You Who Cling to Adonai
Friday, August 9, 2024
This week, we are four fifths of the way through the Torah. We began this cycle of Torah reading last October on the Festival of Simchat Torah, the Joy of the Torah, which fell on October 7th. The worst day in recent Jewish history. This week we have reached Deuteronomy, the last book of the Torah. We are standing on the border of the Promised Land, at the end of the long journey. It has been forty years since the Children of Israel came out of slavery, and almost the entire generation that left Egypt has died. Now their children, the new generation born in freedom, are standing on the eastern side of the Jordan River, poised to enter the Land of Canaan. Moses’ speaks to the people, in his last great effort to impart his message to his people, before he dies.
Conflicting emotions mingle at the beginning of Deuteronomy. Excitement and anticipation build as we approach the end of the journey. But also sadness. Moses’ crushing disappointment that he will not be allowed to enter into the land. He will not experience the land flowing with milk and honey toward which he has been leading the people for forty years. There is also dread. The entry into the land will require the people to go to war, the long journey will end in violence and bloodshed.
Moses himself is full of anxiety about whether this new generation are ready. In his first speech to the people, as they stand on the border of their new land, he speaks to them of what happened last time, thirty-nine years earlier, when their parents arrived at the southern border and lost their nerve. He reminds the new generation of that failure, when their parents’ fear of war made them collapse in weeping and beg to return to Egypt. Moses remembers and he is worried that history might repeat itself.
Moses speaks to the people of all this history and reminds them that they have become a warrior nation, having fought and defeated mighty kings on their way through the wilderness, Sichon King of Heshbon and Og King of Bashan. He also reminds them of the recent disaster, when a large segment of the people were seduced by the alien god of Ba’al Peor, causing a plague in which 24,000 Children of Israel died. Then Moses concludes his review of their history, their failures and their triumphs, with the declaration “V’atem hadevekim b’Adonai eloheichem chayim kulchem hayom.” And you, who cling to Adonai your God are all alive today.
And you, who cling to Adonai your God are all alive today. Long ago, that verse entered the Jewish mind and became part of our self-understanding. In traditional synagogues all over the world, when we read publicly from the Torah, the first Jew is called up for an Aliyah, to chant the blessing over the Torah. They are called up by name, for example: yaamod hechazan Meir Simcha ben Yitzchak v’Michel! Arise Cantor Meir Simcha, son of Yitzchak and Michel! Baruch shenatan Torah l’amo Yisrael bik’dushato. Blessed is the One who in holiness gave the Torah to the people Israel. And every week the congregation responds: “V’atem hadevekim b’Adonai eloheichem chayim kulchem hayom.” And you, who cling to Adonai your God are all alive today.
Every time Jews read the Torah, as a congregation we call out Moses’ exultant words, to the ourselves, to anyone who is listening: “V’atem hadevekim b’Adonai eloheichem chayim kulchem hayom.” You who have passed through death and destruction, through inquisition and holocaust, you who cling to God are all still alive today.
This week a member of our congregation, Susan Percal, brought to my attention a moving project in Israel, called a Place at the Table, organized by ASIF: the Culinary Institute of Israel. A Place at the Table honors the memory of those murdered on October 7th with a beautiful and stunning website featuring one after another favorite recipe, together with beautiful pictures of those who died, and their stories.
For example: Peas with Eggs, contributed by Anat Elkabetz, in honor of her daughter Sivan who was 23 years old when she was murdered at Kibbutz Kfar Aza on the morning of October 7th. The dish takes 20 minutes to prepare and serves 5 to 6 people. The entry begins: Anat Elkabets is standing in the kitchen she’s calling home for now in Rosh HaAyin cooking a dish beloved by daughter Sivan, who was murdered on October 7. Into the rich simmering stew, she gently cracks each egg, creating space for the golden yolks to cook amidst the green peas. “It’s an unconventional dish in terms of flavors,” Anat explains. “It’s a blend of sweet and salty that Sivan adored since she was little. But it’s also simple, humble, and comforting, much like Sivan herself,” she adds.
The entry includes a beautiful picture of Sivan, smiling, and a full description of her and her family, and how they had celebrated Simchat Torah together on the night before, and the last her parents heard from her on that morning. And then the ingredients of Sivan’s favorite meal.
3 tablespoons vegetable oil. 1 large onion, chopped, ½ teaspoon black pepper. ½ teaspoon cumin. 2 ½ cups water. 800 grams frozen peas. ½ teaspoon sugar . 2 tablespoons chicken bouillon powder. 10-12 eggs. Then the instructions, which end with: “Using a wooden spoon, create a well in the stew and crack an egg into it. Repeat with the remaining eggs, cover and cook over low heat for 5-6 minutes, until the egg whites have turned opaque, similar to poached eggs. Serve as is, or over white rice with corn, like Sivan liked to eat it.” Every page on the site ends with the words “Did you make this recipe? Share a photo of it and tag it with #a_place_at_the_table to honor the memory of the late …and then their name. Sivan Elkabetz, or Raz Mizrachi, or Eden David Moshe, or….”
This year on Sunday October 6here, which will be October 7 in Israel, here in Santa Barbara halfway around the world from our family in Israel, we will cook some of the favorite recipes from A Place at the Table, and we will gather together to gaze into the eyes of our lost family members, share their food, read their stories, and to remember who they were. And at the end of our meal of remembrance and consolation we will declare, with all Jewish people everywhere: “V’atem hadevekim b’Adonai eloheichem chayim kulchem hayom.” And you, who cling to Adonai your God are all alive today.
As you may know, I was on a short sabbatical last month and since I returned many of you have asked where I traveled. The truth is that in the past month, I traveled back in time. We moved my mom from her apartment in Independent Living to Assisted Living last year, and all of her boxes of books and letters and photos have been sitting my garage. I spent July going through them and found myself deep in my family’s past. I found letters from my mom to a friend in 1963, describing herself and her life with three little children. I found a box of my father’s most treasured memorabilia. His parents’wedding ketuba, folded neatly in a tiny envelope with a perfectly crisp white handkerchief, that must have been used in their wedding ceremony. And love letters. And photos I had never seen before of my dad as a little boy.
My father died nine years ago, at age 84, and in recent years I have felt him drifting away from me. But last month in my garage, surrounded by old photos of him as a boy, as a young man, he was completely alive and right there with me. And among the photos of my mom as a beautiful young woman, and my family together when I was growing up, and my own children when they were little (now they’re in their mid-thirties), I traveled far, far into my own past and found everyone I love alive and well. And I was reminded how true those words were that Moses spoke to our people over three thousand years ago: “V’atem hadevekim b’Adonai eloheichem chayim kulchem hayom.” And you, who cling to Adonai your God are all alive today.
My mom is now 91 and has been receiving visits recently, from family members who passed away years ago. She called me and asked if I could drive her to see her father, who had come to visit her. I told her “Mom, grandpa died along time ago. It was 1979.” She looked at me and sighed. Not long after that she told me that she really wanted to call her brother Fred. And I said “I wish we could Mom, but you know, Fred is dead.” My mother looked at me and she said “maybe.”
As I have said many times over the years, my mother has throughout my life been my most important teacher. By “maybe” I can tell you that my mom means “Don’t be so sure.” And the more the years go by, I learn over and over again that all it takes is an old photograph, or the taste or smell of a favorite food, or an old letter in my father’s handwriting or a postcard from my grandfather, to prove the truth and the enduring power of Moses’ undying teaching;
“V’atem hadevekim b’Adonai eloheichem chayim kulchem hayom.” And you, who cling to Adonai your God, are all alive today. Shabbat Shalom.