Primogeniture

 

One of the topics of this week’s parashah, “Toledot,” addresses is the rights of the Firstborn. In the Tanach, as was the case in the ancient Levant, those rights referred only to first born males.

“Primogeniture” is the Latin term that describes such practices. It reflects the right, by law or custom, of the firstborn male child to inherit the family estate, in preference to their siblings.

Some of the stories in the book of Bresheet surround the status of the Firstborn. We read about Cain and Abel competing over G-d’s approval of their respective sacrifices. We follow Sarah’s worries over Avraham’s inheritance, doing all that is in her power to ensure that it will go to her son Yitzchak rather than to Yishmael, his eldest son from Hagar. In this week’s Parashah, we encounter the struggle between Yaakov and his older brother, Esav, over the Birthright and the blessings of Yitzchak, their father.

In all three of the above examples, it seems that the Torah rejects the practice of primogeniture, which was prevalent in ancient times in the region, favours the younger sons and elects to endow them with that right. What, one may ask, is the purpose of such a, rather revolutionary, step?

In the first account, the decision was made by G-d. He chose Abel’s sacrifice over that of Cain.

In the case of Isaac and Yishmael, however, that preference of the former is embedded in the legal norms of that era, as reflected in the Hammurabi Code of Law, and which pertain to the inheritance rights of the son of a maid/slave, the status of Yishmael, Hagar’s son. That is this issue which is at the core of Sarah’s concern.

Article 170 of the Code states that if a man’s main wife bore his children as did his maid, the father shall bequeath all he owns to the children from his main wife, during his life. If the father passes away without declaring his rightful inheritors, his assets will be divided between all offspring regardless of who their mother was. Hagar was never the legal wife of Avraham. Sarah was. Hagar was a maid and a servant who bore a son to Avraham when Sarah thought that she was barren. Yishmael, though the eldest, was never the legal heir of Avraham. Sarah was his wife and Yitzchak, the younger son, was the legal heir.

In order to understand the choice of Yaakov over Esav, it is important to add that the term primogeniture, sometimes, also entails succession to power and office and not merely rights to tangible possessions. In other words, the Firstborn right can be onerous, demanding and carry responsibilities - a dutiful task suited for only a few selected ones. In early times, the Firstborn would substitute the father and was honoured accordingly. In ancient Egypt, for instance, Firstborns were revered and worshipped like gods. Hence the significance of the tenth plague, the plague of the Firstborn since according to our sages when G-d avenges upon a nation, He initially avenges upon its gods.

It is indeed true that when Yaakov asserts “I am Esav, your Firstborn,” (Bresheet 27:19) he not only lies, but he also commits fratricide and condemns Esav to oblivion both as a human being and his rights to inheritance as well.

Several Jewish commentators offer various justifications for Yaakov’s lie. Isaac Abrabanel, for instance, suggests that Yaakov lamented to Esav that the latter was never around the house, always roaming in the fields and not fulfilling his duties as the Firstborn while he, Yaakov, had to attend to their sick father, feed him and Esav when the latter returned from his hunting. According to Abrabanel, Yaakov went even further to suggest to Esav that if he were not ready to assume that role, he would gladly take his place and feed him as should the eldest brother address the needs of the younger one. Esav, explains Abrabanel, pondered in his heart and decided that he was better off relinquishing those duties. Yaakov took them upon himself and promptly offered Esav bread and lentil soup, as would the Firstborn do to his younger sibling.

Rabbi Shmuel Ben Meir (Rashba”m) provides a different rationale. According to him, Esav was willingly renouncing his Firstborn right claiming that his hunting activities often put him in harm’s way. Therefore, he reckoned, there was no point in him waiting for his father to die to qualify for that right.

Finally, Rabbi Sacks, who bases his interpretation on Rashi, suggests that as much as Esav tried to deceive Yitzchak, the latter “was not deceived as to the nature of his elder son. He knew what he was and what he was not. He knew he was a man of the field, a hunter, a mercurial in temperament, a man who could easily give way to violence, quickly aroused to anger, but equally quickly, capable of being distracted and forgetting. He also knew,” concludes Rabbi Sacks that Esav “was not the child to continue the Covenant.”

It is, therefore, not by accident that Yitzchak preferred Yaakov over Esav.

This week’s Parashah teaches us that leadership should not necessarily be granted to the Firstborn son but rather to the best one.

Shabbat Shalom

Vayera – A Lesson in Hospitality, Manners, and Personal Relationships

 

This week’s Parashah, “Vayera” recounts two stories. The first stresses Avraham’s humanness and kindness which is rewarded by the blessed promise of eternity. The second shares the tale of the wickedness and evil acts of the people of Sedom and Amorah followed by their punishment.

I elected to dwell on the first part which, I feel, has not been accentuated enough. I did it in the hope that its message and lesson will emanate and continue to fill our universe with every blessing.

The opening scene of the Parashah describes Avraham sitting at the entrance to his tent when G-d appears to him. The text mentions that it was an especially hot day. The purpose of G-d’s visit or what is being discussed is not mentioned. Some commentators suggest that G-d is performing the Mitzvah of “Bikur Cholim” (visiting the sick) to check on Avraham’s recovery after he had circumcised himself at the advanced age of ninety-nine (Chapter 17).

Suddenly, Avraham notices three men standing at a distance as if deliberating which way to turn. Avraham does not yet know that they are messengers (mala’chim) of G-d, nor does he know the purpose of their visit. To him, they are nothing but three strangers who seem stranded and lost. Nevertheless, despite his age, his, still, delicate physical condition, and the heat, he runs towards them, bows down, invites them into his tent and offers them food, drink, and respite.

Avraham’s words in Chapter 18 verse 3 “If I have found favour in your eyes, my Lord, do not pass your servant by,” can be interpreted, according to Rashi, in two ways.

The first, and most important, can be viewed as Avraham’s speaking to G-d with the intent of showing his respect to Him. G-d’s visit should be of top priority and attended to first. After all, it is not everyday one gets bestowed with such a great honour and such a privilege. To neglect G-d and attend to unfamiliar people would be rude and show lack of mannerism on the part of Avraham. He, therefore, excuses himself and apologizes to G-d before attending to the strangers.

There is, however, another angle of looking at this verse. This one points at Avraham’s hospitality and generosity. Avraham is almost begging the strangers to be his guests and enter his modest abode where he and Sarah welcome them warmly and affectionately. While Sarah is preparing and baking bread, the Torah tells us that Avraham “ran to the herd and selected a choice, tender calf and gave it to a servant, who hurried to prepare it. He then,” the account continues to share with us, “brought some curds and milk… and set these before them.” (18:7-8).

Moreover, as we are told, “While they ate,” Avraham, “stood near them under the tree. Now, do not Avraham’s conduct and attitude display the epitome of kindness?

But it is not only towards G-d and strangers that Avraham and Sarah show respect and thoughtfulness. They also demonstrate it towards each other, as the Parashah continues to unveil to us.

When the messengers ask to see Sarah to announce to her that she will bear a son in a year’s time, Sarah, who “was listening at the entrance of the tent, which was behind him…….laughed to herself as she thought, ‘After I am worn out and my lord is old, will I now have this pleasure?’” (18:10,12).

Evidently, Sarah did not know that G-d had already shared this news with Avraham earlier. In Chapter 17, G-d tells Avraham, “I will bless her and will surely give you a son by her.” (Verse 16). Upon hearing that, “Avraham fell face down; he laughed and said to himself, ‘will a son be born to a man a hundred years old? Will Sarah bear a child at the age of ninety?’” (Verse 17).

Both Avraham and Sarah respond by first describing themselves as old and worn out and only then mention that their respective spouses endure a similar existence. They assume responsibility for their condition first and do not point a blaming finger at the other, an instinctive trap that so many of us fall into easily. What a blessed connection and bond they share. What a wonderful example for a marital relationship, or for that matter, any relationship.

May we all continue to be blessed through Avraham, the father of many nations and Sarah, the mother of Am Yisrael our Jewish People.

Shavua tov, fellow Jews and a great week to all.

G-d, Parents and Children

 

Rosh Hashanah marks the beginning of the Jewish New Year. On that day are all supposed to be in a festive mood, dress in white and, of course, blow the Shofar (ram’s horn).

What many do not know is that, on Rosh Hashanah, we skip the magnificent Torah portion, “Ha’azinu” in Devarim (Deuteronomy) 32. Instead, we read from Parashat “Vayera” in Bresheet (Genesis).

Vayera, which is read, in parts, over the two days of Rosh Hashana, narrates the birth of Yitzchak, the son of Avraham and Sarah, the banishment of Hagar and her son, Yishmael, and ends with the binding of Yitzchak.

G-d, as we learn from it, remembers His promise to Sarah and blesses her and Avraham with a son, Yitzchak who is circumcised at the age of eight days.  Sarah, who is concerned about the future of her son demands that Avraham banish Hagar, her maid, along with, Yishmael, who Avraham sired. “Cast out this slave woman with her son, for the son of this slave woman shall not be heir with my son Isaac,” she tells Avraham in Bresheet 21:10. Avraham does not like it but listens to G-d who commands him to obey to Sarah. Avraham acquiesces and Hagar and her son end up in the desert and are, later, saved by an angel of G-d.

Many, myself included, have difficulties with this narrative. Although G-d stands behind Sarah’s decision, banishment into the desert is, still, a harsh verdict, particularly one that is executed by a parent, in this case Avraham.

Without underestimating or belittling the suffering of Hagar and Yishmael, which resulted from Avraham’s move, it is important to look at this episode in the context of practices in the ancient world where our narrative takes place. I am referring, particularly, to those pertaining to the inheritance rights of the son of a maid/slave in the circumstances of our story. These, as we learn, seem to be Sarah’s main concerns.

Rabbi Elchanan Samet suggests that for that purpose, we turn to the Hammurabi Code of Law which reflects the social and legal norms of that period, at least in Mesopotamia.

Article 170 of this Code states that if a man’s main wife bore his children and so did his maid, the father shall bequeath all he owns to the children from his main wife, during his life. If the father passes away without declaring the rightful inheritors, his assets will be divided equally between all of his offspring regardless of who their mother was.

Hagar was never the legal wife of Avraham. Sarah was. Hagar was a maid and a servant who bore a son, Yishmael, to Avraham when Sarah thought that she was barren.  Yishmael was never the legal heir of Avraham.  Now that Sarah has her son, she is the Lady of the house and wishes to secure her son’s future and ensure that he is the sole inheritor. Avraham is old, and Sarah, the worried mother, wishes him to affix it while he is alive. Banishing Hagar is removing last hurdle that stands between her and her goal.

Nevertheless, should Hagar and Yishmael be “cast out” after all those years?

Avraham does not really “cast” her out. In chapter 21 verse 14, the Torah tells us that Avraham “sent her away.” There is a softening of the verb “cast” by replacing it with the verb “send” which, in a way, mirrors Avraham’s sentiments and the nature of his actions. In Biblical context sending away generally means releasing or letting go. The same verb “send,” incidentally, is also used in the Torah pertaining to the releasing of slaves. Might it be possible that this is what the case is here?

I turn, again, to the Hammurabi Code. Article 171 of it does address an issue similar to the one discussed here. According to it, if, while he is alive, the father does not will anything to his offspring from his maids or mistresses, then they will receive nothing. Following his death, the release of the maid and her children will be secured, and the children of the main wife will not turn them into slaves.

Since Avraham has already decreed that Yitzchak is his sole successor, we would expect that Hagar and Yishmael  will be freed, accordingly. In the act of “sending them away” Avraham is, as it seems, in accordance with the customs as practiced in his world, the ancient world. As far as “the desert” scene is concerned, let us not forget that entire land of Canaan was  a desolate wilderness in those days.

On the second day of Rosh Hashanah, we read the account of the binding of Yitzchak. It tells us that G-d commands Avraham to sacrifice his son, Yitzchak, to Him.

Sacrificing the first-born son to Molech, an Amonite deity worshipped also in Canaan, was common practice in ancient times. The Torah strongly condemns and forbids such a act. Avraham, again, as in the case of Hagar, accepts the verdict without protesting or questioning it. It is clear from the text (Chapter 22:1) that G-d was testing Avraham and the extent of his dedication to Him. Still, why did G-d choose that specific experience to put to the test Avraham’s devotion to Him?

It seems that G-d’s directive was not aimed to see whether Avraham was ready to slaughter his son. As mentioned above, in the context of the times, the practice was common and everyone sacrificing their son to Molech would have done it willingly.

The underlying cause for that stems from the deepest levels of Avraham’s faith in G-d. Throughout the exchanges between G-d and Avraham, G-d repeatedly promises Avraham that he will have great and powerful posterity. If Yitzchak dies, those promises will never be kept.

In my view, it is not only Avraham that is put to the test. In Avraham’s eyes, it is also G-d that is being assessed. Yet, he never complains, never questions, or protests the decree.

His unconditional faith in G-d, regardless of whether G-d keeps His promise to him or not, is what Avraham is put on trial for in this episode. Avraham did not fail and was blessed for it. Just as he was about to put the knife to Yitzchak’s throat, an angel called Avraham from heaven telling him to stop. A ram appeared in the bushes nearby and was sacrificed to G-d instead of Yitzchak. That is the reason we use a ram’s horn to make the Shofar.

The lesson of this Parashah is clear. Life is going to present us with many challenges and rattling experiences where we will need to make hard choices. As long as we, old and young, parents and children adhere to our belief in G-d, choose Life, do Justice and practice Hope, we shall always prevail.

May we all have a great year padded with abundant health and only good news.

Shmita and the Sanctity of the Land

I have always claimed that Jews and Am Yisrael have an indispensable bond with our ancestral Homeland Land, with Eretz Yisrael. We are first introduced to it in G-d’s promise to Avraham “To your offspring, I will give that Land” in Bresheet (Genesis 12:7). This special linkage was later validated on Mount Sinai when we were given the Torah.

One of the first commandments aimed at upholding and anchoring that connection is mentioned in Vayikra (Leviticus) 19:23, where G-d instructs us to “plant any kind of fruit tree” as soon as we “enter the Land.”

Admittedly, since the dawn of history, planting trees has been an important practice in various ancient cultures towards sustaining their connection to their soil. None, however, had, I believe, the same allegiance between the two as our People and Eretz Yisrael have had.

We have all read and learned about the ecological and nourishing benefits of trees. To many, it boils down to a choice. Not so with Am Yisrael, though. For us, unlike others, it is a commandment to plant trees and for a reason. In the case of our People, it is the essence of the infinite ties with our Land which gave birth to such a directive. For Am Yisrael, the union between the two is the nexus of our covenant with G-d.

The obligation to plant trees, for Am Yisrael in Eretz Yisrael, symbolizes the replanting of our People in its native territory. It is the renewal of that ancient covenant through performing the Mitzvah of inheriting the Land, settling it and never forsaking it (Ramban, Book of Mitzvot, D).

It is not only settling in the Land that the Torah commands us. It also charges us with the duty of taking care of it, treat it kindly and protect it. And this is one of the themes of this week’s Parasha, Behar.

I am specifically referring to Shmita. This is the Mitzvah which requires us to halt any cultivation of the land every seventh year, abandon everything that grows on it and treating its leftovers or any new sprouts with great sanctity and reverence.

Though Shmita is relevant to other important issues such as the treatment of slaves, (which I elaborated upon in an article entitled, “Judaism and Slavery” which I wrote a few years ago), I chose to address only its bearing vis-à-vis the subject of the Land.

Eretz Yisrael, the Land of Yisrael, together with G-d and Am Yisrael, constitute the backbone that defines our Jewish essence. It is the “Three Stranded Thread,” which has kept our People unified and alive over a few millennia, despite ongoing efforts to destroy it. These three are the fabric of our Jewish existence. They are interlocked, interconnected, and cemented in an unbreakable knot, which as the wise writer of Kohelet (Ecclesiastes) affirms “cannot be easily severed.” )4:12).

Just as our omnipotent G-d rested on the Seventh Day after completing the act of Creation and just as Am Yisrael are commanded to cease all work on the Shabbat, so that we can refresh and replenish our body and soul after the sometimes very energy depleting chores of weekdays, so does the Land need a pause. Shmita, like Shabbat or other holidays in which we are required to take a break from the mundane and busy world, rest, heal and recover has a balancing and liberating intent. It, also, serves as a constant reminder that just as we belong to G-d so does the Land that He has given us. We need to treat it with reverence just as we would G-d and our fellow Jews.

 Let us face it,  whenever a culture, a tradition respects its Land and sanctifies it, in the end, it is more likely to also venerate its own People and safeguard the dignity of Man.

That my heritage, this is our Jewish legacy. How much more blessed can one be?

Shabbat Shalom

Almah

Almah means “a maiden,” or “an unmarried woman” in Hebrew. It appears in a few places in the Tanach. Two are of special interest to me. The is first mentioned in the Tanach in this week’s Parashah (Genesis 24). The other, in the Book of Isaiah (7, 14).

Had the discussion over the use of the term in Isaiah not surfaced in a past exchange that I had, the one in this week’s Parashah would have gone unnoticed by me and this essay not written. So, let me get right to it.

About twenty years ago, a fellow Jew, who embraced Yeshua (AKA Jesus) as his messiah, and I were debating the issue. When I asked him what convinced him to make that decision, he directed me to the said verse in Isaiah. Someone, sometime, somewhere, so it seemed, tried and evidently succeeded to mislead him by telling him that the verse in question is a prediction of the birth of Jesus whom we, Jews, rejected as our messiah. For those who are unfamiliar with that specific verse, here It is: “Therefor the Lord himself shall give you a sign; Behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son’ and shall call his name Immanuel.”

It includes, so it seems, G-d, a virgin and a son, all the essential elements needed to persuade simple, uneducated and baffled Jews that it referred to Jesus.  Not so fast, I say. As a native Hebrew speaker, I hated to burst his bubble of belief in a comforting and rewarding way of life which shakes any form of personal responsibility off us. And what a better way to convince the gullible, naïve souls seeking redemption than to use a mistranslation of the Hebrew language, deliberate or otherwise, to please the perplexed?

The Hebrew word for virgin is betulah. If Isaiah had indeed intended to impress upon us that he was prophesying the immaculate conception, would he, a speaker of Hebrew, not used “betulah” instead of “almah?”

“But hey,” retorted my devout “Jew for Jesus” challenger, “were not all maidens, during Biblical era, expected to be virgins?” A valid argument, one would suggest.

It is on occasions such as this that I enlist the help of a publication called “Bible Concordance,” a verbal index to the Bible. It lists every word that appears in the Tanach and cites it. Since my challenger suggested that a Biblical maiden had to be a virgin, I looked up the references to a “maiden’ and the context in which they were used.  “Maiden” appears seven times in the Tanach.

 The first one appears in this Parashah (Genesis 24:43) where Eliezer, the servant of Avraham describes Rivkah, the future wife of Yitzchak, as a maiden, “See, I am standing beside this spring. If a maiden comes out to draw water and I say to her, “’Please let me drink a little water from your jar.’” In that same chapter, verse 17, Rivkah is described as a “Virgin,” betulah “that no man knew” (and we all know what “to know” means in the Biblical sense).

The question that is begging to be asked is, if indeed it was so clear that in Biblical times, almah was akin to betulah, why was there a need to reiterate it in the case of Rivkah? Evidently, it was not that obvious.

Another question that is begging to be asked is, how did the Hebrew almah become “virgin” in the English translation of Isaiah?

That has everything to do with the Greek translation of the Tanach, a translation, which as I have shown in the past, has caused us, Jews, and our Tanach much damage.

It all started in the third century B.C.E. with the Greek ruler, Ptolemy II Philadelphus, the king of Ptolemic Egypt. An educated man, Ptolemy wished to augment his library in Alexandria and commissioned seventy-two (six from each of the twelve tribes) scholars to translate the Torah and later the rest of the Tanach into Greek. This translation came to be known as “The Septuagint” (Seventy in Latin). The main reason for producing the translation was for the benefit of the many Jews who were scattered throughout the Greek Empire and who were beginning to lose their Hebrew language. The translation also gave many non - Jews an opportunity to have a glimpse at the Hebrew Scriptures. Apparently, a noble cause but, as you will soon learn, dear readers, a great reason for alarm.

In Greek, the word Parthenos means BOTH “maiden” and “virgin.” Isn’t it natural, therefore, that to make their case for the immaculate conception, early Christianity conveniently chose the word virgin instead of the original Hebrew word for maiden?

Wishing my fellow Jews Shabbat Shalom, a meaningful Thanksgiving celebration to my fellow Americans and a weekend full of blessings to all.

Na'aseh V'Nishma

This week’s Parasha is Mishpatim. Am Yisrael is at the foot of Mount Sinai and is receiving G-d’s Laws.

I have been to Mount Sinai. I stood on top of it where Moshe received the Torah and where G-d revealed Himself to Am Yisrael. G-d did not appear to them in any shape or form, merely in a spectacular scene in the configuration of sounds, lights, torches and the reverberation of the Shofar. "וְכָל הָעָם רֹאִים אֶת הַקּוֹלֹת וְאֶת הַלַּפִּידִם וְאֵת קוֹל הַשֹּׁפָר וְאֶת הָהָר עָשֵׁן וַיַּרְא הָעָם וַיָּנֻעוּ וַיַּעַמְדוּ מֵרָחֹק" (Exodus, 20; 14).  This dazzling audio visual spectacle must have had a profound effect on those witnessing it for according to the Hebrew quote above, they “saw” the sounds. The root Re’eh, Reish Alef, Hey  ר,א,ה  also appears in the Tanach in the context  of “understand.” They internalized the divine message and acknowledged it by pledging, “Na’aseh Ve’nishma.” We shall do and we shall hear.

What a sight, what an emotional upheaval it must have been for those present. When I stood on top of that mountain and looked down at the valley underneath where all of Am Yisrael was gathered, I closed my eyes for a brief moment. I was one of them. I could feel the surge of their emotions, the quivering of the foundations of their being, their joy, their ecstasy and the reflection of awe in their eyes. I could feel the words and the sounds that they witnessed as they were being etched on the walls of their essence, an imprint that has been passed on to us, their descendants.

Standing there, I felt proud, very proud, for yet another reason.

The exact number of those that came out of Egypt is not clear. We do know, however, that there were at least 600,000 men among them. So one can safely surmise that there were at least 600,000 witnesses to what I described above, witnesses to their covenant with the G-d of Avraham, Yaakov and Yitzchak.

 Now, what other religion, especially among the monotheistic ones, can claim such a widespread testament to validate that experience? And we all know that there is credibility and authority in numbers. 

With all due respect to other religions where Divine revelation rendered itself to one individual, I am very glad that to our covenant there were so many witnesses! It certainly sends a strong message out.

And, as a Jew I am honoured to be one of its carriers.

Shabbat Shalom

There is an Avraham in Every Jew

Lech Lecha לֶךְ-לְךָ is the name of this week’s Parasha (Torah portion) from Beresheet 12:1 – 17:27

Each year as we get to reading it, the Jew in me is, yet again, filled with awe witnessing the courage of Avraham, our forefather. To be able to pick up one’s past life, leave the comforts of one’s Home and follow the directives of a voice, a calling, be it external or internal and face the unknown, does indeed require much valour, resolution and bravery. Avraham certainly took the road “less traveled by” in the words of Robert Frost and that made “all the difference.”

And that move, that major step by Avraham, as we Jews believe, has changed the face and the essence of humanity forever.

At this point, I would endeavor to say that Avraham was not the first one to whom that “voice” spoke. I would say, however, that he was probably the first one that heard it, listened to it and followed its command.

Though not every Jew is a born Avraham, we all have some of him in us. We all possess the potential to make a difference, small or major, in our world. Such opportunities present themselves to us on our Life’s path almost daily. Unfortunately, many of us miss them, intentionally or otherwise. We miss them for several reasons.

First and foremost, some Jews have chosen to continue to live in their comfort zone and any effort to rattle it is rejected by them. 

Others, sadly enough, have simply elected to tune out of the dynamic world that surrounds them. They have decided to seal their ears and resuscitate the blinders over their eyes. The sounds of their inner silence have become their new idols, their panacea. “It is not my problem,” they keep telling themselves as they engage in their selfish dialogues in a futile effort to justify their choice.

I was one of those. Though the fighter in me never ceased her battles, I rarely responded to the calling, until over 8 years ago.

I was residing in the UK at that time, living a comfortable lifestyle, mingling with all the who’s and who’s through family connections and work. I was at last, I felt, enjoying the fruits of my labour from long and hard previous years.

Then, one bright day, it hit me. I paid heed to the voice that was calling me. I stopped and listened to it. It kept asking, “So what’s next? You have done for yourself and nicely so. Is that the legacy you want to leave in this world. Is that what your Jewishness is all about?”

There was only one alternative left for me: moving back to Eretz Yisrael and doing for our Jewish people and our future here. It was time to make that long dormant dream, buried deep inside of me, a reality. I followed that voice and, just like Avraham, I have been blessed, albeit on a much smaller scale.


The dictate of “Lech Lecha” is what being Jewish is all about. It is a directive that has run like a golden thread through the spiritual DNA of our Jewish generations. It is our duty as Jews to dare, to go against the stream and to venture. That has been not only our duty but our destiny as well. That is the key to our survival, Past, Present and Future.

My dear fellow Jews, we each have different voices calling us. We each hold different vocations, some are easier to achieve than others. Regardless of the magnitude and the significance of our calling, each carries a blessing.

So, let us give rise to the Avraham that is in us, harness our courage and wisdom and follow in the footsteps of the great first Hebrew. Let our ancient Spirit, prudence and invincibility guide us. Let it take us through the road “less traveled by.” Let us embark on our destined journey and leave our footprints not only on that road but also on the hearts and souls of many others for many years to come.

Shavua tov


Special thanks to Michal Dar-El.