Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Welcome to our new "sister" blog

ktiva.blogspot.com

Subscribe via your blog reader. You won't be disappointed.

Hope everyone well. Wonderful to spend such a happy time together!!! Thank you!

D - Wedding tisch speech

December 20, 2009


Thank you, Ilana, my eloquent cherub. Magnificent. The first marital lesson I must learn is never to speak right after you. Yasher kochech. Welcome and thank you all for coming. We are absolutely thrilled to greet each of you today. As we wrote in our program, Zeh hayom asah adonay nagila v’nismacha vo. Special thanks to my Rebbe, Rav Chaim Brovender, for adding so much to this simcha with his inspiring words today and over shabat, to our dear friend and adviser Rabbi Seth Farber, who came in from Israel this morning, to Rav Shalom Baum and Rav Avi Weiss, my father’s chavrutot, as well as to Rav Yosef Adler, rabbanim chaverim who have been devoted family friends for years and who honor us with their presence today. Profuse thanks to our extraordinary parents and siblings, each of whom was essential in creating this simcha. Finally, we join our parents and siblings in giving thanks and praise to Hashem for helping us reach this day together as a complete family: shehechiyanu v’kiyamanu v’higiyanu la’zman hazeh. May we merit to share smachot with all our parents for years to come.


As Ilana just said, Daf Yomi played a key role in our relationship. Some of you have already heard us talk about how our relationship got off the ground, but the everyday activity of daf yomi is what kept us aloft. In some ways, the day-to-day commitment of daf yomi, a commitment that you, Ilana, approach with singular enthusiasm and rhymed zest, serves as a model for the daily work of marriage with its everyday demands of commitment and fortitude.


I want to look at another gemara we learned together in shiur with Rav Benne Lau: Bava Batra Daf Samech amud bet, the last daf of the third perek is particularly appropriate for a wedding as it deals with the verse “Im Eshkachech,” “If I forget you, Jerusalem,” that we will soon sing together under the chupa. The Talmud discusses how to institutionalize Zekher L’Mikdash, commemoration of the destruction of Jerusalem and the Holy Temple, in a principled yet balanced fashion. The gemara first describes one Tanna’s criticism of prushim, zealots who abstained from all meat and wine in the wake of the Temple’s destruction – the Tanna reasons that if the zealots wish to abstain from items that had been used in the Temple service, then by rights they should also renounce grain, fruit, and water, since these too played an integral role in the avodah. “Lo L’hitabel Kol Ikar,” “Do not mourn excessively,” the Tanna, Rav Yehoshua, chides them.


The gemara then addresses the wedding ceremony, a classic locus of zekher l’mikdash. The gemara cites the verse: “Im Ehskachech,” “If I forget thee Jerusalem,” and asks what is “rosh simchati,” the “peak of my joy?” The rabbis answer that it means to commemorate the destruction by putting ashes on the chattan’s head, similar to the custom I’ll observe of breaking a glass to end the ceremony.


The gemara continues, “Tanya Amar Rav Yishmael ben Elisha: Me’yom she’charav bet hamikdash din hu shenigzor she’lo le’echol basar v’lo lishtot yayin.” After the Churban, we ought to have decreed not to eat meat or drink wine – indeed Ilana might have preferred this. But we do not promulgate decrees that the majority of the community cannot endure. The gemara then extends this logic of zekher l’mikdash ad absurdum, “Din hu shenigzor al atzmenu she lo lisa isha u’le’holid banim.” Perhaps we should not marry or have children – a ban I’ve scrupulously heeded these past thirty years. But were that logic to obtain, the perek concludes, “Nimtza zar’o shel Avraham Avinu kalah m’elav.” In their piety to mourn catastrophe, the progeny of Abraham would extirpate themselves.


The chapter ends with the poignant question, Where do we find an appropriate balance between hope and mourning? Strikingly, chazal consider marriage a natural place to commemorate destruction. The pairing seems counterintuitive: Institutionalizing zekher l’mikdash in the wedding ceremony is like inserting a piece of Eicha, the book of Lamentation, into the romantic poetry of Shir Hashirim, the Tanakh’s great love song. The gemara cautions Lo l’hitabel kol ikar, not to take remembrance too far lest we imperil the Jewish future for the sake of Jewish memory. Why pause, then, at the crest of all our hopes and dreams to mourn the inevitable sting of loss, grief, and absence?


I’d argue that this bundle of emotions encapsulates the central contradictions and challenges of Judaism that Ilana and I embrace today. On the day of our highest bliss, we attach ourselves to the destinies of the Jewish people, our families, and loves ones with all the associated tragedy and triumph. As people of language, Ilana and I see this written into our foundational texts. Indeed, if we look closely at Tanakh, we’ll discover traces of Eicha’s rupture in Shir Hashirim’s raptures. A verse at the beginning of Shir Hashirim reads, “Hagida li she’ahava nafshi, EICHA tir’e, EICHA tarbitz b’tzohariym.” “Tell me, you whom I love, where you graze and where you rest.” The interrogatory terms, the questions asking where the beloved wanders, are EICHA, a jarring echo of Megilat Eicha’s mournful lament. Why insert this loaded term of eicha into the bible’s happiest and most romantic book? As we stand here today side-by-side on the brink of marriage, enraptured, encircled by the faces of all those we love, our sentiment is one of utter bewilderment. We are people of words, but we lack the language to describe our emotions right now. That is EICHA. Dumbstruck astonishment. How can it be? That bewilderment can be one of hope or despair. Our prayer is that we may know many more moments of joy than grief over our future together.


There is one other meaning of Eicha. It also means, “where are you?”, as in “Where does my beloved wander today?” It is not by accident that the first time God calls to man it is with the question “Ayeka,” “Where are you” from the word Eicha. Where are you, my beloved? Ilana, how often have we asked that distressing and baffling question over the years? As with any question, it begs for knowledge that lies outside oneself, for an answer that another person must complete. Today, after years of searching, I know with perfect faith that you, Ilana, are the answer to every question I could possibly ask.


If Judaism is about redeeming what Rabbi Soloveitchik calls the exasperating and desolate feeling of loneliness, then marriage, with its purpose of a life lived together in fellowship, love, and learning is the counterweight, the balanced zekher to the years of searching and solitude. Ilana, our search of Ayeka was a long one, but it could not have ended more magically. With one eye to a Jerusalem redeemed and another to you, Ilana, I close with another question from the many the lovers pose in Shir Hashirim: Mi Zot Ola Min Hamidbar? Who is that rising from the desert? I cannot wait to see the glow on your face as you come through the doors in a few minutes and to see you rise every day for the rest of our lives. Lecha dodi likrat kalah. Let us now rejoice. I love you. Mazal tov and thank you all for coming.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Joe's Toast for Ilana & Daniel's Wedding

Everyone knows Daniel and Ilana as stoic scholars. They met while learning together, and we’ve watched them quiz each other on literature and puns. But these past few months we’ve also seen another side emerge. Last week, at Daniel’s Aufruf there was a moment when D shed some tears. In this past week’s Torah Portion, a man’s tears play a central role as well.

In Miketz we saw raw emotion on a scale seldom seen in the Bible. When Joseph first meets his brothers he greets them with anger, and then struggles with his tears; fighting them back in a private back room. At this point in the narrative, Joseph is a public figure, leading Egypt through an intense famine. He considered it inappropriate to display his feeling openly and publicly. At the climax of next week’s portion, however, he reveals himself to his brothers and “his sobs were so loud that the Egyptians could hear…He kissed his brothers and wept upon them.” As Ilana’s aunt Shuly Rubin Schwartz explains, (and as posted on brother-in-laws website myjewishlearning) by acknowledging his pain Joseph could imagine a future that could include both his public role and his private relationship with his family. She compares it to the affect of feminism in the 60’s, when it finally became acceptable for men to understand and come to terms with their personal and professional lives.

Over the past few months we have enjoyed watching you, Daniel and Ilana, grow together and complement each other as a couple. Ilana has finally brought the appropriate female touch to our Dodi. Ilana, you have taught Dodi how to reconcile his professional scholarship with the possibility of being a romantic poet. We have never seen D so relaxed, and so happy. As Robert Frost has said (since apparently we all have to quote poems this week), “It's a funny thing that when a man hasn't anything on earth to worry about, he goes off and gets married.”

It’s not often that a younger sibling can give marriage advice to an older brother. D, we’ve been waiting a long time for this day. You have been the pillar of our family. The middle sibling, always available to help with speeches and essays, and have always been around when Mom & Dad needed extra support. Now it is your turn to build your own family. Just some advice: If you ask Ilana what’s wrong and she says “nothing”, she actually means “something” and you should be very worried. When she says “Go ahead” she actually means “you can do it, but it’s going to cost you later.” And the word “fine” is the word wives use to end any argument when they feel that they are right and you need to shut up. And when in doubt, just fall back on “Yes, Dear. You’re right.”

Our bracha to you is that you continue to use Joseph’s tears as a foundation and harbinger of better days to come. This day is fully sweet, and we look forward to celebrating with you two and the entire family in public and private ad meah veesrim.

Mazal Tov

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Estie and Mindy's speech at Dodi's Aufruf

December 13, 2009
Second day of Chanukah – 27th kislev, 5770
D’s aufruf – Estie and Mindy’s speech

Chag urim sameach. We’re here today on the second day of Chanukah to celebrate the upcoming marriage of our dear brother, D, to his bechirat libo, Ilana. This time of year is quite apropos for a wedding, and we would like to connect many of the central ideas of Chanukah to some of the fundamental themes of marriage.

Celebrating Chanukah is a dual-natured mitzvah. On the one hand, it is a mitzvah that must be fulfilled by every family in their own home, as the gemara in Mesechet Shabbat states: Tanu rabanan: mitzvat Chanukah neir ish u’beito.

The rabbis dispute the meaning of “neir ish u’beito:” is this a mitzvah incumbent on every individual, or a mitzvah for each household? The mifarshim establish that individual members of a household should light their own chanukiyot, but a husband and wife should share one chanukiya because they are considered one being. When a household comes together to light candles for Chanukah, they thereby bring the presence of God into their home, recreating the mikdash. Every year during Chanukah, we reaffirm the holiness of each individual home, and for eight days each home becomes a “mikdash me’at,” a small temple. According to the Ramban, lighting Chanukah candles in our homes is a continuation of the mitzvah to light the menorah in the beit hamikdash. Just as the candles of the menorah in the mikdash could not be used for other purposes, so too the candles of our chanukikyot cannot be used “elah lirot’am bilvad,” except to look at them.

However, Chanukah is not just celebrated by individual families. There is another aspect of Chanukah that is fundamental to the holiday, namely the mitzvah of “pirsumei nisa,” publicizing the miracle. The second bracha that we say when we light the candles, “she’asa nisim,” reflects this added dimension to the mitzvah. This requirement seems to contradict the idea of Chanukah being a private, family-central chag. We are commanded to place our chanukiyot in the front window of our homes, so that the light will shine outside. We must share the miracle of Chanukah with the entire world.

Perhaps this is what a true beit yisrael is: the core is built upon a strong inner family, but the values developed in that home must then be shared with the world at large. The candles that we light can be understood as our way of impacting the world. Do we choose to contain our impact within our private home, or do we strive to use our strengths and talents to influence and improve the broader world? Chanukah teaches us that each aspect is integrally connected to the other; we must develop a strong family structure so that we can influence and change the world for the better.

This idea of intimacy and sharing relates directly to a wedding, which takes the most intensely private moment of a person’s life and turns it into a public display. At first, this seems like a strange concept, but keeping a wedding private would prevent others from witnessing the beauty of the love between the couple. The couple’s love is shared with the world for a few hours, and then they are ushered into their home where they will build a meaningful life together.

Daniel and Ilana, as you join together in marriage next week, we would also like to bring to mind a well-known Midrash about Moshe that appears in Midrash Rabbah for parshat beha’alotcha. Hashem tells Moshe that He will ease Moshe’s burden by transferring Moshe’s ruach to the 70 elders. The midrash asks, Did this sharing of spirit affect Moshe’s elevated degree of prophecy? The Midrash answers: “V’hakol madlikin hey-menu v’ayn oro chaseir klum.” Moshe was like a flame from which many other candles were lit: while he provided light to others, his own light was not diminished in the act of sharing. This Midrash speaks perfectly to your relationship with one another. As you have shared of yourselves, your original distinct selves have not diminished. Rather, you have each grown stronger and now shine even brighter together.

Finally, we’d like to close with a story from a Gemara in avoda zara. The gemara tells the story of the beginning of Adam HaRishon’s life. As the weeks progressed, the days kept getting shorter and the nights became increasingly longer. Adam feared that his death was fast approaching and would coincide with a return to the primordial state of “Tohu VaVohu.” On the 17th of Kislev, one of the shortest days of the year, Adam decided to fast and pray for eight days to counteract his fear. On the eighth day of fasting, the 25th of Kislev and the winter equinox, Adam HaRishon realized that the days began to lengthen and the nights to shorten. The next year, Adam decided to make these darkest days of the year into a holiday. Thus, Chanukah became a “chag urim,” a “festival of lights” even before it was rabbinically instituted.

Adam’s fear and eventual relief highlight the importance of light. Light is symbolic of all that is good in our lives. At this moment of physical darkness in the world as well as personal family challenges and darkness, we take the time to celebrate this wonderful simcha and remember the light and goodness in life.

Our bracha to you, Daniel and Ilana is that you always seek to find the positive in life, even in times of darkness. As you embark on this exciting journey to build your own home, may you always seek to sanctify your home. We know that you both hold Torah and learning close to your hearts: may intellectual pursuit and Talmud Torah always constitute a core in your bayit. You have both chosen individually, and now as a couple, to build your home in Jerusalem, a makom kadosh filled with spiritual striving and intellectual pursuit. We know from your exemplary commitment to family that together you will build a home with deeply held values, and we also know that you will share the incredible life that you will build together with many others. We love you both dearly, and want to wish you a huge mazal tov on this momentous occasion.

Dad's speech at Sunday's Aufruf

Dad’s Speech for Daniel’s Aufruf Dec. 13, 2009

I would like to extend our formal greeting to all of you for joining us today in the celebration of this magnificent simcha in honor of Ilana and Daniel’s forthcoming marriage. Rella and I are truly thrilled by the great warmth and enthusiasm shown by you in the celebration.

We are extremely pleased that so many relatives and good friends could join the festivities. Your presence greatly enhances our simcha and provides an added dimension to our happiness.

We express sincere gratitude to Hashem for allowing us to reach this momentous milestone in celebrating your Aufruf today and upcoming marriage to dearest Ilana next week. We feel especially fortunate to be gaining a wonderful daughter in our family, and to be expanding our family with the Kurshans.

Ilana and Daniel, during the past 6 months we have had tremendous pride in witnessing the growth in your relationship together with the combination of love, joy, enthusiasm, scholarship, mutual respect and understanding. The entire family first met you as a couple in a whirlwind visit to Kiawah, South Carolina in August. Then during Succot, we spent time together with the Agus family in Caesaria and in Jerusalem. By late October you had reached the engagement stage and our families had 6 weeks to prepare for the wedding. Ten years ago Mom had a 3 month deadline from Nira and Michael so she was fully prepared for this new challenge, and we are proud of her poise and accomplishments in fulfilling her mission. Thank you to Barbara Esses, our talented, creative friend who helped make this all possible. You are energy redefined.

Daniel, throughout your childhood and adult years, you have observed an outstanding role-model directly in our home. Mom has devoted considerable time and effort in community activities. She combines the unique talents of an organized management ability together with an elegance of style. All her efforts are lovingly appreciated.

Daniel, life proceeds rapidly, and mom and I have vivid memories of you during your early childhood. You always showed strong determination and a serious-minded sense of purpose. When you walked home alone from Baba and Zaidie’s shul in Hillside on Rosh Hashanah at age 5, we knew we had our hands full. You translated your strong determination into a combination of academic excellence and a love of sports with solid allegiance to the Devils and Yankees. But your great passion in your youth was playing and coaching hockey in high school and college. You played field hockey and then ice hockey in New Jersey and at Chelsea Piers in New York.
After your graduation from Columbia, your passionate pursuit was focused on comparative literature at Yale and, in sports, to cycling. You continue to utilize these literary skills in your current educational position at Yad Vashem.
Your determination is currently evident in your mutual scholarship and close bonding with Ilana.

Daniel, you have always been a terrific brother, both to older and younger siblings, as the one right in the middle. You have been an integral part of the family, even while living at a great distance away. In your role as an uncle, you have shown great love and affection and deservedly have been given the title Dodi D.
Daniel, the Jewish calendar has a fixed order, and milestone events often occur by a predestined pattern. Your Aufruf occurs on the second day of Chanukah, “Chag Haorim.” This holiday marks a time of rededication and renewal of the menorah in the Beit Hamikdash in the time of the Hashmonaim. May your Aufruf also serve as a time of renewal and invigorated sustenance in your new relationship with Ilana as Chatan and Kallah.

As you are well aware, Daniel, you are most fortunate in the heritage you have received. Your middle name, Banach, is Baba Sally’s maiden name. Unfortunately, because of the Holocaust, you are the only person from that large family who still bears that name. From the Levenstein and Banach families of Zaidie and Baba Sally’s, Z”L, you have learned important life lessons from the intense suffering and personal loss that they sustained. They taught you the power of the human spirit. They always showed you how to look to the positive side of things, to be compassionate, honest, and to be charitable. They showed no bitterness or despair, only great loving for you and your siblings. Zaidie and Baba Sally provided you with the finest example of Jewish ethics in Tzedakah and Gemilut Hasadim. Their honored reputation in Israel and America should serve as an outstanding role model and legacy for you.

On the Feldman and Yospin side of the family, you have always seen exemplary role models from Grandma and from Grandpa. Grandma continued in her role as a teacher of remedial reading until she was almost 80 years old. Grandpa was a quiet and determined person, always concerned about the welfare of others, especially of his family. He epitomized the ideal of Jewish charity through his many anonymous donations.

Our blessing to you, Ilana and Daniel, is that Hashem should grant you the zechut to share a long and cherished married life together filled with happiness, good health, friendship, devotion and a large family. May all of us have great nachat in celebrating this new partnership of Kurshan-Feldman. We love you. Mazal Tov! Am Yisrael Chai!

Dodi's Aufruf Speech

Daniel Feldman
Aufruf Speech, Sunday, December 13, 2009
26 Kislev 5770 -- 2nd day chanuka

Thank you all for coming this morning. Ilana and I feel overwhelmed by Hashem’s Chesed in joining so many honored family and friends today at the start of this long-awaited, very special simcha – al hanissim v’al hapurkan. We’re grateful to be surrounded by familiar faces from all the key stations of our lives: for me, from Teaneck, New Haven, Israel, as well as the Kurshans, who have so warmly welcomed me into their remarkable family and, of course, ra’ayati kalati, Ilana.

Ilana and I want to thank our parents, especially our mothers, who planned our aufruf and wedding celebrations with extraordinary grace, efficiency, and virtually no help from us at all. You both already manage a dizzying array of responsibilities on a daily basis and we are inspired by and grateful for your selfless examples of love and dedication. We’re also honored to have here my grandmother, Grandma Betty (a minor celebrity here in Teaneck), all our phenomenal siblings, nieces and nephews, including my sister and brother-in-law Estie and Elizur and their adorable kids. Making a wedding in the States was more convenient for everyone involved except for them. We’re glad you came. Finally, I don’t have the words but feel obliged to make mention of the subtext to this entire simcha, which is that we give shevah and hoda’a to Hashem that my dad is here shalem itanu hayom. Shenizke l’refua shlemah, u’teshua gedola bzman hazeh. I also feel blessed to mark this simcha at this shul, in the embrace of a kehilla characterized by steadfast loyalty and personal devotion. To me, that is what this shul represents, from Rabbi Baum to all of my parents’ many dear friends who have stood by them during the adverse conditions of the past few years and are gathered here today in celebration. Our family owes you all an enormous debt of hakarat hatov.

My brother Joe said at his aufruf a few years back that after leyning, reading the haftara, and delivering a dvar torah at his aufruf, he felt as if his aufruf were a bar mitzvah redux. Well, when we decided to do a morning minyan today with the same bagel and pancake brunch we had at Aaron’s bris, you can imagine what sort of simcha we thought this would resemble –I hope that’s as far as the similarity to a morning brit this will go. No cutting! But I do want to think for a few minutes about the notion of marriage as a brit, a covenantal agreement which Ilana and I are forging next week. It’s a theme that we will develop next Sunday, but it also appears in an interesting form in yesterday’s parsha, Vayeshev. Vayeshev holds great personal significance for Ilana and me. It was the first pasha shiur by Avivah Zornberg I attended, and thus was the parsha under discussion when Ilana and I first met. I knew that Ilana was exceptional from that very first shiur two years ago when Avivah cited William Blake’s “The Tyger” and asked Ilana to complete the poem’s first stanzas. How does it begin again, Ilana?

Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

She recited flawlessly by heart that night and has since completely stolen my heart. And so with perfect symmetry, it seems appropriate to share an idea from Avivah’s Torah that jumps out at me when reflecting on this occasion.

Vayeshev begins, Vayeshev Yaakov B’eretz Megurei Aviv, B’eretz Knaan. Yaakov settled in the land of his fathers’ sojourning, in Knaan. Regarding the words Vayeshev Yaakov, Rashi cites a fascinating midrash:

Bikesh yaakov leshev b’shalva: Yakov sought to settle in serenity. Kafatz alav rogzo shel Yosef. Immediately the misfortune of Yosef leapt upon him. The Midrash continues, Tzadikim seek to settle in peace and God replies, “Isn’t it sufficient for tzadikim what awaits them in the world to come – lo dayan l’tzadikim – why should they seek tranquility in this world, as well.” So says Rashi. What is wrong with pursuing shalva and why does Hakadosh Baruch hu mock the desire of tzadikim to find serenity in this world? Fortunately, we’re not tzadikim and are therefore eligible for this-worldly peace – perhaps one of the few benefits to not being tzadikim. But we can all still glean a crucial lesson from Rashi’s message here. In order to understand why God might have confounded Yaakov’s desire to dwell placidly in Eretz Knaan, the land of his forefathers, we need to step back and appreciate Yaakov’s situation at the start of Vayeshev.

Yaakov has just resolved his decades-long dispute with his brother Esau, liberated himself from servitude to his father-in-law Lavan, and after many tribulations finally settled in the land promised to him by Hashem. Yaakov grew up knowing that the members of his family were the legatees of a covenantal promise from God, a promise he directly received from Hashem, as well. The terms of that promise, as articulated originally to Avraham, were that Avraham’s progeny would be Gerim, foreigners in a land not theirs, and that they would be enslaved and oppressed, V’avadum v’inu otam. What has Yaakov experienced in the past two parshiyot? Yaakov complains of toiling for Lavan as a veritable slave. He tells Lavan, Gunavti Yom U’Gunavti Layla, I’ve been robbed day and night during the years Avaditikha, I served you, eved, and only by the grace of God who has seen my Onyi, my suffering, my Inuy, can I leave with anything more than the shirt on my back. Yaakov later uses the final keyword of the Avraham prophecy when he says, Im Lavan Garti, I was a ger, a stranger. As meforshim from the Midrash Mikthav to Rabbi David Silber have observed, Yaakov is not merely complaining; rather, he thinks he has been enslaved, oppressed, and exiled – he thinks he has lived the Avraham prophecy! And so when he returns to Eretz Yisrael with his children and new name, he comes not to dwell a while in the land, but to establish his family there permanently as a people. Rashi spells out that leshev b’shalva is no indulgent wish by Yakov to live in peace, but a deep-seated desire to live historically, to begin the nation.

It turns out, however, that Yakov was wrong. He had not fulfilled the prophecy; that was to come later. Yaakov’s mistake, Avivah Zornberg says, was that he wanted “to read the narrative of his own life as entering a period of fulfillment, of closure after the difficult conflicts and confrontations of his life.” But the promise of reaching a period of closure and fulfillment was not Yaakov’s to realize. He misapprehended the prophecy. He misread his life. He thought the story of breishit was coming to an end just as Hashem was about to launch a new plot.

I’d go so far as to suggest that Yaakov is the most interesting character among the avot precisely because he has this capacity to read and misread his heritage. He was the first Jewish grandchild and therefore the first to grow up knowing the tradition he was born into. In literary criticism there is a school called the Russian Formalists who postulated what they called the Rule of Three: in stories great or small things come in threes, since if something happens once, it is a phenomenon; if it happens twice, it’s a repetition; if it happens three times, it’s a pattern that can be predicted and manipulated. That’s why, in jokes it’s always three guys who walk into a bar or three knock knocks on the door. L’havdil, so too our third av, Yaakov, was in some way the first reader of Chumash: he knew what was vouchsafed by the Jewish epic, he understood what he was inheriting. But he is also a character in that drama, and as expertly as he interprets his parents and grandparents’ lives, he misreads his own. As Avivah said just this past week in Yerushalayim, You can be in a story and not understand the plot – a sentiment with which we can all easily identify. I think I also speak for Ilana when I say that I too recognize the instinct to model your own life on your parents’. Ilana and I are blessed with exemplary parents: leaders in the community and home whose rich, full, and happy lives could serve as a template for anyone seeking to lead caring and committed Jewish lives. But what led to what Rashi calls Rogzo shel Yosef, the turbulence of Yosef, was that at precisely the moment when Yaakov saw “clarity and coherence” in his own life by viewing it through the lens of his parents and grandparents, God saw the plot differently.

I empathize with a sensibility like Yaakov’s that yearns for shalva, for tranquility. Avivah calls it “a cognitive and aesthetic ambition to see history resolved, sojournings over, in this world.” But the lesson of the opening Midrash of Vayeshev as well as our experiences over recent years is not that God works to confound our best laid plans, but that precisely when we think we’re writing the narrative of our lives in one direction, we need to learn to read events differently, toward new, unexpected, and sometimes troubling storylines. Just when Yaakov thought he had found shalva, he was beset by the most agonizing travails of his life. And later in life, when he finds himself in foreign exile, he arrives at a point of utter serenity with his family and past. In my own family, we know all too well the scourge of the unfathomable, unexpected rogez. We know that ambitions and hopes for shalva can be frustrated by seeming cruel whimsy – but we know too that profound joy and intimacy can emerge at the most unanticipated moment.

Ilana and I bring that strength of seeking serenity and anticipating the unexpected to our marriage. Neither of us came to Eretz Yisrael leshev b’shalva, but it was clear to us from our earliest conversations about learning, parents, and siblings that despite other intentions, we had indeed come to the land to acquire a partner. Right after our lives had veered off course from narratives we had imagined for ourselves, and at the moment when we least expected to fine serenity, we suddenly found each other. Ilana, the months since you allowed me to come into your life have been the most exhilarating of my life. I’ve been privileged not only to come to know your obvious vitality, brilliance, erudition, and wit, but also to discover your great compassion, deep sensitivity, and profound concern for all those around you. We also know that the desire to find serenity in this world and the intensity of that search – no matter how long and frustrating – can be the starting point for a thrilling new chapter in life.

This is a chapter that both of us have begun in Eretz Yisrael, which is something else that we have in common with Yaakov – the place where we seek shalva is in the land. Now there may be something paradoxical about seeking shalva in a land where the post office has different hours every day of the week to ensure maximal confusion; where the process of trying to become a citizen is so exhausting and frustrating that anyone who survives is applauded as a hero; where you feel you need to take off work for two weeks just to order a washing machine. Israel, as any Oleh will tell you, is not exactly a convenient place to live. However, true shalva, I’d suggest, is not dependent on place, not even on the land of Eretz Yisrael, but is to be found in another person. There is profound wisdom in the ancient Talmudic concept of “bayit” as referring not only to a person’s home, but to his partner – a concept central to the halachot of the current chag. Ilana, I look forward to finding that home in you as we create our own narrative, a story that will surely be both of tranquility and rogez. I look forward to returning to Israel and Yerushalayim with you next week for our own Chanukat Habayit. And with these ideas in mind of chanuka, rekindled hope and the dream of finding a home in you and with you, I close with the words of Wallache Stevens, a writer whose poems have illuminated our feelings for each other often enough:

Light the first light of evening, as in a room
In which we rest and, for small reason, think
The world imagined is the ultimate good.

Here, now, we forget each other and ourselves.
We feel the obscurity of an order, a whole,
How high that highest candle lights the dark.

Out of this same light, out of the central mind,
We make a dwelling in the evening air,
In which being there together is enough.

I love you very much. Thank you all for coming. Mazal tov.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Isak's best performance yet



Hope this works now. Isak in heaven singing along with his hero (Abba and) Avshalom at the end of Alex Agus's very moving hanachat tefillin.