Sitting around a campfire requires a lot of effort. Someone must arrange the logs, poke the logs, and add more logs to keep the fire lit. I find it tiresome and prefer to sit at other people’s campfires. Yet, I enjoy sitting outdoors, watching the flames jump. And I luxuriate in the light and warmth. I’ve looked at campfires from both sides now!

In Leviticus, the priests are instructed to keep the fire of the altar going. Whether or not an offering is burning, the altar fire must be stoked. Faith-stoking religious leaders use this metaphor of fire to urge you to perpetually sustain your burning desire for God.

The blaze under the altar began with a fire sent by God. Flames roasted the sacred offerings. Some slabs of meat roasted all night long. But not every night. The fire continued to burn with the Preists’ help. The duty to continue the fire is a metaphor for faith. We must maintain that flame sent by God. But in what form? Perhaps it is a burning desire for the Divine, which requires a lot of effort to sustain.

Rather our relationship with God might be more like sitting around a campfire. It begins with some effort, like that to create and sustain a good fire. For a while, we relax and delight in the flames. We appreciate the warmth, but only if from a safe distance from the firepit. Looking around us, we see our companions’ faces shining with the fire’s light. However, our appreciation is short-lived. Sometimes we are just working, replenishing the fire with more wood. For a long time after, the coals continue to keep us warm. They dwindle but keep burning as embers even as we head back into the house.

Your personal experience of Judaism might be more like visiting a campfire than a perpetual flame under an altar tended to by the priests. We gather, albeit periodically, to feel warmed and enlightened. Perhaps, to keep the metaphor burning, rabbis and cantors and leaders have the priestly duty to bring the heat.

After a while, we light another campfire to warm us and enlighten us. That is the mission of the Jewish Studio. We offer events that ignite excitement, meaning, and joy. Then we let the fire die down. The embers will last in our hearts until we rekindle the fire again. All we ask of you is to keep the passion burning until the next time we meet.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

The Jewish Studio just hosted a weekend of events. In crafting the services and events, we gathered together people of great skill and wisdom. We only gave them an outline. As with a blueprint or a recipe, greatness was achieved and the holiness found was in the execution and not merely in the directions. This is a lesson from Torah.

In Parshat Vayakhel God tells people to gather the people together. God offers further details on the construction of the tent of meeting, the Mishkan. Moses then deployed Bezalel and Oholiab, and every skilled person whom God had endowed with skill, everyone who excelled in ability, to undertake the task and carry it out. He connected the artisans of varying skills with the tasks at hand.

We were blessed to learn Torah with Rabbi Michael Paley who spoke about Bezalel. Rabbi Paley explained that Bezalel’s name literally means “in the shadow of God.” What does it mean to be in the shadow of God? It means that Bezalel’s work came from a Divine aesthetic.

The blueprint for the Mishkan was not sufficiently detailed. Like a shadow cast, Bezalel had to craft the Divine details from an outline. His deployment as an artisan was to complete the structure beginning with a mere projection. Bezalel could not rely solely upon his skill but had to use great wisdom to complete the project.

Moreover, Bezalel had to cast his own shadow. He had to inspire the other artisans to complete the project appropriate to the holiness of the task. The end result was a Mishkan worthy of God’s presence.

The great beauty in the weekend we just shared was how musical artisans crafted an amazing, holy experience from an outline of a weekend. Rabbis and Cantors, singers and musicians, all came together with their skills, but fashioned an extraordinary Shabbat experience with wisdom. They created a Shabbat that was like the Mishkan, a container for the Holy One of Blessings.

My deep gratitude to Rabbi Jessica Kate Meyer, Cantor Basya Schechter, Rabbi Michael Paley, Cantorial Student Lisa Sokolov, Rabbi Noah Diamondstein, Instrumentalist Oren Neiman, Cantor Jessi Roemer, Cantor Stephanie Weishaar, and Rabbi Jessica Shimberg. We heard from William Kristol, who reflected some glimmers of optimism for our future. And my deepest and most heartfelt appreciation for Cantor David Abramowitz, my partner in The Jewish Studio, whose soul shines bright as a spiritual leader, musician, and friend.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

Scientists recently discovered monster galaxies near the edge of the known universe.  The James Webb space telescope has detected what appear to be six massive ancient galaxies, which astronomers are calling “universe breakers.” Their existence upends current theories of cosmology. As one cosmologist explained: “it’s bananas.”

Early Greeks explained the universe with stories. Helios drove a chariot of winged horses across the sky. The sun rose as Helios ascended in the sky. The day ended as Helios circled the world. Yet the light of the sun never stopped shining.

In Jewish tradition, God has set the sun in motion, the moon and stars in their paths, and the light never stops. Our task is only to notice and appreciate. Each night at services, those attending, tell the Jewish story of the universe. The Creator created day and night, darkness before light, light before darkness. Each day is a reminder of the inexplicable unfathomable force that creates our Universe. It’s bananas.

Religion, like cosmology, is an attempt to explain the inexplicable. Humans abhor uncertainty. Not knowing unnerves us. Alternatively, God comforts us. In the Jewish tradition, God is sometimes referred to as the womb. How so? God is merciful. The Hebrew word for mercy, rachamim, is related to the word rechem, which means womb. God is the source. God birthed all that is.

I can’t fathom a news story about the discovery of rapidly developing galaxies at the edge of the known universe. Rather, I find comfort in God, as creator and mother, who generated light that pulses from one edge of the universe to another. When we perceive that light, we receive new revelations.

Torah teaches that we light an eternal flame. Today we do so in synagogues above the ark holding the Torah. There is an important connection between the eternal flame which represents the primordial and unending light of the universe and Torah which is timeless wisdom. Light persists even when we can’t see it. Knowledge is accessible even when we don’t access it.

The secular scientist learns of six new galaxies and says it’s bananas.  The Jewish theologian’s reaction? “Is anything too wondrous for God? (Gen. 18:14)” For the rest of us, not cosmologists or philosophers, our task is to cherish the energies that create precious life. Our lives are ever-evolving as we emulate God’s mercy that gives quality to our lives. Whether we see it or not, the light never stops shining. How we behave in the light makes all the difference in this world.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

I have long assumed that people who don’t abide by the law are punished. Criminals go to jail and people liable for harm pay for their misdeeds. Yet, people of power and privilege aren’t always held accountable. And disadvantaged people are not always afforded justice. Too often, the law operates independently of people applying ethical and moral standards.

Civilization is constructed of laws. People agree to abide by a set of laws to maintain a civil society. Our justice system is designed to punish criminal behavior and penalize tortious acts. Yet, there are times when the law is applied discriminatorily and unethically.

The Torah reading for this week is Mishpatim, translated as “laws.” What distinguishes Torah law from American law? Torah interposes moral behavior with criminal and civil rules. The laws in Mishpatim are not merely rooted in morality but exist as a mechanism for morality.

Torah gives equal attention to criminal acts, civil wrongs, and immoral behavior. The prohibitions zigzag from kidnapping to the loss of an ox. In between these legal rules, there are admonitions to care for the widow and orphan as well as be kind to the stranger. Within these legal rules is God’s justice. The design of our Creator is to create a moral universe.

Whether we talk about Israel, the United States, or almost any other nation, the secular system of laws is limited by how they are applied. If the government is focused on pursuing decency, then legal systems will provide justice. A great challenge of our time is the moral deficiency of political leaders. They won’t change until the people demand justice and mercy for every member of society including the widow and the orphan and the stranger.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

Cemeteries are storytellers of history. Tombstones remind the world we were here. Deeply rooted in Jewish Tradition is the preservation of personal legacy and honoring the dead. Yet, cemeteries around the globe and in our neighborhoods are not getting the attention that these holy places deserve.

In Parshat Beshalach of Exodus, we read about preserving the dignity of our ancestors. “Moses took with him the bones of Joseph, who had exacted an oath from the children of Israel, saying, “God will be sure to take notice of you: then you shall carry up my bones from here with you.”  There were many items Moses needed to take for the journey into the wilderness: food, tent material, clothing, animals . . . Yet, Moses retrieved Joseph’s bones and carried them, as important as any other object. Joseph wanted to be buried in the land of his ancestors. Decades later, Joshua laid Joseph’s bones to rest in Shechem.

Moses and Joshua exhibited extraordinary consideration for their ancestor, Joseph. These vignettes in Torah underscore our tradition of giving honor to the deceased. Today we honor the deceased with prompt burial and memorial services. However, the only tangible, lasting tribute to each person is the grave and their tombstone.

Jewish communities in America are preserving their cemeteries. Jewish Federations in various cities like Cleveland and Philadelphia have raised funds to restore Jewish cemeteries. An organization named Avoteynu (“our ancestors”), is repairing Jewish cemeteries throughout Europe, largely destroyed in World War Two or deteriorating due to neglect. The European Jewish Cemeteries Initiative created by the European Union, the Committee for the Preservation of Jewish Cemeteries in Europe, and the Heritage Foundation for Preservation of Jewish Cemeteries are some of the prominent groups working to save these testaments to Jewish life in Europe.

Torah and tradition teach us to care for these holy places. When cemeteries are attacked or destroyed, we are shaken by a phenomenon called “root shock.” Cemeteries are a link to our past and a testament to the history of living communities. The destruction of a tombstone or gravesite is a root shock that deeply disturbs our footing.

Similarly, other communities have experienced the same affronts to holy places. For example, here in Bethesda, the Moses Cemetery is one of the last surviving remnants of a historic Black community that once included a church, a school, and several dozen homes. The Moses cemetery hosts about 500 graves of former slaves and sharecroppers. Many were displaced from homes in the District of Columbia and pushed into adjoining farmlands in Maryland, along River Road. Montgomery county now owns this land. The Housing Opportunities Commission is selling the land to a private developer. The Bethesda African Cemetery coalition sued the County to protect the Moses Cemetery development.

As Jews, we understand the need to honor our dead, preserve our legacy, and maintain the sanctity of grave sites. I hope we extend our tradition to supporting our neighbors who have suffered the loss of their historic cemetery and are coping with the root shock of displacement and disrespect for their ancestors.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame