I will travel 3,000 miles to witness a two-minute event. A total eclipse of the Sun will occur on August 21 reaching from the coast of Oregon to Charleston, South Carolina. Millions of eyes will look skyward. I plan to be on the Pacific coast, marveling at this celestial event. Within that upward gaze will be a reminder of how to best focus our vision toward appreciation for our world.

Torah this week cautions, “when you look up to the sky and behold the sun and the moon and the stars, the whole heavenly host, you must not be lured into bowing down to them or serving them. (Deut. 4:19)” Before Neil Degrasse Tyson taught us astrophysics on CNN, and before Galileo perfected telescopes to find new planets, the sun, moon and stars were misunderstood to be more than celestial orbs. The sun and moon and stars represented the spiritual heaven populated by alternative gods. Moses gave a distinct order to the people not to be led astray by false gods or false narratives of the Heavenly order. The upward gaze was meant for God’s sake only.

The Talmud (B.T. Sukkah 29a) adds another level of complexity. A solar eclipse is described as a bad omen. Some sages say it is a bad omen for the Jewish people. Rabbi Meir is quoted as saying it is a bad omen for the other nations. Either way, our great Talmud rabbis were tempted to add meaning to an extraordinary but nonetheless natural event. They explained the eclipse by offering a parable of a King who provides a feast and sets out a lantern by which people can eat. The King suddenly removes the light and the diners are left in the dark. In the parable, when the light is removed, appreciation is prompted.

With the eclipse a new level of beauty is revealed, that of the corona of the sun. Upon reflection, we might appreciate the rare opportunity posed by an eclipse. With the removal of the sun’s disk, we can marvel at the unseen intricacies of this universe.  In settings such as a solar eclipse the viewer may be left with a sense of awe and gratitude.

Our tradition adjures us to follow our experience of beauty toward appreciation of the Creator. How do we offer gratitude to the Divine that is the source of such natural phenomena? We have a blessing for seeing natural phenomena such as lightning and comets, reminders of the spectacles that are a part of creation. We bless God, sovereign of the universe, the One who creates the beginning. (עוסה מעסה בראשית) No the grammar is not off in either the English or Hebrew. We bless God who not merely created but is engaged in the ongoing act of creation that never ends. Let׳s show our appreciation, by partnering with God in that creative process, preserving and protecting our planet and its inhabitants from harm.

A solar eclipse might not be a bad omen but it should be a reminder not to take for granted that which we have been given, an amazing planet in which to live and experience the wonders of the universe. When the moon temporarily hides the light of the sun, may we be reminded that the source of light and life be honored by the way we partner in the continual creation of this world.

R’ Evan J. Krame

It’s summer, and 58% of Americans are likely to take vacations – some by plane, most by car. Vacations have countless motivations: visit friends or family, change scenery, change pace, have fun, relax, seek adventure, (re)kindle romance, find ourselves or get away from it all. Sometimes vacations work their magic: we return refreshed – at least for awhile.

It’s tempting to imagine that location change alone will change us. As Lin-Miranda’s hit “Hamilton” puts it, “In New York, you can be a new man.” As Hebrew aphorism puts it, “Change location, change luck” (shoneh makom, shoneh mazal). It’s an ancient idea hailing from Talmud (B.T. Rosh Hashanah 16b), rooted early in Torah: “Go,” says God to Avram, “and I will make you great” (Gen. 12:1-2). We’ve been “going” ever since: this week’s Torah portion (Matot-Masei), named for “journeys,” is all about going – 42 destinations en route from here to there, location changes one after another.

But wherever they went, there they were. No single location change changed anyone. It was only the totality of their 40-year journey that changed them.

As for them, so for us. Wherever we go, there we are. We take ourselves on vacation – not just our luggage but also our baggage. We take our habits, our devices, our family dynamics and our inner self-talk. And if vacations take us out of routines and give us more time to notice things, vacations might make us more aware of the very things we wanted to escape.

Such hopes often are unspoken and unconscious, and almost always unrealistic. Psychologists explain that many take vacations expecting an oasis or paradise away from themselves. That’s why many vacationers return with equally unspoken and unconscious disappointment that their vacations passed so fast and changed so little.

So how to take a real summer vacation? Here are some ideas.

First, loosen external expectations. That’s a big ask – especially for “Type A” planners taking vacations with complex itineraries. Make plans but hold them gently, so that reality’s adventure can be what it is, without judgment. Better to enjoy what is than compare it to a false ideal.

Second, loosen internal expectations. Be aware of whatever you think and feel a vacation might be, and hold that gently. Notice if you expect yourself (or someone else) to be someone different on vacation: unknown and unspoken expectations can sour the best intentions.

Third, actually rest. Thich Nhat Hanh lamented, “The purpose of a vacation is to have the time to rest. But many of us, even when we go on vacation, don’t know how to rest. We may even come back more tired than before we left.” Make yourself rest, whatever that means to you.

Fourth, notice something wonderful and deliberately small on vacation, then do the same thing on returning home. As this week’s Torah portion puts it, what we call “God” dwells exactly where we are (Num. 36:34) – home, vacation, everywhere. A vacation is a chance to re-focus and practice this awareness so that we can better keep it wherever we are.

Dorothy Canfield Fisher said, “If we would only give, just once, the same amount of reflection to what we want to get out of life that we give to the question of what to do with a two week vacation, we would be startled at our false standards and the aimless procession of our busy days.”

May your vacation be real – not false – as a small down payment on a life’s journey that is ever more real in every important way.

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Rabbi David Evan Markus

Twitter: @davidevanmarkus

Facebook: www.tinyurl.com/fbdem1

I have a confession. As a rabbi, I look at the liturgy this generation inherited, and I see words that evoke God as father or king, such as we sing in the most beloved of High Holy Day melody, Avinu Malkeinu (“Our Father, Our King”). Even leaving aside modern sensibilities about gender – is God really male? – these images evoke a God of authority first and foremost. They imply a hierarchy that maybe we remember from our own parents, or that we ourselves have used as parents. Invoking that authority we demand behavior with the catch phrase: “Because I said so.”

Sometimes “Because I said so” can be comforting: it tells us what’s supposedly “right” and “wrong” without doubt, and sometimes clarity of roles and result are needed for health, safety and teaching. At other times, “Because I said so” can disempower and belittle. Ask any young adult how he or she feels hearing “Because I say so” – or remember that feeling yourself. Is that feeling holy? Or consider an adult who, by dint of supposed authority or elder status, becomes implacable: they might pout, stomp and plead, “Because I said so.”

So too in this week’s Torah portion, which features multiple levels of “Because I said so.” Balak, king of Midian, tells his priest Balaam to curse the traveling Jews by invoking his monarchical authority (“because I said so”). Balaam, seemingly a recluse in the wilderness, instead defers to “his God,” who just happens to be the God of the Hebrews too, and refuses to curse the people. Balak begs and even offers riches, but then God comes to Balaam and gives permission to Balaam to travel towards the traveling Israelites but not necessarily to curse (“because I” – now God – “said so”). Balaam saddles up his ass, who appears to be his only colleague, and goes to meet King Balak. In the end, the words that come from the deeply conflicted Balaam’s mouth are a blessing and not a curse.

“Because I said so” can be confusing, roiling and more. Religion – or at least the religion many of us were raised with – features much of this “because I said so” sense. But I find that my relationship with God is evolving. A skeptic might say God has been demoted from unquestionable authority to partner. For me, that’s as it should be – not just a partner but a loving partner. In that partnership, I find inspiration and solace, courage and caring.

This approach also is the Jewish mystical path, and they had a most profound insight: God is lover, helper and spouse in a relationship of discussion, commission and growth. Not “because I said so” but “because I love you, and because you love me.”

What would it mean for us to have a collegial loving relationship with God? Could we make Saturday a day of rest to have time to connect with our beloved rather than a day to desist from work “because God says so” – Sabbath as date night? Could we extend loving kindness to strangers, not because we are directed but because our own relationships will improve as we practice compassion?

Poor Balaam, prophet and ping pong ball – batted about by duty to God and a king who commanded him “because I said so.” Perhaps this story is a cautionary tale that invites us to a deeper connection with God, one that can be realized through relationship with God and with God’s best and most flawed creation – other people.

Let’s not be like Balaam. Get off your ass and get into healthy working relationships with God’s other creations – family, friends and communities. And please, don’t just do it because I said so.

R’ Evan Krame

When I was complaining recently about an organization whose board is at odds with its leaders, a friend said – “sounds like a synagogue.” I had not mentioned the name of the organization. The organization is not even a synagogue. I had not spoken any names or given any details. The dystopia of Jewish organizations is apparently legendary and the rancor of its non-profit boards is notorious.

No surprise that such a scenario plays out in the Torah at parashat Korach which is named for a relative of Moses and Aaron. “Korach . . . [a descendant of Levi] rose up against Moses, together with two hundred and fifty Israelites, chieftains of the community, chosen in the assembly, men of repute. They combined against Moses and Aaron and said to them, “You have gone too far! For all the community are holy, all of them, and the Lord is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above the Lord’s congregation?” Numbers 16: 1 –  3.

The tragedy of Korach and his followers is that they were already elevated leaders among the people – just like the members of a board of directors. Ultimately, Korach and his followers are decimated. The Torah describes their tribunal and deaths. Their legacy is a cautionary tale against rebellion and over-reaching.

Perhaps there have been more than a few non-profit board presidents or rabbis who have invoked the name of Korach when confronting disgruntled congregants or board members. Even though the sorry fate of Korach may be well known, rebellions within Jewish organizations continue to occur.

What amazes me, as a reader of the text, is that Korach and his conspirators could so easily devalue Moses and Aaron’s leadership of the people. These are the leaders who took them from slavery to freedom. Korach’s followers were blinded by their own perceived slights; believing that Moses and Aaron had taken too much greatness for themselves. No matter that the charges were wildly ridiculous as the Torah tells us Moses was the humblest of men. Short memories and self-absorbed sanctimony fomented rebellion.

There is a glimmer of hope that follows later in the Torah. We learn that despite Korach’s wide-ranging approval among the people, in his own home he was unsuccessful. The Torah reports that the sons of Korach did not die (Numbers 26:11). Apparently, the sons of Korach neither followed their father nor his teachings. They continued their obligations to carry the Ark. Moreover, Psalms 42,44-49,84-85,87-88, some of the most beautiful, are all attributed to the descendent of Korach!

For those leaders who have been accused, unfairly or undeservedly, there is a message. No matter how harsh the accusations and how vile the accusers; some legacy of duty and even splendor may yet remain. What may be the hardest advice to accept is to hold one’s enemy in your own prayers and in your heart. If not for their own sake but then for the sake of their children who may yet bring great service and beauty to the world.

R’ Evan J. Krame