Guest post by Ariel Burger
The following Artist’s Statement was composed by Ariel Burger to illuminate his work and process in creating the piece of art commissioned by Lippman Kanfer Foundation for Living Torah to be presented as tangible commemoration of the 2016 Lippman Kanfer Prize for Applied Jewish Wisdom.
Many choices go into any work of art, especially when it is commissioned for a specific purpose. This is even more true when those who commission the work are themselves creative thinkers. One of the pleasures of this project was the opportunity to learn and discuss concepts and content choices with the Lippman Kanfer professional team.
Because of the Foundation’s focus on “Living Torah”, and the subject of this Prize, I wanted to portray that concept, while exploring new territory and a new visual lexicon.
After developing several concept sketches, we narrowed them down to three, and then the artistic process guided me to the final image. Continue reading
Guest post by Rabbi Paul Steinberg
The following was originally published June 9, 2015 by eJewishPhilanthropy. Many thanks to Dan Brown and Rabbi Paul Steinberg for allowing us to repost on this blog. In his reflections on the work of Beit T’shuvah, Rabbi Steinberg offers depth and personal insight to two Jewish Sensibilities – Shevirah and Teshuvah.
In 1972, during the television program Eternal Light, Abraham Joshua Heschel vigorously exhorted: “Here stands a man and I’ll tell you, this is a man who has no problems. Do you know why? He’s an idiot!” So it is: to be a mindful human is to have problems. Certainly, these problems include those of the world: injustice, corruption, poverty, warfare, hunger, and on and on. As Jewish mystics identified long ago, the world is broken and is in need of healing, and we should be doing what can to mend such brokenness.
Yet, not only the world has problems or is broken. The Talmud declares that each human being is a world unto him or herself and, therefore each one of us experiences brokenness. Continue reading
Guest post by Nigel Savage, President of Hazon
I am not a kabbalist but I love the rhythms and the specificity of the omer and of the Jewish calendar. The calendar is a kind of mirror, each day and each week. It offers refracted questions that are universal and timeless, and yet also unique to each one of us in a particular time and place.
This is how we may read the weekly parsha; and this is how I count the omer.
From Purim to Pesach we get rid of our chometz; the superfluity that stops us being free. So on seder night we are able to be truly free; free from all sorts of things – oppression, want, hunger. But seder night is only the start of the journey. Now we have to figure out what to do with our freedom. And so we count the omer, the seven sefirot, representing different aspects of our being in the world, leading us towards becoming the person we aspire to be.
Malchut, the last week of the omer, is thus a culmination. The 49th day of the omer, malchut she’b’malchut, is the last day of the omer and the penultimate day of a cycle that begins with Purim, pivots around seder night, and ends with Shavuot, the giving of the Torah – which is, at it were, the 50th day of the omer.
So malchut – this week; this last day – is our opportunity to think about openness and kindness; about boundaries and discipline; about beauty and balance; about endurance, simplicity, humility, fundamentals, sexuality. Each of these aspects of who we are and of how we choose to live has been the subject of the different weeks of the omer. Malchut – literally kingship – suggests that we have immense power and immense responsibility. It invites us to use our power and our choice wisely.
Guest post by Dr. Zvi Bellin
When I was a child my family spent a long summer weekend strolling the boardwalk of Wildwood, NJ. I have a particular memory of going into a beach front store that sold iron-on T-shirts. Every inch of the store’s walls were covered with different pictures that a consumer can choose to have ironed on to just about any colored shirt. My older siblings wanted one, so of course, I did too. Continue reading
Guest post by Rabbi Lisa Goldstein,
Executive Director of the Institute for Jewish Spirituality.
Hod is the sefirah of opening, of taking in, of receiving. It is fully inhabiting the morning blessing which praises God for opening the eyes of the blind. Hod is raising the eyelids and letting the world pour in, just as it is, in all of its colors and shapes and shadows.
Sometimes the eye sees something that is ugly or distressing. It is easy, as Americans and Jews, to leap straight to action, to the desire to fix and set straight. We are more acculturated to find ourselves in Hod’s brother sefirah, Netzach, who urges us on to do and correct and get involved. But sister Hod is also divine. She waits, knowing that wisdom and creativity can bubble up from the quiet opening to the fullness that is also in and surrounding the ugly or distressing thing. Netzach and Hod’s third sibling, Yesod, the grounding balance between action and receptivity, draws upon that wisdom and creativity to act in righteousness.
Hod is the sefirah of gratitude. It seeks out what Rabbi Nachman of Breslov called “the good points” that are in everything, even in the wicked person, even in ourselves. Good points are often so easy for our critical minds to overlook. Hod reminds us that when we turn a good eye towards them, we reveal the inherent majesty that otherwise might have stayed hidden.
The Omer invites us to open to Hod this week. What echoes might we receive on our journey towards Sinai?
Guest post by Rabbi Avi Orlow,
Director of Education at Foundation for Jewish Camp
March of the Penguins is a documentary depicting the annual journey of Antarctica‘s emperor penguins. In autumn, all the penguins of breeding age leave their normal habitat of the ocean to walk inland across the frozen tundra to their ancestral breeding grounds. There, the penguins participate in their yearly courtship ritual that, if successful, results in a chick. for their baby to survive the brutally cold environment, both parents must make multiple arduous journeys between the ocean and the breeding grounds over the ensuing months.
This harsh prelude introduces the immense joy of the next generation of penguins. Watching these families of penguins surviving the winter in these extreme conditions is mesmerizing. It is more invigorating then watching your favorite sports team win a come from behind victory in the last second of the game. The endurance and fortitude of the emperor penguin is a wonderful depiction of the sefirah of Netzach.
With the resurgence of global anti-Semitism, our low birthrates, and growing assimilation rate, on communal level it is hard not relating to the difficult polar conditions of the emperor penguins. In a 1975 interview, Professor Salo W. Baron, thought to be the greatest Jewish historian of the 20th century, said “Suffering is part of the destiny [of the Jews], but so is repeated joy as well as ultimate redemption.” This is Netzach Yisrael– the joy, victory, and eternity of Jewish life.
It seems that the power of Netzach, like the annual journey of emperor penguins, is that we need to know that falling is not the same as failing, we are never doing it alone, community is critical to success, and the greatest joy is when a family shares its love with the next generation.
Guest Post by Rabbi Ariel Burger, Designer of Adult Learning at PJ Library
13 Ways of Looking At Tiferet
1. It was so beautiful I had to catch my breath.
2. It’s not the blending of kindness and discipline; it’s the tension between them. It is the love and the abyss between a father and a son after the Akedah. It is a feminine word but it is always associated with Jacob. It is untranslatable, not just beauty, not merely glory, a moving swirling river of colors and feelings. It receives in one hand and gives with the other. Imagine a dervish dancing, one hand cupped upward to catch spirit, the other open and relaxed, letting go, sharing. In receiving, giving; in giving, wholeness. Continue reading
Guest post by Rabbi Zac Kamenetz, Senior Jewish Educator at the JCCSF
Once, a young man went beyond the walls of his city, with nothing but his pocketknife, and journeyed out to the tree line toward the horizon, until he came upon a wild jungle. He immediately delighted in the jungle’s overwhelming fructuousness. Stepping on and over mounds of plants vying for more space, the young man marveled at the vivid swirling colors—deep vertical browns, bursts of yellow and purple splashed on soft green, glossy orange and red specks dotting off-white, light sandy wisps poking out of loamy grey.
While moving deeper into the jungle, the faint rustling of leaves gave way to a low humming, and as he looked, he saw that every shoot, leaf, and flower was slowly but audibly swelling and growing and pulsating. To the young man, the once-vivid beauty of the wilderness began to look grotesquely chaotic. Continue reading