In lieu of my Makhshoves this week, I decided to translate a Yiddish poem by the author Avrom Zak (1891-1980). Zak was born in Amdur, in Russian Poland, and wrote and lived with the Yiddish literary community in Warsaw before escaping to the Soviet Union in 1940. He returned to Warsaw in 1946 and settled in Buenos Aires in 1952, where he wrote his volume Fun heysn ash, which includes this poem. In “My Years,” the poet reflects on living life as a poet.

When God confused the languages of the builders of the tower, he perhaps did so to prevent the "Tyranny of the majority” as Mill puts it. Cooperation and understanding could appear positive, but a healthy development of societies comes from disagreements. The entire Jewish tradition and thought is constructed upon accounts of disputes.

דער מלמד פֿון אַ מאָל באַקומט נישט קײן בכּובֿדיקן אָרט אין דער אַלטער הײם, סײַ צװישן די קינדער, סײַ פֿון די װאָס האָבן זיך דערמאָנענן אין זײערע קינדעריאָרן װעגן זײערע דערפֿאַרונגען אין חדר. ער האָט צװײ שיטות פֿון לערנען: דאָס זיסװאַרג און די שטראָפֿן (ד.ה., שמײַסן). ער איז אויפֿן נידעריקסטן שטאָפּל פֿון לעבן, דאָס איז זיכער.

R’ Gamaliel writes that tohu and bohu, formlessness and emptiness, were some of the eternal materials that God used to create the world. This transformation entails a logical contradiction. How can formlessness be a material? The very lack of form becomes form.

It was a good week. The remainder of the surviving Israeli hostages were returned to their families.

According to Feynman, science was only occupied with “How” questions. As soon as one asks “Why,” one has to assume several given truths, otherwise one would keep asking “Why” in perpetuity.

I'm definitely in the midst of a research slog at the moment, sorting through over 7,000 entries for the query "Yiddish" in the digital Colorado Historic Newspapers archive in an effort to not to miss anything. It's frustrating, it's painful, and so far, it's a bit demoralizing. So, why should I do all of this? What's the point in digging up an obscure past that even the participants believed was small and constantly on the verge of death?

One key aspect of kabbalistic thought borrowed from Plotinus is the doctrine of emanation. In the kabbalistic myth of creation, there was first nothing, the ein-sof, literally meaning “without end.” The divine existed imperceptibly with no created universe. The divine then “retracted” to create a space or thing outside itself–I picture this as an exhale, because when we exhale, we create space by making ourselves smaller—and the world, and then humans, were created in that negative space through an emanation of light.

The Catholic church had not been well served by clergy in early times. The missions were established by fathers rather than priests and it had not been the seat of an archbishopric. In 1853 Tadeo Amat became the bishop of the diocese that included all of Alta California, from Monterey southwards. This would bring a wave of change in the way that Catholics of Los Angeles practiced their faith.

Why did Moses break the tablets? Did he break them, or did they slip out of his hands due to the shock of what he saw? Was it a calculated decision or a heat of the moment act?

The following are two poems from his 1921 collection of poetry, influenced by the modernist movement, called Nakete Lider (Naked Songs.) I (Malke) shared “Solitude” during the Musaf service on Day 1 of Rosh Hashanah.

We reach a high point in the Ashamnu prayer well into the repetition of the Amidah. We rise and beat our breasts as we intone each of the categories of sins that we have committed. The “we” is important, because the list is long. Have we all been violent, and killed and robbed? Are all of the sins that we committed exactly the same as the sins that others among us committed? No, but we take responsibility for all of the sins that we have committed as a community. When we are standing before God we know that we can’t all save ourselves.

Our true faith in God is living with confidence that the only thing that we can do in order to live a happy life, is not live our life in a constant fear, attempting to protect ourselves from a punishment which may or may not come due to us being too happy or too evil.

Our Sukkahs are Temples that we build. This Time of our Happiness (Zman Simchateinu) gives us permission to enact a version of another vision of Zechariah’s: that one day, all the pots of the people of Israel can be used for sacrifices. All Israel will become priests. We rejoice with the Lulav and Etrog, the Palm, Myrtle and Willow combined, and the Citron, and share our sacred vegetation and fruits with others for their ritual needs.

Learning how to be silent and listen to others, inside and outside of our community, even when I strongly disagree with them, has helped me in my process of return.

The Book of Jonah, which we will read on Yom Kippur in just a few weeks, tells the story of a man who was chosen by God and refused the call. He tried to flee, travelling as far as one could travel in those days, and ended up on a boat seized by a violent storm as it travelled.

The American way of thinking is, at the root, libertarian. We believe that we have an innate right to “Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” As Jews, there is another voice that is always in our ear. Yes, we have individual responsibilities, but we do not fulfill those responsibilities for ourselves alone.

The lonelier and more fragmented our society becomes, the more we feel the need to belong, to be a part of something, even if it means to conform. The rise in fascist tendencies and authoritarianism worldwide is not accidental. The need to belong and to find meaning becomes so crucial, that in some situations it would inevitably crush any resistance to it, any minority opinion, and with it, human rights.

Being concerned over climate change is a moral imperative, but can it be considered a legal imperative in Jewish law? I believe it is possible to conceive of it as such, and in doing so, can enlighten forgotten corners of our own religion.