Chamisha Asar Ani Yodeah: Dayeinu and the Most Central Number in the Pesach Experience I never understood why Echad Mi Yodea stops at just 13. Yes, the hour is getting later around our Seder tables, but there are so many more significant numbers, and wouldn’t it be great to get to Chai and end at 18 to celebrate life as we conclude the evening? We can definitely count 14 as 14 are the books of Rambam’s Yad Chazakah, the Mishneh Torah. And that would take us to 15. At 15, we would have a whole host of choices on how to best answer the question of chamisha asar mi yodeah? R. Eli Sadan, head of the mechina Bnei David, discusses Dayeinu in his Hagadat Kamah Maalot. He tells us that Dayeinu has 15 lines and he takes the opportunity to tell us many concepts that are significant to the number 15, elements that teach us so many lessons needed for Pesach and beyond. Fifteen is the Story of our National and Religious Journey R. Sadan begins by telling us that the Dayeinu elucidates fifte
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Day 150: When the Perek Will End and Start Anew As the conflict rages on, our brothers and sisters continue to fight and be in the evil hands of our enemy. Each day is a new opportunity for us to look within ourselves, to reflect, to act, and to pray. Since that horrific day, so many of us have recited Tehillim. And as I have been in many shuls and schools, I would say 90% of the time at 90% of the minyanim , the deep and moving Prakim 121 and 130 have filled our lips. We look to the mountains, we cry from the depths. Prakim of eternal pain and prayer are ones that are fixed upon our lips. For me, and a small group of us, we have used these terrible times to challenge ourselves to expand our muscles of prayer and learn a new Perek of Tehlim each day. The daily learning in prayer began on Day 78 where, after countless days of reciting the same chapters again and again, we expanded to learn the chapter of Tehillim that corresponded to the day of the crisis. On that day, Day 78, Decem
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A Pre-Shema Educational Vision for Growth: A Conversation with Parents of the Ramaz Upper School The text below is the address given at the welcome reception for Rabbi Aaron Frank at Ramaz six weeks after he assumed the position of Upper School Principal. Good evening. I feel so blessed to be a part of the Ramaz family and am thankful to the community—students, parents and faculty—for welcoming me so warmly. I also want to especially thank the Upper School Administration and specifically Ms. Krupka and Rabbi Schiowitz for helping my transition run so smoothly and, of course, to Mr. Cannon for his ongoing guidance and support. I also want to thank you, the parents, and the faculty. Aside from the warm welcome, your positivity and encouragement demonstrate your investment in the success of this new chapter in the life of the Upper School, and it makes me even more proud, excited, and motivated as I assume this new role. Each and every morning, I sit with our students and encounter inc
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Miketz, Chanukkah and the Power of the Contrary Each year as we light our menorahs and focus on Parshat Miketz, the parallel between Pharaoh's dreams and the content of Al HaNisim grabs my attention. In our Parsha, Pharoah has a disturbing dream. Two sets of cows, seven strong, fat cows and seven thin, gaunt ones appear on the scene. And, we are told, וַתֹּאכַ֣לְנָה הַפָּר֗וֹת רָע֤וֹת הַמַּרְאֶה֙ וְדַקֹּ֣ת הַבָּשָׂ֔ר אֵ֚ת שֶׁ֣בַע הַפָּר֔וֹת יְפֹ֥ת הַמַּרְאֶ֖ה וְהַבְּרִיאֹ֑ת and the ugly gaunt cows ate up the seven handsome sturdy cows. (Gen. 41:4) His second dream is similar as seven healthy ears of grain are eaten up by seven thin scorched ones.וַתִּבְלַ֙עְנָה֙ הַשִּׁבֳּלִ֣ים הַדַּקּ֔וֹת אֵ֚ת שֶׁ֣בַע הַֽשִּׁבֳּלִ֔ים הַבְּרִיא֖וֹת וְהַמְּלֵא֑וֹת (Gen. 41:7) While Yosef teaches Pharoah that his dreams are cautionary images, the Al HaNisim echoes a similar literary theme. In this tefilah, we are told that the unexpected dynamic wins the day – the minority, the apparently wea
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How We Can be Friends from Afar: Reflections and Aspirations from a Heartbroken Diaspora Jew “it’s 3:23 in the morning and I can’t sleep because my great great grandchildren ask me in dreams what did you do while the earth was unraveling?” —Hieroglyphic Stairway, by Drew Dellinger As we watch with heartbreak from afar I feel that all of us are being awakened by our great grandchildren's questions. So many of us are thinking about who we are as diaspora Jews, and what this moment demands. While many have written about what we need to do as a community for the different segments of Medinat Yisrael politically, religiously or materially, I have also been thinking deeply about what we can do as individuals for our personal loved ones and friends, 6000 miles away. How can we emotionally support those whom we love whose children are on the front lines or who have suffered loss? What kind of friend can we be to those who wait anxiously for WhatsApps on the brink of tears and whose worr
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To Shepherd and To Carry: A Closer Look at the Hoshana Hope As we close the chapter on the Yamim Noraim and begin to focus on Sukkot, it’s time to see if I actually have any sort of a green thumb as I plot and plan about how I will keep my aravot alive. Should I immerse them in a pitcher of water? Wrap them in wet paper towels? Store them in the fridge? All of the above? The bottom line is that the aravot, willow branches, are the most fragile of the Four Species and must be tended to carefully to remain alive throughout the chag. We need our willow branches in full strength not only to fulfill the mitzvah of taking the lulav, but also for us to optimally recite certain tefilot on Sukkot. Among those prayers where healthy and vibrant aravot are preferred are the Hoshanot, the daily Sukkot “parade” around the shul. It is during Hoshanot that we ask God to “save us,” concluding with the famous phrase and song “Hoshea et amecha”: הוֹשִׁיעָה אֶת עַמֶּךָ וּבָרֵךְ אֶת נַחֲלָתֶךָ וּרְעֵם
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How My Secular Philosophy Professor Opened My Eyes to Torah: A Letter of Tribute and Thanks to Prof. Carl Cohen I was blessed to grow up in a home and community where Judaism was central and Jewish life was filled with joy and love. I was a committed young Jew who attended Jewish day school, but as a teen, I was also someone, who admittedly had not invested in his own spiritual and intellectual development in a serious way. In the fall of 1986, I entered the University of Michigan as a freshman. That fall changed my life forever. Much of the reason for that change was a course I was blessed to take with Professor Carl Cohen. His class opened up parts of me I didn't even know existed. I took every class I could with him. A knowledgeable and self -described secular Jew, he wrote my recommendations for rabbinical school and other graduate programs. He was a true friend, mentor and cheerleader. Carl, as he wanted his students to call him, sadly passed away a few days ago. I penned