Podcasts about Hazzan

There is an obligation to recite the entire Hallel service on each of the eight days of Hanukah. This obligation applies regardless of whether one prays privately or with a Minyan; in either case, one is required to recite Hallel. Before reciting Hallel, one recites the Beracha, "…Asher Kideshanu Be'misvotav Ve'sivanu Li'gmor Et Ha'Hallel," and after the recitation, one recites the concluding Beracha of "Yehalelucha." If one mistakenly recited the "half-Hallel" on Hanukah – meaning, he omitted the sections of Hallel that are not recited during Hallel on Rosh Hodesh – then he must repeat the Hallel. However, he does not recite a Beracha before or after his repetition of Hallel. Women are exempt from the obligation of Hallel. Even though they are included in the obligation of the Hanukah candle lighting, they are nevertheless exempt from the Hallel obligation, just as they are not required to recite Hallel on the Yamim Tobim (Pesah, Shavuot and Sukkot). A woman who wishes to recite the complete Hallel on Hanukah may certainly do so, but she should not recite the Berachot before or after the Hallel. One may not make any interruptions during the recitation of Hallel. One should not speak at all during Hallel, or use any gadgets – such as cell phones or Tablets – during Hallel. (Of course, one should not be using these gadgets at any point during the prayer service, as this is very disrespectful to the service.) However, if a person hears somebody recite a Beracha while he recites Hallel, he should answer "Amen" to the Beracha. Likewise, one may respond to Kaddish, Kedusha or Barechu during the Hallel recitation. It occasionally happens that the congregation completes Hallel and the Hazzan begins Kaddish before some congregants completed Hallel. They may interrupt their recitation of Hallel in order to answer to Kaddish. It is interesting to note that there is a verse in the Torah which alludes to the twenty-one days when we recite the complete Hallel. The Torah writes that before the flood, "Shenayim Shenayim Ba'u El Noah" ("two of each [animal] came to Noah" – Bereshit 7:9). The first word, "Shenayim" ("two"), alludes to the first two days of Pesah, when Diaspora communities recite the complete Hallel (as opposed to the other days of Pesah, when the half-Hallel is recited). The second "Shenayim" alludes to the two days of Shabuot, and the word "Ba'u" ("they came") has the numerical value of nine, referring to the nine days of Sukkot, Shemini Aseret and Simhat Torah. Finally, Noah's name in the phrase "El Noah" may be read as an acronym for the phrase "Ner Hanukah," thus alluding to the eight days of Hanukah, when we recite the full Hallel. Summary: Men are obligated to recite the complete Hallel on each day of Hanukah; women who wish to recite Hallel may do so, but without the Berachot. One who mistakenly recited "half-Hallel" on Hanukah must recite the whole Hallel, but without the Berachot. One may not make any interruptions during the Hallel recitation, except to answer "Amen" to a Beracha, or to respond to Kaddish, Kedusha or Barechu.

The volume of outrage in our world has hit a crescendo. All the time I hear questions like, “how can you bear to be around someone who voted like that?!” or “how can you stand working with people who are so anti-Zionist or who are so pro-Israel?” As if people who do not rage against those they disagree with are somehow condoning or supporting evil perspectives. Young people, already stressed by the pressures of their own lives, feel pressured to respond to hateful social media posts and/or to present content that will fight against what they see as evil lies. Everything is pitched as though the conversation is an existential battle between good and evil and each one of us is either fighting for good or conceding to forces of evil. We saw this so sharply this week. When Luigi Mangione murdered Brian Thompson in broad daylight, the story on the street and on social media wasn't about a horrific crime against humanity. People lionized Luigi, they asked him on dates, they offered to be his alibi, they fundraised for his legal costs, they even competed in dress-alike competitions. Why? Because they see him as someone willing to take decisive action against the evils of our world, never mind that he committed an atrocious crime and never mind that killing Brian Thompson does nothing to fix our broken health care system nor address the real pain of the American people. There's a word for this energy in our tradition: zealotry. Zealots are people who are inspired by passion, who take action without due process, and who force the world to align with their vision. The most famous zealots in our tradition arose in a tumultuous time in our history. Way back in the first century, during the Second Temple Period, our ancestors were fighting to build a life in the shadow of the Roman Empire. At the time, the future of Judaism and Jewish community was precarious and there were different groups that had different ideas about what should happen. Some groups fought for justice and against elitism and classism that they felt were destroying society. Some believed that the Roman Empire was the way of the future. They promoted assimilation and Hellenization and worked to try to suppress Jewish revolt against the occupying power. While others raged against Roman rule, encouraging resistance to Roman culture and strict adherence to Jewish cultic rites. According to the Talmud, the elders of the Jewish community wanted to mobilize their community thoughtfully. But the zealots didn't have the patience for this. They felt an existential threat and believed it was their duty to force the Jewish community into action. They provoked and attacked the Romans, trying to incite violence. And when their guerilla tactics worked and the Romans laid siege to Jerusalem, the zealots burned the granaries and food stores in the city so our ancestors would be forced to fight for their lives. When we tell this story, we focus on our survival. We focus on Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai's improbable escape in a coffin. We focus on his heroic journey to Yavne and the way he preserved the Judaism that he and the other rabbis believed in. But that leaves out a critical piece of our history. Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai had to escape because of the zealots, because their radical ideology created a toxic culture of violence which threatened our very existence. Today, more than ever, we need to remember the zealots.

Last week, I came across a fascinating article in the New York Times Magazine. Kim Tingley, in her article “‘Nature's Swiss Army Knife': What can we Learn from Venom ?” writes about the incredible potential of highly toxic reptile and insect venom to provide pharmaceutical miracles. It turns out that reptile and inspect venom contains hundreds, even thousands of molecules, which each have the ability to act in powerful ways on the human body. In the aggregate, the venom can have disastrous consequences. But applied strategically and sparingly, these compounds can make a world of difference. Take, for example, the wildly popular weight-loss drugs Ozempic, Wegovy, Mounjaro, and Zepbound. These drugs were created from research into a venomous reptile called the Gila monster which lives mostly underground in southern Arizona and northern Mexico. It's a very striking lizard—typically they have a black head and matching black tongue, black legs, and a tiger-like pattern of orange and black down their back and tail. And they are highly toxic. If you Google them after shabbos, you'll find a bunch of stories of people who have lost their lives to chance encounters on hiking trails or from bites from Gila monster pets. Gila monster venom had been screened back in the 80s, but when gastroenterologist Jean-Pierre Raufman and endocrinologist John Eng re-screened it, they discovered a molecule that had been previously overlooked which resembled a hormone that regulates insulin in healthy humans. That molecule, which they called Exendin-4, is the basis for these weight-loss drugs which have so transformed the medical landscape. Learning about this research and these medicines made me wonder—what would happen if we were able to look at the toxins in our lives with the same outlook?  There is no universe where we would see all the misfortunes of our lives as helpful or even healing, but would it ever be possible to get to a place where we could see elements of the challenges in our lives as having blessed us with possibility?

November 9, 2024

When I was growing up, we spent a lot of time with my Grandpa Gene feeding the geese. My Mom kept a 50 lb. bag of birdseed in the car, and, even when Sir Grandfather, as he liked to be called, was not feeling well, we would drive to the pond, and he would sit and watch from the front seat as we tossed out birdseed to grateful honks. My grandfather also had this superpower. He could spot any flock of birds in the sky and would just know exactly the number of birds in an instant. He would look up and say 39 or 17 or 22 and we would start counting and a minute later, we would confirm his internal knowing. I loved my grandfather, and I loved the time we spent together, but I did not love birds. My mom and sister spent hours learning the different names and calls and colorings of all the local birds, but not me. I did not want to learn more. If someone would say to me, “wow, that's a beautiful bird—do you know what kind it is?” I would always say definitively, “yes, that's a mongor.” If they really didn't know, then I seemed smart, and we could move on to more interesting topics of conversation. And if they did know, well then, they would laugh, and then we could move on to more interesting topics of conversation. When Eder was born, we named him after my Grandpa Gene. It's funny, whenever I meet with soon-to-be parents and they want to talk about how to name their children, I always tell them that when you give your child the name of an ancestor, it's more than a name. I share that according to Jewish tradition, each one of us accrues blessings in our lifetime that live far longer than we do. When you name a child after someone you love, it's like giving them a spiritual trust fund. They get all the mitzvah points that their ancestor accrued during their lifetime, and they also earn their own mitzvah points with a great interest rate. I believed in this Torah, but I didn't fully get it. In my mind, by naming Eder after my grandfather, I was trying to create a link so that my grandpa could be connected to this little one even though they would never meet in real life. I wanted to create opportunities to talk about my grandfather and the qualities I hope Eder will emulate when he's older. I never could have predicted what has actually happened. Eder is 17 months old. He is just starting to express himself and to share his preferences. What does he love more than almost anything in the world? Birds.

Hacham Ovadia Yosef ZT"L rules that when Yom Kippur falls on Shabbat, the Kabbalat Shabbat service is not recited on Friday night, the night of Yom Kippur. In such a case, he writes, we do not recite Mizmor Le'David or Lecha Dodi, and we instead begin the service with "Mizmor Shir Le'yom Ha'Shabbat" and then proceed directly to the hymn "Lecha Keli Teshukati." This is based on the position of the Kanhag ("Kenesset Ha'gedola" – Rabbi Haim Banbenishti, Turkey, 1603-1673), who writes that we do not receive a "Neshama Yetera" ("extra soul") when Shabbat falls on Yom Kippur, as we do on an ordinary Shabbat. Since we do not eat meals when Shabbat falls on Yom Kippur, we are not endowed with a "Neshama Yetera." (This is also the reason why we do not recite a Beracha on Besamim after Yom Kippur even when it falls on Shabbat.) The Kanhag thus writes that according to Kabbalistic teaching, we do not recite Kabbalat Shabbat on the eve of Shabbat Yom Kippur. From the Gemara, however, it appears that there is no difference between Shabbat Yom Kippur and ordinary Shabbatot with respect to Kabbalat Shabbat. Therefore, Hacham Ovadia Yosef follows the position that we omit most of Kabbalat Shabbat but recite "Mizmor Shir Le'yom Ha'Shabbat," to satisfy all views. However, the custom of our community does not follow Hacham Ovadia's ruling in this regard. As written in our Mahzorim, we follow the custom to recite the ordinary Kabbalat Shabbat on the eve of Shabbat Yom Kippur. The only exception is that we obviously omit the recitation of "Bameh Madlikin." Thus, according to our custom, the procedure for the Yom Kippur eve prayers when it falls on Friday night is as follows: Mizmor Le'David, Lecha Dodi, Mizmor Shir, Kol Yisrael, Rabbi Hananya, and Lecha Keli, followed by the standard Yom Kippur service. It should be noted that "Lecha Keli," with which we begin the Yom Kippur service, is an especially significant prayer. Some say it was authored by Rabbi Abraham Ibn Ezra (Spain, 1089-1164), whereas others claim that it was written by his contemporary, Rabbi Yehuda Halevi. The hymn is a confession of sin, and it is recited as the sun sets on the eve of Yom Kippur in order to ensure that we have no opportunity to sin between or confession on Ereb Yom Kippur and the onset of Yom Kippur itself. (In fact, some claim that it was originally written as a deathbed confession to be recited in the final moments of one's life.) This is not a song that we sing for inspiration, or simply to feel joyous and uplifted, but rather a very significant prayer that must be recited with seriousness and concentration. When Yom Kippur eve falls on Friday night, we recite after the Amida prayer in Arbit "Vayechulu" and the Me'en Sheba blessing. The Hazzan must ensure to recite "Ha'Melech Ha'kadosh She'en Kamohu," as opposed to the usual text of "Ha'Kel Ha'kadosh She'en Kamohu." There is considerable discussion and debate among the Poskim concerning the case where a Hazan mistakenly recited "Ha'Kel Ha'kadosh" and completed the Beracha before his mistake was noticed. Hacham Ovadia Yosef rules that since this issue is subject to debate, the Hazan does not repeat the Beracha in such a situation. Clearly, however, care must be taken to recite the Beracha properly and to avoid this question. Summary: Different customs exist concerning the Kabbalat Shabbat service on the night of Yom Kippur that falls on Shabbat. The custom in our community is to recite the full Kabbalat Shabbat service as we do every Friday night, omitting only "Bameh Madlikin." When Yom Kippur falls on Shabbat, we recite after the Amida of Arbit "Vayechulu" and "Me'en Sheba." The Hazzan must remember to recite "Ha'Melech Ha'kadosh She'en Kamohu," as opposed to the usual text of "Ha'Kel Ha'kadosh She'en Kamohu." If he mistakenly recited "Ha'Kel Ha'kadosh," he does not repeat the Beracha.

What do we do when the way we feel on the inside doesn't match what we feel we have to project on the outside? Or even more generally, what do we do when our insides don't match our outsides? I was thinking about this recently as I was reading a fascinating New York Times interview with Steve Burns, the actor on Blue's Clues. If you weren't tuned into preschool television in the late 90s and early 2000s, Blues Clues was a show on Nickelodeon wherein the host, Steve Burns, invited little kids to help figure out what Blue the dog had been up to by interpreting Blue's pawprints. On the show, Steve was a gregarious, curious, engaging adult who reveled in the joy of simple discovery. Viewers saw him ensconced in a cozy, cartoon living room and surrounded by friends including the cheery dog, Blue. Viewers saw him as a star—the show became immediately and wildly popular. In its heyday, it was the highest rated American tv show for preschoolers and was syndicated in 120 countries and translated into 15 languages. But, in the interview, Steve shared that his experience on the show was very different. He would show up at work wearing his signature green shirt and walk into a plain blue room. There were no props, no pets, no visual stimulation, no one else—just him, the blue screens, and the cameras. And, because the show was designed to help kids to think creatively and to spark their own problem-solving skills, there wasn't much to the script either. Much of his time was spent asking questions to the air and pretending to hear the responses. It was exhausting and intense. He says his years on the show were some of the loneliest years of his life. And yet, what is so interesting is that he got caught up in the hype of the show. At the time, he didn't recognize what he was feeling. It was only years after he left the show that he began to process what it was like for him then. And it took decades for him to discover that he had been battling undiagnosed clinical depression for all that time. In other words, here is someone who looks like he's having fun and is so happy and fulfilled, who feels exhausted and depressed on the inside, and yet swallows those emotions to get through the day. That dichotomy is one that many of us can relate to. We too sometimes move through the world with seemingly happy smiles and cartoonish well-being that covers up the challenges we are struggling with on the inside. Or we're filled with joy, but our inner happiness is juxtaposed against the world's tsuris in a way that makes us feel like we shouldn't be so happy. Or we're trying to broadcast smart, capable professional all the while we feel on the inside like an imposter and a failure. No matter what the difference is between what other people see and what we feel, the experience of living in multiple realities can feel painful. What do we do with this dichotomy?

Rabbi Richard Address engages with Hazzan Alisa Pomerantz-Boro to explore the profound impact of sacred music in Jewish tradition, particularly during the High Holidays. [Read more...] The post Seekers of Meaning 9/27/2024: High Holy Days Music with Hazzan Alisa Pomerantz-Boro appeared first on Jewish Sacred Aging.

It is customary to conclude the Selihot service with "Kaddish Titkabal," the Kaddish which is normally recited after the repetition of the Amida. This Kaddish includes the phrase, "Titkabal Selot'hon U'ba'ut'hon De'chol Bet Yisrael," in which we ask the Almighty to accept the prayers we had just recited. It is therefore normally reserved for after the Hazzan's repetition of the Amida, and the question arises as to why we recite it following the Selihot service. The Lebush (Rabbi Mordechai Yaffe, 1530-1612) suggests that "Kaddish Titkabal" is indeed an appropriate conclusion to the Selihot service because this service is structured in a manner resembling the normal prayer service. We introduce Selihot with "Ashreh," and some communities add other chapters from Tehilim, as well. This introductory section of Selihot thus parallels "Pesukeh De'zimra," the series of chapters from Tehilim which we recite as the first stage of our daily prayer service. The main body of the Selihot service is the recitation of the "Yag Midot," or thirteen attributes of divine compassion, which, according to the Lebush, parallels the Amida prayer. Thereafter, we recite "Le'David," just as we do following the Amida prayer. Thus, since the Selihot service was structured in this manner, it is only fitting to conclude Selihot with "Kaddish Titkabal," just as we conclude the regular prayer service with this Kaddish. Divergent customs exist concerning the recitation of "Va'ya'abor" and the thirteen attributes of divine mercy in the Selihot service. The practice in the Bet-El Yeshiva in Israel, based on the teachings of Kabbala, is to recite this section four times during the Selihot service, corresponding with the four letters in the Divine Name of "Havaya." We, however, follow the custom to recite this section five times, corresponding with the five books of the Humash. We recite during the Selihot service, "Re'eh Be'oni Amecha Yisrael, Refa Kol Holeh Amecha Yisrael" – "Behold the destitution of Your nation Israel; heal all the ill of Your nation Israel." What connection is there between these two clauses – "the destitution of Your nation Israel," and the request that God "heal all the ill of Your nation Israel"? Rabbi Haim Palachi (Turkey, 1788-1869) explained the connection based on a comment in Masechet Derech Eretz that if one does not give money to charity, then he will ultimately be forced to give money to a physician. The money that a person failed to give to charity, the Sages teach, will be given to cover extra medical costs, Heaven forbid. Accordingly, we cry to the Almighty to "behold the destitution of Your nation Israel," to look upon the charitable donations that we have made. In that merit, we beseech Him to "heal all the ill of Your nation Israel," as the great merit of Sedaka has the power to save us from illness. Summary: It is customary to recite "Kaddish Titkabal" at the conclusion of the Selihot service, since Selihot is structured just like the daily prayer service, in which "Kadidsh Titkabal" is recited after the Amida. The custom in our community is to recite the section of "Va'ya'abor" and the thirteen attributes of mercy five times over the course of the Selihot service.

Our ice maker in our fridge broke again. I called the service line. You know the drill: obnoxious faux classical music, repeated robotic recordings, “we care about your business and will answer your call as soon as possible. Please stay on the line.” Finally my call was answered by a woman who said her name was Jennifer and sounded like she was answering from South Asia. I told her our ice maker saga and once she had gotten all the information, she sai,d “thank you ma'am, I just submitted this request and am waiting for a response from my manager.” “Ok, thanks,” I said. There was silence. Then, since we were waiting on the phone together, I asked, “how's your day going?” There was no response. “Are you there?” I asked. “Yes, I'm here ma'am.” “Oh good,” I said, “How's your day going?” “Ma'am, are you talking to me?” “Yes, of course, who else would I be talking to? I figured as long as we were waiting, we could chat.” “Oh, ma'am, I am so sorry. No one ever talks to me, I just thought that you were talking to someone else. My day is going alright. How is yours?” I was caught off-guard. “Wait, is that true? No one ever asks you about your day? Ever?” “No ma'am. People just call to talk about their refrigerator and most of the time they are very upset.” After the call, and after Jennifer had helpfully sorted my broken ice maker, I couldn't stop thinking about our conversation. What would it be like to be Jennifer? What would it be like to sit in a call center for 12 hours straight, answering calls from angry people who are uniformly short-tempered in a language that is not your own? What would it be like to be called a different name—something that's easier for Americans to pronounce—and to exist unseen—where you literally can only respond with the scripted responses that the company has green-lighted? What would it be like to work in an environment where you never get to share your passions, your interests, or your dreams? Where you are so divorced from amiable human connection that when you hear, “how's your day,” you don't even consider the possibility that someone might be speaking to you?

There's a story that lurks in our family lore. I don't remember anyone ever telling it outright. But it was there. Fuzzy around the edges. Bleeding into every day. When my grandfather was very young, his father died tragically. He went duck hunting, got pneumonia, and, without antibiotics, the infection quickly took his life. My great-grandmother was not only broken-hearted, but also understandably terrified about her future. It was 1927. Women didn't work outside the home except under serious duress. There were no federally funded social safety nets (FDR's New Deal including aid for dependent children wouldn't come for another eight years). Without her husband, my great-grandmother had no idea how she and her young son would survive. My grandfather remembered her anger, her fury that no one stepped up to help her in the ways that she needed, following her husband's sudden passing. She was so upset that she cut off contact with her family. My great-grandmother became a schoolteacher. She was disciplined and determined and raised my grandfather successfully on her meager salary, even managing to save enough for her own retirement. Her dire straits were temporary, but the rift with her family became permanent. My grandfather grew up without connections to his extended family. And when my mom and her siblings were born, they too missed out on relationships with extended family members. This week, the New York Times published a chilling article about a rising trend of elective estrangement that has been building in this country since COVID. Whereas previously individuals might have cut off contact with family out of anger or pain as a last resort, recently “mental health influencers” have been promoting the possibility of liberating oneself from family as a step towards personal growth and healing, sometimes without any attempt to resolve the pain or conflict driving the estrangement in the first place. The stories in the article are harrowing.

Last week I had two meetings that I just can't get out of my head. The first meeting was with an elder who has recently experienced some significant health challenges. He's at an assisted living facility now where he spends his days being wheeled around by an aide, going where they take him and eating what they serve him. His wife passed away years ago. His memory is slipping. He's dealing with significant health challenges. And yet, when I asked him how he's doing, he said, “I am just so lucky.” “So lucky,” I said, “what makes you so lucky? Tell me about your life.”The story he told was just so interesting. He told me about generational pain and trauma. About how his family escaped Poland just in time but lost their entire extended family. He shared about losing his father when he was eleven, and about how his brother became convinced his mother needed to remarry, pushing her to marry a man who turned out to be abusive. He spoke about escaping home and trying to build a life for himself. He talked about losing his wife, about the challenges his children are facing, about his declining health. And yet, it was so amazing—he shared his whole life story with a smile, and punctuated every story with “I am just so lucky.” As I was leaving the assisted living facility, I got a call from a Yisodnik who is struggling. He's 28, just broke up with a partner, working a j.o.b. but not a job that feels meaningful or relevant to who he is, and he just feels like he hasn't had any luck building the kind of life he wants. His takeaway was, “I just haven't found any luck.” For me, the juxtaposition of these conversations was so fascinating.

This week, we laid to rest a pillar of our community, our beloved Channah Berkovits. As we were reflecting with her family about her incredible life, I kept thinking about what a powerful teacher she was for me and for our whole community. Channah radiated positive energy. I remember when I first met her—she was this petite woman dressed in a bright purple suit, who seemed to always be here for every class and every service. Whenever she saw me, she would call me over and would start speaking to me in Hebrew, usually to give me a heartfelt blessing. If I asked her how she was doing, she would always say something positive about how grateful she was to be here, about her wonderful family, about the beautiful day. And she always ended every conversation with her trademark phrase, חיבוק של אהבה. She was so positive that at some point I asked my colleagues if they knew her secret. I remember them saying to me, “I don't know what her secret is, but you should know she is a survivor.” At her funeral, I heard for the first time her story as a young adolescent. She was only thirteen when she was sent on a cattle car to Auschwitz with her mother, her two brothers, and her grandmother. Her mother had heard through the grapevine that Germans were murdering children upon arrival, so she forced Channah to put on all these additional layers of clothing so she would look older. Channah, as an emerging teenager, was not happy with this arrangement. She didn't like having to wear all those extra clothes. It was hot and uncomfortable. And so, when their cattle car arrived at Auschwitz, she ran ahead of her family. When she got to the front of the line, Mengele sent her in the direction of life. Behind her, he sent her family to the gas chambers. It's hard to fathom that kind of intense and immediate loss. What must it have been like for her, at such a young age, to witness such horrible atrocities, to endure such unimaginable suffering? And that was only the beginning.

It is 4:52 PM.  Our flight took off at 4:35 PM.  Eder has finished drinking his milk.  He's done reading books.  He is not tired.  He does not want to sit still.  In seventeen minutes, he has already played with and discarded every toy in the diaper bag.  Now he's screeching.  Solomon and I are passing him back and forth, trying in vain to appease him.  The good news is there are only four hours and twenty-two minutes to go. The woman seated in front of us turns around.  “You know, I think he's hungry,” she says, “have you tried giving him some milk?”  Before I can answer, the woman next to me chimes in, “the problem is you fed him too soon. You should have waited.  Poor thing, his ears must be terribly painful. Put the pacifier in his mouth at least.”  There's a tap on my shoulder.  A grandmother behind me disagrees.  “I think he has gas.  Did you try moving his legs—sometimes that helps to ease their tummies.”  Not to be left out, the woman across the aisle leans over.  “Did you pack any socks for him?  He's cold—look at his bare feet!”  I look at my phone.  4:54 PM. There are only four hours and twenty to go.  There is nothing quite like flying the friendly skies with an eleven-month-old. 4:57 PM the seat belt sign finally turns off.  Solomon stands up and takes Eder to practice walking up and down the aisle.  The grandmothers swoon. He's such a good dad.  Look at him, bent over, walking with the baby.  Awww, he's so cute.  And so lucky to have a such a good dad.  I take out my iPad and begin furiously typing this sermon. For me, the flight was a stark depiction of something I've experienced often since becoming a mother.  Before Eder was born, I was never blamed for someone else's bad mood.  Honestly, there have been plenty of times I've been in public with people who were grumpy or upset, even times when my congenial husband was not the cheeriest.  But at those times, no one would ever suggest that Solomon might be gassy or that I had packed him the wrong clothes.  But now, there is this sense if Eder is upset, it must be something that I either did or didn't do that made him feel that way.  I didn't know this, but there is a right way and a wrong way to mother.  The rule of thumb is whatever you're doing is wrong.

I want to ask you to imagine for a moment that you are one of the Israelites fleeing Egypt. And let's be granular. I want you to imagine that you've been a slave for decades. That your life is dictated by the whims of a cruel pharaoh, that your days are spent lugging huge stones, that you've been separated from your family, kept apart so that you can work harder. I want you to imagine that after decades of hard work, you are tired. Your bones creak. Your muscles are sore. When Moshe tells you that God has heard you, that he's going to get you out, you can't even process that possibility. You can't even catch your breath. You might have stayed in Egypt, and simply enjoyed a few days off, but during this past week, Egypt has become more miserable than ever. You've endured water shortages, frogs, lice, hordes of wild animals, disease, hail, darkness, and widespread destruction. There aren't enough resources to stay. And so, even though walking is the last thing you want to do, you're marching with 3 million Israelites, following some cloud towards a “Promised Land.” After what seems like forever, walking day and night following God's mysterious pillar of clouds and fire, you make it to the Sea of Reeds only to hear Pharaoh's army following behind. Wearily you race ahead, walking through the water on dry land. In terror you watch as Pharaoh's armies give chase, and then with relief you see the waters crash down on them. You're safe. You're exhausted. You're relieved. What do you do?

We continue our journey into Hebraic music by reviewing the role of the Chazzum and other roles within the Synagogue. As well as unpacking the history of Cantoring for the role of the Chazzum and the background of education and use within various forms of worship. My Jewish Learning web links Cantillation; Chanting, or Leying the Bible? https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/cantillation-chanting-the-bible/ Cantoral Music Learning to appreciate Hazzanut Cantorial Music https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/cantorial-music/ What is a Cantor, Hazzan or Chazan? https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/the-cantor/ Bethor.org How to chant the Torah and Haftarah https://www.bethor.org/torah-trope --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/holy-worship/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/holy-worship/support

When Purim falls on Mosa'eh Shabbat (as it does this year), one must ensure not to make any preparations for Purim on Shabbat. Thus, for example, even in places with an Erub, one may not bring the Megila to the synagogue to prepare for the Megila reading. Similarly, one may not prepare Mishloah Manot packages on Shabbat, and the Gabbai may not prepare the Torah scrolls on Shabbat for the Purim reading. It is permissible, however, to review the Megila on Shabbat, even if one is preparing to read it that night, because the reviewing itself constitutes a Misva, as it involves Torah learning. Even in such a case, one should preferably avoid stating outright that he is reviewing the Megila in preparation for the reading on Purim. It should be noted that a Megila is not considered Mukseh, and thus one may read from an actual Megila on Shabbat. It is customary to delay the Arbit service on Mosa'eh Shabbat to allow people the time they need to get to the synagogue. After the Amida prayer in Arbit, the Hazzan recites half-Kaddish, which is followed by Shuba Hashem and Yosheb Be'seter, until but not including Ve'ata Kadosh. At that point, the Megila is read, and Ve'ata Kadosh is read after the reading. According to some opinions, the Beracha of "Boreh Me'oreh Ha'esh" is recited over a flame before the Megila reading. (This is the view of the Hida, in Birkeh Yosef, as cited by the Kaf Ha'haim.) The rest of Habdala, however, according to all opinions, is delayed until after Megila reading, except if one is reading the Megila at home, in which case he should recite Habdala before reading the Megila. Even in such a case, though, he and his family may not eat until after the Megila reading. Those who recited or heard the Beracha over the flame in the synagogue may not recite it again later at home, even if they are reciting Habdala for their wives and children. In such a case, the wife should recite the Beracha herself. Although the obligation of Se'udat Purim (the Purim feast) applies only on Purim day, it is proper to have a meal on the night of Purim in honor of the holiday. This is especially true when Purim falls on Mosa'eh Shabbat, when one in any event is required to eat a Melaveh Malka meal. Therefore, one must exercise particular caution during Se'uda Shelishit to eat moderately so he will be able to eat a Se'uda that night.

Dronme Davis tells a powerful story.  She was nine.  At the time, she had developed the habit of biting her nails until they were raw and sometimes even bleeding.  A teacher told her, in all seriousness, “if you keep biting your nails, one day you're doing to meet a boy and you're going to want him to date you and he's going to be holding your hand and will look down and see how disgusting your hands are and he's not going to want to date you.” Even as a nine-year-old, Dronme knew that there was something very wrong with this picture.  How could it be that her teacher didn't see the pain that she was holding, the pain that was pushing her to self-harm in this way?  How could it be that at nine, she is getting the message that her relationship to her body should be predicated on the perception of a potential partner?  That her body exists to make someone else happy?

March 2, 2024

Helen talks to Siobhan Hazzan, an ordained pastor with the Christian Naturist Fellowship.

The Shulhan Aruch (Orah Haim 128:20; listen to audio recording for precise citation) addresses the question of whether or not a Kohen who serves as Hazzan should recite Birkat Kohanim (the priestly blessing). If other Kohanim are present in the synagogue, the Shulhan Aruch writes, then the Kohen should not participate in the recitation of Birkat Kohanim. The Rama (Rabbi Moshe Isserles, Poland, 152o-1572), in his glosses to the Shulhan Aruch, adds that in this case, nobody should call the Hazzan for Birkat Kohanim, as they call the other Kohanim. It is forbidden for a Kohen to refuse an invitation to recite Birkat Kohanim, and therefore in this case, when Halacha advises the Kohen not to join the other Kohanim in the Beracha, one should not call him for the blessing (such as by saying, "Be'chabod" and the like). The Shulhan Aruch then rules that if no other Kohanim are present in the synagogue, then the Hazzan has the option of reciting Birkat Kohanim. If he feels capable of reciting the Beracha and then returning to the repetition of the Amida without becoming flustered, then he may recite Birkat Kohanim. The Sages allowed him to recite Birkat Kohanim in this case in order that the congregation will not miss an opportunity to receive the Beracha. The Mishna Berura (commentary by Rabbi Yisrael Meir Kagan, 1839-1933) adds that nowadays, when everyone has access to printed Siddurim, it is generally assumed that a Hazzan can easily maintain his composure and will not become flustered after reciting Birkat Kohanim. Nevertheless, if a Kohen feels, for whatever reason, that it would be too confusing to recite Birkat Kohanim and then return to the Amida, then he should not do so. When a Hazzan recites Birkat Kohanim, he must move his feet two steps or so towards the Duchan (area when the Kohanim recite Birkat Kohanim) during the Beracha of "Reseh." Just as all Kohanim in the synagogue are required to make an "Akira" – meaning, to leave their place – when the Hazzan reaches "Reseh," in preparing for the Beracha, so must the Hazzan move his feet slightly if he will be reciting Birkat Kohanim. Even though he is in the middle of reciting the repetition of the Amida, he must nevertheless take a few small steps forward. What more, the Shulhan Aruch writes that the Kohen should actually move to the front of the synagogue for Birkat Kohanim in this case. However, if this would cause the Hazzan confusion, or if he might begin speaking as a result of moving from his place, then he may recite Birkat Kohanim in his place (but he must nevertheless make an "Akira"). In such a case, those sitting toward the front of the synagogue must ensure not to stand in front of the Hazzan. When the Hazzan recites Birkat Kohanim, somebody else calls out the words of the Beracha. The Shulhan Aruch maintains that if this situation was foreseen in advance, then the person assigned to call out the words of Birkat Kohanim should listen very attentively to the Hazzan's repetition, and then complete the repetition in the Hazzan's place after Birkat Kohanim. This is not, however, the practice nowadays. Rather, the Hazzan himself completes the repetition after Birkat Kohanim. If the Hazzan in this situation chooses not to recite Birkat Kohanim, then somebody else from the congregation should recite the paragraph of "Elokenu V'Elokeh Abotenu Barechenu…," since a Kohen is not permitted to recite this paragraph. This ruling is mentioned by Hacham David Yosef, in his work Halacha Berura. In general, it is preferable for a Kohen not to serve as Hazzan. Birkat Kohanim fulfills a Torah obligation, and is thus afforded greater importance than serving as a Hazzan, which, though certainly very admirable, does not have the status of a Torah-ordained Misva. A Kohen should therefore not serve as Hazzan, which might cause him to miss the opportunity to fulfill the Misva of Birkat Kohanim. There is more room to allow a Kohen to serve as Hazzan on Shabbat, since Birkat Kohanim is recited at both Shaharit and Musaf, so he will still have the opportunity to recite the Beracha once that day. During the week, however, it is preferable to choose a non-Kohen to serve as Hazzan. Summary: A Kohen who serves as Hazzan does not join the other Kohanim for Birkat Kohanim. For this reason, it is preferable for a Kohen not to serve as Hazzan. If there are no other Kohanim in the synagogue, then the Hazzan does recite Birkat Kohanim, unless he is concerned that this will undermine his ability to focus on properly reciting the repetition of the Amida.

The Shulhan Aruch (Orah Haim 128:8) writes that the Kohanim must begin making their way toward the Duchan (place where they recite Birkat Kohanim) as soon as the Hazzan begins the Beracha of "Reseh." He emphasizes that regardless of when they will actually arrive at the Duchan, they must make an "Akira" – meaning, lift their feet and begin heading toward the Duchan – when the Hazzan recites the word "Reseh." If a Kohen did not make an "Akira" when the Hazzan recited the word "Reseh," he may still do so until the Hazzan recites the word "Modim," at the beginning of the subsequent Beracha. So long as a Kohen left his place at some point before the Hazzan recited the word "Modim," he may participate in Birkat Kohanim. Of course, as mentioned, it is preferable for a Kohen to leave his place immediately when the Hazzan recites the word "Reseh." Both Kohanim and Hazzanim should be aware of this Halacha. Kohanim should make a point of heading toward the front of the synagogue as soon as the Hazzan recites "Reseh," and the Hazzan, for his part, should slow the pace somewhat before reciting "Modim" to ensure that all the Kohanim make their "Akira" in time. Kohanim generally wash their hands before going to the Duchan for Birkat Kohanim. If a Kohen suspects that if he leaves to wash his hands he will not have time to make an "Akira" before the Hazzan begins "Modim," then he should preferably begin walking toward the Duchan after the Hazzan recites "Reseh" and then go wash his hands. This way he ensures to make his "Akira" in time so that he can participate in Birkat Kohanim. Summary: The Kohanim should begin walking toward the front of the synagogue for Birkat Kohanim as soon as the Hazzan begins the Beracha of "Reseh." If a Kohen did not begin walking at that point, then so long as he did so before the Hazzan began the Beracha of "Modim," he may participate in Birkat Kohanim. But if a Kohen did not begin walking toward the place of Birkat Kohanim until after the Hazzan recited the word "Modim," he may not participate in Birkat Kohanim.

Halacha requires facing the direction of Eretz Yisrael while reciting the Amida. In the United States, of course, one must face toward the east. It should be noted that this Halacha applies only to a person reciting the Amida. During the Hazzan's repetition, the other congregants listening to the repetition are not required to face toward the east. If a person realized while reciting the Amida that he is facing the wrong direction, should he turn his body to face the east? The Halacha in this case depends on which direction the person faces. If he faces to the north or south, then he should continue the Amida in his current position, but turn his head toward the east. If, however, he is facing west, with his back to the east, then he must, in fact, turn around to face the east, even though he is in the middle of the Amida. Similarly, if a person sees his fellow reciting the Amida toward the west, he should draw his attention to this fact and have him turn around to face the proper direction. The Gemara in Masechet Baba Batra comments, "One who seeks wisdom shall turn to the south; one who seeks wealth shall turn to the north." In the Mishkan and the Bet Ha'mikdash, the Menora, the symbol of Torah wisdom, was positioned along the south wall, while the Shulhan (table), which represents material prosperity, was situated to the north. The Gemara thus advises one who seeks Torah knowledge to turn to the south during prayer in order to draw from the influence of the Menora, whereas one who desires wealth should turn to the north, the side of the Shulhan. Needless to say, this comment does not conflict with the well-known Halacha requiring a person to face the direction of Eretz Yisrael while he recites the Amida. Rather, it means that one who so wishes can turn slightly to northeast or southeast during the Amida in an effort to obtain either wealth or Torah knowledge, respectively. Summary: If a person realizes during the Amida that he is facing toward the north or south, rather than to the east, the direction of Eretz Yisrael (in the United States), he should remain in his current position but turn his head to the east. If he realizes he is facing the west, he should turn around to stand in the proper position. The Talmud teaches that one who seeks Torah wisdom should turn slightly to the south during the Amida, and one who seeks wealth should turn slightly to the north.

January 27, 2024

My grandfather was a curmudgeon, especially this time of year. He would start to get grumpy mid-November, when Christmas lights started going up around town and his mood would really sour after Thanksgiving when retailers began blasting Christmas carols. Then a simple trip to the grocery store would send him muttering angrily under his breath up and down the aisles and then all the way home. His mood wouldn't improve until February when the last decorations were finally packed away. I never fully understood what exactly my grandfather had against Christmas, but I somehow unconsciously adopted some of his feelings. For a long time, Christmas music at the mall or at grocery stores would put me on edge. Christmas lights made me think about climate change. And if anyone wished me a Merry Christmas, I would rush to explain I don't celebrate but that I hope they had a good holiday season. But then something shifted.

October 1, 2023

Recently I've become obsessed with the reality show Alone. The premise is that 10 survivalists are dropped in the wilds of Alaska or Patagonia or Mongolia with only the clothes on their back, 10 tools, and camera gear to document their experiences. It's wild to watch. They build primitive shelters and hunt with bows and arrows. There is a lot of ingenuity, but there is also a lot of suffering. A lot of shivering through cold nights, a lot of hunger, a lot of loneliness. And what's so interesting for me is that every season, there is this refrain that you hear from the contestants. They'll say, “I'm miserable. I'm lonely; I'm hungry; I'm tired; I'm cold. I wish I could just go home and eat good food in a warm room with my family. But I'm not a quitter. I'm not going to quit.” How do we understand this ethos? I am miserable. I am cold and tired and hungry. What I am doing is actively making me unhappy. And yet, because I committed to this thing, because I said I would, because our culture frowns upon quitting, I'm going to stick it out. No matter what.

  In previous episodes, the Maggid of Melbourne discussed how the Hazzan should approach the lectern, examining the question of whether one should step up or down. What about when the Kohanim come forward to lead the priestly blessing? Must … Read the rest The post Exploring Sacred Spaces Ep. 4: Stepping up to Offer Blessings first appeared on Elmad Online Learning. Continue reading Exploring Sacred Spaces Ep. 4: Stepping up to Offer Blessings at Elmad Online Learning.

  Join the Maggid of Melbourne as he continues his exploration of where the Hazzan (prayer leader) stands as he leads prayers. Levi brings in a tale of a Hasidic man who ties himself to the lectern during their service, … Read the rest The post Exploring Sacred Spaces Ep. 3: Tied to the Lectern – A Hasidic Tale first appeared on Elmad Online Learning. Continue reading Exploring Sacred Spaces Ep. 3: Tied to the Lectern – A Hasidic Tale at Elmad Online Learning.

  In this second episode of “Exploring Sacred Spaces,” the Maggid of Melbourne shares insights into the bimah and how we approach it. How is the Hazzan supposed to approach or descend, and what are the practical and spiritual implications?… Read the rest The post Exploring Sacred Spaces Ep. 2: Small Steps for Prayer Leaders first appeared on Elmad Online Learning. Continue reading Exploring Sacred Spaces Ep. 2: Small Steps for Prayer Leaders at Elmad Online Learning.

When I was home for Thanksgiving this year, my mom and I were going through some old boxes at the bottom of a closet when we came across a bag of colorful fabrics.  “What's this?” I asked my mom. With a funny look on her face, my mom took the bag and started looking through it.  “This is the quilt I was going to make you when you were a baby.” Apparently, when I was born, my mom didn't want to just be a stay-at-home caretaker.  She wanted to feel productive.  To be able to show something beyond a growing baby for the time she was spending at home.  Naturally, she decided to make a baby quilt.  She went to the fabric store and picked out a book of quilt patterns, she bought fabric and washed it, and then every day, when she would put me down for a nap, she would go and work on that quilt.  It all seemed to be going well until it came time to put the squares together.  Then, somehow, they wouldn't fit.  At the time, my mom was so sleep-deprived that she couldn't figure out how to make it work.  She threw those squares into a bag in frustration, and that bag of fabric squares and scraps has been sitting at the bottom of her closet for the last 33 years. When it was time to head back to Boston, I absconded with the bag intending to finish the quilt my mom started all those years ago.  I thought it would be a beautiful surprise for her and a gift for our baby—a quilt made over two generations.  I didn't realize the quilt would come to teach me about what it means to honor legacy and to transmit values over the course of generations.

This weeks guest is the wonderful Heather Hazzan! Heather is based out of NYC where she got her start in modeling which led her behind the camera. Working with legends like Selma Blair, Pamela Anderson and Ethan Hawke we are just obsessed with her photography! This is a great episode we can't wait for you to hear!Thanks so much for coming on the show!Make sure to check out Heathers work below:https://www.instagram.com/heatherhazzan/https://heatherhazzan.com/Love the show?! Make a one time donation!https://app.redcircle.com/shows/92bf9085-a91e-49f6-81b8-5b651b52ba3f/donationsHelp support the show by joining our Patreon!!!Get early access to our episodes every Monday 2 Days early!!!https://www.patreon.com/analogtalkAnd don't forget to follow us on Instagramhttps://www.instagram.com/analogtalkpodcast/https://www.instagram.com/timothymakeups/https://www.instagram.com/chrisbphoto/Thanks so much guys and we will see you next week!Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/analog-talk/exclusive-contentAdvertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

Lhakpa Sherpa grew up impoverished in the shadow of Mount Everest.  Her father worked as a shepherd and her mother raised her along with her ten siblings.  They were dirt poor.  So poor that they couldn't afford to buy shoes for the children, let alone to send Lhakpa to school.  Instead, she spent her days wandering barefoot through the mountains. Ever since she was little, Lhakpa has had one dream: she wanted to climb Mount Everest.  At the time, women were not welcome to try.  Every climber was male, every Sherpa porter was male, and even the thought of a woman trying to climb Mount Everest was enough to make experienced mountaineers laugh out loud.  When Lhakpa was about 15, she started hanging around base camp and begging the Sherpa porters there to give her a chance.  She spent two years pleading, begging, lobbying, and trying to persuade them before Babu Chhiri Sherpa, a legend in his own right who once spent a record-breaking 21 hours on the top of Mount Everest without oxygen, agreed to give her a chance. She quickly rose through the ranks.  She started as a regular porter, just carrying wealthy tourists' oxygen canisters and tents and supplies and then became a “kitchen boy.”  She would rise before the tourists, hike with all the supplies to the next base camp, set up camp, and then cook dinner all so that when the tourists arrived, they could have a hot meal and go to sleep. But that wasn't enough for Lhakpa.

How can you make sure to have the most meaningful and impactful Passover? Is it about preparation? The extent to which you clean out every cabinet and kasher your kitchen? Is it about the Seder itself—the Haggadah you choose and the activities you plan for the Seder? In the spring of 2014, I was in my second year of rabbinical school and got a gig as a cruise-ship rabbi. Given that this was my first real gig as a rabbi, I was determined to create the most meaningful Passover experience ever. I researched for months leading up to Pesach and put together a folder of midrashim and teachings for every part of the Seder. Little did I know what the cruise had in store for me.....

This week, we are reading Parshat Mishpatim. This Torah portion is all about rules and regs. After the revelation, God spells out in minute detail what the people should do and how they should behave. It's not a conversation, not open to interpretation, the laws are given without explanation and the people simply accept them. They say, na'aseh v'nishmah—we will do what God says and then we will seek to understand what we are doing and why. So often, this is how we engage with our world. That is how law enforcement agents get into trouble. They get so hooked on forcing people to behave in a certain way, so focused on doing rather than thinking, that they lose track of what is appropriate force and end up causing harm rather than maintaining order. It happens in the classroom too. Recently, I was speaking with a family. Their child had come up with a creative way to solve a math equation. Their methodology wasn't the same as what was being taught, but it worked. Every answer they wrote on their worksheet was right. But the teacher gave them a 0 for the assignment. Why? Because the way they did the work was different than what the teacher had taught. And the teacher wanted them to follow the rules—na'aseh v'nishmah. When we receive rules and follow them in this way, there is a strength. It saves mental energy. Na'aseh v'nishma means you don't have to evaluate every given situation. You just do, you follow the rules, you get through the day, and you save your mental energy for the projects and ideas you care about most. But there is another way to engage with rules and with law that is revealed in the book of Vayikra. God says וּשְׁמַרְתֶּ֤ם אֶת־חֻקֹּתַי֙ וְאֶת־מִשְׁפָּטַ֔י אֲשֶׁ֨ר יַעֲשֶׂ֥ה אֹתָ֛ם הָאָדָ֖ם וָחַ֣י בָּהֶ֑ם you shall guard my laws and ordinances and you shall live by them. In other words, rules aren't just limits that are intended to be followed without thought. In an ideal world, the process of following rules, of affirming societal norms, should enhance and sustain our lives.

View the sheet music here!

In November, a woman posted the following thread to Twitter: “Several guys moved in next door, students I guess. And I've gotten two confused DoorDash drivers for them in the last week, and their trash can was completely overflowing with pizza boxes. I don't think they cook. I am feeling such a strange motherly urge to feed these boys.” A minute later, she posted that she had decided to bring over a pot of chili when the weather cooled down over the weekend as a kind, neighborly gesture. When I first saw the post, I was touched. In my mind, we all live in these disconnected universes, especially after COVID, and the idea that someone would notice what others were throwing away and would care enough to cook for strangers—I found that to be sweet. But that's not how others interpreted the post. This kind woman was trolled. Her initial post was retweeted 556 times with acerbic and vitriolic commentary. People accused her of “imposing” her life preferences on others, of being condescending, of being “presumptuous.” One wrote, “IDK how I would feel if a stranger came to my house with a meal I didn't ask for.” Others took it even farther. In their eyes, she was “coddling,” and encouraging “man-child behavior.” Maybe, they wrote, this was her sick way of assuaging her “White savior” complex. As is the way of the internet, the thread went viral.

For the past few years, 5th grade has been my sweet spot teaching religious school. To be honest, I think 10 is the perfect age. They're just beginning to think of themselves as individuals, and just beginning to access abstract thought. Because they're still kids, they haven't learned the teenage trick of looking bored and disconnected at all times. They'll squeal with delight when you share a cool story, and they are so full of energy and joy. I love teaching 5th grade. But this year, my class has put me to the test. Renowned child-psychiatrist, Foster Cline, used to say that any kid worth their salt will test your boundaries. Let's just say my class this year is worth a lot of salt. Teaching them feels like playing verbal whack-a-mole

I love Thanksgiving. It's a little early, I know. But every year, November comes, and all I can think about is Thanksgiving. I'm going to see my family soon. We're going to eat turkey and cranberry sauce green beans and sweet potatoes and pies…there was the year I almost got stopped by TSA for bringing too many pies back…I didn't know they're considered a liquid. I love all the sweet memories I have of Thanksgivings from my childhood, when we used to gather in my Aunt Vanessa and Uncle Allan's restaurant, the River Sage, in Evergreen, Colorado or at my grandparents table with the giant mirror. Four years ago, I loved Thanksgiving even more when Solomon proposed to me, and we got to celebrate our engagement with my whole family in Colorado. I loved Thanksgiving three years ago because we were just married and reveling in the blessing of getting to celebrate with everyone we love. This year, every time I think of Thanksgiving I want to cry. After so many months of infertility purgatory, this year we get to go home to Colorado with our little PB—that's what we're calling our little one before they make their appearance this spring. Thanksgiving has never felt sweeter. And then, the other day, while scrolling through Hulu, I came across Padma Lakshmi's new show, Taste the Nation. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, Hulu suggested I watch an episode filmed right here in Martha's Vineyard called “Truth and the Turkey Tale.” The show was incredibly powerful.

Erin Alexander sat crying in her car in the Target parking lot. Her beloved sister-in-love had just passed away suddenly, and she was overwhelmed with grief. When the worst of it had passed, she wiped away her tears and decided to stop by Starbucks to get some green tea before attempting to complete her errand. As soon as she opened the Starbucks door, she could tell the barista was not having a good day. She kept explaining to customers that the espresso machine was broken and was trying her best to accommodate their caffeine requirements with workarounds, but was clearly stressed and struggling to keep up. When it was her turn in line, Erin smiled as brightly as she could and told the barista to “hang in there.” A few minutes later, when she picked up her iced green tea, she was surprised to see a message scrawled on the side of the cup. “Erin,” it read, “your soul is golden.” That barista didn't know her sister-in-love had died, she didn't know how rough it had been to get through every day or the strength it was taking just to face an errand to Target, but that message meant everything to Erin. As she shared recently with the New York Times, “that little thing made the rest of my day.”

In Season 3, Episode 1 of the empowerME Conversations podcast, host and Atlantic Council empowerME Chairman Amjad Ahmad speaks with Palestine Minister of State for Entrepreneurship and Empowerment H.E. Osama Al Saadawi and guest co-host Ibtikar Fund Managing General Partner Habib Hazzan about the challenges facing Palestine's entrepreneurial ecosystem, the private sector's role in promoting economic growth, and strategies to expose local entrepreneurs to global markets.Key Takeaways0:00 Intro1:46 H.E. Osama Al Saadawi gave an overview of entrepreneurs in Palestine's day-to-day, especially in regard to increasing threats of occupation and the restriction of movement11:34 H.E. Al Saadawi discussed the processes of integrating markets within Palestine and the Palestinian government's push to cluster enablers for market efficiency15:50 H.E. Al Saadawi examined the recently passed Start-up Act Law, because the Palestinian Companies Law did not address entrepreneurship or startup needs.17:15 Habib Hazzan argued that the severed access of Palestine to other markets and communities is the primary obstacle to economic growth in the West Bank and Gaza.20:55 Hazzan explained the current funding Palestine has received and will receive from external sources to promote entrepreneurship, highlighting World Bank programs, Intersect Innovation Hub, and Flow Accelerator as well as angel investors. Hazzan also discussed the need to engage more deeply with the Palestinian diaspora.25:40 H.E. Al Saadawi emphasized the need for investors to see a very clear enabling environment for business and underscores the Palestinian government's push to develop regulations and laws that convince businesses to expand in Palestine.34:30 H.E. Al Saadawi underscored that with an increased level of confidence in regulations and with enough exposure, then startups in Palestine will attract investors. He cited studies that the contribution of money to the success of startups globally does not exceed 24 percent.37:02 Hazzan explained that recently the Israeli government has been piloting a program where they give permits to Palestinian engineers to work directly in Israel.40:30 H.E. Al Saadawi discussed the Palestinian Coding Academy as a successful example of improving Palestine's IT sector.45:16 H.E. Al Saadawi referenced that many government employees in Palestine are female and emphasized that while the government is committed, the private sector, usually family businesses, often center men, and females cannot benefit in all cases from such businesses.Quotes mentioned by H.E. Osama Al Saadawi“...create an ecosystem that will convince the private sector that we have an investment pipeline environment in Palestine that will be of success.”“I think this is our role mainly to open the road for the private sector as a government.”Guest Social Media Linkshttps://www.linkedin.com/in/usama-sadawi-59751341/https://www.linkedin.com/in/habib-hazzan-658a2a3/

In 1961, Sandy Greenberg was wallowing in despair. Up until that moment, his life had been full of promise. He was brilliant, musical, and athletic. In high school, he was elected president of the student council and of his senior class, upon graduation, he won a full scholarship to Columbia University in New York and was pursuing his dreams of becoming a lawyer. He had close friends and was dating the love of his life, whom he had met in the 6th grade. But in 1961, Sandy felt like all the promise of his life had abandoned him. For years, ophthalmologists had failed to diagnose his vision challenges correctly, resulting in a botched treatment that hastened the deterioration of his remaining vision and forced doctors to perform a surgery which ironically saved his eyeballs while destroying what remained of his sight. Sandy was deeply depressed. He left college, moved back home to Buffalo, gave up on his dreams of becoming a lawyer, and had resigned himself to being a burden on his family for the rest of his life. But suddenly, out of the blue, his best friend and college roommate, Art, showed up at his door.

Serena Williams. Everyone, even the most sports illiterate, knows Serena Williams. Ever since she hit the professional stage in 1996, she has dazzled the world with her strength, skill, determination, and success. She won her first Grand Slam at 17, spent 319 weeks—more than 6 years—ranked as the No. 1 player in the world by the Women's Tennis Association, has held all four Grand Slam titles at the same time twice, and has won more matches than all but 4 women in the history of tennis—and achieved that even though she would often turn down matches for which she qualified so she could focus on Grand Slams. For me and so many other women, Serena has been not only a great tennis player, but also a very personal she-ro. As a young woman, I remember watching her, thinking about how amazing it was that she wasn't afraid to be strong. She wore clothes that highlighted her muscles, that made her look like a superhero, and avoided outfits designed to be sexy. She was aggressive on the court and didn't try to modulate her behavior to fit within a cultural norm of demure femininity. On and off the court, she was always laser-focused and clear, and as a teenager, I was most struck by the fact that people liked her not because she was trying to be someone else, but because she was comfortable in her own skin and people are drawn to those who have confidence. Last week, Serena published an article in Vogue Magazine announcing that after decades of dominating the tennis world, she has decided to evolve and will soon stop playing tennis professionally. The article, titled “Serena Williams Says Farewell to Tennis On Her Own Terms—And In Her Own Words” made me think this was one more classic Serena Slam—a powerhouse woman who was moving on to another powerful vista and chapter of life with confidence and joy. I was surprised to learn just how much pain and vulnerability is wrapped up in this choice.

Hazzan Basya and Kohenet Elana Brody singing from our Kol Nidre 5782 services.

Hazzan Basya and Kohenent Elana Brody singing from our Yom Kippur 5782 services.

During the period of the Three Weeks (from Shiba Asar Be'Tammuz through Tisha B'Ab) one should refrain from listening to music, both live music and music played over the radio or other electronic devices. It is proper to have children refrain from listening music, once they have reached the age of Hinuch (training in Misva observance). However, music may be played – even live music – when there is a celebration involving a Misva, such as a Berit Mila, a Pidyon Ha'ben, a Siyum Masechet, or a Bar Misva. Singing without musical accompaniment is permitted, and certainly, a Hazzan is allowed to sing during the prayer service, and a person who is learning Torah is allowed to chant the words he studies in a melody. It goes without saying that singing Pizmonim and the like is permitted on the Shabbatot of the Three Weeks.(Based on Hacham Ovadia Yosef's Yehaveh Da'at, 6:37; listen to audio recording for precise citation)Summary: One should refrain from listening to live or recorded music during the Three Weeks, except at a Misva celebration (such as a Berit Mila, Siyum or Bar Misva), though singing without music is permissible.

On Thursday, the Supreme Court struck down a New York law which required citizens to demonstrate “proper cause” to carry a firearm in public. Yesterday the Supreme Court struck down Roe v. Wade. Next week, the Court will hear West Virginia v. Environmental Protection Agency and will almost certainly strike down the right of the EPA enact rules to limit greenhouse gas emissions and to fight climate change. Whatever your political affiliation, whomever you voted for in these past elections, we should all be concerned about these decisions.

It's time to talk about time. And trees! We're back in the flow of the weekday Amidah, exploring the sixth of the middle petitionary blessings. We get into the connection between time and land, being “farmer-adjacent,” giving the earth a voice, and the shmita year of land-rest. Plus, an interview with Hazzan Jessi Roemer about t'fillah, shmita, and her beautiful song “Seij Años.” Support us on ko-fi! Membership tiers are now live. There are fun perks to be had! To support the show without perks, you can make a tax-deductible donation here. And please rate, subscribe, and share! It means the world to us, and we are so grateful. Thank you! Be sure to check out this week's Transcript And show notes And follow us on facebook and instagram @thelight.lab

The Ben Ish Hai (Rabbi Yosef Haim of Baghdad, 1833-1909), in Parashat Vayehi, addresses the issue of standing during Kaddish (listen to audio recording for precise citation). He writes that if one was standing when Kaddish began, then he must remain standing until the end of "Yeheh Shemeh Rabba Mebarach…" For example, when the Hazzan recites Kaddish after the Amida or after Hallel, the congregation is already standing, and they should therefore remain standing until after the response of "Yeheh Shemeh Rabba." If a person had been sitting when Kaddish began, he may, according to Sephardic custom, remain seated. (This is contrast to the practice of the Ashkenazim, who always stand for Kaddish.)We should add that this Halacha applies also on Friday night, when the Hazzan recites Kaddish after the "Me'en Sheba." Unfortunately, many people rush to sit down before the Hazzan begins Kaddish, so that they could remain seated during the Kaddish. This is improper. Since they had already been standing, they should remain standing until at least the end of the response of "Yeheh Shemeh Rabba."The Ben Ish Hai then proceeds to caution against reciting Kaddish unnecessarily. Just as Halacha discourages the recitation of a "Beracha She'ena Sericha" – a Beracha that one did not have to recite – similarly, a Minyan should not recite Kaddish simply for the sake of reciting Kaddish. The exception to this rule, the Ben Ish Hai notes, is reciting Kaddish after learning Torah. After a group studies Humash or Tanach, they recite "Kaddish Yeheh Shelama," and after studying Torah She'be'al Pe (the Oral Law – Mishna or Gemara), they recite "Kaddish De'Rabbanan." The Ben Ish Hai writes that in Baghdad, after groups would finish studying Torah She'be'al Pe and recite "Kaddish De'Rabbanan," they would then recite some Tehillim followed by "Kaddish Yeheh Shelama." This is our practice, as well, on the night of Shabuot and the night of Hoshana Rabba, and this is certainly acceptable. In other contexts, however, it is inappropriate to conduct extra Kaddish recitations unnecessarily.Summary: One who was standing when the Hazzan began reciting Kaddish must remain standing until the end of "Yeheh Shemeh Rabba Mebarach"; otherwise, he may sit during Kaddish. A congregation should not recite Kaddish unnecessarily, though they may study or recite Tehillim and the like in order to then recite "Kaddish Yeheh Shelama," as is customarily done on Shabuot and Hoshana Rabba.

April 22, 2022