly: This is my intention.

Amichai Lau-Lavie is the founder and executive  director of Storahtelling, Inc. a NYC based production company  promoting Judaic literacy and engagement through original performances and educational programs for multi-generational audiences. He is hailed by Time Out NY as ‘Super Star of David’ and ‘iconoclastic mystic,’ and as ‘one of the most interesting thinkers in the Jewish world’ by the NY Jewish Week. Join him for alternative High Holiday Services at City Winery in Downtown NY. www.higholidays.com

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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 rep
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.

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.

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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. 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 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. 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.
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!

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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 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.
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. 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.
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?

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This weekly Torah episode honors Moses’ father-in-law Jethro, who was the High Priest of Midian. (The Midianites were the indigenous people of the Sinai Peninsula). Jethro journeys towards the Hebrew encampment at the foot of the Mountain of God, bringing along the First Family – Zippora and the two sons of Moses. The text does not reveal much about the family reunion, but we are told that Jethro, impressed by the deeds of the Hebrew Deity, proclaims his faith in this new God. Thus many traditions identity Jethro as the first official convert – a Hebrew by Choice. Choice – choosing and being chosen – is the key motif in this story. Jethro’s personal revelation is a prelude to the big act of the Revelation, which we get live from Mount Sinai, accompanied by thunder, lightning, and thick clouds. The Hebrew people (who were enslaved only chapters ago) are now invited, and possibly commanded, to make the choice of becoming a sacred nation – a God-chosen tribe. But unlike Jethro, who returns to the tents of Midian, the Hebrews are here to stay. Under the billowing mountain they become the Chosen People – a dense, challenging and oddly translated expression appearing here for the first time, verbatim from God:

Exodus 19:5 Now, then, if you will obey Me faithfully and keep my covenant, you shall be my treasured possession among all the peoples. Indeed, all the Earth is mine (KJV).

The Hebrew word “segula,” translated here as “treasured possession,” is interpreted elsewhere as “special property,” “peculiar treasure,” “unique merit” and “special treasure.” The Pseudo-Jonathan translated it in this way: “you shall be more beloved before Me than all the peoples on the face of the earth.”
“Segula” definitely has legal overtones; it refers to valued property over which "one has exclusive possession." Yet all of our translators struggle with this word that summarizes the binding and conditional covenant. There is much to say about the Chosen People concept and not all of it is positive. The historical “otherness” of the Hebrew tribe that premiers here this week has yielded both pride and painful prejudice. In the 2007 "global village," with anti-semitism (disguised and/or fueled by anti-Zionism) on the rise again, the Chosen issue affects politics, theology, and socio-economic tensions that impact the lives of millions. Can Jewish Identify continue to thrive while deeply examining and deconstructing this notion of an “elite human squad”? Interestingly, the original Hebrew term does not, in itself, imply either exclusivity or preeminence. A plausible reading is that God cherishes the Hebrews and considers Israel a jewel in the crown of nations – but not the crown itself. In support of this interpretation of Israel as a special nation with some unique gifts in a world of special nations, we note that the word “segula” may also mean “purple.” Although purple is a famously regal shade, it is only one hue among many, and it is comprised of other colors (red and blue). In the divine palate, a color may be distinct yet not superior to other colors. Maybe we are not the Chosen People – what a relief! Maybe this is just a fashion statement (it is Fashion Week in New York) and not a social boundary. Maybe we’re supposed to be known as The Purple People?
Either way, this is one of those Biblical cases where the translation process becomes an opportunity for us to boldly explore how our past and present meet to create a better future. Parents and bosses know how challenging it can be to articulate the value of their children or colleagues without making invidious comparisons. Where in your family or workplace do you struggle with the concept of “value” or the word “special,” and how do you remind each person of his or her unique place?

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This week, in the portion called “B’Shalach,” the great escape known as the Exodus continues, and the Hebrew runaways wade in the waters of the Sea of Reeds. (It is not the “Red Sea” – that is also one of the most infamous mistranslations in biblical history.) No matter what you imagine the Exodus to be – historical, mythical, both or neither – the powerful image of a mass of humans fleeing towards freedom while being chased by soldiers is painfully familiar, as we see this today in war-torn areas worldwide. Like many modern attempts to personalize the stories of mass migrations, we focus on the plight of individuals, capturing the image of one person or one family. Sometimes intimate details can most effectively portray the bigger, often incomprehensible tales of our lives. In this story, we focus on one word which describes what the Hebrews brought along on their journey, and/or who they left behind.

Exodus 13:18: “But God led the people about, by the way of the wilderness by the Red Sea; and the children of Israel went up armed out of the land of Egypt” (JPS Bible).

The Hebrew word “chamushim” is most often translated as “armed,” “harnessed,” “equipped for battle,” or “bearing weapons.” Though many Jews today carry weapons (I’m thinking of Israeli soldiers but also Sandra Froman, the new president of the NRA – a Jewish woman!), Bible readers prior to 1948 may have found this concept startling. But weapons may not have been the only things that they carried. Later in the story, after they cross the sea, Miriam leads the people in song, accompanied by drums. It is comforting to know that our ancestral runaways packed musical instruments, and not just weapons (and matza), for the road.
But there is another way to translate the word “chamushim.” It could also be derived from the word for the number five: “chamesh.” Many Jewish commentaries and translators use this translation, suggesting that the Hebrews were divided into groups of five. For example, the Pseudo-Jonathan translates the verse this way: “…and every one of the sons of Israel left Egypt, with five children each." The 11th century commentator Rashi, who quotes Rabbinic sources, has another interpretation: “Only one of five Hebrews left Egypt, while the other four, who refused to leave, died during the three days of darkness.” According to this version, the Hebrews are not leaving with weapons, they are leaving in diminished numbers. How many preferred to stay behind in familiar territory, even if death awaited them? How many chose to leap into the unknown? One of out five, or groups of five, with weapons and with drums, the heroes and heroines of this ancient journey sing their way across the Sea of Reeds, discover Manna, thirst for water, and win their first battle, all within four chapters. Next stop: Mount Sinai. What do we pack for our own journeys across the threshold of new possibilities? And what or who, this time around, do we leave behind?

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In the second round of negotiations with the invisible Deity, Moses resists the role by claiming that his lips are, literally, sealed – covered by a foreskin. He is speaking figuratively, of course, but what can this mean? That his lips that have not been denatured through a covenantal act, have not been dedicated to Divine service? That they have not been stripped of the covering of Egyptian, the language of his upbringing? Translators have wrestled with this disclaimer in numerous ways:

Exodus 6:12, according to the King James Bible: And Moses spake before the LORD, saying, Behold, the children of Israel have not hearkened unto me; how then shall Pharaoh hear me, who am of uncircumcised lips? (KJV)

Other translations replace “uncircumcised lips” with “impeded speech” (Etz Chayim), “difficulty of speech” ( Pseudo Jonathan) or “sealed lips” (Artscroll), creatively addressing the words AREL S’FTAIM as metaphor for what is otherwise a really peculiar physical condition. The word AREL is usually read as “uncircumcised, derived from the primitive root”: “to strip” or “to expose.” So what's going on, Moses? Are you uncut and unsuitable or just not cut out for the job? Does your reluctance to be recruited for this campaign express itself in a stammering stage fright? Did you press a burning coal to your lips as an infant, as legends tell, so that you are forever marked and scarred? Did your infancy as a hidden child traumatize you, the maternal finger ever pressed over your lips to keep you quiet? Perhaps all of the above. And the best we can do as translators is to offer our own: tongue tied, speechless, Moses refuses the nomination and prefers to stay where it’s familiar, back with the sheep. Perhaps his progress shows us how personal limitations—real or perceived—can be made into advantages, transforming self and society in surprising and inspiring ways. Perhaps, too, his story reminds us of how important it is to have leaders who know their own weaknesses and find partners who can help them lead. After all, Moses' protests convince the Almighty to add a speechwriter and official spokesman to the Exodus Campaign: Aaron, the original translator or Divine Word. Next week: Join the reluctant hero and his sidekick for the fight to freedom…frogs and all.

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