Parashat Vayera Genesis 18:1-22:24
Haftarah 2 Kings 4:1-37
Dear TBE Community,
One of the aspects that make Jewish spirituality so alluring to me is that the Jewish calendar is in sync with the seasons of the moon. When you keep track of the phases of the moon, you will always know where you are in the Hebrew month. You will always know when the moon is completely full.
As I was writing this newsletter, it was the 14th of the month of Heshvan, the month of integration, of calmly rethinking commitments made over the High Holy Days, preparing for what is on the horizon: the festival of re-dedication, Hanukkah.
The 14th of Heshvan marked the moon at its fullest; the Beaver Moon of November, the largest supermoon of the year, closest to the earth. It also marked ten years to the Hebrew date since my conversion to Judaism.
Time expands and contracts depending on our lens. Ten years can sound or feel quite short. But ten years can be a very long time as well:
10 years ago, I had just finished learning the aleph-bet and signed up for a Hebrew 101 class at the 92nd Street Y in Manhattan. I was memorizing the Friday night Kiddush. I had a paper note on my nightstand with the words of the Modah Ani written in clumsy print Hebrew letters every first grader could do better. On the subway, I listened to recordings of the Kaddish, the Torah service, the Kabbalat Shabbat tunes, as I was preparing to lead services for the first time. I went to every learning opportunity I could make possible, from Drisha to BJ to KJ to Temple Israel to Prospect Heights Shul and Park Slope Center, to Kane Street to CBE to Chabad, from the Upper West Side to the Lower East Side to Crown Heights and Park Slope. I was craving to find Jewish community closer to my age, friends. One afternoon I went to a class and I was invited to a Shabbat lunch, where I met people who would shape my life in one way or the other; some of which became lasting friends. Everyone taught me something, recorded a tune, shared a teaching, invited me to a minyan, to a retreat, to a new cool Jewish event, a Tisch, singalong, art exhibit, poetry reading, Talmud class. My co-workers at the Explorers Club gifted me a Mensch on the Bench for Hanukkah. Before Passover, I kashered my silverware in a huge pot in my kitchen and scrubbed the oven. I began to work in Jewish non-profits, I joined a havurah, I experienced Yom Kippur in Israel.
All these things happened over the course of one year, from October 2015 to October 2016. One year suddenly does feel like a lot.
As I walked through Central Park after my mikvah, I didn’t know I would become a rabbi. And I knew that I would become a rabbi. I knew it in this way that makes us sense a truth about ourselves before we can say it out loud or dare to admit it to ourselves; like the full moon, clearly visible, obvious, but still mysterious, dreamlike.
The full moon of Heshvan and thus the anniversary of my conversion always coincides with Parashat Vayera. What a parsha! A parsha as full as my first year as an official Jew. A parsha that begins with the appearance of God to Abraham, sitting in his tent after he cut a covenant with God and thus making his commitment – his conversion, as it were – official. Messengers of God appear and Abraham and Sarah hurry to welcome them and feed them. The unlikely birth of a child is annunciated, Abraham laughs, and Sarah laughs, and later, their son Isaac is born. There’s Sodom and Gomorra and Abraham’s haggling with God for the survival of the righteous and Lot and salt pillars and the birth of the Moabites and Ammonites and wars and Hagar and Ishmael, and the Akedah.
And a short but fundamental passage about a pact, an oath between Abraham and King Abimelech, in whose territory Abraham had dug a well. Abimelech had offered Abraham to settle on his land, but as the Hebrew’s family was prospering, the Negev king wanted to make sure they would not expand and grow too much – nothing is new under the sun.
“Therefore, swear to me by God,” Abimelech says, “that you will not deal falsely with me, with my kith and kin. Like the kindness I have done you, so you shall do for me, and for the land in which you have sojourned.” And Abraham said, “I indeed will swear it.” But Abraham upbraided Abimelech concerning the well of water that Abimelech’s servants had seized. And Abimelech said, “I do not know who has done this thing, and you, too, have not told me, and I myself never heard of it till this day.” And Abraham took sheep and cattle and gave them to Abimelech, and the two of them sealed a pact. And Abraham set apart seven ewes of flock, and Abimelech said to Abraham, “What are these seven ewes that you set apart?” And he said, “Now, the seven ewes you shall take from my hand, so that they may serve me as witness that I have dug this well.” (Genesis 21:23-30)
Abraham insists on a guarantee, a proof for the pact. He needs to make sure that what he is beginning to build can’t be taken away from him. He doesn’t want it gifted, he wants to pay for it – a motif that will be repeated and become more evident in next week’s parsha. He wants to make sure that the well is his, his water, his descendants’ water, their future in the land.
Wells are sources for survival in the desert, water that sustains, drenches, quenches. In Torah, wells are where it’s at: Lovers meet at wells, oaths are spoken; wells ensure continuity, wells demark territory and property: Wells are the biblical Department of Water and Power.
Everyone who has been part of my Jewish journey so far has been a well, and a reminder for the oath I made ten years ago. And the biggest well is Judaism itself. Looking back at the ten years of digging and drinking is a good moment to also realize how we pay forward what we once received. It is me now who teaches an Intro class, who records tunes for those who want to practice a service, a prayer; who hosts meals and lessons in her home, who organizes retreats and tries to bring people together, who sometimes still must try and convince, like Abraham, that she has a right to be where she is, who loves to share her love for Judaism, who continues to dig and plant and, like Abraham, like each of you, commits every day anew to the covenant between the Jewish people and God, in one way or the other.
Because I will be at Rabbi Tzvi Graetz’s installation at Congregation Ner Tamid this Friday, I won’t be at services to share the special Camp Shabbat Vayera with you, where our younger members will co-lead parts of the evening together with Cantor Ilan, also an expression of an ongoing dedication to and love for Judaism.
I wish everyone an extra special Shabbat Shalom. I am grateful that the divine messengers have brought me to this place and moment.