What to Do with All the Unanswered Prayers?

I love getting questions.

Easy, complex, silly, I encourage people to ask questions. One of the worst feelings a presenter has is when they stop to ask if the listeners have any questions, and nobody has one. When I led the KJ Beginners Service, we would plant questions in advance to generate more discussion. So, please, ask me, your rabbis, and teachers questions.

Last month, I asked one of the teens if he had any questions. I expected the typical teen response, “No.” I was pleasantly surprised when he said, “Yes, I have a question. We daven for people to get better, and, sometimes, they don’t. Why do we pray for things if the prayers are not answered?”

Great question! I think our Rabbis encouraged this question.

“Va’etchanan – Moshe pleaded…” (Devarim 3:23)

Moshe prayed that God allow him to enter the land, but God said no. The Sages note that the gematriya, numerical value, of the word va’etchanan is 515, implying that Moshe prayed 515 times, and he was rejected each time. That’s a lot of rejected prayers. Why did Moshe stick with it? How do we deal with unanswered prayers?

Moshe prayed over and over again to teach us that prayer is an opportunity for us to look inwards and reach outwards.

Prayer is complicated. Just because we think our prayers aren’t answered doesn’t mean they have no purpose. We don’t always know the full picture. We know what we want. That doesn’t always align with what God wants.

Rabbi Aron Moss compares the way prayer works to the law of conservation of energy in physics. That law states that energy can never be destroyed, it just changes from one form to another. There is a similar law in metaphysics. No prayer is ever lost or wasted. Your request will be granted; it just may be in an unexpected form.

We should look more broadly at what we ask for. For example, we pray for someone to recover. At the same time, a prayer for healing should also encourage us to think about how we can make ourselves or the world healthier. Maybe, if we’re scientifically inclined, devote our lives to researching a cure for cancer or take action to support such endeavors. Prayer should be inward directed and not just requests for which we’re disappointed when there is a negative response.

Rabbi Tzvi Hersh Weinreb relates trying to explain to a Tehillim group why they keep davening if the prayers were going unanswered. One of the participants was an intensive care nurse. She provided a powerful answer. People find praying frustrating because they expect a total cure. Praying on behalf of a sick person need not only be about a complete recovery. She suggested people have other things in mind in their prayers like the sick person not suffer too much pain, anxiety, depression, or loneliness; that the sick person be treated gently and with dignity by the medical staff; that the veins of the sick person be easy to find for intravenous injections; that the family have the strength to hold up under the strain and to not abandon the patient; that the correct decisions, medical and ethical, be taken by the family, patient, doctor, and rabbi. The nurse said, “"If you pray for all of the above for a sick person, you will find that many of your prayers will be answered."

There is a lot to pray for. Making requests of God should not be a binary exercise for which the only responses are yes or no. We need to consider all the possibilities and expand our horizons.

We also should view prayer as an opportunity to reach out God regardless of the “answer.”

Rabbi Joseph Soloveichik captures this endeavor in Worship of the Heart (p. 63):

“Contact is established with the Almighty in the abyss of a warm heart, in a love-sick soul, in the experience of the invisible, in the richness of the inner life, in being aware of something supernal, great, awesome and beautiful, although this ‘something’ is neither seen nor heard…In a word, the aesthetic experience of God, whether constructed of impressions and sensations drawn from our daily life…or consisting of ecstatic emotions, in the throbbing of the heart and the longing of the soul, is the basis of the community of God and man. It is impossible to imagine prayer without, at the time, feeling the nearness and greatness of the Creator, His absolute justice, His fatherly concern with human affairs, His anger and wrath caused by unjust deeds. When we bow in prayer, we must experience His soothing hand and the infinite love and mercy for His creatures. We cling to Him as a living God, not as an idea, as an abstract Being.  We are in His company and are certain of His sympathy. There is in prayer an experience of emotions which can only be produced by direct contact with God.”

Prayer is about reaching out to God since we are not in control. We think we know what we want, and we can (and should) allow prayer to shape how we will respond to a given situation. At the same time, prayer opens us up to a higher reality which defies logic.

The Maggid of Mezeritch captures this more mystical aspect of prayer:

“The Purpose of all prayer is to uplift the words, to return them to their source above. The world was created by the downward flow of letters: Our task is to form those letters into words and take them back to God. If you come to know this dual process, your prayer may be joined to the constant flow of Creation - word to word, voice to voice, breath to breath, thought to thought. The divine spring is ever-flowing: make yourself into a channel to receive the waters from above.”

Jews do a lot of davening. We also encounter many situations where it seems our prayers are unanswered. This moment – the days after Tisha B’Av and ten months after October 7 – hammers home the many unanswered questions and unresolved trauma we experience nationally and personally.

We always read Va’etchanan the Shabbat after Tisha B’Av. It provides us with the hope, faith, strength and resolve that our prayers work exactly the way we intend them – even if the answer is no.

Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Og?

How big was Og? (I know it’s Andre in the picture above…)

Maybe we start with: Who was Og?

The Torah (Bamidbar 21) describes Og as the Amorite King of Bashan, who is killed along with his nation in their battle against the Israelites in the desert.

According to the Midrash, Og first appears in the flood story. He survives by hanging on to the outside of Noah’s ark. Og later makes an appearance as the Midrashic messenger telling Avraham that Lot was being held captive and needed rescuing. Secretly, he hoped Avraham would die in battle, and he would marry Sarah. Another legend has Og trying to steal Sarah once again by telling her about the Binding of Isaac in the hopes that she’ll leave Avraham and marry him instead. It doesn’t go well as Sarah dies from the shock of the news.

Og’s staying power is just one aspect of his oversize persona. His giant size is alluded to in the text.

“Only King Og of Bashan was left of the remaining Rephaim. His bedstead, an iron bedstead, is now in Rabbah of the Ammonites; it is nine cubits long and four cubits wide, by the standard cubit.” (Devarim 3:11)

Og’s bed measured around 14 feet by 7 feet. That’s a pretty big bed. The fact it was made from iron informs us that he was too heavy for an ordinary wooden bed due to his giant size. Rabbinic statements describe Og in even more gigantic terms.

Even Moshe seemed to be afraid of him. When the Jews encountered Og and the Amorites in battle, God promises they will be victorious. Og, though, left Moshe feeling disconcerted.

“Then God said to Moses, ‘Do not fear him, for I will deliver him - and all his people and his land - into your hand; and you shall do to him as you did to Sichon, king of the Amorites who lives in Cheshbon.’” (Numbers 21:33-35.)

Why did Hashem have to tell Moshe “Do not fear Og?” It is a strange expression which does not appear elsewhere. God had promised that the enemy would be defeated. Why was Moshe still afraid of Og?

Og, through his various iterations, appearances, and larger-than-life dimensions, embodies the fear we feel when encountering an enemy, adversity, or a setback.

It is OK to be afraid. At the same time, we need to also maintain the composure and confidence that we can overcome.

At times, when we encounter a challenge or are afraid, we magnify the fear – sometimes into mythic proportions. For example, if it’s raining lightly outside, we may exaggerate just how hard it is raining to explain why we don’t go somewhere. (I didn’t say Shul; you just thought it…) Sometimes, fear may paralyze us – especially if it comes in the form of a thousand year-old giant. Even Moshe feels fear, and he had a promise from God.

We can move forward.

There are challenges. Some of them are huge. Sometimes, we fail. At the same time, we should try to maintain perspective and hope despite the fear or even the failure. Moshe was afraid, but he overcame that fear. So can we.

Rabbi Avi Weiss once invited Ariel Sharon to speak in his shul in the years before he became Prime Minister of Israel. Sharon was regarded as a fierce and fearless soldier, who led his troops to daring victories and was a storied military leader. Rabbi Weiss introduced him to the shul as “The Fearless General.”

When Sharon came up to the bimah, the first thing he said was, “K’vod ha’Rav, do you think that when I was on the front in the Six Day War, the Yom Kippur War, the Suez Canal that I wasn’t afraid? Only a fool wouldn’t be afraid!”

These days, there is much that generates fear. We’ve had ten months of war in Gaza, rockets fired daily from Lebanon, the pain of those killed and held hostage. In Israel, people are literally holding their breath waiting for an Iranian response or a Hezbollah attack. (There’s also plenty of disturbing behavior by anti-Israel voices and Jew haters in America.) I know there is fear. Yet life also goes on.

FDR famously said, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” Maybe. I think it’s OK to be afraid. What we must fear, however, is giving in to our fear. The Jewish nation has a long history of overcoming challenges small, large, and horrific. On Tisha B’Av, we do not shy away from recounting all the pain and suffering. We recognize that our painful history is part of the promise of Jewish survival. That’s how it was when the Jews faced Og and our enemies throughout history. That is how it will ultimately be, please God, today.

Life is a Highway

Are you familiar with the song “Life is a Highway?” It was written and sung by musician Tom Cochrane, later famously covered by Rascal Flatts for the 2006 movie, Cars.

There are many songs about life and the passage of time. A quick web search yields:

“Cat’s in the Cradle,” “Step by Step,” “Yesterday,” “It’s My Life,” “Everyday is a Winding Road,” and “The Long and Winding Road.” Extra cholent at Kiddush for whoever can name all the artists!

We know that life can take all sorts of twists and turns. The Torah recognizes the need to be mindful of the journey.

The last portion of the book of Bamidbar begins by recounting the 42 stops that the Jews made during 40 years in the desert. Rashi points out that the Jews did not move all that often during their time in the desert. (Many of the travels took place before the 40 years were decreed.) What is the significance of recounting each of these stops here now?

Rabbi Tanchuma in the Midrash suggests that this recounting is like a travelogue. At the end of their journey, the Jews are remembering the stops they took - the hardships, the highs, the lows - in getting them to the banks of the Jordan River. They remember all that transpired in the past 40 years.

Reading these masa’ot, the stops, each year is more than a history lesson. Our journeys have a lot in common with the original Jewish journey in the desert.

Each step of the journey has significance.

The commentators focus on the names of some of the places and that they allude to specific episodes along the journey. There is also a tradition that some of the stops teach lessons for the future as well. For example, the 25th stop was Chashmonah, which has a linguistic connection with the Chashmonaim of Chanukah, which is celebrated on the 25th of Kislev.

Our journeys have meaning and significance. Each stop tells a story of what happened and may even offer a clue to what will happen next.

The journey is holy.

According to Jewish law, we do not interrupt the reading of the masa’ot. The explanation is that the 42 stops correspond to the mystical 42-letter name of God. This name is a secret. Rashi writes (Kiddushin 71a) that “We don’t know this name.” It is associated with various miracles and wonders performed by Moshe and others in the Torah. How does this 42-letter Divine name and its correlation with 42 stops in the desert relate to us?

There are things about the journey which we don’t understand, yet they are still significant, even sacred. There are plenty of mysteries in life. The question “why” is very often on our lips (especially these past 10 months). The recounting of the journey in the desert teaches us that our journey – and the entire Jewish journey – is meaningful. It is our mission to contribute our share in the uplifting story of the Jewish people. We each have a role to play. There are actions large and small we perform in this effort, but we must be mindful of each step of the mysterious road.

The journey is a song.

When we read the masa’ot from the Torah, there is a special way to sing them. It’s different from the usual cantillation and more like the way we sing the Song at the Sea. This may be based on the Talmud (Avoda Zara 24b) which includes the movement in the desert in the list of all of the various songs the Jews sang.

Songs are a great way to remember things. Songs are a great way to tell stories. As noted above, there are plenty of songs about the journey of life. Recounting the Jewish journey in song teaches us to recount our stories in a memorable, meaningful way so that we and our children appreciate and learn from them.

There is a tradition that reciting the Jewish journey in the desert is a segulah, a form of remedy or protection in difficult times. Why? One explanation is that the journey was “al pi Hashem,” the Jews only traveled and camped in accordance with God’s command. Reciting the journey is meant to remind us that God is in charge of the world, and this may provide us with the perspective to move forward and overcome challenges. It’s an important lesson worthy of telling and singing.

We live in extraordinary times. (I prefer that than calling them crazy.) In Israel, there is a vast “soundtrack” of songs which have been used to tell the stories, laud the heroes, mourn those who have been lost, bring us together, pray for victory, and encourage us to be strong and together we will win. Each of us is writing our own soundtrack of our experiences, hopes, dreams, disappointments, and aspirations.

We’re mindful of each step of our holy journey along this long and winding road of life. Let’s sing about it together.

Travel safe!

The Olympic (Jewish) Spirit

 

Jews and athletic achievement don’t naturally go together.

In the 1980 comedy Airplane, a stewardess carrying an armful of magazines asks an elderly passenger if she’d like something to read. “Do you have something light?” asks the lady. Thumbing through her bundle of magazines, the flight attendant picks out something that might work. “How about this leaflet? Famous Jewish Sports Legends.”

With the Summer Olympics getting underway in Paris this weekend, it is an appropriate time to seek out some spirituality within the sporting world. The games continue to create a sense of wonder and fascination even among non-sports fans. They’re a big deal – especially for the athletes who train rigorously. While not as much of a fan as I used to be, I still like to check in on some sports and watch the medial standings in the hopes that USA remains number one. In recent years, there is the extra anticipation that Israel might medal.

Judaism is not known for its embrace of competitive sports. While the Torah requires us to take care of ourselves physically and classical Jewish sources reference exercise and sport, the world of competitive sports is viewed warily as it can turn into a distraction from living Jewishly.

The greater the popularity of sports, the more wary some rabbis became.

In the 1920s, soccer clubs began to gain prominence in Israel. This led to discussion in Torah circles as to the propriety of games being played on Shabbat. What about being a spectator? At the time, two schools of thought (as always) emerged.

Rabbi Yosef Chaim Sonnenfeld (1848-1932) was the Rabbi of the “Old Yishuv” of Jerusalem, what today we would call the Ultra-Orthodox community. He was opposed to the soccer phenomenon. Not only was it forbidden to attend games on Shabbat, but he also said it was forbidden to play soccer altogether. Last year, Rabbi Sonnenfeld’s letter on the subject was auctioned off for $2,000. In it, he wrote, “With the power of Torah, we hereby announce that all who are involved with soccer games, especially on Shabbat, remove themselves from the Jewish people, just like all the heretics and apostates.”

Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak Kook took a very different approach and even referred to sport as a davar she-bi’kedusha, a holy activity. It is not that Rav Kook was more permissive when it came to encouraging competitive sports, and he was very clear about the concerns for Shabbat and other possible violations of Jewish law. Rav Kook, though, appreciated there being a deeper way to look at sports and physical activity, and he was attacked by the traditionalists for his views.

Rabbi David Samson and Tzvi Fishman quote a number of Rav Kook’s teachings on athletics in their book, The Art of T’shuva. Rav Kook, in a hallmark of his religious philosophy of synthesis, tries to see disparate ideas and activities as complementing each other and necessary for the times.

Engagement in more physical activity by some Jews is a welcome development that corrects the past:

“Our physical demand is great. We need a healthy body. Through our intense preoccupation with spirituality, we forgot the holiness of the body. We neglected bodily health and strength. We forgot that we have holy flesh, no less than our holy spirit. We abandoned practical life, and negated our physical senses, and that which is connected to the tangible physical reality, out of a fallen fear, due to a lack of faith in the holiness of the Land.”

Physical activity can be a way to add Godliness to the world:

“When young people engage in sport to strengthen their physical capabilities and morale for the sake of increasing the overall strength of the nation, this holy endeavor raises the Divine Presence ever higher, just as it is exalted by the songs and praises sung by David, King of Israel, in the Book of Psalms.”

Rav Kook even sees a need for a teshuvah of the body to accompany the spiritual repentance for our misdeeds.

“All of our teshuvah will only succeed if it will be, along with its spiritual splendor, also a physical teshuvah which produces healthy blood, healthy flesh, firm, mighty bodies, and a flaming spirit spreading over powerful muscles."

When we engage in sports – or watch the Olympics, we should be mindful of the heart and soul of the role that a strong body plays in complementing a powerful spirit.

There is another element to the Jewish spirit of the Olympics.

When Jews or Team Israel competes internationally, it’s an opportunity for us to feel national pride. In the spirit of Rav Kook, we can argue that anything which instills and strengthens our connection with our nation or fellow Jews is very positive. In a world in which more and more people are disturbingly vocal and violent about how terrible Israel and Jews are, Jewish Olympians represent much more than accomplishment in sport. They are an embodiment of “Am Yisrael chai!”

Here's to Israelis making the podium!

When Donkeys Talk

I can’t be the only one who connects Donkey from the Shrek movies with our parsha.

Balak, King of Moav, wants to hire the non-Jewish prophet Balaam to curse the Jews. Balaam has a reputation for his curses coming true. There’s a whole back and forth between Balaam and God. God says, “don’t go.” Balaam hedges and waits. God ultimately relents but warns Balaam that he must only pronounce what God commands him to say. And that is, in fact, what happens. Balaam sets up to curse the Jews three times, and, instead, can only bless them as per God’s instructions. Balak is angry and send Balaam packing. (Although the postscript is murkier as it seems Balaam gets his curses in afterwards.)

On his way to Balak and the Jews, we encounter the famous donkey. An angel thrice blocks Balaam’s path with increasing harmful effect – but only the donkey can see this. Balaam, dumb to the vision of his animal, gets increasingly impatient and, after the third disruption, he strikes the animal harshly. At this point, God intervenes and lets Balaam in on the secret in a surprising way.

“And the Lord opened the mouth of the donkey.” (Bamidbar 22:28)

The donkey protests Balaam’s violent treatment. “Why did you beat me three times? Am I not your loyal beast? Have I ever put you in danger?” Only at this point, does God open Balaam’s eyes to see the dangerous angel blocking the path, and he realizes that he must obey God’s wishes.

Can’t God deliver a message to Balaam in the usual way prophets get messages – a message, a human-sounding voice? Some scholars (Rambam, Rabbi Saadiah Gaon) explain the talking donkey is a vision and not a conversation. Even for those commentators who take the text literally (Ramban, Ibn Ezra), why does God deliver a message this way? The question is even stronger as the Sages (Avot 5:6) identify “the mouth of the talking donkey” as a unique aspect of creation that came into being at the very last minute, on Friday during twilight.

What’s up with the donkey? 

1)  The talking donkey teaches koach ha-dibbur, the power of speech.

Despite God’s warning, Balaam embarked on this journey expecting to say whatever he wanted about the Jews. That is not how it works. God who can make the donkey speak will determine the words Balaam says and their impact. The Ramban writes:

“The reason for this miracle was to impress upon Balaam that God is the Bestower of the power of speech and can even open the mouth of the mute. Certainly, God can also stop up the mouth of those who speak, or place in their mouths the words that God wishes them to speak, for nothing is beyond God’s ability. Let not Balaam follow then his magical and mysterious practices in order to curse the people…”

The talking donkey catches our attention as well. Speech is a powerful tool in the human arsenal. A kind word or encouraging comment or a simple expression of prayer can enhance us, build relationships, and make the world better. Words can also hurt. A lot. Balaam’s donkey spoke - in a human way - so that we should understand how the gift of speech lets us convey thoughts in a way that considers the recipient’s context and feelings. 

2)  The talking donkey teaches humility.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks describes the talking donkey episode as comical:

“[O]nly one thing provokes Divine laughter, namely human pretension. Balaam had won renown as the greatest prophet of his day…who held the secrets of blessing and curse. God now proceeds to show Balaam that when He so chooses, even his donkey is a greater prophet than he. The donkey sees what Balaam cannot see: the angel standing in the path, barring their way. God humbles the self-important, just as He gives importance to the humble. When human beings think they can dictate what God will say, God laughs. And, on this occasion, so do we.”

A talking donkey in the Torah?!? That’s ridiculous! Yes, it is. As ridiculous as thinking we are in charge. We’re not. God is. 

3)  The talking donkey teaches loyalty.

Rabbi Moshe Taragin very creatively focuses on the words the donkey speaks.

“Am I not your donkey upon which you’ve ridden for so long. Have I ever endangered you this way before?”

Balaam shows no loyalty to his longtime donkey. Things go sideways, and he simply gets angry. Is that how to repay a dependable companion? I know donkeys are not the same as dogs or other pets, but they work hard and deserve some patience and tolerance.

What’s true between humans and animals is, even more so, true when it comes to the relationship between people. We live in this world together with others. The first whiff of trouble or disagreement should not be met with anger and violence. We owe each other respect and kindness.  

The talking donkey is one of the most surprising characters in the Torah. Its appearance grabs our attention and imagination. Besides teaching Balaam a lesson or two, it speaks to us of the power of speech, the value of humility, and the power of loyalty.

All lessons we need to hear.

Can’t Beat the Real Thing vs. The Choice of a New Generation

Do you remember the “Cola Wars” in the 1980’s? Coke was dominating the market, so Pepsi decided to take it to the people and introduced the “Pepsi Challenge.” They went inside malls around the country and invited people to do a blind taste test between Coke and Pepsi. People chose Pepsi over Coke significantly. Pepsi capitalized on this advantage by launching their "Choice of a New Generation" campaign in 1984 featuring mega-celebrities like Michael Jackson.

Coke started getting nervous. At first, they pushed back against the Pepsi Challenge results, but that just made them appear like sore losers. So, they decided to try something new – New Coke. On April 23, 1985, The Coca-Cola Company announced that it was changing the Coke formula for the first time in 99 years. It was a disaster.

While consumers actually preferred New Coke over Pepsi and the original Coke in blind taste tests,  they had a sentimental attachment to their beloved and familiar brand and reacted very negatively to New Coke. The company was flooded thousands of complaints each day and quickly brought back the original formula. On July 11, 1985, 79 days after the release of New Coke, Coke’s original formula returned to market, rebranded as Coca-Cola Classic. As Coke had been saying with different advertising slogans all along, “Can’t beat the real thing.”

There is often a tension between the rise of a new generation, tradition, progress, change, and authenticity.

Every era has a generation gap - the feeling of dissonance, distance, and disconnect that exists between children and their parents. Generation gaps can be caused by historical events, social and cultural changes, as well as technological advancement.

This week, we encounter the first Jewish generation gap. After the sin of the spies, the generation of the Exodus are condemned to die in the desert. It will be a completely new generation that will enter Israel and carry Judaism forward.

In the text, it happens in an instant. In Bamidbar Chapter 19, the Torah is addressing the original generation. In Chapter 20, it’s 38 years later, and Moshe is facing an entirely different audience.

“The people gathered before Moshe and Aharon, and they fought with Moshe saying it would have been better to die than suffer from thirst.” (Bamidbar 20:2)

What has changed? How can we best understand and bridge the generation gap that exists between those who left Egypt and those who would be entering Eretz Yisrael? It is a matter of communication.

There are two primary methods of communication. There is the transmission method of communication and the exchange method of communication. Traditionally, teachers, executives, and those wishing to deliver a message would use the transmission method of communication, where they speak to the audience and expect everyone to listen. This is the method used when a CEO lectures his employees to convey information that the audience must absorb as presented.

In recent years institutes that specialize in leadership training have found that the transmission method of communication is not as effective. Today, the preferred method of communication is generally through exchange, where instead of speaking to the people, the presenter speaks with the people. Conversations and brainstorming sessions are far more effective than lectures.

The generation gap between those who left Egypt and those about to enter Israel expressed itself in each one’s preferred method of communication. The people who left Egypt had been slaves. They were used to having other people make decisions for them and being told what to do. It is therefore not surprising that they obediently followed God’s commands and Moshe’s leadership. Time and again, we read how these Jews acted “ka’asher tzivah Hashem et Moshe - as God had commanded Moses.” This generation excelled in obedience. Tell them what to do and they would do it.                     

In contrast, the new generation of Jews was more compatible with an exchange method of communication. No longer did they depend exclusively on Moshe. When they were thirsty, they did not ask Moshe to give them water. Rather, “Vayikahalu - the Jews gathered.” They invited Moshe to a meeting at which they presented their claims and demanded answers. They had to be part of the process, and they made it clear that they would no longer be dictated to. They had become active participants in their destiny and wanted to be treated as such.

These two means of communication – transmission and exchange – are very much a part of how we look to transmit Judaism from generation to generation. We teach our children at home and in school the content of Judaism. We transmit the mesorah, the sacred tradition. Telling young people that non-conformance is wrong will sometimes suffice to ensure compliance.

Sometimes, though, the next generation needs something different. Just like the new generation in the desert, we must involve our children in the conversation so that they feel a sense of ownership of Judaism. In addition to speaking to them, we need to find ways to make them feel invested in the tradition by engaging with them.

Living as committed Jews in the modern world will sometimes feel like a competition between “Can’t Beat the Real Thing” versus “The Choice of a New Generation.” Whether it is Shabbat or Kosher or prayer or lashon hara or tzedakah, Judaism is about making informed choices. Each generation gap presents the same challenge applied to different circumstances. We must convey the immutable laws of Torah while engaging in conversation to make the laws relevant and guide the next generation to take their Judaism seriously.

I believe Rav Kook had the perfect marketing campaign for modern Judaism: “Hayashan yitchadesh, v’hachadash yitkadesh - The old will become new, and the new will become holy.” It’s our mission to make sure that the choice of the new generation is the real thing.

Land of the Free, Home of the Brit

How do you say “United States of America” in Hebrew?

While many of us know the answer is “Artzot HaBrit,” literally “lands of the covenant,” the question is how did this name come to be?

Israeli journalist and author Rubik Rosenthal wrote that, at the time of the renewal of the Hebrew language, several terms were used to translate “United States” into Hebrew. One was “Medinot Me’uchadot, which literally translates into “united states.” Another was “Artzot Me’uchadot,” which literally means “united lands.” Rosenthal claims that the "freer translation" of Artzot HaBrit was developed by the famed Yiddish author Mendele Mocher Sforim in his 1868 novel The Fathers and Sons. Further investigation finds the term Artzot HaBrit used to refer to America in the Eastern European Hebrew newspaper Ha-Magid in 1857 – even though the same term is used in the paper to describe the German Confederation in 1859.

Beyond a history lesson, referring to the United States as Artzot HaBrit, appropriately sums up the Jewish religious significance America plays in the lives of American Jews. The Unites States is a country built upon covenantal values, and we should appreciate and celebrate it as such.

America was built by religious individuals actualizing religious values. As the Library of Congress notes:

“Many of the British North American colonies that eventually formed the United States of America were settled in the seventeenth century by men and women, who, in the face of European persecution, refused to compromise passionately held religious convictions and fled Europe. The New England colonies, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Maryland were conceived and established ‘as plantations of religion…’ Even colonies like Virginia, which were planned as commercial ventures, were led by entrepreneurs who considered themselves ‘militant Protestants’ and who worked diligently to promote the prosperity of the church.”

These religious efforts reflect covenantal values that were further channeled by our Founding Fathers. In fact, very familiar Jewish scenes were almost used as the seal of the new country.

On July 4, 1776, after voting to approve the Declaration of Independence, the Continental Congress advanced the following resolution: “That Dr. Franklin, Mr. J. Adams and Mr. Jefferson, be a committee, to bring in a device for a seal for the United States of America.” Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson each proposed very Jewish Biblical imagery that would aptly represent a country built upon covenantal values.

Franklin’s seal suggestion had Moses “standing on the Shore, extending his Hand over the Sea, thereby causing the same to overwhelm Pharaoh who is sitting in an open Chariot, a Crown on his Head and a Sword in his Hand. Rays from a Pillar of Fire in the Clouds, reaching to Moses, to express that he acts by Command of the Deity.” Jefferson’s design showed the children of Israel in the wilderness, led by a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night.

In suggesting such images for the seal of the new country, both Franklin and Jefferson clearly thought their fellow citizens would be familiar with them. Furthermore, it indicates these men appreciated the covenantal significance of the images.

Rabbi Meir Soloveichik notes these two images reflect two important features of the Jewish relationship with God: “Franklin chose a scriptural story in which God himself miraculously intervenes into the natural order and redeems his people…Jefferson’s symbol, by contrast, focused on the courage of the people of Israel in journeying into the desert; it celebrated not so much the miracle performed by God as much as the human spirit.”

As Jews, our covenant with God moves in two different, yet complementary, directions. There is the “top-down” aspect in which God initiates and the “bottom up” element in which we take action. (In Kabbalistic language, these terms are called “itaruta di’leyla” and “itaruta di’letata.”) For our Founding Fathers to be so “covenantally” motivated proves that the best name for the country in Hebrew really is Artzot HaBrit.

For Jews, the promise and possibility of America have been apparent in all that we have accomplished materially, spiritually, and politically. Bret Stephens recently noted:

“Today, the secretaries of state, treasury, and homeland security; the attorney general; the director of national intelligence; the chair of the Council of Economic Advisers; the chief of staff to the president; the governors of Pennsylvania, Illinois, Colorado, and Hawaii; nine U.S. senators, including the majority leader, and 26 members of the House of Representatives are Jewish. So are nearly one-quarter of American Nobel laureates — 10 times our share of the overall population — as well as 6 of the 10 richest Americans, all of whom are self-made. (In case you’re wondering: Steve Ballmer, Michael Bloomberg, Sergey Brin, Larry Ellison, Larry Page, and Mark Zuckerberg.)”

“What a country!”

Even with the challenges we are facing today, July 4^th obligates us to celebrate American and express gratitude. Jews need to be on the forefront of living, teaching, and promoting American values – especially as they seem to be less prominent or even known by too many of our fellow citizens. These include, as Stephens notes, concepts such as merit, patriotism, integration, free enterprise, free expression, “think different,” character, self-empowerment, Zionism, and heritage. It should be easy for us to model these American values as they are so very Jewish as well.

Every year on July 4th, Rabbi Avrohom Pam, the late Rosh Yeshiva of Torah Vodaath in Brooklyn, would hang an American flag in front of his home. One year, in his later years, a granddaughter arranged to have a date pick her up at the home of her grandparents on July 4^th. The granddaughter thought a flag in front of the house might not make the best impression on her suitor, so she asked her grandmother to convince Rav Pam not to hang the flag that year. Rebbetzin Pam assured her that since Rav Pam was not feeling well, he wouldn’t be hanging the flag that year and there was no reason for concern.

Later that day, the young men came to the house and rang the bell. Rav Pam answered the door and welcomed the boy. Then he asked him for a favor. “Before going inside, would you mind helping me with something?” The suitor was happy to oblige. Rav Pam brought out the American flag and asked the young man to help him fly it outside as he did every year. Thanking the boy, Rav Pam remarked, “I have to show my gratitude, even if I am not feeling well.”

This July 4^th, with all that is going on around us, we should recommit to fly our American flag every day by living and modeling American values. We live in a country built upon covenant, religious ideals, faith in God’s salvation, and the need to take action and initiative. That’s America. That’s Artzot HaBrit.