Shabbat Hol Ha-mo'ed Sukkot, Exodus 33:12 - 34:26

This week's parashah has been generously sponsored in loving memory of Meryl Gardner's mother, Harriet H. Cohen. Kolel is grateful to Meryl for her ongoing support and appreciates its weekly sponsors.

The firmest walls are the ones we build around ourselves as protection from the elements that might hurt us emotionally or intellectually.

Last week, the Torah portion for Yom Kippur dealt with the annual ritual cleaning of God's house. Seven days later, on Shabbat Hol Ha-mo'ed Sukkot, we're still dealing with real estate as we spend time in the sukkah, the temporary shelter that is one of the symbols of Sukkot. Interestingly, there is no mention of the sukkah in the special reading for this Shabbat. The only allusion to the holiday is towards the end of the reading, which deals with the pilgrimage festivals: You shall observe the Feast of Weeks, of the first fruits of the wheat harvest; and the Feast of Ingathering (hag ha-asif) at the turn of the year. (Exodus 34:22) It is in the reading for the first two days of Sukkot that reference is made to the temporary dwellings: On the fifteenth day of this seventh month there shall be the Feast of Booths (hag ha-sukkot) to Adonai, [to last] seven days. (Leviticus 23:34)

To quote Peggy Lee: "Is that all there is?" One verse about gathering the harvest at the end of the year – and that is the reason we read from the Book of Exodus this Shabbat? Is there nothing else that connects the portion to the holiday? Well, a few verses from Exodus 34 will sound familiar. Known in Jewish tradition as the thirteen attributes of God, these words play a big role in the liturgy of the High Holy Days, beginning with Selichot and are found in the liturgy for the pilgrimage festivals as well: Adonai passed before him and proclaimed: "Adonai! Adonai! a God compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, extending kindness to the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity, transgression, and sin…." (Exodus 34:6-7)

What we have here is part of an amazing exchange between God and Moses. The power in this exchange derives from the fact that it takes places shortly after the incident of the Golden Calf. This week's special parashah begins with Moses making a request of God: "See, You say to me, 'Lead this people forward,' but You have not made known to me whom You will send with me. Further, You have said, 'I have singled you out by name, and you have, indeed, gained My favor.' Now, if I have truly gained Your favor, pray let me know Your ways, that I may know You and continue in Your favor. (Exodus 33:12-13) God promises to be with Moses, to go in the lead and to lighten his burden. But that was not the heart of Moses' request, and he blurts out: "Oh, let me behold Your Presence!"

These words that Moses speaks are heart-wrenching. He is leading a people who have just experienced a spiritual meltdown that has nearly destroyed their relationship with God. They could not relate to this unseen God and created an idolatrous symbol, the Golden Calf, which gave them security. Their leader pleaded for their lives. Now, he too admits that he is in crisis: Moses, too, needs to see God. His confession comes at a time when the covenantal relationship between God and Israel is in a very fragile state. Moses has already smashed the tablets of the covenant; his request might very well tear the delicate cord that is still connecting God and Israel. If the leader cannot accept the terms of the covenant, what hope is there for the people?

But God uses this as an opportunity to repair the breach, telling Moses to carve another set of tablets, go back up Sinai, and there part of Moses' request will be fulfilled. God will pass before Moses, but Moses cannot see all of God's presence, just the "back." Furthermore, the entire situation is also physically dangerous to Moses. Thus God will protect Moses by placing him in the cleft of a rock and shielding him.

The exchange between Moses and God in Exodus 33:12-34:10 is raw, delicate, and honest. This dialogue takes place at a moment of great vulnerability; the entire relationship between God and Israel is at stake. Nothing is hidden; everything is laid bare.

This exposure is what ties the portion to Sukkot. The firmest walls are the ones we build around ourselves as protection from the elements that might hurt us emotionally or intellectually. The greater the possibility of upset, the thicker the walls we construct. Those we love the most have the potential to hurt us most deeply, as we can cause them great injury as well; and it is in these relationships that the stakes are highest. It is at such a fragile moment that the encounter between God and Moses occurs. The dialogue between Moses and the Divine models for us the possibility of strengthening a relationship when it is most vulnerable. A breach in the wall does not herald destruction, but an opportunity for construction.

Sukkot reminds us that ultimate security is found not within the walls of our home but in the presence of God and one another. Indeed, there is a midrash that says that sukkot are not buildings at all but the glory of God. This holiday helps us understand that sometimes the walls we build to protect us serve instead to divide us, cut us off, lock us in.

The walls of our sukkot may make us vulnerable, but they make us available, too, to receive the kindness and the support of one another, to hear when another calls out in need, to poke our heads in to see whether anybody is up for a chat and a cup of coffee. In contrast, our walls of concrete and steel can enslave us in our own solitude and loneliness. Sukkot reminds us that freedom is enjoyed best not when we are hidden away behind our locked doors but rather when we are able to open our homes and our hearts to one another. (Rabbi Nina Beth Cardin, The Tapestry of Jewish Time: A Spiritual Guide to Holidays and Lifecycle Events)

It is only because the relationship between God and Israel is so deep that it could reach such a crisis situation. Yet the very pain of the trauma provides an opening for a complete healing, a renewed understanding. But that means taking a chance. Sukkot is about reaching out towards that opening and taking that chance. The firmest foundations in our lives are not the buildings in which we live, but the relationships we establish.

In just a few days we will start reading the Torah all over again. The book of Genesis is filled with examples of our beloved ancestors stumbling through relationships. Jacob, fearing for his life, runs away from his brother Esau. Decades later Jacob returns. In an incredibly moving passage in Parashat Vayishlach, Jacob first struggles with God and then faces the challenge of meeting his brother. And then what? … Jacob journeyed on to Sukkot, and built a house for himself and made stalls for his cattle; that is why the place was called Sukkot. (Genesis 33:17) The first mention of Sukkot in the Torah is not a description of the pilgrimage festival for the people Israel; it is the place where one man finds himself after reconciliation and redemption.

And you thought all this relationship stuff ended with Yom Kippur. Guess again! Sukkot is the holiday of redemption: One more chance. We eagerly anticipate dwelling in a sukkah, knowing we might experience the wind and cold, but also the warmth of the sun and the beauty of the night sky. Are we ready to step into an emotional sukkah - susceptible to hurt but accessible to healing? More than fragile, the sukkah is pliable, teaching us that we too can be giving and forgiving in our relationships.

This is z'man simchateinu, the season of our joy. Jacob struggled with God, reconciled with his brother, and then experienced the joy of Sukkot. Moses learns in our portion that the greatest bond can come after the most shattering experience. In following their examples, we too can delight in Sukkot in all its forms.

Mo'adim le-simcha and Shabbat shalom,
MS

Yom Kippur, Leviticus 16:1-34

This week's parashah has been generously sponsored in loving memory of Meryl Gardner's mother, Harriet H. Cohen. Kolel is grateful to Meryl for her ongoing support and appreciates its weekly sponsors.

Since the world is sustained through human actions and interactions, it is in our relationships to others to that the greatest infractions of holiness occur.

This is a special Shabbat, the holiest day of the year, the Sabbath of Sabbaths: Yom Kippur. An old tradition explains that during ten days of teshuvah (repentance) we draw nearer to heaven; on Yom Kippur, God draws nearer to us. No wonder this is the most important day in the Jewish calendar.

The Day of Atonement has its own Torah portions, one for the morning and one for the afternoon. In traditionalist congregations, these are Leviticus 16 and Leviticus 18, and in Reform congregations they are selections from Deuteronomy 30 and Leviticus 19. The latter is also the alternative reading in a number of Conservative congregations.

Our focus this week will be on the traditional morning reading, Leviticus 16, which describes the offerings that Aaron, the High Priest, is to bring before God as atonement for his sins, the sins of his household and of the entire community. In addition, this chapter describes the scapegoat ritual. And so, without further ado…

Housecleaning: You either love it or hate it. However you feel about it, it is a necessity of life. If, or in some cases, when, the chores don't get done – the dust bunnies turn to dirt monsters, the laundry takes over an entire room, or the mail piles up on the dining room table so there is no room to eat – life becomes chaotic. How embarrassing to have someone drop by!

Leviticus 16 is about maintaining a proper home. Not just any home, but God's home. Obviously, this is an important and crucial task. To understand why, we must put ourselves in a Levitical mindset.

This third book of the Torah is permeated with the idea and ideal of holiness. Holiness is a separate realm which can be dangerous if not handled correctly. The very first verse of the Yom Kippur reading is evidence of this: Adonai spoke to Moses after the death of the two sons of Aaron who died when they drew too close to the presence of Adonai. The events surrounding the deaths of Aaron's sons are recounted in Leviticus 10: Now Aaron's sons Nadab and Abihu each took his fire pan, put fire in it, and laid incense on it; and they offered before Adonai alien fire, which God had not enjoined upon them. And fire came forth from Adonai and consumed them; thus they died at the instance of Adonai. Basically, they didn't follow directions and made an offering that was inappropriate –either in terms of time or the actual ritual.

Leviticus teaches that holiness must be handled precisely; there is a correct time, a proper procedure, and appropriate attire. The role of the priest is to make sure that everything is carried out in exactly the right way. This makes it possible for God's presence to be in the midst of the people, and ensures that the universal order is maintained and the world continues to function properly. Hence, Aaron's task as described at the beginning of the parashah:

Adonai said to Moses: Tell your brother Aaron that he is not to come at will into the Shrine behind the curtain, in front of the cover that is upon the ark, lest he die; for I appear in the cloud over the cover. Thus only shall Aaron enter the Shrine: with a bull of the herd for a sin offering and a ram for a burnt offering. — He shall be dressed in a sacral linen tunic, with linen breeches next to his flesh, and be girt with a linen sash, and he shall wear a linen turban. They are sacral vestments; he shall bathe his body in water and then put them on. — And from the Israelite community he shall take two he-goats for a sin offering and a ram for a burnt offering.
Aaron is to offer his own bull of sin offering, to make expiation for himself and for his household. Aaron shall take the two he-goats and let them stand before Adonai at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting; and he shall place lots upon the two goats, one marked for Adonai and the other marked for Azazel. Aaron shall bring forward the goat designated by lot for Adonai, which he is to offer as a sin offering; while the goat designated by lot for Azazel shall be left standing alive before Adonai, to make expiation with it and to send it off to the wilderness for Azazel. (Leviticus 16:2-10)

The Hebrew word for holy is kadosh, a word that also means "set aside;" the root k-d-sh forms the basis of much that is significant in Judaism. When we perform Kiddush we are setting the boundary between the holiness of Shabbat and the mundane week. Kiddushin, the Jewish marriage, means that the partners in this holy relationship are setting themselves apart for each other. The main thrust of the rituals in Leviticus is to makes sure that the holy is set apart from the profane, thus imposing order on a chaotic world. To maintain order and the proper boundaries, Aaron is to undertake this annual ritual cleansing. He performs three sacrifices: for himself, his household, and the entire community, in addition to the scapegoat ritual. These rituals of expiation are formalized in the Temple service for Yom Kippur and are the basis of the Avodah service reenacted in modern synagogues on this holy day.

The danger of holiness is found throughout the Torah. Recall that the people of Israel stayed a distance from Mount Sinai because coming into contact with God could cause them to perish. Only the High Priest was allowed into the Holy of Holies and only at certain times. Holiness is its own realm; and when the sacred "breaks forth" and meets the mundane, it is like matter and anti-matter; the consequences can be devastating, even fatal, as happened to Aaron's sons.

As Baruch Levine explains in his commentary on Leviticus:

The primary objective of expiatory rites like the ones set forth in chapter 16 was to maintain a pure sanctuary. An impure, or defiled, sanctuary induced God to withdraw His presence from the Israelite community. Obviously, the greatest threat to the purity of the sanctuary came from the priesthood itself whose members functioned within its sacred precincts and who bore primary responsibility for its maintenance. The sanctuary was also threatened by major transgressions of the laws of purity involving the entire Israelite community or by the failure of individual Israelites to attend to their own purification—for example, after contamination by a corpse. This occurred because such serious impurities were considered to be contagious and thereby ultimately affected the sanctuary, which was located within the area of settlement. As long as impurity persisted, God remained offended, so to speak, and the danger of His wrath and possible alienation was imminent.

How do we get from the ancient ritual cleansing of the sanctuary to the modern spiritual purification of the individual? Baruch Levine points out that the key element is found in Leviticus 16:30:

“For on this day atonement shall be made for you to cleanse you of all your sins; you shall be clean before the Lord.” The purification of the sanctuary was understood to extend to the people—to relieve them of their transgressions as well. However, no ritual of purification was actually performed over the people, as was the case on other occasions.

But times change, and as the Yom Kippur liturgy developed, our spiritual purification now includes a series of confessions. Interestingly, none of the confessions we undertake as a community deals with ritual infractions. Our modern acts of purification are concerned with the moral and ethical realm. Since the world is sustained through human actions and interactions, it is in our relationships to others to that the greatest infractions of holiness occur; and breaches in such relationships are what threaten the modern boundaries between holiness and chaos. On this Sabbath of Sabbaths we stand together as a community, each responsible for the other and for the entire world. This is quite a large house that we are cleaning, but the joint effort makes the task that much easier.

One final thought about our annual spiritual housecleaning comes from a story about the Baal Shem Tov. The Hassidic master was away from home on the High Holy Days. Arriving at his destination he asked the inhabitants of the city about the Yom Kippur service. They said it was conducted by the local rabbi who led the service in a joyful manner. Thinking this to be somewhat strange, the Baal Shem Tov went to see the rabbi who explained the reason he sang the confessions with great joy:

"Lo, a servant who is cleaning the courtyard of the king, if he loves the king, is very happy cleaning the refuse from the courtyard, and sings joyful melodies, for he is giving pleasure to the king." Said the Baal Shem Tov, "May my lot be with yours!" (Or Yesharim as quoted by S.Y. Agnon, Days of Awe)

May we all be written and sealed for a good year.

G'mar hatimah tova,
MS

Parashat Ha'azinu, Deuteronomy 32:1-52

This week's parashah has been generously sponsored in loving memory of Meryl Gardner's mother, Harriet H. Cohen. Kolel is grateful to Meryl for her ongoing support and appreciates its weekly sponsors.

Old wounds need to be reopened in order for them to heal; along the way we may even expose psychic bruises of which we were unaware.

Some of us are cursed with a memory for the most trivial things, and I happen to be one of these people. If any member of my family wants the words to an old TV theme song or a commercial jingle, they just ask me. This week, the words to an old insurance ad have been haunting me: "Get a piece of the rock."

Whoever came up with that particular phrase and its accompanying logo featuring the Rock of Gibraltar created an advertising classic. The image of the Rock of Gibraltar conveys strength and permanence. The symbol of a rock denotes unshakeable power. The name Dwayne Johnson means nothing unless you are a member of Mr. Johnson's family, but mention the Rock and countless wrestling fans know immediately whom you mean.

This past summer I spent a few unforgettable days in the Canadian Rockies. As with the Rock of Gibraltar, these mountains were created by violent shifts in the earth. Yet the jagged peaks piercing the heavens convey a sense of beauty, awe, and power, as well as an awareness of majesty; here is something that is and will always be out of reach.

Hebrew has a few words for rock. There is selah which is used to describe the stone that gushed with water after Moses struck it (Numbers 20). Another word is tsur, which appears in the Torah only ten times. All of these occur are in the book of Deuteronomy, and nine of them are in this week's portion, Haazinu.

Not surprisingly, six times the word tsur is used in reference to God. Think of the Hanukkah song Maoz Tsur (Rock of Ages), which recounts God's steadfast support of the people Israel at different times in history. The image of the permanent, powerful, immovable rock is understandable. While the Hanukkah song was composed in the 13th century, the sentiments it conveys date back to the Bible and can be found at the beginning of Haazinu:

The Rock! — Whose deeds are perfect,
Yea, all Whose ways are just;
A faithful God, never false,
Who is true and upright. (Deut. 32:34)

This is also a song, one sung by Moses to the people Israel. In Haazinu, Moses who was closer to God than anyone else, is leaving Israel with his sense of God and of Israel’s relationship with the Divine. God is a rock, steadfast, just and true. God gave us life: Is not He the Father who created you,/Fashioned you and made you endure! ( Deut 32:6)

But there are other words and descriptions that carry a warning within them. God cared for us but we spurned God, and so God's face was hidden (Deut 32:20). God will vindicate the people (32:36), and the words promising this contain a strong reminder of God's might:

See, then, that I, I am the One;
There is no god beside Me.
I deal death and give life;
I wounded and I will heal:
None can deliver from My hand. (Deut. 32:39)

These are powerful, frightening words that resonate deeply at this time of year. We all know that God is the author of life and death. These words are in our daily prayers and this concept is at the fore during the High Holy Days. We pray regularly to the God who heals. But what of the God who wounds? If God's deeds are perfect and God's ways are just, what are we to make of this?

There is a power in holiness and in the Holy One that is dangerous. Moses had to hide in the crevice when God passed before him, or he would not have survived. We had to stand back from the mountain when we received the commandments. There is a spiritual danger as well that must be kept within boundaries. (That is the underlying basis of the traditional reading for Yom Kippur which we will look at next week.) A just God may issue a severe decree that is altogether right and just, something we are very aware of during these Days of Awe. We stand before God the Judge, ready to receive our sentence, knowing it will be just, yet praying for mercy.

The Talmudic sages tackled this issue and teach us that we are not the only ones fervently engaged in prayer. A faithful God is doing so as well:

What does God pray? — Rabbi Zutra ben Tobi said in the name of Rav: ‘May it be My will that My mercy may suppress My anger, and that My mercy may prevail over My other attributes, so that I may deal with My children in the attribute of mercy and, on for their sake, stop short of the limit of strict justice’. (Berachot 7a)

The good thing about rocks is that they are unmoving, unchanging. The bad thing about rocks is that they are unmoving, unchanging. Well, not quite. Rocks change slowly, in a way that is imperceptible to us. Perhaps another feature, then, is that a rock conveys ageless patience. This, too, is a characteristic of God we recall at this time of year, words proclaimed when Moses hid in the cleft of the rock: Adonai! Adonai! a God compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness and faithfulness… (Ex. 34:6)

This is our deepest desire: to extract these ores of kindness and mercy from our Rock. How do we achieve this? Forgive the irreverence, but perhaps the answer lies in the words written by Johnny Mercer that Fred Astaire sang to Leslie Caron in Daddy Long Legs:

When an irresistible force
Such as you.
Meets an old immovable object like me.
You can bet as sure as you live.
Something's gotta give…

To us, God is the Rock, the mountain, that old immovable object. We are currently in the valley known as Shabbat Shuvah, the Sabbath of Repentance, nestled between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Our climb is our yearly trek of return, and as always, it appears formidable. But we must find that irresistible force within us. Reaching that rocky, craggy top will take all our energy and will not be accomplished without spiritual cuts and scrapes. Old wounds need to be reopened in order for them to heal; along the way we may even expose psychic bruises of which we were unaware. But the journey is indescribable, the view, breathtaking, and the opportunity to merely reach out towards our Rock is a profound experience.

Step by careful step, on our rocky road of return, let us be sustained by this familiar hope: May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable before You, Adonai, my Rock and my Redeemer! (Psalm19:15)

Shabbat shalom,
M

Parashat Nitzavim-VaYelech, Deuteronomy 29:9-31:30

This week's parashah has been generously sponsored in loving memory of Meryl Gardner's mother, Harriet H. Cohen. Kolel is grateful to Meryl for her ongoing support and appreciates its weekly sponsors.

In transgressing we have started on the wrong path, but we always have the opportunity to change directions.

This is a time of transition both in the secular world and in the Jewish one. Stores have been touting their "back to school" sales for weeks, and Judaica shops have been displaying their back to shul items in preparation for the High Holy Days. With Labour Day behind us, we are back to our "normal" schedule of work and school. It is a transition so familiar to us that we take it for granted.

In Jewish time, the transition is both gradual and increasingly intense. The month of Elul is a time of introspection and soul-searching in preparation for the New Year. As we bid farewell to Shabbat this week, the force of our soul-searching increases with Selichot services. With the observance of Rosh Hashanah the seasonal transition intensifies even more, culminating in Yom Kippur.

Transition is at the core of our double Torah portion this week. In Nitzavim, Moses addresses the people once more, reiterating the obligations incumbent upon us as partners in God's covenant. This is a covenant that we freely accept and is within our reach (Deut 30:11-14).

The image of entering into a covenant with God is very different from what occurred at Sinai. When we received the commandments at Sinai, it was a spectacle that would inspire the likes of Cecil B. DeMille in the future:

Now Mount Sinai was all in smoke, for Adonai had come down upon it in fire; the smoke rose like the smoke of a kiln, and the whole mountain trembled violently. The blare of the horn grew louder and louder. (Exodus 19:18-19)

Compare this with the description in Nitzavim which focuses on the people who are to be part of the covenant:

You stand this day, all of you, before Adonai your God – your tribal heads, your elders, and your officials, all the men of Israel, your children, your women, even the stranger within your camp, from woodchopper to water drawer – to enter into the covenant of Adonai your God which Adonai your God is concluding with you this day… (Deut. 29:9-11).

No thunder and lightning, this is a non-smoking covenant. The verb describing this momentous event is le-ovrecha, translated as "to enter," whereas the more common verb for entering into a covenant is likhrot "to cut," comparable to our "cutting a deal."

Rashi picks up on the use of the verb avar, "to enter," and explains that entering into a covenant involved making a partition on one side and the other, and passing between these partitions. He brings an example from Jeremiah 34:18-20 where an agreement was made by cutting a calf in half and walking between the two halves of the offering. A more familiar example would be the "covenant of the pieces" where God promises Abram that his descendants will inherit the land:

And he [Abram] said, "Adonai God, how shall I know that I am to possess it?" God answered: "Bring Me a three-year-old heifer, a three-year-old she-goat, a three-year-old ram, a turtledove, and a young bird." He brought God all these and cut them in two, placing each half opposite the other; but he did not cut up the bird. … When the sun set and it was very dark, there appeared a smoking oven, and a flaming torch which passed between those pieces. On that day Adonai made a covenant with Abram… (Gen. 15:8-10, 17-18)

The verb avar appears elsewhere in Nitzavim as well:

Well you knew that we dwelt in the land of Egypt and that we passed through (avarnu) the midst of various other nations through which you passed (avartem); and you have seen the detestable things and the fetishes of wood and stone, silver and gold, that they keep. (Deut. 29:15-16)

Here the meaning of the verb appears to be the simple "crossing" or "passing though." However, the next few verses warn of turning towards the gods of these nations. This provides a deeper understanding of avar, "crossing." Physically passing through an area is bound to affect you – be it walking between items for a covenantal ceremony, or traversing the territory of a nation whose influence you are to avoid.

This week's second parashah, Va-yelekh, also has examples of the verb avar:

Moses went and spoke these things to all Israel. He said to them: I am now one hundred and twenty years old, I can no longer be active. Moreover, Adonai has said to me, "You shall not go across (ta'avor) yonder Jordan." It is indeed Adonai your God who will cross over (over) before you; and who will wipe out those nations from your path and you shall dispossess them. — Joshua is the one who shall cross (over) before you, as Adonai has spoken. (Deut. 31:1-3)

On a simple peshat level, the verb provides "just the facts" of the transition from Moses' to Joshua's leadership under God's auspices. But the change in leadership is not simple. Crossing over the Jordan is more than a physical act, it is the first step in a new life for the nation of Israel; and it will take place under the direction of a different leader.

Moreover, crossing the Jordan has spiritual implications. Symbolically, it is a covenantal action. Crossing the Sea of Reeds carries the same imagery as a "covenant between the pieces." Crossing the Jordan is reminiscent of crossing this earlier body of water. At the Sea of Reeds we transitioned from being slaves to a free people. Crossing the Jordan is the threshold where we are transformed into a nation with full covenantal responsibility to God.

Beyond that, avar has theological implications for the individual's relationship with God. Think of Abram sitting by his tent, imploring three divine visitors, "If it please you do not go past (ta'avor) your servant." (Gen. 18:3) Or of Moses asking to see God's presence and being told "I will make all My goodness pass (a'avir) before you…" (Ex. 33: 19). Or most importantly for us at this time of year – Adonai passed (va-ya'avor) before him [Moses] and proclaimed: "Adonai! Adonai! a God compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, extending kindness to the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity, transgression, and sin… "(Ex 34:6-7)

"Crossing over" can be the first step in a life-changing experience. At this season of introspection, we are painfully aware of our transgressions (averot). Interestingly, even the English word is rooted in a journey: "trans" is from the Latin meaning "across" and "gressus" from "gradi" meaning "to walk, or go." In transgressing we have started on the wrong path, but we always have the opportunity to change directions. Now as we cross over from Elul into the New Year, our past transgressions open a sacred path of soul-searching that can lead us from simple transition to spiritual transformation drawing us closer to God.

Shabbat shalom,
MS