When heavy rains and a flood were about to destroy the entire world, Noach gathered two of each animal and his family: his wife Naama, his sons Shem, Cham, and Yafet, and his three daughters-in-law. The humans lived on the top floor, the animals on the middle one, and their trash went on the bottom floor. The rains started and continued for forty days and forty nights, flooding the entire world. Every living thing outside the ark died, and all within it were spared.

It took months for the water to dry.

Noach sent a raven out of the ark to see if the water had yet abated. Then he sent another messenger, a dove, to check. It came back. Seven days later, Noach sent the dove again, and this time, it came back with an olive branch in its mouth. This was a sign the earth was going back to normal, that things were growing again, so they parked and disembarked.

G-d created the rainbow, a promise that He would never destroy the world again and a sign that He wants to. It’s a shame they’re so pretty; maybe, if they looked a little scarier, we’d actually be scared into working on our shortcomings.

And life went pretty much back to normal, as life is wont to do, despite the massive changes and destruction that had just occurred. I guess we get used to even the worst situations.

Generations later, the world was more populated, all these new people speaking the same language. This new generation decided to fight G-d and built a tower to be able to reach them. Teamwork didn’t make the dream work, though, even though every member of this group project pulled their weight. G-d created different languages in order to confuse them, each tower-builder now unable to communicate with the next.

From Noach’s son Shem came Terach, and to Terach a son named Abraham was born. Abraham married his brother’s daughter, Sarai.

It took forty days for the flood to destroy everything, and three hundred for things to only slightly go back to normal. It took one generation to destroy everyone, and ten generations to build the population back up. Our words work the same way: it takes just a few nasty ones to tear someone down, and hundreds to build them back up. The power of speech is hinted to in this parsha, when G-d commands Noach to gather the pure animals and the not pure ones, rather than explicitly calling them impure. Admittedly, this comes off as a stronger distinction in Hebrew, but the point stands: you don’t refer to things negatively when you don’t need to. As a teacher of mine pointed out recently, the specified measurements of the ark actually hint to speech as well—it was 30 amot by 300 amot by 50 amot, which, if translated by gematria into Hebrew letters, spell out lashon, speech.

We humans were created in G-d’s image. We were created with the power to build and destroy. It’s so easy to destroy, and so hard to build, and we need to use these gifts wisely. Use your speech carefully, to build others up rather than tear them down. Create, don’t destroy.

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Adam, the man, asked for a wife. The “old ball and chain” mentality when it came to marriage must have existed even then, because G-d waited until Adam asked to give him a wife—otherwise, he would’ve complained the first time he got annoyed by her. After Adam asked, G-d made him a wife, Chava, because it isn’t good for man to be alone. I can affirm that: I get miserable whenever I’m alone for extended periods of time. (I also choose to be alone for extended periods of time regardless.) 

G-d gave the happy new couple one commandment, not to eat from one specific tree in the Garden of Eden, and allowed them to go wild in any other respect. But, of course, we always want what we can’t have, and with some peer pressure from a snake, Adam and Chava violated the one law they had to follow. They ate the forbidden fruit from the forbidden tree, the Tree of Knowledge, and instantly their third eyes were opened. They were no longer blind to things we now consider human nature, like shame and mortality and the evil within. They were punished gravely: Adam with the burden of work, Chava with pregnancy and menstruation, both with death. Yikes. The snake lost its hands and feet, speech, and sense of taste. Still, punishments aside, I kind of get why they did it. I mean, infinitely more knowledge than you have now? Just by eating a single fruit? Can you imagine the fame that would bring you, and all the awards for being the smartest person alive? 

Anyways, Adam and Chava were banished from the Garden of Eden. They had two sons, Cain alongside one twin sister and Abel alongside two triplet sisters, and since they had to reproduce somehow, each son was to be paired up with the sisters he was born with. Whether it was because G-d liked Abel’s sacrificial offerings better, Cain’s jealousy that Abel pulled more girls than him, or just plain old sibling rivalry, it ended the same way: with the world’s first murder. Adam and Chava later had another son, Seth, and later on, when the world was destroyed by flood, Seth’s descendant Noah and Cain’s descendant Naama, along with their children, were the only ones to survive—but more on that next week.

Before they ate from the Tree of Knowledge, the full extent of Adam and Chava’s evil was external. The only bad thing they ever did, the only bad thing they wanted to do, was the result of an external evil whispering in their ears. After they ate from the fruit, evil suddenly lived within them. Now they (and we) had to live with the proverbial devil on their shoulders, constantly swaying them to do the wrong thing. 

With evil inside man, suddenly, tiny slights such as Abel’s to Cain’s were something unforgivable. And that’s what we’re here for, I think. When you’ve been slighted, when you think you’ve been treated unfairly, that’s when the evil inclination inside you tells you that you want to lash out. In times like these, let’s pretend that little voice isn’t inside our heads, but let’s see it for what it really is—a snake who wants to see us mess up.

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But Moshe assured them that G-d would help them defeat their enemies and conquer the land, that they didn’t need to be scared of fighting. They would dwell in the land and keep the mitzvot, as G-d had commanded. Moshe then wrote the Torah and gave it to the elders of the nation and his fellow Levites.

He commanded a new mitzvah to them, the mitzvah of hakhel, which I can only imagine to have been THE event of the decade. Once every seven years, there would be a Lollapalooza type of sitch, except instead of a massive lineup, it would be the Jewish king; and instead of performing his hottest-charting singles, he would read the Torah in front of the entire nation; and instead of buying tickets and people checking whether you’re 21+, all the men and women and children and strangers in the nation, people of all ages, would go.

Once Moshe was finished passing along these messages to the Jews, G-d told him that after his passing, the Jews would forsake His covenant, and they would face consequences for it, and G-d would turn away from them. Following the earlier metaphor, this is akin to the teacher not only missing the final exam, but also knowing, preemptively and with certainty, that his students were doomed to fail. Then G-d told Joshua to be courageous, that he would lead the Jews into Israel, that G-d would be with him.

After speaking with G-d, Moshe preemptively rebuked the nation, saying, “I know you’re going to sin after my death,” (“You’re all going to fail the final,” our hypothetical teacher tells his class, on his last day teaching,) and thus conclude the events of this parsha.

For Parshat Vayeilech, all I can think about is taking a step back. Letting someone else take control. It’s something I’ve always struggled with, especially when it’s something I care about; I think I subconsciously don’t trust anybody else to do as good a job as I would.

But Moshe Rabeinu knew nobody else would do as good a job as him leading the Jewish nation. He himself told them in this week’s parsha that they would become corrupted and turn away from the path he’d led them on, and he handed over the reins to Joshua anyways. It wasn’t that he wasn’t able to lead them anymore because he was getting older or weaker. Physically, Moshe was just as capable as ever of leading the Jews, but he handed over the leadership because it was time to do so.

In life, we get too caught up on having full control of everything. I see people planning their summer vacations from the autumn before, or having a dream college when they’ve just barely entered high school, or having Pinterest boards of what they need their wedding to look like before they even know who they intend to marry. We get so caught up on being in control of every small detail that we forget we have no say in the bigger picture either. Like the old Yiddish adage says, “Man plans, and G-d laughs.”

This predominantly refers to the large scale, the grand scheme of things, when G-d is the One to dictate what happens next. Don’t worry about making sure everything goes right, because it’s not your place to worry about that. But this is also applicable on a smaller, interpersonal scale. You can let other people take control, even when you’re fully able to do it yourself. Don’t worry about making sure everything goes right, even when it is your place to worry about it.

Even after Moshe left the leadership role in Joshua’s hands, as the contemporary commentary Rashi points out, the Jewish nation still did as they were told for an entire generation. When you pick the right people to delegate your tasks to, and when you communicate their responsibilities in the right way, you’ll see they’re more than capable of carrying on your legacy.

So I’ll leave off for today with a message to my fellow micromanagers and perfectionists out there: Chill out. Loosen up. Let someone else take control of a project every now and then. The worst case scenario is that it won’t be perfect, but perfection is unreachable regardless. Chill.

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Jews aren’t good proselytizers: circumcision, long prayer sessions, kosher dietary restrictions—not to mention a few thousand years of persecution—do not exactly endear Judaism to strangers. But what Jews are good at is writing comedy. In the quirky new web series Jewvangelist, creator and actor Becky Kramer explores what it would take for a young rabbi to recruit new members to the Jewish faith.

The show focuses on Rabbi Leah Levy’s campaign to refresh the family synagogue, which is rapidly losing members. After an almost too coincidental bicycling accident with a Mormon missionary, Levy (played by Kramer) realizes that promoting conversion is the key to replenishing her congregation. Levy is joined by her goofy cantor friend, and along the way they pick up a hodge-podge of friends from various religious backgrounds. Our heroine has a villain, of course—her ridiculously evil twin brother Asher, who is a rival Rabbi and wants to sell the building.

While the plotline may pique your interest, there are some flaws that should be addressed: the acting is weak at times, and the story relies on a number of absurd coincidences. There is an excessive amount of sexual innuendo and it tends to be a little out of place.

But all that is ok. After all, Jewvangelist is only a short web series. And what the show does right, it really does right. The writing is witty and the production quality is flawless. Each episode is about 12 minutes long, which means the entire six-part first season can be watched in a little over an hour. I rarely found myself heartily laughing at the jokes, but the characters are loveable and I found myself rooting for them to succeed. The show also promotes religious and cultural tolerance—a message we need to keep hearing.

As with many Jewish productions, you’ll laugh a little, cringe a little too, and wonder why you’re still there halfway through. But when it’s all over you’ll leave feeling warm and satisfied, even if you’re not entirely sure why.

Watch the first episode here:

Related: New Web Series Celebrates Poutine, Lactaid, and Jewish Angst—in Yiddish

(Image via Kickstarter)

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I associate setting back the clock with Hebrew school. I call it the “Hebrew School Feeling.” Each year, before the clock changes, I’m reminded of my association. And once we set back the clock, the “Hebrew School Feeling” returns, and it happens like clockwork each afternoon—pun intended.

Naturally, the “Hebrew School Feeling” goes back to when I was in Hebrew school.

Hebrew school mirrored the light outside. During a fair amount of the year, class started when the sun was still out, and it ended after sunset.

For six years, I arrived to Hebrew school just before 4 p.m. The sun would shine as I walked through the doors. However, within minutes of starting class, it would get a little darker outside. Each time I would peer out the window it was even darker. Finally, when it was time to leave and I would walk outside, it was nighttime, and the moon was shining.

At the time, I was aware of the association between the light and Hebrew school, but I thought it was a characteristic of Hebrew school specifically. My memories of the light are vivid. I can place myself inside the classroom, and I know what it looks like outside. Each classroom had a different view, and I can still move between them.

But Hebrew school was more than just the light outside. I believe that attending Hebrew school is an essential part of growing up Jewish. I can pull up tons of memories ranging from which teachers I had to our class’ seder each year. There was always anticipation over who was going to get assigned which passage from the Haggadah. I loved when we got to nibble on raisins, figs, and dates—nature’s candy— on Tu B’Shevat. I even kept my final assignment— I’m hoping to use the questions from it someday at a dinner party.

So it makes sense that the “Hebrew School Feeling” I have is so strong that it came back to me several years later, when I began college.

During my first semester, I took Introduction to Psychology from 4 to 6 p.m, the same time that Hebrew school had been. The light would change during class just like it had before. The feeling rushed back to me.

I returned to the “Hebrew School Feeling” again when I started working after college. I would go into the office when it was sunny and leave when it was dark. I developed a habit of looking out the window every day after 3 p.m. and then looking again as it got darker. Just like back in Hebrew school when I used to look out the window.

Attending Hebrew school is a tradition. When you begin your Hebrew school education, you join an extensive roster of current and former students; a community. It’s going to have an impact. And, because of this, I am going to connect with Hebrew school throughout my life.

I love that I can find a little bit of Hebrew school after we set back the clock. I love that the sun setting at an hour earlier still holds meaning for me. Otherwise, it would just be darkness at 5 p.m. Hebrew school has given this change in light meaning.

Feel free to adopt the “Hebrew School Feeling.” It’s bigger than just me.

(Photo by Olga Miltsova/Shutterstock)

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So the Washington Redskins should change their name. It’s offensive and problematic so it’s hard to understand why they bother holding on to it. A name isn’t thaaat important. Just ask Anthony Davis, a number one draft pick to the New Orleans Pelicans who’s stayed with the team despite their silly name. If the Pelicans can survive the embarrassment of a name like the Pelicans (and many have poked fun), hold on to a number one draft pick, and win games, any team name can. Basically, any alternative to the Redskins would be better than the Pelicans.

Last week, we told you that Dallas Cowboys owner Jerry Jones defended Redskins owner Dan Snyder’s refusal to change the team name, claiming that Snyder is inherently sympathetic because he’s Jewish. The claim lacks logic and became quick and easy fodder for The Onion, which published an article titled, “Redskins’ Kike Owner Refuses To Change Team’s Offensive Name.”

WASHINGTON—Denying widespread claims that the franchise is being offensive or disrespectful, the Washington Redskins’ kike owner announced Monday that he remains steadfast in his refusal to change the team’s derogatory name. “The Redskins represent 81 years of great history and tradition, and it’s a source of pride for our fans,” said the hook-nosed kike, stressing that the team’s insulting moniker is “absolutely not a racial slur by any means.” “‘Washington Redskins’ is much more than just a name. It stands for strength, courage, and respect—the very values that are so intrinsic to Native American culture.” The shifty-eyed hebe went on to assure fans that he will do “everything in his power” to preserve the team’s proud heritage.

Though the satirical article gets to the heart of Jones’ ignorant remark, now we’re simply left with an article filled with Jew slurs. We get the joke (it’s pretty funny), but shouldn’t we just focus on how absurd it is that after all the complaints, even from President Obama (!), Snyder has refused to change the name? Get it together and pick something else. Just not the Pelicans, please.

Previous: Is Dan Snyder’s Jewishness Important In The Redskins Name Change Debate?

(Photo by Larry French/Getty)

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Recently, the contentious debate over whether the Washington Redskins’ should change their team name has escalated. Redskins owner Dan Snyder was quoted back in May seeming steadfast in his commitment to the continuation of the Native American nomenclature in D.C. football. He told USA Today, “We’ll never change the name. It’s that simple. NEVER — you can use caps.”

Well, last night, before the Dallas Cowboys played the Redskins, Cowboys owner Jerry Jones defended Snyder, claiming that he is very sensitive to the Native Americans offended by the team name. Why? Because he’s Jewish, of course.

“It would be a real mistake — a real mistake — to think Dan, who is Jewish, has a lack of sensitivity regarding anybody’s feelings,” Jones said.

Hmm. The logic doesn’t totally add up. Shouldn’t the sensitivity that derives from one’s Jewishness help them empathize, or at least understand, the harm a pejorative team name can cause a group of people? Either way, Jewish or not, it’s time for Snyder, and all else involved, to change the name. The Washington RG3s has a nice ring to it.

(Photo by Larry French/Getty)

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It’s Breishit again, and again, and always
for me, and I’m in it, and you bought the book.
I don’t blame you.
They are two worlds after all, and aren’t I the liar to inhabit both?
It’s just—
there is something to seeing two landscapes, quietly aware of distinct atmospheric pressures.

Seven years ago, I wore a pair of sunglasses when God burned a Jerusalem-stone staircase into the right lens, and the left was free to wander.
I gather, I listen, I read, I write,
and still,
and always—
I’m on a staircase, overlooking seventy thousand chosen people, wailing at a wall,
it’s wailing back,
and the priests among us are bellowing.

And you wrote your response-paper. And it was cynical.

And some girl pulled a tractate of the Talmud off my shelf and held it like a globe.
Silly girl—It’s Gibbon. It’s Levinas. It’s Steinbeck, Maimonides, David and God.
But she’s laughing, asking, So the Messiah comes, and they really think they’ll roll under the Atlantic to Palestine?
No, girl.
We’ll fly on the wings of eagles.
And then this is fascinating to her.
And then she writes a paper.
But she still hasn’t been on my staircase.

Now the library is confusing.
Once it offered respite and
shelves and shelves of scholarship from people wearing sunglasses.
But then there were layers.
People stopped traveling,
there was no need for those lenses,
and that girl’s paper got filed away, alongside someone’s who’d been to the Temple Mount.

And the sun is setting over Zion,
and my stone staircase has grown cold,
and my shadow has retreated,
and I’m in a library,
and I’m writing a paper,

and it looks just like hers.

(Photo: Lucas Cranach the Elder, “Adam and Eve,” 1526. Courtauld Institute of Art Gallery)

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There’s something intrinsically interesting about the famous and talented minds of our world and their Jewish faith. Unscrolled brings us just that, in book form, in which 54 writers and artists wrestle with the Torah. Today, on this very lucky Tuesday, we get a special look at Josh Radnor’s chapter. Radnor, a director and actor who plays Ted Mosby on CBS’ How I Met Your Mother, explains that God is a part of his life:

I believe in God. I try to feel the room before I blurt that out in conversation, but it’s a feature of my personality and a fact of my life. I’ve long wanted to do away with ideology and the punishing male trickster deity of my youth and get to the heart of the heart of the matter. Who is God? Who are we? What are we doing here? And how can we do it with a little more grace and guidance? Healing my broken perceptions of the divine, hitting the “install update” button and awakening to a new vision of God—that’s what this prayer is for me.

We swoon, Mosby. This is probably how you’ll meet your children’s mother. You can read Radnor’s full prayer at ReformJudaism.org.

(Photo by Jason LaVeris/Getty)

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American Jewish World Service (AJWS), an international development organization, is hosting a global justice conference for rabbis, rabbinical students and Jewish communal leaders near Baltimore this week. The conference, called the Rabbinical Students Delegation Alumni Institute, will focus on leveraging participants’ power to elevate global justice as a core expression of Jewish tradition, both locally and in the larger North American Jewish community. Over the next few days, Rabbi Vered Harris will share her account of the Institute and the issues it raises for 21st century Jews.

There are times before I lead tefillah when I stand behind the ark in our sanctuary and say a quiet prayer to God. “Please, give me the peace I need to help them find the peace they need.” It isn’t a rote prayer, and I can’t guarantee those are the exact words, but it is a ritual of supplication that helps me to quiet myself and prepare to lead others in prayer. It is a source of spiritual power for me.

I don’t think I’ve ever used that phrase before: Spiritual Power. At American Jewish World Service’s RSD Alumni Institute, I expect to think about how we harness power to make change. But typically my definition of power would revolve around notions of community building, politics, charismatic leadership and financial resources.

Spiritual power, it turns out, is the foundation for me of all other positive uses of power.

Tonight Rabbi Shelia Peltz Weinberg, director of outreach and community development at the Institute for Jewish Spirituality, asked us to consider this quote from Reb Nachman of Bratslav: “If you believe it can be broken, you must believe it can be repaired.” Internalize that thought: anything in disrepair can be mended. Relationships. The environment. Material goods. Food supplies. Water systems.

Traditional definitions of power can make the repairs. Spiritual power connects the repairs to a greater good, to meaning and purpose and the interconnectedness of humanity. Spiritual power means we make change in partnership with God.

So Rabbi Weinberg asked us to consider where we gain our spiritual power. For me, it is in those quiet conversations when I ask God to be with me when others look to me to lead them.

Then she asked us to think about where we lose our spiritual power. I realized that I lose my spiritual power when I suppress my inner voice, when I compare myself to others and doubt my own strength. When I fear my own power and therefore hide behind a façade of weakness, I allow my spiritual power to drain and my foundation to falter.

Jewish social action requires us to locate our spiritual power. Anyone can set out to make the world a better place, a friendlier place, a more peaceful or equitable place. As a Jewish leader it is my relationship with God and my people that brings deeper meaning and purpose to my quest for justice.

An internal strength of conviction allows me to see the broken world and have faith that it can be fixed. That is my spiritual power. It is essential to recognize where it comes from, and to learn to overcome the obstacles that drain it.

If we each nurtured our spiritual power, we would stand on the most solid of foundations. We would harness the hope and the power to fix the brokenness in our world.

Rabbi Vered Harris is the Education Rabbi at Congregation Beth Torah in Overland Park, Kansas. She participated in AJWS’s Young Rabbis’ Delegation to Muchucuxcah, Mexico last summer.

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