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1 Ruth and Yitro Rabbi Elie Buechler 5779 On Shavuot we read about Ruth’s dedication to her mother-in-law Naomi and Ruth’s commitment to the Jewish people. Ruth, who merits to have king David as her offspring, becomes the paradigmatic convert to the Jewish people. In parshat Behaalotecha, we read about Chovav, or Yitro according to Chazal, who had been traveling with the Jewish people for nearly two years. Like Ruth, Yitro converted to Judaism, and we are told that his name was therefore changed to Chovav. But unlike Ruth, Yitro decided that it was time for him to head back to his own land and homeland and not continue soujouring with the Jewish people. The language used in Behaalotecha is strikingly similar, although the outcome is very different, to the story of Ruth. Ruth says “ki el-asher telchi elech” “I will go where you go” (Ruth 1:16) while Yitro says “lo elech” “I will not go” (Bemidbar 10:30).

The parallels between these two narratives run even deeper. Moshe and Yitro, like Naomi and Ruth, were on the precipice of entering into the Land of Israel. Rashi notes that the nation was only three days away from entering the Land of Israel before they sinned in the beginning of chapter eleven with the story of the mitonenim. Also, we have a similar familial structure here, a mother with her daughter-in-law and a father with his son-in-law. The outcomes, however, are very different; Ruth remains with the Jewish people, while Yitro returns to Midian.

So why does Yitro leave? The Ramban explains that Yitro, as a convert, was concerned that he would not receive a portion in the Land of Israel where he could live and support his family. However, Moshe then reassured him that he would certainly inherit property in the land like every other Jew. So why did he leave?

The Abarbanel suggests that Yitro returned home because he was on a mission to continue spreading Torah to his extended family and nation. And we know that he was successful in his endeavour as Sefer Shoftim tells us that “the descendants of the Kenite, the father-in-law of Moshe, went up with the children of Judah” and settled in the Land of Israel. Yitro, as Kohen Midian, had a unique opportunity to return to his homeland and share with them the Torah that he had learned while he was with Moshe. Therefore Yitro’s return to his homeland was not a rejection of Judaism, rather it was an affirmation of its ideals. So when Yitro left Moshe, he did so because he knew that his descendents would inherit land in Israel and he was now on a mission to bring them closer to God. Yitro did not reject Moshe’s claim that he would inherit land, rather he accepted it and went forth to gather up his entire family. Furthermore, Divrei haYamim I 2:55 tells us that Yitro’s descendents became a family of scribes. We therefore see that the descendants of Yitro continued in the footsteps of their father in spreading Torah. Both Ruth and Yitro are praiseworthy individuals who displayed great courage in joining their fate with the destiny of the Jewish people, and it is their commitment to Torah and to our people that can serve as a model for our own commitment to Torah on this Shavuot.

2 The Queen’s Retinue Rabbi Noach Goldstein 5780 Men of the) אנשי כנסת הגדולה The very first piece of advice in Pirkei Avot comes from the revered Be deliberate in judgment.” The point is“ ;"הוו מתונים בדין" ,Great Assembly) imploring scholars certainly well taken, but upon further reflection it seems strange that these celebrated sages would single out judgment of court cases per se as demanding particular care. After all Jewish scholars are responsible for issuing all sorts of halakhic rulings; why single out adjudication of disputes?

Commentators to the Mishna grapple with the problem and some offer technical explanations. For example R. Yisrael Lipschitz (Danzig, 1782-1860) in his work Tiferet Yisrael explains that while in most areas of halakha the posek always has the emergency option of stringency 1 available if he cannot reach a clear conclusion, there is no such choice when adjudicating a dispute between two parties. One must win and one must lose, and therefore it is imperative for the judge to take extreme care to reach the correct ruling.

השכל" Rabbenu Yonah (Gerona, d. 1264) however offers a different approach. Yirmiyahu states Understand and know Me, for I am the“ ;"וידע אותי כי אני ה' עשה חסד משפט וצדקה בארץ כי באלה חפצתי Lord who exercises kindness, justice, and righteousness in the world, for in these things I delight.” Initially the first half of the verse seems impossible; how could mortal man possibly understand the Almighty? Rabbenu Yonah explains that the verse’s second half explains the first; following in God’s ways and imitating His actions allows us to gain some measure of insight into the nature of HaKadosh Baruch Hu. What are those actions? “Kindness, justice, and righteousness.” Therefore Pirkei Avot begins with the charge for deliberation specifically in meting out justice, for this is literally God’s work, and fulfilling it with the proper seriousness allows us to begin to understand Him.

Rabbenu Yonah develops his idea by pointing out a fundamental question that should arise this and the giving of the Ten Commandments, done with מתן תורה week. Last week we read about unprecedented pomp and circumstance: fire, thunder, lighting, and the voice of Hashem Himself. We even have the custom to stand for the reading of this hallowed passage, which gives us the lofty principles that animate the core of Judaism. Now Moshe ascends the mountain, and what commandments does he immediately receive? What does Hashem decide must follow upon the heels of the Ten Commandments? The mundane details and regulations concerning goring oxen and negligent watchmen, theft, vandalism, and assault! Surely it would have been more appropriate to segue to discussion of the Mishkan and its sacred utensils than to what we read

.כח דהתירא עדיף and ספיקא דאורייתא לחומרא As reflected by halakhic concepts such as 1

3 this week! Wouldn’t the Aron Kodesh be a more fitting topic than the quarreler who strikes a pregnant woman?

It would not. In fact, says Rabbenu Yonah, the Torah teaches the exact opposite perspective. Our immediate concern in establishing a Torah-based society must be the primacy of peace and justice. He cites a midrash noting that the Ten Commandments from last week were not just followed by the laws of Mishpatim, but were also preceded by Yitro’s advice to establish a judicial system. The midrash compares this to a majestic queen who never walks in public unless she is flanked on both sides by her loyal servants. Likewise, achieving a peaceful and just society is sine qua non for Torah to thrive in this world. Thus only after we have mastered the lessons of Mishpatim can Hashem proceed to teach us about the Mishkan in Parshat Terumah.

From Heaven to Earth, and Up Again Rabbi Dovid Zirkind 5774 All too often we mistakenly conflate the multiple themes of Shavuot and the relationship they have to one another; Sefirat HaOmer is a prime example. We usually think of the omer in terms of Kabbalat HaTorah. Shavuot is the holiday which commemorates the revelation at Sinai, an experience that demanded preparation both physically and spiritually. Counting the omer each day, studying Pirkei Avot and gradually challenging ourselves to grow in anticipation of Mattan Torah, seems quite appropriate. Yet, in the Torah’s description of this season in which we find ourselves, counting sefirah is connected not to Sinai, but to korbanot, the Omer and the Shtei HaLechem, in which the Jewish people built towards and eventually celebrated the year’s successful crops. What exactly were they counting towards? Why does the agricultural theme of Shavuot require a sefira?

Pragmatically, one might have argued that counting from the Korban Omer to the Shtei HaLechem enhanced that Shavuot celebration. Reaching the number 50 highlighted just how hard the farmers had worked and just how fruitful their labors were. Parshat Re’eh, however, describes a process that is much more transcendent. The process of sefirah challenges the farmer to transform his physical success into spiritual opportunity, to take his personal happiness to the Temple and create a Yom Tov. One great philosophical paradox of Judaism is the natural instinct to celebrate our accomplishments in contrast with the religious obligation to always see God’s hand in everything we do. In the agrarian society of ancient Israel, Sefirat HaOmer was the reminder of that challenge, celebrating our personal success in Hashem’s home. If this is the case, the two themes of Shavuot, the agrarian celebration and the commemoration of Sinai, may in fact be two sides of the same coin.

One of Chassidut’s most fundamental concepts is the notion of tzimtzum, which in Modern Hebrew means contraction or compression. Tzimtuzm addresses the mystery of how a being that is strictly metaphysical could create a world that is nothing more than physical and still play an active role in His creation. To experience the warmth of Chassidut is to recognize the possibility

4 of spirit in a world of lowly human beings. Torah itself is the precursor to philosophy of tzimtzum. Fundamental to our faith is the notion that a divine hand authored a divine work that shapes the ethics and morals of a physical realm. Indeed, Shavuot is referred to as zman matan torateinu – the season of the Torah’s giving, because more significant that the Torah’s existence is its ability to influence and enhance human life. Shavuot is the day Torah was transferred from heaven to earth.

And so, on Shavuot we celebrate two parallel themes, moving in opposite directions. The farmer patiently studies the success of his field so he can fully embrace its religious significance, and we sit and study torah in amazement how a gift from above has blessed our otherwise mundane world for generations. Moving in both directions, connecting heaven and earth, Shavuot reminds us of the very purpose of our world and its unshakable mission.

From nursery drawing books to artistic renditions, the core components remain the same. Even throughout countless movies which recreate the scene, one constant theme remains. When G-d bequeathed to us the Torah, we gathered together at the foot of a mountain. No matter where you look or how creatively you imagine, the Jews circling Mount Sinai is a constant. The scene is a classic.

That scene, ironically, is contrary to Rashi’s description. Sourced on Daf 88a of Mesechtas Shabbos, and more directly in the Mechiltah d’Rabbi Yishmael, Rashi cites a pasuk from the story of Matan Torah in the 19th Perek of Shimos, in Parshas Yisro.

".ויתיצבו בתחתית ההר..."

“...and they stood at the bottom of the mountain.”

From a literal reading, it would seem that the Jews simply stood together at the foot of the slope, facing the mountain standing before them. That, however, was not necessarily the case. The Gemara to which Rashi alludes has a different picture. It records:

אמר רב אבדימי בר חמא בר חסא: מלמד שכפה הקדוש ברוך הוא עליהם את ההר כגיגית, ואמר להם: "אם אתם" ".מקבלים התורה – מוטב, ואם לאו - שם תהא קבורתכם

“Rav Avdimi son of Chama son of Chasa said: This teaches us that haKadosh Baruch Hu overturned the mountain above them like a [bathtub / barrel] and said to (the People of Israel) “If you accept the Torah – good. And if not – there will be your burial place.”

It would seem that the lifting the mountain was a menacing act meant to intimidate the people. In fact, the continuation of the Gemara may even be read to imply that the intent was that if they refused to accept the Torah then at that very moment G-d would have buried them under the weight of the mountain hovering above them. To be sure, however, there truly was no need to binding them – ”נעשה ונשמה“ threaten. Were these not the very people who had willingly declared to follow whatever it would be that G-d would ask?! Surely there was no doubt that they could accept the Torah! Therefore, others produce a more matter of fact approach.

5 The lifting of the mountain and declaration from G-d were simply a statement and illustration of an eventual reality. After showing their willingness to bind themselves to the Torah at this inspirational moment in history, G-d had no intentions to bury His people alive by tossing a mountain on their heads. Rather, this act of G-d was designed to make clear what might happen should the Torah be neglected or rejected at some later date. Note carefully the wording in G-ds declaration:

".שם תהא קבורתכם..."

“…there will be your burial place.”

there” highlights the true intent about this veiled threat. At this moment there“ – ”שם“ The word would no need to end the journey of the Jews. Their march through the desert would continue, they would enter the Land of Israel; they could even exist for centuries holding true to their cultural identity. However, at some later date, commitment to Torah might waver. There, at that time, when Jews might weaken in their resolve to identify as People of the Book, keepers of the Torah - there we risk being buried into the annals of history.

to those who hold onto ,”למחזיקם בה“ a tree of life, but only ,”עץ חיים“ We are told the Torah is an it. Marc Twain famously asked in his ‘Concerning the Jews’ - “What is the secret of his immortality?” In answer to his query, let us recommit ourselves on to holding tight to the Tree of Life, the Torah. On this Shavuos, our anniversary of the national Torah acceptance, let us recommit to identifying as a people who live solely because of its staying power, and proudly answer that we have kept strong in our initial commitment and acceptance of the beloved Torah.

God and Israel: A Marriage Ora Weinbach, Community Educator 5778 The Tanakh and rabbinic literature use a variety of metaphors to capture the multifaceted relationship between God and Bnei Yisrael: parent-child, master-servant, shepherd-sheep. Most of these models imply an obvious hierarchy, with God as the more powerful of the two parties. It is therefore striking that one of the descriptions of God and Bnei Yisrael’s relationship is that of a marriage! No sefer in Tanakh plays on this metaphor more richly than the Book of Hoshea, an excerpt of which is read as the haftarah for Parshat Bamidbar. In it, God commands Hoshea to marry Gomer, a promiscuous woman, and have children with her. God utilizes Hoshea’s fraught marriage as an analogy for His experiences with Bnei Yisrael. Bnei Yisrael have been unfaithful and ungrateful to God, saying “I will go after my lovers, who give me my bread and my water, my wool, and my linen, my oil, and my drinks (2:7).” God is angered, responding, “So I will return– and take back My corn in its time, and My wine in its season, and snatch away My wool and My linen (2:11),” and even entertains the possibility of divorce, “because she is not My wife, and I am not her husband (2:4).”

But despite their sins, God cannot bear the idea of separating from Bnei Yisrael, as He loves them so deeply. Instead, He chooses to patiently await their return to Him, hoping to rekindle

6 their love. “I will charm her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak to her heart…and she shall answer there, like the days of her youth, like the day when she came out of the land of Egypt (2:16-17).” Finally, God expresses the vision of a reunited future in which God and Bnei Yisrael renew their vows to each other. “And I will betroth you to me forever. And I will betroth you to me in righteousness, and in justice, and in chessed, and in mercy, and I will betroth you to me in faithfulness, and you will know God (2:21-22).”

In this haftarah, God is revealed as emotionally attached and deeply committed to Israel, despite their sins. It cautions us against repeating past sins, reminds us of the drastic consequences of being unfaithful to God, and assures us of our unlimited ability to heal our relationship with Him. God remains hopeful and forgiving as an expression of the deepest kind of commitment: a loving marriage. It is particularly apt that this year we read the Book of Hoshea on Erev Shavuot. On Shavuot, we commemorate matan torah, which parallels the moment of marriage between Bnei Yisrael and God. The text describing matan torah overflows with imagery of a wedding, and the midrash in Shir HaShirim explicitly states, “God said to [Israel] ‘it is as if you have tied the crown of kingship on my head on the day of our wedding’- this was when standing at Har Sinai.’” Through utilizing the analogy of marriage, the Torah highlights one of its central themes: brit, the covenantal relationship between God and Israel. Our brit with God binds us to each other as equal partners.

wrote in his famous book, The Jewish Way in Love and ה‘‘ע As Rabbi Maurice Lamm Marriage,“The paradigm of man's marriage covenant with woman is the brit, the covenant of God and His people, Israel. The covenant transforms Israel's historic destiny into God's destiny as well. When Israel is in exile, the shechina, God's presence, is also in exile. In His covenant with the Jews, God promises land and eternal posterity. The marriage covenant also promises posterity, along with home, growth, love, and companionship.” It is the complications of this marital relationship that we recount in the Book of Hoshea and its beauty that we celebrate on the holiday of Shavuot.

Only the Lonely Rabbi Yosie Levine Shavuot 5778 Last week on Monday afternoon, a woman approached me on the Q train. A little older than I; very put together. “Excuse me,” she said, “I’m not Jewish, but I just want to let you know that I support you.” I looked up from the book I was reading and returned something between a nod and a furrowed brow. I guess I wanted to implicitly communicate that I didn’t have enough information to ascertain whether she was crazy or sane. “Israel,” she said. “I want you to know that I support Israel. It’s so obvious, but the world can’t see it. I know you know.”

I was beginning to suspect that may have been playing with a few cards short of a full deck and then she said, “I look forward to seeing you on Saturday.”

“At The Jewish Center?” I said.

“No,” she said. “At the royal wedding.”

7 I thanked her for her good wishes. And then I thought of her words of support each morning as I read the news.

· Why can’t the world see it?

· Why can’t others celebrate the fulfilment of a decades-old promise to finally recognize Jerusalem as the capital of Israel?

· Why can’t others understand the need for a sovereign nation to ensure that its borders aren’t breached by rioters intent on harming innocents?

· Why can’t others appreciate the difference between a democratic nation vying for peace and a terror group agitating for war?

To be so maligned and so misunderstood leaves those of us who love Israel feeling very much alone in the world.

On this joyous holiday of Shavuot there seems to be such a yawning chasm between the world that is and the world that ought to be. Is there some message – some Jewish response – that’s called for in moments like these?

To celebrate Matan Torah, it’s always our practice to study Torah on Shavuot. And so I’d like to do some learning with you while keeping one eye trained on this feeling of exasperation which doesn’t seem to be going away.

What I’d like to do this morning is propose a new frame within which to understand the book of Ruth and its characters. We usually think of chesed as the animating feature of the book. And of course it is. But I want to suggest an alternate lens through which to see the story. I want to make the case that the four chapters of the Megillah chart the specific malady of loneliness in the experience of each of the central characters – and then the improbable resolution of that loneliness.

In chapter one, it’s plain to see. Naomi is unquestionably the object of focus. We begin with a family of four: Elimelech, Naomi and their two sons. But by the time we’re five verses into the chapter, all the men are dead and Naomi is the sole survivor. Far from home, she’s widowed and bereft of her children. The operative presumption is that her Moabite daughters-in-law will remarry Moabite men and Naomi will be left utterly alone. And yet the Megillah surprises us. No one could have anticipated that a foreigner would cut her ties with her ancestral homeland and venture off to a nation to which she doesn’t belong. And yet Ruth declares that her attachment to Naomi is unbreakable. We all know her famous words:

ַעֵמְּך ַעִמּי, וֵאלֹקיְִך ֱאלֹקי. But the conclusion of her soliloquy is even more remarkable:

ִכּי ַהָמּוֶת, יְַפִריד ֵבּינִי ֵוּבינְֵך.

8 It’s not just a promise to accompany Naomi until she reaches the land of Israel; it’s a promise that only death can separate them from one another. The depth of Naomi’s loneliness is matched only by the breadth of Ruth’s compassion.

In Chapter 2, the focus shifts to Ruth herself. She’s the paradigmatic outsider at a time when xenophobia is the prevailing ethic. Just the sight of Ruth elicits murmurings. By implication, it’s clear that if not for Boaz’s warning, Ruth would have been the subject of discrimination in the fields of Bethlehem. Even among the destitute she has no place; she doesn’t glean with the group of gleaners but follows them. What are the chances she would end up in the field of a righteous man? What are the chances someone would take notice of her? It’s not just that Boaz deals kindly and generously toward Ruth. All of his gestures ensure that she is not alone. She can drink from the water drawn by the young men in the field. She can eat with the harvesters.

ַמ ַדּוּע ָמָצ ִאתי ֵחן ְבֵּעינֶ ָיך ְלַהִכּ ֵירנִי--וְאָנִֹכי, נְָכִריָּה. Boaz, Ruth declares, has transformed her. The archetypal outsider now occupies a place on the inside.

Chapter 3 is about the third character in the book. The Megillah goes out of its way to create a scene in which Boaz is himself all alone. Until now we’ve only seen Boaz in relation to other people – in conversation with his foreman or with Ruth. We would never conceive of him as a man suffering from loneliness. But this is precisely how the Megillah wants us to see him. Who sleeps alone on a threshing floor? A man with no family; a man with no home. In fact, the Gemara (Bava Batra 91a) goes so far as to say the Boaz himself had lost his wife and children. And then out of nowhere, Ruth arrives and subtly suggests that Boaz need not be alone any longer.

Finally, in the fourth chapter, the narrative cleverly returns us to Naomi. And this is my favorite part: Lest we become distracted by the story’s fairytale ending, the text reminds us that Ruth’s marriage comes at a cost. Now that she’s attached herself to Boaz, she is – almost by definition – detached from her former mother-in-law.

There are three protagonists in this story. If two form a couple, the third is literally the odd one out. Almost inherently, we should have to suffer the consequences of the story’s denouement. It’s the price we the readers pay. To relish the moment in which Boaz and Ruth come together is to acknowledge that their union comes at the expense of the companionship between Ruth and Naomi.

And here the Megillah offers a brilliant and magnificent resolution.

וִַתְּקֶראנָה לוֹ ַה ְשֵּׁכנוֹת ֵשׁם ֵלאמֹר, יַֻלּ ֵד-בּן ְלנֳָעִמי; All the townspeople declare that a child had been born to Naomi. Naomi is not alone because she’s become the adoptive mother of the infant son born to Ruth and Boaz.

9 How extraordinary. Literarily, there shouldn’t be enough characters in the story to accommodate the endemic loneliness that pervades the text. But when individuals step up to alleviate the loneliness of others, more literal and emotional life gets created.

To those within its grasp, loneliness feels like a life-sentence. It’s almost impossible to envision how things could change. The Book of Ruth is a poignant reminder that loneliness can end just as abruptly as it began; the human heart can open just as quickly as it closed. And more often than not, the resolution comes just at the moment when we would least expect it.

It’s stunning to notice that all the people who help alleviate the loneliness of others in the Megillah are all individuals who are suffering from loneliness themselves! It’s a virtuous circle the results of which create not only new bonds, but new life, new hope and the prospect of something transcendent.

ֶהן ָעם ְלָבָדד יְִשׁכֹּן ַוּבגּוֹיִם לֹא יְִתַח ָשּׁב

That the nations of the world condemn us or treat us like a pariah is par for the course.

The question is how we respond.

In a few moments we’re going to recite Yizkor. If we’re saying Yizkor, it’s because we’ve suffered a loss that’s left us feeling more alone in the world. Looking around this room, there are people saying Yizkor for parents, siblings, spouses and even children. What we wouldn’t give for a few moments more with the people we loved.

But lonely people are also endowed with a gift: the capacity to understand loneliness and empathize with those who suffer from it.

So each of us in fact uniquely positioned to be a Ruth, a Boaz or a Naomi in the life of another person. Each of us can begin a virtuous circle by being present for someone else. On this holiday when we accept anew the yoke of Torah, let’s accept, too, the implicit responsibility to combat the loneliness around us: A call, an email, a visit, a text message, an invitation for a Shabbat meal. Our gestures can come in all kinds of forms.

When it comes to our community:

· we should be thinking of the people in this room; · we should be thinking of the people not in this room; · and we should be thinking of our friends and family in Israel. Oftentimes the only thing standing between a person and that lonely feeling – is us.

In Over Our Heads Rabbi Avi Feder

10 5777 Relative to the massive literature on Pesach and Sukkot, the Shulchan Aruch’s treatment of Shavuot is surprisingly concise. Or HaChaim #193 is devoted to Sefirat HaOmer and #194 covers everything you need to know about Shavuot in three simple halachot. Rema concludes the topic with a brief list of Shavuot traditions; when tachanun is not said, the minhag to eat dairy foods and finally the decoration of homes and Shuls, a commemoration of the Sinaitic experience.

However, generations of living in a Christian society challenged the preservation of this minhag. The Vilna Gaon, Rabbi Eliyahu Kramer was one of many rabbinic leaders that wished to abolish the tradition. Christian communities in Europe and around the world had begun marking their holidays with festive greenery, the kind we see to this very day, and the similarity was seen in an uncomfortable light. What message would it send if Judaism marked Shavuot like Christianity celebrated Christmas?

In the 19th Century, Navardok’s Chief Rabbi, Yechiel Michel Epstein, author of the Aruch HaShulchan supported the Gaon’s ban. Interesting to note, is how he removed the explanation for the ban from his published works, simply writing “as our great scholars will understand.” Clearly, he feared the potential consequences of publishing what might have been seen as anti-Christian traditions, but attempted to ban the practice nonetheless.

Today, Shavuot greenery has had a resurgence, but the historical debate is still worth appreciating. As we celebrate Kabbalat HaTorah we should be mindful of Torah’s place in a world that is far from consistent with its values. There will be parallels and similarities in each culture and faith we encounter but they are unmistakable in both origin and meaning. Torah Judaism must react to the tides of the time to maintain its clear mission but we should also celebrate the privilege to share our faith with the world. Whether you celebrate Shavuot with greenery or not, however you bring to life the shortest of the three major chagim, let the Torah speak to who you are and what you bring to the world around you.