The Binding of Isaac (Akedah): Abraham’s Equanimity on his Journey to Mount Moriah

Jacob Staub based this piece in Evolve on this 2024 Dorshei Derekh Rosh Hashanah Davar Torah.  Yashar koach!

How can our religious and spiritual resources help us to meet the challenge of the next four years? We are not the first generation to face alarming, unthinkable prospects.

“Now I know,” God says to Abraham, “that you are a trembler before God (yerei Elohim), that you did not withhold your son from Me.” (Genesis 22:12) Following what he thought was a divine command, Abraham has journeyed three days and, binding his son Isaac on an altar, lifts his knife to sacrifice him, only to be stopped by a divine messenger.

I don’t think this is an accurate account of an actual event. And there is nothing in my experience that leads me to believe in a God who utters explicit commands. I follow the Rambam (Rabbi Moses ben Maimon, Maimonides, twelfth-century Egypt), who teaches that though God exists, the human mind and heart cannot fathom anything about God, except the effects of God’s causation. I follow Rabbi Harold Schulweis, who taught Predicate Theology—that we cannot know what God is, only when God is. We can’t know that God loves; we can know, however, that when there is love, God is there.

I do think, however, that there is much we can learn from over 2000 years of interpretations of biblical texts made by Jewish students of Torah. Believing that the Torah was divinely revealed and therefore the fount of all truth and wisdom, they read into the text their deepest understandings and intuitions of what the text reveals to us. Their interpretations are treasures of our traditions that we inherit and on which we can plumb the meanings and imperatives of our own lives.

The Ralbag (Rabbi Levi ben Gershom, Gersonides, fourteenth-century Provence) was one of the leading disciples of Maimonides. He believed that God and God’s will cannot be known with any clarity or certainty. (He would say, except the revealed Torah, but that, too, is subject to interpretation.) Instead, he spoke of an immaterial divine overflow (shefa) that sustains this material world. The human enterprise, he taught, is to discern it—to distinguish between accurate and faulty perceptions of what God wants. The more we learn about this world, the more we can perceive the divine shefa and live accordingly.

It is not sufficient, however, to achieve knowledge about this world. In order to think clearly, to know what to do, he believed that we must cultivate equanimity, so that the conclusions we reach with our imaginations are not affected by our inclinations or emotions—that they do not just mirror our biases and fears.

Approaching our text with this perspective, Rabbi Levi engages in an extensive explorations of yir’ah, the Hebrew word that generally is translated in Genesis 22 as “fear”—“that you are a God-fearer,” and that I translate above, “that you are a trembler before God.” Yir’ah can mean “fear”, but it also has a semantic range that includes what you feel when you behold the stars in the sky or when you hike in the Rockies, and what you feel in the presence of God. Sometimes we translate it as “awe.”

So as he empathizes with the Abraham of the Akedah, here is what the Rabbi Levi sees: Abraham dreams that God commands him to take his son up the mountain for a burnt offering (le’olah). When he awakens, he knows that the most common understanding of what he has heard in his dream is that Isaac will himself be the burnt offering, and so he packs up and sets out with Isaac towards the mountains, because if that is the divine will, he will obey. We can only imagine how terrified he feels, but he remains sufficiently calm to remain aware that there is another, more benign understanding of what he dreamed: that at 100 years old, it is imperative that he take his son up the mountain for a burnt offering (le’olah), that is, to teach him how to offer a sacrifice. God also would want that, that he transmit the tradition to the next generation.

Remaining calm, he spends the three-day journey to Mount Moriah keeping an open mind about how to accurately interpret the imperative in his dream. He ascends the mountain, builds the altar, and binds Isaac, but just before it is too late, he sees the ram caught in the thicket and realizes that it is the ram that he needs to sacrifice in order to instruct Isaac. If he hadn’t been unambivalently willing and calm about offering up Isaac, he would not have been able to think clearly and to make the proper inference when he sees the ram.

According to Rabbi Levi, Abraham passes the test not because of his unquestioning willingness to kill Isaac, but because even in the face of a horrendous possibility, he is sufficiently calm and clear-thinking to avert a misinterpretation that would have ended the Jewish people before it had begun. That is what it means to be a yerei Elohim—one who trembles in awe before the abyss but does not succumb to hysteria or despair or passive resignation. A God-trembler is someone who does not look away from that which is most terrifying, but who is able to maintain control of their faculties and respond constructively to it.

Rabbi Levi was not speculating hypothetically. He lived in a place and at a time when the Inquisition was on the move, copies of Talmud manuscripts were being seized and burned, and the world was not a safe place for Jews to live. He was familiar with what it was like to face a terrifying political abyss. Jewish communities operated under duress and their days were numbered. His reading of Abraham’s test reflected his strategy for coping with his circumstances.

His strategy may remind us of Active Hope by Joanna Macy and Chris Johnstone, an attitude and practice that, among other things, refuses to give up in the face of the obvious consequences of the climate crisis. Many who seek to mitigate the ever-worsening effects of carbon emissions do not do so because they are confident about the outcome, but rather because they are calmly and mindfully working to create a world that is habitable. They do not surrender to passive despair in the face of alarming projections by scientists. They are not disabled by despair.

Rabbi Levi wants us to cultivate equanimity, but how? How can I not be angered and frightened by the prospect that the numerous promises that President-elect Trump made during the campaign will be implemented? There are a plethora of Jewish contemplative practices that we inherit, but for the moment, I find myself turning to lessons I have learned from Sylvia Boorstein, my teacher of Buddhist-inflected mindfulness practice.

1. What is true in this moment? 

Two other Evolve essays this month, by Jon Argaman and Jennifer Paget, discuss our collective inheritance of intergenerational Jewish trauma. We are easily triggered and prone to catastrophize. At this moment, however, we who are trans still have access to our medical care. We who are seniors still receive our Social Security checks. We who live in sanctuary cities are still able to thwart mass deportations of undocumented people. There are frightening assaults in the street on people who are identifiably Jewish, but at this moment, the assailants are not sponsored or protected by law enforcement. Remaining clear-headed, we have agency. We can resist in the courts, in Congress and state legislatures, in the streets. It is not true that on January 20, we will find ourselves in a totalitarian state.

2. It is essential that we distinguish between what I’ll call “pain” and “suffering”. 

This is a painful world. Those Americans who hold white-skin privilege may have been acculturated otherwise, but things do not always turn out happily. Pain—being hurt—is inevitable. Suffering—centering the pain and dwelling primarily in it—is optional. It is natural to suffer, lick our wounds, anticipate the worst, but we can choose not to do so. Imagine if Rabbi Levi’s Abraham had descended into anticipatory grief over the death of Isaac. The appearance of the ram would not have brought him to realize the actual imperative. The Jewish people’s survival on Mount Moriah, in Babylonian exile, in Rabbi Levi’s Provence and in 2024 U.S. and Israel has depended and continues to depend on our ability to endure the painful blows and to remain calmly clear-headed in our response.

3. Ultimately, we cannot control what is going to happen. 

Western culture instills a sense that if we eat healthily, we will remain healthy. If we achieve competence and earn the right credentials, we will succeed. If we just negotiate the right wording, we can reach a peace agreement. It is up to us to do our best, to act in furtherance of our values, but though we can hope that we can protect ourselves from disaster, it is not helpful to depend on the assurance of successful outcomes to motivate us, because we are not in control, and we will endure setbacks and defeats. There is an equanimity that arises out of our devotion to our values, no matter what the outcome.

4. Experiencing the light of the divine countenance. 

This one derives from the practices of Mussar. Practitioners are supposed to exhibit ha’arat panim (a bright and friendly gaze) to everyone they encounter, making them feel seen. The priestly blessing, ya’er Adonai panav eilekha (may God’s face shed light upon you), suggests that it is a blessing to be bathed in divine light. This feeling is a practice that can be cultivated—walking through our lives with the faith that, as we work to bring justice and compassion and generosity into the world, we are literally enlightened by an imperceptible brightness, that we are supported and accompanied by divine light. Look at Rabbi Vivie Mayer’s Evolve essay, The Light That Has the Capacity to Hold Us All.

Rabbi Levi’s Abraham passes the test because, in his language, he ultimately has faith in a God who supports and accompanies him as he seeks what is right. How might we articulate that in our own terms? His faith obviously included the possibility that he would not have living offspring. Perhaps our strength can emerge from a faith that we can and will endure if we calmly remain steadfast as we act to further our principles, manifesting the universe’s benevolence with no assurance of the outcome.

Parshat V'yetsei - Population Explosion, Population Contraction - Betsy Teutsch

Parshat V’yeitsei - Population Growth, Population Contraction Dec 7, 2024

This is a parshah of fertility and population explosion. God promised Avraham that his progeny would be like the stars of the sky and the sands of the seashore. In today’s Parshah, God similarly promises Jacob that

וְהָיָ֤ה זַרְעֲךָ֙ כַּעֲפַ֣ר הָאָ֔רֶץ וּפָרַצְתָּ֛ יָ֥מָּה וָקֵ֖דְמָה וְצָפֹ֣נָה וָנֶ֑גְבָּה וְנִבְרְכ֥וּ בְךָ֛ כׇּל־מִשְׁפְּחֹ֥ת הָאֲדָמָ֖ה וּבְזַרְעֶֽךָ׃

“Your descendants shall be as the dust of the earth; you shall spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south.” 

Laban famously agrees to give Rachel to Jacob in marriage, but substitutes Leah. While second fiddle to beloved Rachel, Leah bears Jacob six sons and a daughter. Plus Bilhah and Zilpah bear Jacob sons, and ultimately Rachel bears two. Jacob’s tribe is off to the races.

Through ingenious breeding, Jacob also expands his flocks and wealth.

The explosive growth of this generation is clearly seen as positive, a great blessing.

But, the Rabbis did not consider Jacob’s 13 children a norm. Jacob’s family is mythic, not a paradigm. Infant mortality was too high for most of human history for people to rear Jacob-size families.

Jewish tradition considers children not only a blessing, but also an obligation. The Torah tells us that God blessed Adam and Eve and commanded them to Peru U’rvu: “Be fertile and increase, פְּר֥וּ וּרְב֛וּ”. 

The Talmud determines that Jews fulfill this commandment when they replicate themselves, bearing a son and daughter. Two girls or two boys also suffice, because when they grow up and partner, it will average out. Of course, infertility is beyond the control of couples, so this is not a commandment all can fill. Interestingly, the rabbis must have realized that some families did not want more children, or they wouldn’t have bothered to set a minimum. 

When David and I were married by Rabbi David Feldman, he presented us with a copy of his then new book, Birth Control and Jewish Law, which he assured us was descriptive, not prescriptive. It is a deep dive into ancient contraceptive practices.

For most of Jewish history, population growth was fairly flat, given violence, assimilation, high infant mortality, and short life spans. Jewish population started growing faster about 200 years ago and increased rapidly until WWII. Think of your own families: my great-grandmother bore 12 children, six of whom lived. My grandmother birthed six, all of whom survived.

Post-Holocaust, with the murder of two-thirds of European Jewry, survival of the Jewish people became a paramount concern. But, even before The Pill, non-Orthodox Jewish families were small. 

A Conservative movement leader, Rabbi Kassel Abelson z”l (who died last year at 99) long promoted the idea that Jewish couples should have a 3rd “mitzvah child”, to replace souls lost in WWII; this was part of his standard pre-marital interviews.  I read that as time passed, many couples enjoyed introducing their Mitzvah Children to Rabbi Abelson.

The idea was also encouraged in the 80s by UJA Young Leadership. I remember it as a community campaign, and via FB others have corroborated my recollection.

In 2007, Rabbi Abelson and Rabbi Elliot Dorff (mechutanim with our own Rabbi Avruhm Addison) successfully introduced a Rabbinical Assembly Responsum entitled Mitzvah Children. https://www.rabbinicalassembly.org/sites/default/files/public/halakhah/teshuvot/20052010/mitzvah_children.pdf  . 

The Responsum expresses great compassion for couples challenged with infertility, not infrequently a result of delayed childbearing. The Committee takes pains not to guilt people for whom a third pregnancy is far-fetched, while encouraging third children for whom it is possible. They also call on the Jewish community to assist with matchmaking, subsidize the expenses of raising and educating Jewish children, and to make Jewish spaces more kid-friendly. 

So, what happened? It’s impossible to count the number of Mitzvah children, but we know that in general, global birth rates have been declining at jaw-dropping rates, and the Jewish community has been no exception. Even in Israel, which has a high birth rate for a high income country, the average number of births continues to drop even with ultra-Orthodox families placing no limits on their childbearing.

In contrast to the campaign for more Jewish babies, there have also been aggressive campaigns to lower birth rates. In some low income countries, these took the form of draconian sterilizations, and the notorious Chinese one-child policy with forced abortions and surveillance of couples of childbearing age.

Paul Ehrlich’s best selling book, The Population Bomb, published in 1968 with graphic descriptions of the disasters of over-population, predicts mass starvation and global collapse. He popularized the concept of ZPG, zero population growth, which became a rallying cry. 

Birth rates were already declining rapidly, and Ehrlich’s predictions have not proven accurate, but his framing of the environmental cost of overpopulation really took off. In my circles, people with more than 2 children were looked at with some suspicion and eco-judgement. It’s impossible to quantify the impact of Ehrlich’s ideas; his cry for controlling explosive population growth may have simply reinforced trends already taking place, since it coincided with the kick-off of the modern environmental movement, 2nd wave feminism, and The Pill.

The Zionist movement took up the idea, turned it on its head, calling it ZPG, Zionist Population Growth. 

Fast forward - we are living through an extraordinary time in world population history: the era of depopulation. This summary is from Our World in Data, headed by Max Roser, an Oxford economist.

Human population grew very slowly until 200 years ago. We reached one billion in 1800 and doubled that in 123 years, by the 1920s.  The biggest increase has been in the last 50 years, a quadrupling of the world’s population, to at present 8+ billion. It’s a hockey stick curve.

But! Population growth rates peaked in 1963 when the average birth rate per woman was 5+. (Birth rate is the number of offspring women produce. The growthrate is the numbers for total population.)

Birth rates are now about half of that, 2.418. Since then the increase in the world population has slowed DRAMATICALLY, but it is not because of the birthrate, which is 50% lower now. The world is experiencing a massive demographic transition - population increase is primarily from people’s expanding life spans. At present life expectancy in the USA is 79. It’s up to 85 in Hong Kong. Societies around the world will be comprised of an ever higher percentage of elders.

The total global population is predicted to peak at 10+ billion later in the 21st century, when the birthrate drops to ZPG or below. Total population will start contracting. 

What’s happened? We have lived through it!

In the pre-modern era, fertility rates were 4.5 to 7 children per woman. The very high levels of infant and child mortality mortality kept population growth low.

There are three major reasons cited for the rapid decline in the global fertility rate, in both high income (this happened first) and but then also low income countries:

• the empowerment of women — increased access to education and labor market participation

• declining rates of child mortality and improved healthcare. When people expect their kids to survive, they have fewer.

• rising costs of bringing up children, due to increased expectations and higher status of kids, along with the decline of child labor (related to urbanization) - kids are now perceived as economic liabilities, not assets.

Some additional factors:

• Availability of effective contraception and the decoupling of sex and reproduction, resulting in far fewer unintended pregnancies.

• The contraction of extended families who typically helped with child rearing.

• The decline of marriage and a corresponding increase in single-person households. This suppresses childbearing, sometimes beyond when it is achievable.

These factors are intensified in the Jewish community, as Jewish women are among the best-educated of any American ethnic group, performing demanding jobs that leave less time for child rearing.

 

Jews reflect others in their socio-economic bracket, and higher incomes correlate with lower fertility. They are also more mobile, often moving far from their families of origin.

Many governments consider low birthrates and depopulation a crisis. It will cause many problems, as our societies become older and older. Pensions based on young people paying in while elders withdraw funds will obviously need to be redesigned.

Migration and immigration of young labor (African populations are growing much faster than other continents) will be essential for elderly countries. 

Efforts to encourage more births, as many countries try, seem to be wholly ineffective. In Scandinavia, despite generous benefits, long parental leave, and free day care, birth rates are in the 1.5 range. But they’re doing great compared to prosperous South Korea, with a birth rate of .75.

But, there are also likely to be many creative responses. Seniors will have long retirements [we already do!]; societies will need to deploy them better as resources, not just service/resource recipients. My Aunt Ruth was retired for 42 years. When she was in her 90s, she reflected that had she realized she would live so long, she would have done something more meaningful than playing cards and mah jongg.

Jewish communities will look very different. Jewish continuity has always been based in family life. At present, about a third of Jewish households are comprised of one person; how will that work? As people outlive partners, that number will only grow.

There are already more people in our community without children than previous generations (10% versus 20%). And that means many people without extended families - no nieces, nephews, or grandkids. Many children will be without uncles, aunts, and cousins.

One mini counter-trend is women having babies independently, and their families pitching in, with grandparents doing a lot of childcare. Three of my friends - though this is what we call “anecdata”! Grandparents are healthier and more active, more inclined to age in place, and increasing their commitment to help out with grandkids, at least here in our community. Also, younger generations are less inclined to move far away, preferring to live closer to grandparents, or moving near their parents with the intention of helping with child rearing. Likewise some grandparents are moving to be near their kids. This was unheard of among our crowd a generation ago. 

Questions:

Q) How do we shift paradigms and embrace contraction, as opposed to assuming the Torah’s growth mindset? 

Q) How might the Jewish community respond to these changes?

Q) How do these trends impact you, your family, or your community/ies?

Jennifer Paget - Honoring Your Parents: Interrupting Inherited Patterns of Ancestral Trauma

Yasher koachacheykh, Kudos, to Jennifer Paget on the publication of her Dorshei Derekh davar in Evolve: Groundbreaking Conversations, the Reconstructionist journal of big ideas, edited by our own Jacob Staub.

[Based on the devar Torah delivered by the author at Reconstructionist Minyan Dorshei Derekh in Philadelphia on the occasion of her chanting from the Torah scroll for the first time on Shabbat Nakhamu.]

Honor your father and your mother, as your God יהוה has commanded you, that you may long endure, and that you may fare well, in the land that your God יהוה is assigning to you. (Deuteronomy 5:16)

Second-century Rabbi Shimon Bar Yokhai remarked that the commandment to honor one’s father and mother is the most difficult commandment to observe. For me, it became difficult to honor my father after I left home for college and beyond, when he began drinking heavily and refused our family’s pleas to get help. I needed to stay away and did so for several years. I will come back to that story later.

Addressing the often-difficult relationships between parents and children, various commentaries declare that honoring your parents doesn’t have to require loving them. Caring for them in their old age counts as honoring them, for example. I found a new perspective on honoring your parents this year when, at my daughter’s urging, I took a course called Yachatz, Healing Jewish Ancestral Trauma. The course centered on the impact of collective traumatic history on American Ashkenazi Jews. Here are two passages from the website, Transcending Jewish Trauma, created by Jo Kent Katz, that describe a key premise of the course.

While the impact of trauma on individuals may vary significantly, the impact of trauma on a group of people with a shared history of navigating systemic oppression can often be tracked collectively. We can refer to this as collective trauma. 

It can be a profound awakening to recognize the depth to which our thoughts, emotions, and actions are impacted by our lived and inherited experiences with trauma and oppression. Originally, these behaviors were brilliantly adaptive responses; acute, refined, definitive attempts at securing the survival of our People. They were often the very tactic that kept us alive, that kept our People alive. We can call them ancestrally proven best practices. By noticing and reflecting on these inherited practices, we can make more conscious decisions about whether they still serve us today.

When we try to understand our parents, there may be reasons for their behavior that can’t be found in their individual stories, but rather in ancestral experiences. Jo Kent Katz created a tool called The Transcending Jewish Trauma Map. It’s a helpful way to explore a wide range of behaviors that result from Ashkenazi ancestral experiences of terror and otherness. Offering a personal example, Jo Kent Katz describes inheriting a pattern of urgency. She feels she is never going fast enough, getting enough done, is always on the move and others are never moving fast enough. She is often impatient with her partner, friends and co-workers, etc.

Her ancestral history sheds light on this urgency. Her grandmother had to flee Russia under great threat after seeing her parents killed by the Cossacks and suffered undiagnosed PTSD for the rest of her life. Katz connects her persistent sense of urgency to her grandmother’s traumatic escape. Urgency enabled her grandmother to survive. And then it was passed down to her mother and herself as a generalized way to live. Noticing and reflecting about the traumatic origins of the generalized urgency that drives her helps her interrupt practices that don’t serve her and may be harmful to the people around her.

Her story resonated with me immediately. I do not have Ashkenazi ancestry, but my husband Mark is 100% Ashkenazi. His Russian-born grandfather experienced a similar trauma. His grandfather saw his father, a rabbi, killed by the Cossacks after declaring that God would protect him.

Mark and I relate very differently to time. He runs early. I run late. I often feel rushed by him. He is often frustrated that I am not reliable about time, and he can’t predict when I will be ready.

With Mark’s permission, let me describe his airport practices and compare his airport practices to mine and my father’s. Mark considers his airport practices reasonable and appropriate. From my perspective, he clicks into semi-panic mode at the airport. He urgently works to be as far forward in every line that he can, as if he might lose his spot on the flight. If he doesn’t push forward, other people will take his place.

But there is another dimension to this. He feels responsible to be as efficient as possible, such as when going through security, so that as many people as possible can get through as quickly as possible. In this way he feels himself to be part of a collective and his behavior is for the good of all. Can you imagine how this might have been passed down to him by immigrant grandparents who were forced to flee?

Meanwhile, I am all “Lah-di-da!…It’s okay if I am not all that organized….If I drop something… or it takes a minute to find my license….or if I struggle to take my laptop out…It isn’t a matter of life or death!” I have an underlying unconscious trust that the system likes me, protects me. I am not under threat. There is no need to rush. Sadly, I don’t carry Mark’s sense of responsibility for the collective.

As I grew up, my family’s way of functioning, under my father’s control, was to always be running for the gate. We usually made it on at the last minute, adrenaline pumping.

For my father, getting to the airport early was for the uptight, for the people who didn’t know how to enjoy life. Whatever amount of time you were early was time out of your life, time that other people controlled. Never mind that this caused problems for the people around him. We missed flights, and we made other people miss flights. Furthermore, he demeaned people who tried to be prompt or, God forbid, early. In addition, he expected people to help him out of whatever jams he got into, to bend the rules for him.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I come from a lineage of oppressors. That is, my father’s family came to the U.S. in the 17th century and held slaves until the Civil War. I clearly need a different map. Using the concept, though, I looked for historical context that might shed light on my father’s patterns and my own. I know only a few stories, but they seem to hold clues. Here’s one:

My father’s mother, Louise, lived in Mexico with her parents from about the time she was eight until she was 23, when suddenly they had to flee. We were told there was a train trip in which the only things they took with them were two porcelain pigeons that they carried on their laps. (Like Shabbat candlesticks?) My great grandfather had been an executive at an American copper mining company in Mexico. They were expelled during the Mexican Revolution in about 1914.

They were on the perpetrating side of an oppressive system whose time had run out. Even so, I image this had a traumatic effect on my grandmother.  I wonder how my grandmother may have imposed an undue sense of danger and urgency into ordinary life. Was this the cause my father’s life-long habit of digging in his heels and refusing to be rushed or to acknowledge risk? My grandmother escaped to a safe place where her family was part of the white ruling class. Safe, in a lasting way. I imagine that she didn’t suffer repeated trauma as she resettled in the same way Jewish immigrants did. As a result, my father had the luxury of privilege and safety that allowed him to rebel. Rebellion didn’t come at much of a price. For him, the greater threat was to be controlled, to lose power, to not hold a special status in society.

I have a procrastinating pattern that I think is related to this, coming from ancestors most concerned with maintaining power, on which they considered their survival to depend. People tell me I am a perfectionist. Maybe so, but it is a different kind of perfectionism than people with an Ashkenazi background might have. This is hard to say, but I think it has felt safer to me to delay action than to reveal myself as less than superior, lest I lose the esteem of others, lest I lose status and power. It is a pattern that has been born of privilege and protected and perpetuated by privilege–white privilege of the kind that my ancestors enjoyed and perpetuated.

This all leads me to think my father was afraid of losing power or control to his children. I was the oldest, the first to challenge him at every point of development. If he had lived longer, we might have navigated through that.

When I was 29, I began to fear my father might die soon. He was a life-long smoker as well as a heavy drinker. This pushed me to find a way to reconcile and repair. We began meeting. He would drive to Manhattan from Connecticut, where he had recently moved, to meet me.

We had a series of monthly lunches, from noon to one, my lunch hour, close to where I was working. As I’ve described, this kind of regularity was not his pattern. He was not an on-time or reliable person. I didn’t know he could do it. At the second meeting, he arrived quite late.  (His explanation, ironically, was that he had stopped to buy my brother an alarm clock so that he could get to work on time.) I only had an hour-long lunch break, which left us no more than 15 minutes. As tempted as I was to stay beyond that hour, I couldn’t. He almost couldn’t believe it. He had a good reason for being late, after all! After that, though, he was on time for every lunch.

During those meetings, we laid the past aside and talked only of what was happening in our lives. The conversations were delicate and tender, cautious, but full of love for the fact that they were happening at all.

Key to the healing effect of these meetings for me was his honoring of the structure, timeliness and reliability that I needed. I hadn’t even known I needed them or that I could ask for them.

We only met about six times and then he was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. He was estimated to have 18 months to live, but he caught pneumonia and died soon after. By way of honoring him, I want to acknowledge that for those six meetings, he tamed that instinct to maintain power and found a way to be on time and reliable, and to interrupt the survival pattern that drove him so often in life. Those meetings meant the world to me after he died and have been deeply consoling ever since.

Chanting Torah today was an expression of belonging as a Jew in this community. As I took this step, I was made more aware of how I am different because of my non-Jewish parentage and ancestry. This moment wouldn’t have had a le-dor va-dor (connecting Torah chanting to past and future generations) resonance for my parents were they still alive. And it doesn’t connect me to mysterious, unknown ancestors. But it does connect me to you, this community, to other dear friends who are Jews, to my Jewish children, to a community that has taught me about caring for the collective and trusting the collective.

5785/2024 Tzedakah Gifts from Dorshei Derekh

Thanks, Lynne Jacobs, who heads up this annual practice, along with Jennifer Paget and Betsy Teutsch.

We allocated $3000 from our Treasury, $400 each to 7 grantee organizations and $200 to a local volunteer effort. Our members recommend grantees.

AmericanFriends of Combatants for Peace is a diverse community of U.S. and international activists working in solidarity with CfP to raise awareness and resources, build community, and take direct action to advance the work of CfP for a just peace in Israel and Palestine.

(Several Dorshei members involved with the Philly Chapter.)

Combatants for Peace (CfP) is a joint Palestinian-Israeli community-- guided by the values of nonviolent resistance—that works in solidarity to end the occupation, discrimination, and oppression of all people living on this land.

AmericanFriends of the Parents Circle shares the human side of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict with the American public to foster a peace and reconciliation process.  (DD Members are supporters).

The Parents Circle – Families Forum is a joint Israeli-Palestinian organization made up of more than 600 bereaved families. Their common bond is that they have lost a close family member to the conflict. But instead of choosing revenge, they have chosen a path of reconciliation.

FamilyPromise works with Philly families in times of crisis to prevent eviction, find shelter, and provide access to safe, affordable housing.  (Many DD/GJC supporters. Led by Rachel Falkove for many years.)

GJC Refugee Welcoming Team c/o Fed. of Neighborhood Centers

For work with 2 refugees from Colombia.  (many DD/GJC volunteers)

Hand inHand: Center for Jewish-Arab Education in Israel  

Fast-growing, integrated social movement, working with thousands of people every day, proving that people can live together as Jews and Arabs, Israelis, and Palestinians. (Dorshei supporters)

Rebuilding Together Philadelphia

Providing free home repairs for low-income homeowners in Philadelphia, with a focus on health, safety, and energy efficiency, allowing for family wealth preservation.  (DD supporters and employees.)

TogetherWomen Rise

A community of women and allies dedicated to achieving global gender equality with hundreds of local chapters across the U.S.  (DD supporters; NW Philly groups started by Betsy Teutsch, but NOT her suggestion.)

+ $200 to GermantownCommunity Fridge

Fights hunger and food insecurity.  Provides free, supplemental food in Germantown, Philadelphia. Stocked by the community, for the community, anyone who needs food is welcome to take it. 

Yamim No'raim 2025

On behalf of our amazing High Holy Days Planning Committee—Joyce Silverman, Rabbi Avruhm Addison, Rabbi David Teutsch, and Rabbi Simkha Weintraub—we are pleased to share the schedule for Dorshei Derekh's services. We will meet in person in the Temin Canteen Room and 

via Livestream at https://venue.streamspot.com/27827b08

Thursday, October 3rd

Rosh Hashanah Day 1

9:30 am

 

Friday, October 4th

Rosh Hashanah Day 2

9:30 am

 

Saturday, October 5th

Shabbat Shuvah

10 am

 

Friday, October 11th

Kol Nidre

6 pm

 

Saturday, October 12th

Yom Kippur

 

Morning @ 9:30 am

 

Afternoon & Evening

Bregman Program @ 3:30 pm

Pre-Ne'ilah Study @ 4:40 pm

Ne'ilah @ 5:45 pm

Tekiya G'dola @ 7:07 pm

 

Before each event, we will share more detailed information, including resource sheets.

 

Shana tovah!