How Can Faith Assuage the Fear of Death (In Newsday’s Ask the Clergy)

The last words we say at the end of Shabbat morning services, as well as before we go to bed, are “God is with me and I will not fear.” In saying these words, we acknowledge that the world can be a scary place and at times we might feel alone and vulnerable. We turn to God as a source of comfort for when we are afraid. This is most certainly true in regard to death. The Talmud teaches that sleep is 1/60th (a taste) of death so before going to sleep, when we have no control over our bodies, we acknowledge God’s role as our protector.

Much of our fear of death stems from a fear of not being in control. We love life and living and fear for a time when we will no longer be on earth. We love our families and cannot imagine a time when we are no longer here for them. What religion and faith entail is a belief that everything will be ok. We are commanded to teach Torah to our children who in turn will teach it to their children, ensuring that the moral and religious blueprint that we follow will remain eternal. Furthermore, we will live on in the next generation, as they are shaped by how we raised them: the values we taught them and our modeling for them how to live our lives. While we cannot control how many days we will live on this planet, we have ultimate control over the example we set for our children and our grandchildren, our nephews and nieces, our cousins and dear friends.

The Jewish faith also teaches that while we bury the body, our soul (or “spirit”) lives on and will never be extinguished. We will never truly be gone: we will always be present in spirit. This belief system ensures that there is nothing to fear about death that it is a part of life that each of us will experience. It’s not a vanishing into nothingness but rather a step in a process. By letting go of our need to have all the answers and by seeing death not as oblivion but as a part of what it means to be a human being, we recognize that we have nothing to fear.

As in the words of the anonymous poet: “If you continue to love the one you lose, you will never lose the one you love.”


The Cursed Land

As I was preparing for a class on the Hoshanot during Sukkot, I noticed the peculiar language of the 6th Hoshana that we said of Hoshana Rabba. The prayer begins הושע נא אדמה מארר, save us from the cursed land. What cursed land? The note in our Artscroll Mahzor for Sukkot points to this week’s Torah reading. When Adam was banished from the Garden of Eden, G-d said to him ארורה האדמה בעבורך, “The land is cursed because of you.”[1] The verse continues, בעצבון תאכלנה כל ימי חייך, “You shall eat by the sweat of your brow all the days of your life.”[2] The following verse begins וקוץ ודרדר תצמיח לך “Thorns and thistles shall the land sprout for you.”[3] Not exactly the most pleasant or comforting images.

Before Adam’s transgression he had it easy: all he had to do was to pluck the fruit from the trees. As Radak, Rabbi David Kimhi, commented, “You (Adam) will not have to work before you can eat… ‘to till it and to tend it’[4] meant nothing more than light work-not work that would raise a sweat.”[5] Adam now had to work hard in order to yield any fruit. As a matter of fact, Rashi says that the sproutings will be “Artichokes and cardoons, which can only be made edible with great effort.”[6] A lot of effort will be needed in order to produce a little food.

This fate of Adam is transposed onto each of us through the Hoshana we said less than a week ago. While at times in life we feel like we are in Eden, that things flow naturally without effort, at other times each of us strives to produce something yet our hard work and best efforts fail. We might even feel (G-d forbid) cursed just like Adam’s land is cursed. We might feel unproductive, that our efforts do not bear fruit. The Hoshana is a prayer for G-d to save us from this: to make our efforts bear fruit and to make sure  that we do not give up.

We might take a more ecological approach, arguing that with global warming our efforts things which used to be easier are taking even more work to yield fruit. With drought preventing crop growth and fires destroying thousands of acres in California, flooding wiping out entire crops of fruit in Florida as well as the Carolinas and numerous other natural disasters, the Hoshana could be calling on G-d to save us from our worst inclinations and tendencies, reducing our carbon footprints, however inconvenient that might be. Alternatively it could be beckoning us to think twice before doing something destructive, reminding us that hard-earned respect and careers can be ruined in an instant over something foolish. It can be equally important to pray that G-d save us from ourselves as it is to pray that G-d will save us from natural disasters and scorched earth where the earth appears to be cursed.

As we began the Torah anew this morning, let us think about what we can do to make our lives a little more Eden-like and feel a little less cursed. At the same time, may we recognize that sometimes we need to work by the sweat of our brows in order to achieve results about which we feel proud and accomplished. Perhaps Adam’s Eden was not an ideal but rather something meant to be short-lived. The next time we feel that our land or our lives are cursed, let us pray to G-d that we have the inner strength and fortitude needed for transformation, and may we be the change we want to see in the world.[7]

[1] Genesis 3:17

[2] Ibid

[3] Genesis 3:18

[4] Genesis 2:15

[5] Radak on Genesis 3:17 ד”ה ארורה האדמה בעבורך

[6] Rashi on Genesis 3:18 ד”ה וקוץ ודרדר תצמחך לך

[7] Attributed to Mahatma Ghandi

Heading Back to Reality

Whether we like it or not, change and transition are part of our lives. We can attempt to follow one schedule or routine only to have it thrown out of whack by something unexpected. The same goes with the Jewish calendar. We can bask in the heat of summer, but fall will come in due time. Similarly, we can love the High Holy Day season but eventually it will come to an end and we will head back to reality.

While there is a dispute as to whether Shemini Atzeret is a רגל בפני עצמו, a holiday in and of itself, or the 8th Day of Sukkot, all agree that after Shemini Atzeret the High Holy Days are over. Some synagogues change the ark and curtains right after Shemini Atzeret services. All agree that one no longer eats in the Sukkah after today.

A special prayer is recited upon leaving the Sukkah for the final time each year. The prayer goes as follows: יהי רצון מלפניך ה אלקנו ואלקי אבותנו, כשם שקימתי וישבתי בסכה זו, כך אזכה בשנה הבאה לישב בסכת עורו של לויתן. לשנה הבאה בירושלים! “May it be your will G-d and G-d of our ancestors that just as I established and dwelt in this Sukkah, so too may I merit in the year to come to dwell in the Sukkah made out of the skin of the Leviathan. Next year in Jerusalem!” This is a prayer for the Messiah to usher in the World to Come, the same reason we read the Haftarah of Gog of Magog, the apocalyptic, cataclysmic battle ushering in the Messiah. We are praying for change; to leave this physical world and bask in the glory of a Messianic Age.

According to Jewish tradition, the mythic sea monster known as the Leviathan will be slain as one of the steps to usher in the Messiah.[1] Many scholars, including Maimonides, highlight that we will feast on the Leviathan in the Messianic Age. The question, however, remains as to why we say this prayer. In a class on this topic, Rabbi Ethan Tucker asks, “What will happen to Leviathan’s inedible hide? This prayer prompts us to imagine it as the material out of which we construct our sukkah. Animal hides are completely invalid for sekhakh, the sukkah’s water-permeable roof—we will see why below—so, the image of Leviathan’s skin here is meant to conjure up the walls of our future sukkah in our mind’s eye. Why are we talking about the sukkah’s walls at all? Isn’t sekhakh the essence of what a sukkah is about, the part that must be carefully constructed to conform to the expectations of our halakhic canon? Why would the walls be the focus of our point of departure?[2]

As Rabbi Tucker points out, rabbinic tradition teaches that the material to make the walls of the Sukkah is immaterial. The Mishnah only focuses on the roof, the sekhakh. It teaches: “…This is the rule: Anything that can receive impurity and which does not grow from the ground may not be used as sekhakh; anything that cannot receive impurity and which does grow from the ground may be used as sekhakh. Bundles of straw, wood and reeds may not be used for sekhakh. But if any of these bundles were untied, they are valid, and they all are valid as walls.”[3] The medieval commentator Rashi continued on this theme, asserting, “And they are all”—of the items that are invalid for sekhakh. “Valid as walls”—Because whenever the verse speaks of a sukkah, it is referring to sekhakh , because a wall is not called a sukkah …”[4] This is further pointed out by Rambam, who asserts “דפני סוכה כשרין מן הכל”/The walls of a sukkah may be made of anything.”[5]

If we do not care what comprises the walls of our contemporary Sukkot, why should it matter what the Messianic Sukkah’s walls are made out of, and why should we make such a big deal out of this by saying a prayer upon leaving the Sukkah for the last time?  The answer I suggest is that we are marking a transition. We had seven days of feasting in our temporary booths which despite the rain served as a nice respite from the ordinary routine of our lives. For some of us it might have been a vacation or a break from reality. In two days more, we will be transitioning back to the “real world” with all of its routine and with all of its challenges. We will be returning perhaps disappointed that the Messiah has not come and that we are unable to dwell in the Sukkah with Leviathan skin. Yet we are to return with undaunted hope and belief in a better future. That is precisely what the prayer we say today is about: just as we merit the physical joy of this Sukkot holiday, so too may we merit seeing a better future, a day where there is peace in the world and each of us can dwell in G-d’s home, the great “Sukkah in the Sky,” made out of the Leviathan’s skin.

Today we gather to say Yizkor, on this one extra day of Shemini Atzeret, the day on which G-d told us “Stay with me one more day.” Some of us might be eager to return to our routines; at JTS we said המבדיל בין קדש לחול and yelled the word חול-yet Yizkor cautions us to slow down to take a moment to remember our loved ones; from parents who gave us life to siblings who we reveled playing with, to children we nurtured, to spouses with whom we shared our deepest hopes and dreams. Yizkor hearkens us to close our eyes and remember the dear moments of love and friendship, joy and companionship.

Before we go, leaving the presence of G-d, let us take the time we need and deserve to remember our loved ones who are no longer physically present. We will also dedicate the memorial plaques purchased during the past year, honoring those who have chosen to give their loved ones a permanent remembrance in our Beit Midrash.

We continue with Yizkor in the booklets.

[1] Babylonian Talmud Bava Batra 75a.

[2] Rabbi Ethan Tucker, “The Sukkah of the Leviathan”-Sukkot 5778.

[3] Mishnah Sukkah Chapter 1 Mishnayot 4-5.

[4] Rashi on Babylonian Talmud Sukkah 12a

[5] Rambam Mishneh Torah Laws of Shofar 4:16

Being Pelted with Etrogim[1]

In my second year of rabbinical school I learned the fifth chapter of Tractate Sukkah, החליל, “the flute,” about the water-drawing festival that occurred during Temple times. Before we got there, however, we learned a few small sections of chapter four, לולב וערבה, one of which tells a bizarre story. It begins with שמחת בית השואבה, the water-drawing festival during which the priests filled a golden flask with water from the Siloam spring to offer on the altar of the Temple. The water was brought as a libation to G-d to receive a favorable judgment in the amount of rainfall that would occur in Israel during the coming year. One time, rather than pouring the libation on the altar, the priest poured it on his feet, and as a result the entire community pelted him with etrogim.[2]

I’m telling this story on Shabbat so that I do not get pelted with etrogim. Seriously, though, when I first learned this story I thought of being pelted with tomatoes or eggs after a poor performance. Many people are still pelted, ranging from Chancellor Angela Merkel at a campaign rally[3] to the South Korean soccer team after returning home emptyhanded from the World Cup.[4] Generally when one person pelts another it’s to indicate that they don’t like something that the other person is doing, whether politically or in a public performance. In our Mishnah, the Kohen is supposed to pour water on the altar for G-d to provide the people of Israel with water in return. No mention is made as to why the Kohen poured the libation water on his feet. Perhaps he made a mistake and slipped up. Perhaps he meant it as an act of rebellion. Whatever the case, the Jews at the Temple don’t take kindly to him doing so.

In Mishnah Rosh Hashanah, we learn that on Sukkot Israel is judged for rain-that the amount of rainfall for the entire year is determined on Sukkot.[5] Rain was a life or death matter: if there was drought, one would not eat. In Tractate Taanit we read of a number of fasts that would occur if rain did not fall within a certain period of time on the Hebrew calendar. We read of miracle workers like Honi HaMaagel and Hanina ben Dosa who beseech G-d to make rain fall. Therefore, it stands to reason that a priest who does not follow the proper procedure for obtaining rainfall would be severely condemned, as his error could be held responsible for a drought.

In an age without a centralized Temple in Jerusalem, we believe that sacrifices are replaced by prayer, ונשלמה פרים שפתינו[6]. As such our prayer for rain, which we will begin to say the evening on December 4th,[7] has a great power to it. One must ask, however, if our prayer for rain as a blessing (תן מטר לברכה) really has an impact. In two days we will pray that the rainfall be לברכה ולא לקללה, for blessing and not for curse; לחיים ולא למוות, for life and not for death; לשבע ולא לרזון, for satiation and not for famine. If we continue to have torrential hurricanes, like Florence, or wildfires, like in California, does that mean that G-d is not heeding our prayers? Is there someone to hold responsible, to “pelt with etrogim,” because of negligence?

Some will say I am going about this wrong, that the story in the Mishnah is really a political dispute. The rabbinic reason given for why the Kohen poured the water on his feet is because he was a Sadducee who believed that the rabbinic customs were nonsense, as there is no biblical basis for the water libation. The pelting was a protest by the Pharisees, or “proto-rabbis,” against those who ignore the Oral Law. With that being said, I think there is room to see this as a Kohen who made a mistake and paid a severe price for it. The Talmud teaches that the people pelted the Kohen so hard that it damaged the horns of the altar.[8] The same could be said for the way the teens throw candy at an aufruf or Bar Mitzvah.

I hope that in addition to enjoying Sukkot, each of us will take a moment to look at the situations where we feel like pelting another with something-hopefully not our etrog after Sukkot-and examine why that is the case. Is it because we disagree politically or religiously? Is it because we feel their behavior is antithetical to what it should be? Is it because we feel they are engaging in negligence and something is at stake which we highly value? Before we “pelt the etrog” let us take a step back and reexamine the situation, seeing whether or not that is the warranted approach or whether another response would be more effective. In so doing, may we avoid an approach like in the Mishnah, and not damage our altar.

[1] Thank you to my teacher Rabbi Jason Rogoff whose teaching “Our Very Life” for JTS reminded me of this text.

[2] Mishnah Sukkah 4:9



[5] Mishnah Rosh Hashanah 1:2

[6] Isaiah 14:7

[7] In Israel it will be said beginning October 16, the 7th of Marcheshvan.

[8] Talmud Sukkah 48b

The Prominence of the Willow

This year we had an unexpected trip to Kew Gardens Hills on Thursday, and I will have another one sometime in the next three days. In order to make life easier on Marc Mishan, Steve Mann and me, we were going back to ordering lulavim and etrogim from a distributor who would also send us the hoshanot, the set of five willows that we beat on Hoshana Rabba. That was not meant to be, however. On Thursday September 6, Galit received a call from The Esrog Headquarters that 15, 000 lulavim and etrogim had been destroyed by the Customs DEA (Drug Enforcement Administration) because of a fungus which grew on them. All of these were from Israel, requiring The Esrog Headquarters to try (in a scramble with all the other distributors) to get more etrogim from Morocco and Italy. The receptionist at The Esrog Headquarters said if we receive the etrogim from them they will not be ripe. Without a second thought, I called Marc Mishan and planned our pilgrimage for the second year in a row to Kew Garden Hills.

The reason I was so eager to change course (after vowing next year not to go back to Kew Garden Hills) deals with the halachot (laws) of the lulav and etrog. Let us begin by looking at the etrog.[1] The etrog should primarily be turning yellow (ripe) rather than green (unripe). The peel cannot be punctured through in any spot, nor can it lack any of its inner skin. The peel cannot be overly soft, cracked, dry or peeled. The shape should preferably be like a tower – wider at the bottom and narrow at the top. The last and most important halacha is as follows: If this particular Esrog grew with a protruding stem (called a pitom), then that stem cannot be broken off. However, if the etrog grew in the first place without a pitom, it is still kosher. Many etrogim in Israel are genetically engineered to not have a pitom, which certainly helps. If the pitom breaks, however, it is not as big a deal as people make it as long as it breaks after the first day. After all, look at the verse from this morning’s Torah reading: “On the first day you shall take the product of hadar (beautiful) trees, branches of palm trees, boughs of leafy trees and willows of the brook, and you shall rejoice before the LORD your G-d seven days.”[2] The verse specifically mentions the hadar, or beautiful aspect, of the fruit on the first day.

Going in order of the verse we turn to the lulav (כפות תמרים). The most important halacha is one often violated: the center-most leaf is not split, but rather is closed (at least half-way down). One should not shake his/her lulav particularly hard to avoid the leaves splitting. The top of the lulav cannot be cut off, and the lulav should be at least 16 inches (39 cm.) long. The lulav cannot be dried out and the straighter it is, the better. The holder which contains the lulav (in the center), the myrtle (in the right) and the willows (in the left) needs to be made from lulav, as do the rings to hold the lulav in place.

Next up is the myrtle or hadas (ענף עץ עבות). Three myrtle branches are on the right-side of the lulav and are higher than the willow because it is mentioned first in the verse. A kosher myrtle has a pattern of three leaves coming out from the same point in the branch. This three-leaf pattern must be repeated over at least half the length of the branch. Each branch should be at least 11 inches (29 cm.) long, and the branch cannot be dried out.

Finally we get to the willow (ערבי נחל), two branches on the left side of the lulav. These branches should be be cared for greatly (I take them out, wrap them in a wet paper towel and refrigerate them every day) as without that they turn black. For the willows, the stem should preferably be red, and it should be at least 11 inches (29 cm.) long. The leaves should be oblong, not round in shape. They should have a smooth edge, not serrated. Willow leaves often decay, turning black during the seven days of Sukkot and are kosher as long as they are not completely dried out and the majority of the leaves are present. For this I take some consolation from Midrash Pesikta d’Rav Kahana, comparing the willow to Joseph, “For just as the willows decay and dry out before the other three species, so did Joseph die before his brethren.”[3] Luckily we will get sets of five fresh willows known as Hoshanot to beat on Sunday for Hoshana Rabba-which if you have not attended before, this is your year.

Now I’m sure you’re thinking “Very interesting Rabbi, but what does this have to do with us?” Just as there is the interesting Midrash about the willows so too are there those about the four species. I want to teach a new one, not the classic ones about study of Torah versus doing good deeds or about the parts of the body, but one from Rabbi Yosef Yitzhak Schneerson, the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe. He wrote, “The lulav Jew is immersed in study.  But, as our sages say, true learning brings one to action.  This leads to the myrtle Jew, the person who is doing good deeds. That, by necessity, implies knowledge! You have to know what Torah requires in order to fulfill its requirements.  By the same token, the willow Jew does study and does act.”[4] All three types of Jews are bound together in the Lulav, giving each one the opportunity to learn from the others, with the willow, in its simplicity despite its fragility, being the exemplar to follow.

This Sukkot and beyond, let us not go for the glamour, the etrogim in our daily lives or the prominent lulav, but rather find joy in simplicity, in the willow. May we find  that we can learn from even the most fragile things in life, rather than pushing them aside or viewing them as unimportant. These willows that we will hit on Sunday, marking the true end of the High Holy Day season, have an important lesson to teach us-if only we take the time to care for and nurture them.

[1] Halachot found on I generally like to look up halachot independently in the Shulhan Aruch (in this case Hilchot Lulav) but did not have time before the holiday began.

[2] Levitius 23:40

[3] Pesikta d’Rav Kahana 28. From Rabbi Robert Schienberg

[4] Sefer HaMaamarim 5710, p. 4.

What Comes Next?

“What comes next?

You’ve been freed

Do you know how hard it is to lead?

You’re on your own

Awesome. Wow

Do you have a clue what happens now?[1]


These words, sung by King George in the musical Hamilton, demonstrate precisely what we are feeling at this time. Just like a nation which won an improbable battle for freedom is on its own, so too have we won the merit of entering another year in the Book of Life. Yet we can ask the same question: “What comes next?” Our tradition teaches Sukkot! The first act one is commanded to do after Yom Kippur concludes is to begin building his/her Sukkah. At the same time, there was a level of debauchery associated with Sukkot, so much so that after the holiday a series of 3 fasts BeHaB, standing for “Bet” (Monday), “Hey” (Thursday) and “Bet” (Monday) was established, as people had overstepped their bounds and committed grievous sins during Sukkot. It appears that the freedom of the tabula rasa, the new beginning, was short-lived as people returned to their sinful ways.

Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev in his book Kedushat Levi wrote on this topic based off the verse from this morning’s reading: ולקחתם לכם ביום הראשון “You shall take for yourself on the first day.”[2] Kedushat Levi quoted Midrash Tanhuma on this verse as follows: “Is this day truly the first day? Is it not actually (that Sukkot falls on) the fifteenth of the month? Rather it is the first day for the calculation of sins.”[3] How can that be: shouldn’t Rosh Hashanah, the first day of the Jewish New Year, be the first day for the calculation of sins?

Kedushat Levi continues: “This Midrash actually does not make sense…still there is something to this lesson. Between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, each and every person certainly has his or her eyes open to examine all their ways to return to the Holy One, each one according to their insight and their spiritual development, fearing G-d and the glory of His exaltedness when He rises to judge the earth…but after Yom Kippur, when they turn to the mitzvoth of sukkah and lulav and the four species and tzedakah according to the blessings of the Holy One, with wholeheartedness and love, seeking to serve G-d, worshipping with joy and a full heart, they engage in what is called ‘teshuvah from love’ (תשובה מאהבה).[4]

The lesson taught by Kedushat Levi is that our work on self-improvement and repentance should not stop after Yom Kippur but rather must continue throughout the year. As in the saying I put on Facebook, “While it is important to act properly between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, it is perhaps more important to act properly between Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah.”[5]

As we continue to enjoy our beautiful Sukkot holiday, let us ponder how we will continue to strive to work on self-improvement, taking the lessons of the High Holy Days forward with us. May we follow the Kedushat Levi’s maxim, recognizing that there are consequences for our actions and that we are judged for our behavior at every moment, not only on the High Holy Days. Let us also understand, however, that we cannot be too serious: we need to take moments of joy like Sukkot after serious introspection and contemplative prayer, like Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. May we strive to achieve balance, harmony and unification in our lives, and let us greet whatever comes next with mindfulness, patience and calmness.

[1] King George in Hamilton “What Comes Next?” Book and Lyrics by Lin Manuel-Miranda.


[2] Leviticus 23:40

[3] Midrash Tanhuma Emor 22

[4] Kedushat Levi VaYelekh. Translation by Rabbi Jonathan Slater.

[5] Attributed to Nehama Leibowitz (though I could not find the citation)

G-d Hiding from Us[1]

Have there ever been times in your life when you do not believe in G-d? When you think there’s no possible way G-d can exist? While our tradition does not assert this, it certainly does claim that there are times that G-d has abandoned us or has not been there for us. One example is from this week’s Torah portion, Moses’ swan song to the people of Israel, in which he states, ויאמר אסתירה פני מהם אראה מה אחריתם “G-d said ‘I will hide my face from them, and see how they fare in the end.” [2] By hiding G-d’s face and not supporting Israel, He is giving Israel into the hands of their enemies. The theology behind this is that when Israel loses a battle it is because G-d has taken the side of its enemies.

This view, present throughout Deuteronomy, is indicative of a theology that I find to be anathema and repugnant to Judaism: that G-d aides our enemies in order to teach us a lesson. I cannot believe in a G-d who would “sell us out” in order to help Nebuchadnezzar, Titus and (G-d forbid) Hitler. Yet this is a core part of the theology of the Deuteronomist. The covenant which was reaffirmed in Parshat Nitzavim, is only held as long as Israel holds its end of the bargain: the second that Israel strays from following the commandments, G-d will give Israel to the hands of our enemies.

When atrocities have befallen our people, it is easy to rationalize that it must be because we did something wrong. However, this too often leads to what has become classically known as “Jewish guilt;” that if we are suffering it must be because of something we did. In the Bible, however, there’s a contrary view to this. When we look at the Book of Job, Job’s “friends” (with friends like those, who needs enemies?) who blame his misfortune on some defect of his behavior are castigated. At the end, we are left with G-d appearing in the whirlwind, proclaiming to Eliphaz, חרה אפי בך ובשני רעך כי לא דברתם אלי נכונה כעבדי איוב, “I am incensed with you and with your two friends for you did not speak about me correctly as did my servant Job.”[3] It is clear that Job is suffering not because of something he did but for another reason. Little does he know it is because of a bet made by G-d against השטן, the adversary!

One can go a step further, however, and (at the risk of sounding sacrilegious) shift the blame to G-d. Psalm 44 reads כל זאת באתנו ולא שכחנוך ולא שקרנו בבריתך, “All this has befallen us, yet we have not forgotten you or been false to your covenant.”[4] The Psalmist castigates G-d: עורה, למה תישן אדני הקיצה אל-תזנח לנצח! “Rouse yourself: why do you sleep O LORD? Awaken, do not reject us forever!”[5] Then we get the response affirming this week’s parsha: למה-פניך תסתיר תשכח ענינו ולחצנו, “Why have you hidden your face, ignoring our affliction and distress?”[6] The psalm ends with a charge to G-d קומה עזרתה לנו ופדנו למען חסדך, “Rise up and help us; redeem us as befits Your faithfulness.”[7] The psalmist sees Israel as keeping its end of the bargain and G-d as the one who is not being faithful to the covenant. This “pious irreverence”[8] is, I would argue, as much a part of our theology as Deuteronomy.

Questioning G-d is not something relegated to the biblical period. In the Talmud there is the famous story of the Oven of Akhnai,[9] where Rabbi Joshua disregards a voice from heaven itself, proclaiming that the law is not in heaven. G-d replies to this challenge נצחוני בני, “My children have defeated me!” indicating that He enjoys being challenged and being taken to task. That shouldn’t come as a surprise to us, as our nation’s two greatest leaders, Abraham and Moses, both took G-d to task at pivotal moments: whether Sodom and Gamorrah or the attempt to destroy all of Israel after the sin of the spies.

The Hasidic masters frequently challenged G-d, the most famous being Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev, who proclaimed one Rosh Hashanah: “Lord of the Universe, you said let it be a day of shofar-blowing, and in honor of that one commandment we blow the shofar 100 times. Multitudes of Jews have been blowing the shofar for thousands of years, and we multitudes of Jews have been shouting and praying and begging you for centuries: Sound just one great blast of the shofar and set us free – and still you have not done so!”[10]

In his book The Trial of God,[11] Elie Wiesel tells a story about himself, along with two other inmates of Auschwitz, forming a Beit Din to put G-d on trial. The verdict of the Beit Din was that G-d is חייב, or guilty, and that He owes the inmates something for abandoning them. Wiesel was certainly not the only one who found G-d to be guilty. The Piaseczno Rebbe, Kalonymous Kalman Shapira, in his book Esh Kodesh, writes that just as Sarah could not tolerate the suffering and almost sacrifice of her son, so too could Jews in Europe not tolerate the torturous Nazi regime.[12]

The next time our suffering feels unwarranted, undeserved or too much to bear, let us not think (G-d forbid) that it is a result of G-d punishing us. As one of my teachers said, “Let religion not be part of the problem but rather part of the solution.”[13] May we help those who are suffering rather than admonishing them or laying guilt on them that it is because of their sins. Let us remain in dialogue with the Almighty and not be afraid to call Him to task as the Psalmist and the Hasidic rebbes do. May we only have goodness, blessing and prosperity in 5779 and may we do all we can to alleviate suffering experienced both by us and by our fellow human beings.

[1] This sermon was generated from online learning by Rabbi Avital Hochstein of Mechon Hadar entitled Parashat Ha’Azinu: Human Existence in an Age of Divine Concealment.”

[2]  Deuteronomy 32:20

[3] Job 42:7

[4] Psalm 44:18. Thank you to Rabbi Shai Held for introducing me to this psalm.

[5] Psalm 44:24

[6] Psalm 44:25

[7] Psalm 44:27

[8] Term taken from the title of a book by Rabbi Dov Weiss

[9] Babylonian Talmud Bava Metzia 59b

[10] As seen on

[11] You can also view it in the movie God on Trial

[12] אש קדש פרדת חיי שרה “אפ”ל שגם שרה אמנו עצמה שנתנה כ”כ אל לבה מעשה העדדה עש שפרשה נשמתה, לטובת ישראל עשתה, להראות להשם איל א”א לישראל לסבול יסורים יותר מדי, ואפילו מי שבחמלת השם נשאר חי גם אחר יסורין מ”מ חלקי כחו ומוחו ורוחו נשברו ונאדבו ממנו, מה לי קטילה כלו ומה לי קלטיה פלגא.

[13] Learned at a rabbinical school mock interview from Rabbi Jacob Herber.