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Joseph, Incarceration, and Dedication

The Torah portion Miketz, Gen 41:1 – 44:17, tells of Joseph’s amazing journey from incarceration to second in command in Pharaoh’s court. This is a good time to reflect on incarceration and Judaism: the needs of Jews who are incarcerated as well as the responsibility of Jews in- and outside to address related issues. In addition, the holiday of Chanukah is calling us to consider our dedications, so this might be a good time to dedicate, as capacity allows, our time, energy, and financial resources to carceral issues.

Some background and organizational resources are available here.

In addition, a specific request to aid an incarcerated Jew who has been active in speaking up on his own and others’ rights, and experiencing retaliation in response. Please check out this recent essay from Ronald W. Clark Jr. —

— and the related action requests:

Joni and Dinah

Chapter 34 of Genesis begins with a woman going to visit neighbors. It is one of very few instances in Genesis — maybe the only one? — of an apparently friendly, non-transactional interaction with folks of the surrounding culture. And one of the few instances in Genesis in which a woman has any agency. This episode is part of the Torah portion Vayishlach (Gen 32:4-36:43). The commentary is inspired by Joni Mitchell and “The Last Waltz,” concert and film, as well as Dinah’s story

CONTENT WARNING: What follows is mostly about music and crossing boundaries of various kinds in contemporary society. But Dinah’s story cannot be separated from disturbing underlying topics, including misogyny, racism, and sexual violence.

UPDATED afternoon of 12/5/25: mostly edits to correct typos and awkward grammar; some new phrasing in the Joni Mitchell, Now and Then section and a few new paragraphs at the end. Apologies for any confusion… still thinking.

Existing in Public

In Genesis 34:1, Dinah, “went out [teitzei] to see the women of the land.” The single verse relating this scene describes Dinah as “daughter of Leah, whom she had borne to Jacob.” (More below on Dinah and her going out, and a little about her parents.)

This “going out” is the only verb attributed to Dinah and the only time that other women are mentioned in Chapter 34. One verb. One verse of agency. And no voice.

The text itself does not criticize Dinah for going out or denigrate the women she went to visit. But the consequences of this one woman exercising agency and existing in public for the space of one verse are dramatic and dire. This reverberates in so many aspects of US society today, and in history, where simply existing in public is understood by some as provocation:

  • walking or driving while Black;
  • being queer in public;
  • living with brown skin or other signs of “possible immigrant” status;
  • being “too Jewish” or Jewish in the “wrong place” or the “wrong” kind of Jewish;
  • playing sports without identifying strongly with one gender;
  • existing as a transgender person;
  • expressing support for Palestine;
  • appearing in any way that resists authoritarianism;
  • what we used to call “doing your own thing” among folks strongly committed to some other way of being.

At various points in US history, whatever white people performed on stage or dance floor was eventually accepted as mainstream, while “Black music” was/is continually viewed as dangerous and in need of policing by white nationalism:

Jazz. Here in Germany it become something worse than a virus. We was all of us damn fleas, us Negroes and Jews and low-life hoodlums, set on playing that vulgar racket, seducing sweet blond kids into corruption and sex. It wasn’t music, it wasn’t a fad. It was a plague sent out by the dread black hordes, engineered by the Jews. Us Negroes, see, we was only half to blame – we just can’t help it. Savages just got a natural feel for filthy rhythms, no self-control to speak of. But the Jews, brother, now they cooked up this jungle music on purpose. All part of their master plan to weaken Aryan youth, corrupt its janes, dilute its bloodlines.

…we was officially degenerate.

…And poor damn Jews, clubbed to a pulp in the streets, their shopfronts smashed up, their axes ripped from their hands. Hell. When that old ivory-tickler Volker Schramm denounced his manager Martin Miller as a false Aryan, we know Berlin wasn’t Berlin no more. It had been a damn savage decade.
–Sid, Black musician narrator, in Esi Edyugan’s Half-Blood Blues: A Novel Picador, 2011 p.78-79

Further discussion of Edyugan’s novel, racial and music history, and how Germany in the 1930s relates to US history and my own story; plus whole series from 2016 on related topics.

In a somewhat similar vein, women’s and queer people’s existence continues to be viewed as dangerous in many quarters and in need of policing by cishet men and white nationalists.

Joni Mitchell, Then and Now

With US Thanksgiving, I am often reminded of “The Last Waltz” as a film and soundtrack, both of which have been important parts of my world for decades. And, most years, I re-discover how angry I still am at the film’s treatment of Joni Mitchell as an artist and human being. It is only in the last 10 or 15 years, that I’ve learned just how much of the film’s presentation was NOT what the original concert offered; instead, Martin Scorsese chose, and popular attitudes to women permitted, deliberate manipulation of concert footage in ways that denigrate Mitchell and every woman, in- and beyond the arts.

Details here —

I wrote the above piece a few years ago, in a week associated with a different part of the Torah, and on the heels of Mitchell’s surprise appearance at Newport that year (2022). I recently updated some of this post’s language for clarity and to add a few new links.

This year (2025), I had the opportunity to attend a tribute to “The Last Waltz” at a music venue just outside of Chicago. In many ways it was a great concert and a terrific experience. However, unless I misunderstood his meandering words, the musician-emcee called Joni Mitchell a tramp while introducing “Coyote.” I think he believed he was being funny, and maybe he meant to illustrate double-standards that existed then and still operate. But I was mostly struck with how hard the world can still — after 50 years! — push back when many people are just trying to exist, live their life, and engage their art.

Defending and Celebrating “Going Out”

We only get his one verse, in the midst of such a wildly disturbing story, that tells of Dinah’s going out. And we don’t learn much, if anything, about the rest of the family engaging with local culture or making friends. Is the Torah trying to tell us how dangerous it is to be going out into the surrounding culture? If so, when did that emphasis come into the telling? And what might we learn by focusing on the importance of going out and what we miss if we fear it or are attacked for doing so?

UPDATE 12/5 afternoon, four paragraphs and image added here:

When Esau and Jacob meet, after decades apart, the Torah text includes dots above the word va-yishakeihu [and he kissed him] in Genesis 33:4: “Esau ran to meet him; he embraced him, flung himself upon his neck, and kissed him. And they wept.”

Va-yishakeihu with dots (Gen 33:4)

For centuries, Jewish teaching has used these dots to suggest that the text be read in opposition to its straightforward meaning: instead of kissing Jacob, Esau was insincere in his greeting or perhaps trying to bite or otherwise do Jacob harm. (Find the text and commentary at Sefaria.)

As part of the deliberate demonization of Esau, unsupported by the Torah itself, this dotted reading is one of my least favorite aspects of Torah commentary. It seems very like Scorsese’s use of interview footage to completely alter how viewers are introduced to Joni Mitchell. And all too resonant with dangerous propaganda through the ages. However, the dots also offer a powerful example of how Jewish tradition has always found a way to read with some skepticism, even change the text where warranted.

Jacob went out; Leah went out; Dinah went out. Maybe we, too, can go out into Torah readings that put us in better touch with our families, our neighbors, and the world at large. Where Torah has been weaponized, we can learn to acknowledge harm and promote better readings. And where our culture, in- and outside of Judaism, has tricked us into thinking the worst of others, maybe we can work to undo the propaganda.

NOTES

Dinah Went Out

Prior to Genesis 34, Dinah is previously mentioned only at her birth and naming (Gen 30:21). Dinah, daughter of Leah and Jacob, has no voice of her own in the text, and we never hear from Leah or any other women of Jacob’s household or the town regarding her fate. Instead, men act on and about Dinah: She is an object — of lust or love, depending on translation/interpretation — for the prince, who is seen lurking here in R. Crumb’s illustration —

comic frame for Gen 34:1 shows Dinah visiting with a few women while Shechem looks on from nearby.
R. Crumb’s The Illustrated Book of Genesis, Norton, 2009.**

Then Dinah is the object of various decisions and actions by the prince, his father, other men of the local town, and her own father and brothers. Over the centuries, Dinah’s “going out” has been variously interpreted as

  • involving herself — for better or worse, depending on the commentary’s perspectives and biases — in the existing culture;
  • spying on the women of the land;
  • showing off her wealth;
  • seeking women’s companionship in a non-romantic sense;
  • checking out the women as potential romantic partners;
  • seeking inappropriate attention, with some teachers insisting that a woman seeking any attention at all is inappropriate (and potentially dangerous);
  • acting forward, as Leah’s going out to meet Jacob (Gen 30:16) is often characterized, with the implication that women must be restrained;
  • simply moving through the world, which the text itself does not condemn, perhaps akin to Jacob’s going out to find his way (Gen 28:10).

**Alt Text: graphic frame for Gen 34:1-2 shows Dinah visiting congenially with a few women in what appears to be a public square, while the prince looks on from behind a nearby building column. R. Crumb’s Illustrated Book of Genesis uses Robert Alter’s 1996 translation: “And Dinah, Leah’s daughter, whom she had borne to Jacob, went out to see some of the daughters of the land. And Shechem, the son of Hamor the Hivite, prince of the Land, saw her…”

Commentary on Dinah’s Story

Rashi (11th Century CE France) notices that Leah previously “went out” (Gen 30:16): “like mother, like daughter.” Rashi adds a note about the need for men to subdue wives from public activity.

Ibn Ezra (12th Century CE Spain) says: AND DINAH WENT OUT. Of her own accordas in: She did not ask her parents’ permission.

Ramban (13th Century CE Spain) says “bat Leah” is links Dinah to Simeon and Levi, who are also children of Leah and so are moved to avenge her [due to perceived defilement]

The Torah: A Women’s Commentary (CCAR Press, 2008) notes that Jephthah’s daughter “went out to meet him,” using the same yud-tzadei-aleph verb (Judges 11:34) with horrible consequences. That volume has more on Dinah. See also “The Debasement of Dinah” and “A Story that Biblical Authors Keep Revising” Dinah and Schechem” at TheTorah.com.

Women’s Archive on Dinah in historical midrash.

Some relatively contemporary notes on Dinah. While some people treat Anita Diamant’s novel, The Red Tent (St. Martin’s Press, 1997), as midrash, the author herself says it is historical fiction.

An exploration of Dinah as transgender.

Note also that Leah goes on to live with Jacob on “the land,” while Rachel seems strongly linked to her family’s original home, “back there,” and dies on the road giving birth to the only child born in “the land.” (More on these aspects of the story found in this older post.)

Notes on “subdue it/her”

Rashi and Genesis Rabbah to Gen 34:1

Rashi cites Genesis Rabbah (4th Century, Talmudic Israel), which uses Gen 34:1 as proof text for why men should subdue their wives: Gen 1:28 tells humans to “…fill the earth and subdue it/her [mil’u et ha-‘aretz v’khivshuha…].” The Hebrew verb construction v’khivshuha uses the feminine direct object ha [it/her] to match the feminine noun ‘aretz. Commentary plays on that grammatical feature to read “subdue her [the woman],” rather than the more common “subdue it [the earth],” bringing Gen 34:1-3 as explanation: “the man subdues his wife so she should not go out in public, as any woman who goes out in public will ultimately falter.” Implication is that Dinah “faltered” by allowing herself to come in contact with Shekhem (Gen 34:2); depending on reading of va-y’aneiha, this means either that Dinah allowed herself to be “humbled” by consensual association with Shekhem or that she made herself vulnerable to physical attack or social violation by “going out,” i.e, simply being a woman in public space.

-#-

Back There, Akara, and Belonging

This is not a particularly polished post, but more of a set of musings or food for thought.

Leaving

There is a lot of talk about leaving, voluntary and through forced exile, in Genesis

  • Exile from Eden (Gen 3:24)
  • Cain’s exile (Gen 4:16)
  • God limits the span human life (Gen 6:4)
  • Flood leavings
    • — Noah, Naamah, and all leave earth for the ark (Gen 7:2)
    • — Raven sent out (Gen 8:7)
    • — Dove sent out (Gen 8:8)
    • — Noah/Naamah and all leave ark (8:16)
  • Scattering from Babel (Gen 11:9)
  • Terah and family leave Ur (Gen 11:31)
  • Abraham is told to leave [Lekh Lekha] (Gen 12:l)

The departure of Gen 12:1 — “from your land, from your kindred, and from your father’s house” — is sometimes treated as a single, decisive leaving for the Genesis story. And it is a key element in the story. But leaving, voluntary and forced, continues throughout the Genesis story.

This is a thorough but not exhaustive list of goings:

  • Abraham and Sarah leave for, and then from, Mitzrayim (Gen 12:10, 13:1)
  • Abraham’s and Lot’s families part (Gen 13:10)
    • — Lot’s folks settle near Sodom (Gen 13:13)
    • — Abraham and Sarah move-tent to Oaks of Mamre (Gen 14:1)
  • — War-related movements (Gen 14)
  • Hagar runs away and returns (Gen 16:6)
  • Some of Lot’s family leave Sodom (Gen 19:17)
  • Abraham and Sarah sojourn in Gerar (Gen 20)
  • Hagar and Ishmael are exiled (Gen 21:15)
  • Eliezer goes “back” to get Isaac a wife (Gen 24:1)
  • Rebecca leaves her family’s home to marry Isaac (Gen 24:58-59)
  • Ishmael and Isaac have, meanwhile, both settled near Beer Lahai Roi (Gen 25)
  • Rebecca “goes to inquire” (Gen 25:22)
  • Rebecca and Isaac sojourn in Gerar (Gen 26)
  • Jacob goes “back” to Rebecca’s family to marry (Gen 28:5)

Back There

The Lekh Lekha departure of Gen 12:1 is often read as thorough and decisive. Several rituals and some covenantal language suggest a serious break with the past is intended:

  • the dramatic, one-time Covenant of the Pieces (Gen 15),
  • the name changes for Abraham and Sarah (from Abram and Sarai, Gen 17),
  • the on-going covenant of circumcision commandment (Gen 17) for those with penises and, presumably, their families.

In the portion, Chayei Sarah, however, Abraham sends to his people back home to find a wife for Isaac (Gen 24); later, Jacob spends two decades in the old country, marrying two women from his grandparents’ kindred, with most of the children born outside “the land” (Gen 29ff)…

Chayei Sarah contains a lot of “There=שם

Abraham is old and telling the elder servant of his household to go “to my country, and to my kindred (or: the land of my birth) to get a wife for my son Isaac” (Gen 24:1-2). The servant (later identified as Eliezer) asks what to do, should he find a potential wife who doesn’t consent to return with him: Should he bring Isaac back…

אֶל־הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר־יָצָאתָ מִשָּׁם׃ …to the land from which you came? (Gen 24:5)

פֶּן־תָּשִׁיב אֶת־בְּנִי שָׁמָּה On no account take my son back there (Gen 24:6)

וְלָקַחְתָּ אִשָּׁה לִבְנִי מִשָּׁם …get a wife for my son from there (Gen 24:7)

לֹא תָשֵׁב שָׁמָּה …do not take my son back there (Gen 24:8)

In contrast to Gertrude Stein’s “no there there,” there is a lot of “there”–שם — here.

Commentators across centuries have explored many “there” details: Did Abraham intend a specific place? Specific kin? Why not encourage marriage with neighbor families? Was the union meant to seal some kind of family reconciliation? One of the most salient answers, for present purposes, stresses basic there-ness:

Abraham was sent away from his country, kindred and father’s house, so that he should have no further contact with them and be a stranger in a foreign clime…Similarly, his son must not marry [a Canaanite]. For this reason he was called Abraham the Hebrew, “that all the world was on one side and he on the other” (ivri means in Hebrew “a person from the other side” usually taken as a reference to Abraham’s origins in Mesopotamia — on the other side of the river).
–Nehama Leibowitz, New Studies in Breishit,, p. 220

Belonging

Abraham is ivri, from there. As in “not from here.” A key experience that his descendants will repeat — in Mitzrayim, in the wilderness, in later exile. At this point in Genesis, Abraham and his family are becoming separate. That separateness will play an important role in the Exodus and, later, Babylonian Captivity. Meanwhile, though, after Rebecca comes “from there” to marry Isaac and raise their sons, the situation will be reversed for the next generation, with Jacob finding his wives and fathering children in the land where, according to Leibowitz and so many others, God intended there should be “no further contact.”

This portion mentions Abraham’s “seed” and how that seed is connected to a future in a “land I will show you”? In the Haftarah for the portion Lekh Lekha, two weeks back, we learned that covenant and seed are connected through God’s friendship — or “beloved” relationship — to Abraham (Isaiah 41:8). In this way, the future is being crafted through a visioning process that involves leaving, mourning, leaning still toward “back there,” and seeking to belong in a new place.

A few related questions to consider:

  • Where, if anywhere, does Abraham belong? Does belonging involve purchase? vision?
  • What does this mean for our own belonging?
  • How much of what’s “back there” is essential to our life today? How much needs to be left?
  • Additional questions: How do specific attributes of a neighborhood, current or “back there,” influence our choice of where to dwell? What is our responsibility, if any, to a neighborhood in which we no longer reside?

Akara

Sarah, Rebecca, and later Rachel are all called “akara,” a relatively rare word in the Torah. It is often translated as “barren” but also related to uprooting and, in later Hebrew, to “essential.”

Here is a presentation from a few years back on this word and what it might mean for understanding all the leaving and uprooting in Genesis: “Rachel and Joseph: Rooting, Uprooting, and the Essence of Judaism” at the Global Shavuot Teach-In 5784 Torah of Freedom for All.

The full-slide version includes graphical elements (no illustrations, just decorative and organizational graphics.)

Full-slide presentation PDF: “Akara for Shavuot SPATZ Slides

The text-only version is also PDF but contains no visual elements and has a little formatting as possible for anyone who finds this more accessible

Text-only PDF: Akara Shavuot Spatz text of slides

Friendship and Covenant

Imagery of Abraham as “God’s friend” offers a path for exploring relationship with the divine, linking themes of Lekh Lekha (Genesis 12:1-17:27) and its prophetic reading (Isaiah 40:27-41:16) to later Jewish text and post-collapse struggle (touched on in last week’s post, Where Now?“).

Avraham Ohavi [My friend, lover, beloved]

The expression “Avraham ohavi” is found in Isaiah 41:8:

וְאַתָּה יִשְׂרָאֵל עַבְדִּי יַעֲקֹב אֲשֶׁר בְּחַרְתִּיךָ זֶרַע אַבְרָהָם אֹהֲבִי׃

But you, Israel, My servant,
Jacob, whom I have chosen,
Seed of Abraham My friend
— Revised JPS via Sefaria; more translations/notes

This verse is part of the haftarah for Lekh Lekha. The same expression is also found in Sefer Yetzirah [Book of Creation, or Book of Formation] where “Abraham, God’s friend” is linked to covenant and seed, as in Isaiah, and also to mystical/meditative connection with the divine:

The radical assertion of Sefer Yetzirah is that the divine-human relationship created via the meditative/magical practices of the Book of Creation is worthy of the language of covenant.

…God loves Abraham because Abraham learns how to play with creative magic and contemplation the way God does.

It is Abraham’s engagement with the cosmic mystery that God admires and rewards. Just as Sefer Yetzirah redefines the Temple as the cosmos, it redefines covenant as the development of cosmic consciousness. This covenant extends, by implication, to the reader of teh text, who now has also conducted the ritual of letter combination and world-temple visualization. The conclusion of the book, by implication, grants covenant to the one who has just read and practiced it.
–Rabbi Jill Hammer, Return to the Place: The Magic, Meditation, and Mystery of Sefer Yetzirah (Ben Yehuda Press, 2020), p.261

Before Abraham turns up in the final verse, Sefer Yetzirah does not feature narrative characters. Water, breath, fire, Hebrew letters, Wisdom, and God-YHVH act or are acted upon. Aspects, or rulers of, space, time, and living bodies are identified — called in one section “Dragon,” “Wheel,” and “Heart,” which sound like possible character names — but action and object are not clearly delineated. In fact, R’ Hammer cites Karen Barad’s theory of agential realism, suggesting that all involved in Sefer Yetzirah are intra-actors.

So, what is Abraham — or any narrative character at all — doing at the close of Sefer Yetzirah?

R’ Hammer explores the choice of Abraham — rather than, e.g., Moses or Solomon — as “exemplar who ends the story.” She suggests that Abraham, as a spiritual forebear of Christians and Muslims as well as Jews, sets the book “beyond tribe”; in addition, Abraham’s biblical story centers individual, rather than collective or institutional, relationship to God (p.257). Moreover: “Abraham becomes the reader, the seeker, the adept who follows in God’s footsteps” and “opens the elemental channels, the paths of Wisdom. God’s friend becomes a creator, a worker of the life-force” (p.256, p.262).

Post-Collapse Relationship Building

Facing Collapse Together” study group — with Rabbi Jessica Rosenberg, Derekh Travers, and Dean Spade — offered lots of food for thought. I was particularly struck by R’ Jessica’s teaching about the Jewish calendar recognizing institutional collapse with Tisha B’Av and then moving into smaller, shakier relationships through the high holidays and Sukkot.

The study group led me to the “Calendar Notes for a Summer of Collapse” series of ponderings. R’ Jessica also offered a vision of “Spiral Time in Collapse,” concluding:

…every day, trying to live, choosing our stories for the sake of protecting and cherishing life, choosing each other, protecting and cherishing each other. To be in as honest and specific a story of the past, and living into as clear a vision of the future as we can, together.
— R’ Jessica Rosenberg, “Spiral Time in Collapse”
Dvar for Erev Rosh Hashana 5786, World to Come Twin Cities

Now, I am stumbling through what it means to read Torah in collapse, struggling to find what is fresh and nourishing in this still-new year, amid so much that is old, exhausted, and painful.

R’ Hammer’s approach to Abraham and Sefer Yetzirah offers heartening possibilities: Maybe we can read Torah this year in ways that build on our smaller, shakier relationships — within or apart from our collapsed/ing institutions; maybe we can emulate the creative energy of Abraham in Sefer Yetzirah, walking and co-creating with the divine without denying imperfection and brokenness around us; maybe we can lean into covenant born of friendship.

See also “Planting Trees, Stretching Glitter” about the eshel in parashat Vayera (Gen. 18:1-22:24) and the need to pause between big, dramatic moments in Torah/life.

Sefer Yetzirah 6:7

Some versions of Sefer Yetzirah close the final chapter before verse 7, ending with Abraham and covenant but not the friend imagery. (See earliest extant version at Sefaria and earliest recoverable text at Open Siddur.)

Here are two versions which include verse 7:

כשהבין אברהם אבינו וצר וצרף …נגלה עליו ” עשאו אוהבו

And when Abraham our father understood
transformed and transmuted…
God appeared to him
and made him God’s friend
Sefer Yetzirah 6:7, Rabbi Jill Hammer translation

כשבא אברהם אבינו ע”ה הביט וראה והבין
… נגלה עליו אדון הכל יתברך… וקראו אברהם אוהבי

When the patriarch Abraham comprehended the great truism, revolved it in his mind…the Lord of the Universe appeared to him…and called him his friend
Sefer Yetzirah 6:7, Gra Version, Kalisch (1877) translation

And when Abraham, our father, may he rest in peace, looked, saw, understood…Immediately there was revealed to him the Master of all, may His name be blessed forever… and He called him ‘Abraham, My beloved’
Sefer Yetzirah, 6:7, Gra Version, Kaplan (1997) translation

R’ Hammer uses the third-person “ohavo” in Hebrew, while the Gra version uses the first-person “ohavi.” Hammer and Kalisch use English third-person: “God’s friend”/”his friend.” Kaplan makes the reference to Isaiah explicit, using quotation marks and the first person: “My beloved.” (Kalisch and Kaplan translations at Sefaria; Hammer, Return to the Place, p.256).

Additional background on accessing this unusual Jewish text, in its various versions and translations; see also Return to the Place website for more on R’ Hammer’s commentary and translation.

Translations

Sefaria’s English translations offer no variety; other options, to suggest some different flavors, include Mia amato (Esperanto), qui m’aimait or mon ami (French), meines Freundes (German), and haver (Yiddish). BibleHub (Christian site) presents 38 translations into English, mostly relying on “my friend”:

  • 28 opt for “Abraham, my friend”
  • 2 use “my friend Abraham”
  • 2 use “Abraham, My lover” (1898 Young’s Literal and Literal Standard Version)
  • 1 version (1995) chooses “Abraham, my dear friend”
  • 3 use “beloved / beloued” (Coverdale 1535, Bishop 1568, Julia E Smith 1876)
  • 1 uses “whom I have loved” (Brenton’s 1844 translation of Greek Septuagint*)
  • 1 uses “friend, whom I have strengthened” (1933 Lamsa translation from Aramaic**, incorporating the expression “strengthened” [וּמַתְקֵיף לֵיהּ / וַיְחַזְּקֵהוּ] from verse 7)

*Greek: σπέρμα Ἀβραὰμ ὃν ἠγάπησα. See JPS commentary below.

** Aramaic uses “r’chimi” [זַרְעֵהּ דְאַבְרָהָם רְחִימִי]; Jastrow dictionary says r’chem = “beloved, friend, lovable.” The final phrase seems to incorporate an expression from verse 7 — “strengthened with nails” [וּמַתְקֵיף לֵיהּ בְמַסְמְרִין / וַיְחַזְּקֵהוּ בְמַסְמְרִים] — which Rashi explains refers to how nails reference Shem, a blacksmith who made nails and bars for the Ark: “Shem strengthened Abraham to cleave to the Holy One, blessed be He, and not to move.”

Seed of Abraham My Friend. Hebrew ‘ohavi; literally, “Who loves Me.” Ibn Ezra stressed the active force of the verb and distinguished it sharply from the passive sense (“who is loved by Me”); cf. Avot de-Rabbi Natan, B, 43). A reversal or softening of this theological point occurs in the Septuagint, where a relative clause is used (“whom I have loved”). 2 Chronicles 20:7 speaks of the land given to the “descendants of Abraham,” God’s “friend.” These variations reflect ongoing theological considerations and applications. The tradition of God’s love for Abraham occurs in the Septuagint a Isa 51:2, but not in the Masoretic tradition. God’s love for Israel occurs in Isa 43:4.” — The JPS Bible Commentary: Haftarot, 2002. Michael Fishbane. Commentary on verse 41:8, p.21

Sotah 31a:7

The Gemara asks: And with regard to Abraham himself, from where do we derive that he acted out of a sense of love? As it is written: “The offspring of Abraham who loved Me” (Isaiah 41:8).

Tractate Kallah Rabbati 8:1

ברייתא

ר׳ מאיר אומר כל העוסק בתורה לשמה זוכה לדברים הרבה ולא עוד אלא שכל העולם כלו כדאי הוא לו. נקרא ריע [אהוב] אוהב את המקום אוהב אה הבריות.

BARAITHA. R. Meir said: Whoever occupies himself with the Torah for its own sake merits many things; nay more, the whole world is beholden to him. He is called friend, *Cf. Isa. 41, 8, where it is used of Abraham. beloved, *Cf. Prov. 8, 17, I love them that love me. a lover of the All-present and a lover of his fellow-creatures, one who gladdens *Cf. Judg. 9, 13, [wine] which cheereth God and man. The Torah is compared by the Rabbis to wine. the All-present and his fellow-creatures.

Where now?

The “collapse” series, launched at the close of Tammuz (late July 2025), began with questions and with cisterns that, God complains, “can hold no water.” In the ensuing weeks, we’ve marked institutional destruction with the mourning and introspection of Av and Elul; we’ve focused on relationship repair and building of shaky new structures through Tishrei’s Days of Awe and Sukkot; and we closed out one Torah reading cycle at Simchat Torah, leading once again into exile, murder, communal violence, catastrophic flood, family conflict, and social scattering.

Now, 14 weeks on, as the Torah portion calls “Lekh Lekha [Go for, or to, yourself!]” (Gen 12:1), this series on repentance in a time of collapse comes to its close. I originally imagined the series as leading toward the high holidays, but the new year came with so many uncertainties… and so I held off, waiting for a logical end point. This closing came for me, sadly, when Tzedek Chicago, where I had been an active member for some years, used my “Al Chet for Institutions” at Yom Kippur services without any plans for organizational teshuvah. (For anyone interested, I formally resigned on October 27 and posted a further update on October 31 after the congregation separated with the second of its foundational co-cantorial soloists.)

Lekh Lekha: Go where?

At the beginning of Elul, Jeremiah’s haftarah questions invited us into a wake-up call and conversation for the season of repentance. The haftarah for Lekh Lekha, Isaiah 40:27-41:16, also begins with a question:

לָמָּה תֹאמַר יַעֲקֹב וּתְדַבֵּר יִשְׂרָאֵל נִסְתְּרָה דַרְכִּי מֵיְהֹוָה וּמֵאֱלֹהַי מִשְׁפָּטִי יַעֲבוֹר׃

Why do you say, O Jacob,
Why declare, O Israel,
“My way is hid from GOD,
My cause is ignored by my God”? — Isaiah 40:27

Jewish Publication Society commentary notes how this differs from “the theological motif that God deliberately hides [the divine’s] face from [God’s] creatures as an expression of anger or rejection (cf. Deut 31:18; Ps. 44:25)” and identifies the question as a “quote from a communal lament, bemoaning a lack of knowledge” (The JPS Bible Commentary: Haftarot, 2002. Michael Fishbane, citing Claus Westermann, 1969).

The Torah portion itself asks: “Whence do you come [אֵי־מִזֶּה בָאת]? and where do you go?” [וְאָנָה תֵלֵכִי] (a messenger of YHVH of God to Hagar, Gen 16:8).

Both questions seem fitting for this point in our collapse travels.

In addition, the haftarah offers a kind of bookend for the cistern images which began this series. Back then, God chastised the people for having abandoned “Me, the fountain of living waters, and hewed them out cisterns, broken cisterns, That can hold no water” (Jer 2:13). Now, the people are addressed as “Seed of Abraham my friend” or “…who loved me” [זֶרַע אַבְרָהָם אֹהֲבִי] (Isa 41:8).

We’ve spent weeks considering forms of collapse around us and cisterns that no longer seem to hold water. Now we are reminded that, whatever may be broken around us, the seed of relationship with the divine is still available.

This is the tenth in the series, “Calendar Notes for a Summer of Collapse

NOTE

UPDATE October 31, 2025: Over the past four months, Tzedek Chicago has separated the congregation from both long-time co-cantorial soloists: in one case, using the vague “intractable differences” explanation often employed in quashing union/labor disputes; in another case, using specific language about misuse of power which seems directly contradicted by structures of the organization. While I do not deny any individual’s experience of harm, I have witnessed enough problematic uses of power within the organization by those making the public declarations to be wary of how these actions have been taken and announcements made. At this point, although I am deeply grateful for individual relationships I have made over the years and cannot rewrite history to remove my contributions to the congregation, I must re-evaluate any association with the congregation as an entity.

More at “Stepping Away




Interconnection and Stepping Away

An unusual incense, associated with the high holidays, calls us to recognize — and then to welcome and integrate — the more difficult aspects of ourselves and our communities. Many teachings focus on one of the ketoret‘s components, which is foul-smelling on its own but sweet-smelling in compound: Often this fact is used to call Jews to unity and to remind us that not only can we pray with the wayward among us, and within each of us, but we must. What do we do with this teaching as our institutions collapse around us and our communities struggle to find space for all?

This is part of a series on Summer of Collapse.

This post was substantially updated just before noon ET, following its first posting in the wee hours of Sep 9 (16 Elul 5785), including the addition of the “Seat of Compassion” section and a link to “Stepping Away in Hope and Prayer.”

A few basic texts regarding the ritual incense/ketoret, with its foul-smelling component, chelbenah, are below. Here is an exploration of connections with the season of teshuvah/return.

This Year’s Challenge

In her book, Sacred Therapy, Estelle Frankel describes connections between ketoret and Yom Kippur:

In the mystical tradition, the ketoret was understood to be a symbol of unity and interconnectedness within and among people. According to Jewish law, it had to be made from eleven different spices, including chelbenah, or galbanum. Though chelbenah itself is foul smelling, it was an essential ingredient of the sweet-smelling ketoret offering, for according to legend, when the chelbenah was joined with the ten other ingredients, it actually added sweetness to the ketoret’s sweet fragrance.

The inclusion of the chelbenah in the ketoret suggests that when we are joined together as a community, we atone for one another. Even the sinners and schleppers among us add to the perfection and fragrance of the whole. In commemoration of the chelbenah, on the eve of Yom Kippur prior to the chanting of the opening Kol Nidre prayer, Jews recite the following invocation, which formally welcomes the sinners among them to join in and be accepted back into the community: “With permission of God and the permission of the community, we hereby give ourselves permission to pray alongside the sinners.”

…so, too, according to this way of thinking, each of us must welcome and reintegrate our own inner chelbehah on Yom Kippur. In this interpretation the chelbenah is taken to symbolize the quality or part of ourselves that is least developed and least desirable–our shadow, if you will. To the degree that we deny or reject this part, it remains split off and becomes an adversarial force in our lives. The inclusion of the chelbenah among the sweet spices of the ketoret reaches us that we must integrate our weaknesses and vulnerabilities into the totality of our being. When we do, they can actually add potency to the sweetness of our lives.
— Estelle Frankel, Sacred Therapy: Jewish Spiritual Teachings on Emotional Healing and Inner Wholeness (Shambala, 2005). p.161-162

Much of Sacred Therapy‘s focus here is on self-forgiveness and integrating parts of ourselves that we may have been trying to ignore. But Frankel also addresses what the incense means for us in community:

The vital message…is that no part of the self, nor any individual community member, may be cut off from the whole. In order for us to come into our wholeness, all parts of the self must be held together as one. And when we join together as a collective, something greater constellates than the simple sum of individuals. Joined together, we atone for one another, for what one of us may lack another makes up for, and one person’s weakness may evoke another’s strength. In community, then, we find our wholeness and healing. On Yom Kippur, Jews cease to view themselves as isolated individual persons but as members of an interconnected web, a community in which each person takes responsibility for the sins of the collective….

Yom Kippur is a time when we each gather up the broken pieces of our lives–as the ancient Israelites gathered up the broken pieces of the first tablets–and try to reestablish a sense of wholeness and coherence both as individual people and as a community. Despite whatever has been broken or shattered through our own mistakes or fate itself, Yom Kippur, the day of at-one-ment, gives us a chance to heal and be whole once more.
–Frankel, Sacred Therapy, p.162-3

Trying to reestablish wholeness and coherence as a community is enormously challenging this year, for many reasons. Atonement and healing among Jews around Zionism and the state of Israel may not be possible at all at the present moment. Jews have much work to do, particularly at the new year, to clarify which “we” is meant in our prayers. We must grapple with how we are, or are not, responsible for one another.

The challenges are not small. And there is a strong temptation to cut off what or who seems to be impeding our attempts at coherence. (See also “Repentance, Repair, and Cancellation” and “The Predator’s Tools.”) But ejecting people or defining them out of the community is not necessarily the solution we might like it to be: As Frankel points out, cutting off parts of ourselves and our communities leaves an “adversarial force in our lives.” We might think we’re leaving something, or someone, behind, but our “broken pieces” do not simply disappear. Moreover, the collapse around us and the many pressures on us this year make mending more difficult….meaning we must exercise more caution regarding ruptures.

Coherence and Brokenness

Many “broken pieces,” within ourselves and our communities, result from harsh judgment in place of compassion. Through Jewish teaching, therapy examples, and meditations, Sacred Therapy explores the effort to move from judgment to compassion. (See e.g.,”Finding the Seat of Compassion.”) On the more general topic, she writes:

Unfortunately, many of us spend a great deal more time sitting in harsh judgment (din) than practicing compassion (rachamim) or forgiveness. We are more concerned with what’s wrong with ourselves and others than with what’s right. We obsess about our own imperfections and are all too ready to criticize our friends, family, and associates whenever they fall short of our expectations. When we get stuck in our “judging mind,” life begins to seem like an endless series of disappointments! And when we relentlessly judge and find fault with ourselves and others, we unfortunately often end up worsening the problems we think we are trying to remedy.


…when we support and lovingly care for those who are ill or suffering, we sweeten an experience that would otherwise be harsh and unbearable (din).

Similarly, when we find a way to transform situations of anger and discord between people into harmonious, loving connections, we sweeten the judgments.
–Frankel, Sacred Therapy, p. 188-189, p.196

Frankel notes that work to “sweeten” harsh judgment should not be expected of us when “someone is hurting us or taking advantage of us.” In such cases, she says, it may be necessary to “set firm limits,” instead, at least temporarily (p.197). And yet…

There are, however, many situations in our daily lives when we do have the power to “sweeten” things, particularly in relation to our own harsh judgments about ourselves and others. We also have many opportunities to transform angry and aggressive verbal exchanges into respectful, loving exchanges. We have the power to set the tone of conflicts so that our discourse with others is characterized by mutual compassion and empathy. And ultimately, when we succeed at transforming potentially contentious relations into mutually empathic exchanges, we open up the flow of divine rachamim in our own lives. For as the rabbis said, “According to the quality one uses to deal with others, by that very quality is one dealt with.”*
–Frankel, Sacred Therapy, p.197
*footnote references B. Meg 12b

In some cases, we will decide, at least temporarily, to separate ourselves, as individuals or as subsets of larger communities, from one whole in order to gain wholeness in another. In some cases, the quest for coherence might leave us feeling more torn and lonely than whole. The reminder of the incense, however, is that we actually need one another and cannot atone all alone.

Judging and Sweetening

We know from our own experiences, as well as from midrashic tradition, that pure judgment is not tenable in the long run. Breishit Rabbah 12:15 tells us: “At first God thought to create the world through the quality of judgment (din), but realizing that the world could not endure at this level, God added on the quality of compassion (rachamim).” And yet too many of our communal institutions, and too many of our community expectations are too willing to stay with “judging mind.”

Being quick to judge, while refusing to engage with dissent or difference, fosters a brittle, easily shattered collective. (Again, see We Will Not Cancel Us and discussion here.) Rules and procedures which discourage sweetening leave many, avoidable “broken pieces.” Sacred Therapy suggests that we can re-member the lost and broken bits; we can retrain ourselves to be more compassionate; we can return to ourselves. This is not easy for any individual and harder for a group. But the new year is a reminder that change is possible and that we can transform — or if necessary, step away from — a situation in which breakage is the norm and softening is not valued.

In that spirit, I share the personal, “Stepping Away in Hope and Prayer,” along with more general, warm wishes that we all find — through the final weeks of 5785 and the coming year — better ways to integrate the wayward among us, and within each of us, in our communities, our mutual aid, and our prayers.

Incense rising, just wisps of smoke, cropped from image by József Szabó from Pixabay

Incense rising cropped from image by József Szabó from Pixabay

Texts Regarding Ketoret/Incense

Exodus 30:34-35

And YHVH said to Moses: Take the herbs stacte, onycha, and galbanum [חֶלְבְּנָה, chelbenah]—these herbs together with pure frankincense; let there be an equal part of each. Make them into incense [קְטֹרֶת, ketoret], a compound expertly blended, refined, pure, sacred.

Midrash: Joy (not atonement)

The sin-offering is brought because of sin and guilt; the burnt offering is brought because of a thought in one’s heart; the peace-offerings are brought to atone for violations of a positive commandment, while incense [הַקְּטֹרֶת, ha-ketoret] is brought, not because of sin or transgression or guilt, but only out of sheer joy [ אֶלָּא עַל הַשִּׂמְחָה, elah ‘al ha-simchah]. Hence, Ointment and incense rejoice the heart.
–Midrash Tanhuma, Tetzaveh 15

Chelbenah in Hassidic teaching

Rebbe Nathan Sternhartz of Nemirov (1780–1845) on chelbenah (full text at Sefaria):

This concept of beirur of the good points also relates to the incense-offering, which included among its ingredients the foul-smelling chelbenah. The ketoret signifies finding and refining the good even in Jewish sinners, who are likened to chelbenah. This is similar to what Chazal teach, that “any prayer that does not also include the prayers of Jewish sinners is not a suitable prayer.” For the ketoret dimension of prayer is primarily fulfilled by finding and refining good points even in Jewish sinners, who are represented by the chelbenah.

This is also the significance of the ketoret being comprised of eleven spices—that is, ten spices aside from the chelbenah. These ten fragrant substances represent the Ten Types of Melody, the melodies made by finding and refining the good in Jewish sinners, who themselves signify the eleventh ingredient, the chelbenah.

–Likutei Halakhot, Orach Chaim (morning conduct) 1:5-6

Talmud: Wage Dispute

Babylonian Talmud Yoma 38a speaks of artisans who made the special Temple incense and a wage dispute in which less skilled artisans are brought in but cannot make the incense rise properly, so the original workers are hired back at twice the wage.

Finding the Seat of Compassion

For decades now, I’ve returned frequently to Frankel’s teaching, “Finding the Seat of Compassion,” and highly recommend checking it out and employing it. (Borrow a virtual copy from Archive.org, visit your local library, or get a copy from Bookshop.) Here’s part of the “Seat of Compassion” passage:

“…Whenever you notice that you are stuck in a place of judgment, whether of yourself or of someone else, try to imagine what it would be like if you stepped away from the judging position and viewed the same person or situation from the perspective of rachamim. You can try practicing this as a meditation in which you visualize these two qualities–judgment and compassion–literally as two seats. Imagine yourself getting up and moving away from that seat of judgment and sitting on the seat of compassion….

“…You will be surprised by how many opportunities there are in the course of an ordinary day to come from a place of compassion rather than judgment.”

— Estelle Frankel, Sacred Therapy: Jewish Spiritual Teachings on Emotional Healing and Inner Wholeness. Shambala, 2003. p.205

-#-

The Predator’s Tools

Building communities based on truly transformative justice requires that we strive to “put down the predator’s tools,” according to adrienne maree brown. (We Will Not Cancel Us; more here“). Considering the predator’s tools raises serious misgivings about this week’s Torah portion and many Jewish teachings centering the injunction to pursue “tzedek, tzedek [“justice, justice” or “equity, equity”]. Reflecting on inherited ideas of justice is but one aspect of exploring collapse and the possibility of (re-)building.

This is part of a series on Summer of Collapse.

Updated for more clarity of expression in the “Justice, In/Out of Context” section and addition of “Some History” section below Friday afternoon (8/29/25, around 5 ET)

Justice, In/Out of Context

The Torah portion “Shoftim [Judges]” (Deut 16:18-21:9) is composed of rules about appointing judges and other legal matters. It contains one of the most quoted verses in the Torah, which begins:

tzedek tzedek tirdof…, …צֶדֶק צֶדֶק תִּרְדֹּף
Justice, justice shall you pursue… (JPS 2006)
Equity, equity you are to pursue… (Fox/Schocken 1996)
— Deuteronomy 16:20

Teaching and preaching on this phrase is frequently separated from the context, in both narrow and wider senses.

In one narrow sense, focusing on the phrase alone and not the surrounding verses allows for generalizing the instruction beyond its most likely connection to the previous verse about accepting bribes. On another verse-specific level, many citations of “justice, justice” leave off the second half of the verse, which reads:

וְיָרַשְׁתָּ אֶת־הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר־” אֱלֹהֶיךָ נֹתֵן לָךְ׃
…in order that you may live
and possess the land that YHWH your God is giving you! (Fox)
…that you may thrive and occupy the land that your God [YHVH] is giving you. (JPS)

Ignoring the bulk of the verse’s language allows for generalizing the instruction in ways the full verse doesn’t support. These specifics need not invalidate teachings centering “justice, justice.” And it’s essential to note that Torah text never stands on its own in Jewish tradition; it is interpreted and, in many cases, ameliorated by centuries of post-biblical teaching and legal rulings. Still, Shoftim reminds us that our inherited ideas of justice — in- and outside of Judaism — include ideas such as judicial death penalty (Deut 17:2-7), blood-avenging (Deut 19:11-13), “an eye for an eye” (Deut 19:21), and expectations of warfare (Deut 20).

Abolitionist efforts of any kind require serious examination of these and other punitive ideas we’re inherited and a careful look at how they frame our understanding of justice. Alicia Suskin Ostriker offers powerful teachings on the concept of justice and how it relates to Jewish theology — and ideas about the topic, more broadly.

Strange Invention

Decades ago, Ostriker remarked on the “strange invention of the Jews, God’s ‘justice'”:

It is a strange invention of the Jews, God’s “justice.” That God should be “just,” obliged to reward good men who obeyed his laws, care for widows and the poor and so forth, and punish evil ones who didn’t, was not a notion that occurred to the Egyptians, the Canaanites, the Babylonians, the Greeks. We appreciate, if we step back a bit from our theological assumptions, what a peculiar expectation it is that human justice should be intrinsic to a God, and still more odd, that human beings need to remind god about it….

…[God] was waiting for her [Job’s wife, or each of us] to issue her challenge. That is what really happens. God does not know how to be just until the children demand it….

She wants the unjustly slain to be alive and for singing and dance to come to the victims.

We already know what she wants. She wants justice to rain down like waters. She wants adjustment, portion to portion, so that the machinery of the world will look seemly and move powerfully and not scrape and scream. The children of God do not really say that God is just. But they invent the idea. They chew it over and over, holding it up to the light this way and that. And though blood drips from the concept, staining their hands, they are persistent. It is their idea. They want justice to rain down like waters. Justice to rain like waters. Justice to rain. Justice to rain.
–Alicia Suskin Ostriker, The Nakedness of the Fathers, p.232, 239, 240. Full citation below**

Ostriker was not writing from an abolitionist perspective or directly addressing the portion Shoftim. But her words point to important work we need to undertake around some basic concepts.

As we move through this period of collapse and consider which tools can still serve, it’s crucial to “take a step back” from many assumptions, in theology and beyond. As we move through Elul toward the new year, we are called to reflect on how our assumptions, and the structures built on them, contribute to harm and what steps we can take to remedy that.

Some History

For either Ostriker’s 1986 “Imagining of Justice” or the 1994 “Meditation on Justice,” a quick history reminder might be in order:

In the 1980s, gender was generally treated as a binary in- and outside of Judaism. Women’s leadership — or even full personhood — was not yet accepted in many parts of the Jewish world, although women were ordained as rabbis in some US movements beginning in the 1970s.

Keshet (For LGBTQ+ equality in Jewish life) was not founded until 1996 and, as their story reports: “Not too long ago, lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer Jews were largely invisible in American Jewish life. Marriage equality wasn’t on anyone’s radar — certainly not on the radar of most synagogues and Jewish organizations — and there was not a single gay-straight alliance at a Jewish high school.”

Ostriker’s 1986 statement about being a Jewish woman — “I am and am not a Jew” — made sense across all Jewish movements, at that time, even in the equality-focused Havurah movement. By the time Nakedness of the Fathers was released in 1994, gender equity had advanced in some Jewish spaces; the Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance was still years away, however, and issues of gender and sexuality in Judaism still had (have) a long road ahead throughout Judaism.

Keeping this history in mind adds layers to the call to “take a step back” from assumptions. And Ostriker’s reminder that we have to imagine justice — and how it might relate to the divine — couldn’t be more timely…. it was in 1986 and in 1994 and the countless moments I’ve found myself turning to her words over the decades.




** Full citation: “Job, or a Meditation on Justice,” from Nakedness of the Fathers: Biblical Visions and Revisions. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers, 1994.

Here’s a PDF excerpt — “Job, or a Meditation on Justice

An earlier version (1986), “Job, Or the Imagining of Justice” — originally in The Iowa Review — is available on Academia.edu.

Author bios at Jewish Women’s Archives and Poetry Foundation


Feature image is largely decorative: The words “Whose tools?” and a two-pan balance.

Repentance, Repair, and Cancellation

UPDATE 8/26/25: Congregation Membership and Removal resource page

UPDATE 8/29/25: Typos in copying from We Will Not Cancel Us corrected

Repentance and repair must be year-round efforts, but the Jewish calendar emphasizes these needs as a new year approaches. For help in this work, many Jews turn to a centuries-old, five-step process outlined by Maimonides, AKA “Rambam” (acronym for RMoses ben Maimon):

  • Naming and Owning Harm
  • Starting to Change
  • Restitution and Accepting Consequences
  • Apology
  • Making Different Choices — as outlined by R’ Danya Ruttenberg

This is another in a series on Calendar Notes for a Summer of Collapse.

Beyond some quotations and a few questions, I haven’t got much to offer.

But the questions strike me as non-negotiable, given all we face in- and outside Jewish communities… living in DC and with many friends and family in Chicago, I am so conscious of the disasters coming our way if we cannot figure out how to resist in ways that don’t cause more damage….

Naming Harm and Starting to Change

This year, I am exploring these steps within the “unthinkable thoughts” of adrienne maree brown’s We Will Not Cancel Us:

I’ll start with the scariest unthinkable thought for me, which is that maybe we as a species are in a state of apocalyptic fatigue — exhausted in the face of all the changes and endings we are living through. Our current collective circumstances require us to think about death, to grieve, and to consider that everything we have known has to change or come to an end. [p.33]


I, we, have to be able to discern what is me/us and what is fear.

Which leads to my next unthinkable thought: do I really know the difference between my discernment and my fear? [p.37]


…We are full of justified rage. And we want to release that rage. And one really fast and easy way to do this is what I experience as knee jerk collective punishment in movements. [p.40]


We are afraid, and we think it will assuage our fears and make us safer if we can clarify an enemy, a someone outside of ourselves who is to blame, who is guilty, who is the origin of the harm. Can we acknowledge that trauma and conflict can distort our perspective of responsibility and blame in ways that make it difficult to see the roots of the harm? [p.42-43, emphasis added]



The tools of swift predatory justice feel good to use, familiar, groove in the hand easily from repeated use and training, briefly satisfying. But these tools are often blunt and senseless.

Unless we have an analysis of abolition and dismantling systems of oppression, we will not realize what’s in our hands, we will never put the predator’s tools down and figure out what our tools are and can be.

My third unthinkable thought — why does it feel like we are committed to punishment, and enjoying it? Why do our movements more and more often feel like we are moving with sharp teeth against ourselves? And what is at stake because of that pattern, that feeling? Why does it feel like someone pointing at someone else and saying: “that person is harmful!,” and with no questions or process or time or breath, we are collectively punishing them, tearing them, and anyone protecting them, to shreds?

Sometimes we even do it with the language of transformative justice: claiming that we are going to give them room to grow. They need to disappear completely to be accountable. We are publishing shaming them so that they will learn do do better.

Underneath this logic I hear: we are good and we are getting rid of the “bad” people in our community or movement. We are affirming our rightness and power. [p.44-45, emphasis added]


Knee-jerk call outs say: those who cause harm or mess up or disagree with us cannot change and cannot belong. They must be eradicated. The bad things in the world cannot change, we must disappear the bad until there is only good left.

But one layer under that, what I hear is:
We cannot change.
We do not believe we can create compelling pathways from being harm doers to being healed, to growing.
We do not believing we can hold the complexity of a gray situation.
We do not believe in our own complexity. [p.57-58]

We Will Not Cancel Us: And Other Dreams of Transformative Justice by adrienne maree brown. AK Press, 2020.

Institutional and Movement Repair

The crucial perspectives of We Will Not Cancel Us return me to Rambam’s process, as R’ Ruttenberg describes it: Maimonides discussion of transformation “precedes his discussion of amends/reparations and apologies. He doesn’t spell out his thinking explicitly, but I think he was trying to tell us that apologies, and even amends and reparations, don’t truly have the needed effect if the work to become different isn’t already underway….The goal here isn’t amends. It’s transformation.” p.34, On Repentance and Repair.

One tricky aspect of work here involves our participation in a variety of institutions: “How can and should we think about the work of repentance when not a single person, but a rather a body, made of many actors with different roles is causing harm?…What are the obligations–and limits to the obligations–of the individuals in charge, and what does repentance look like when undertaken by an institution?” p. 101, On Repentance and Repair.

Again, beyond the questions, I haven’t got much to offer. But I believe we have to be asking them. And the questions lead me back to adrienne maree brown:

“I can’t help but wonder who benefits from movements that engage in public infighting, blame, shame, and knee-jerk call outs? I can’t help but see the state grinning, gathering all the data it needs, watching us weaken ourselves. Meanwhile, the conflicts are unresolved, and/or harm continues.” p. 54 We Will Not Cancel Us

congregation membership and removal resource page (added 8/26/25)

Rambam, Ruttenberg, Repentance

Laws of Repentance, a late 12th Century work, is part of the enormous Mishneh Torah and can be found in several translations at Sefaria. (Useful background on Mishneh Torah as a whole). R’ Danya Ruttenberg provides an overview of Rambam’s five steps and explores them in the context of personal, public, institutional, and national repair: On Repentance and Repair: Making Amends in An Unapologetic World (Beacon Press, 2022).

Community Meanings

Figuring out what kind of community is being constituted, under what rules and expectations, across what kind of timeline, and for what purpose, is a constant challenge — in- and outside of Judaism. As the high holidays approach, and we prepare to declare our collective sins and beg forgiveness, it’s worth considering what and who we mean when we say “forgive us.”

Another part of Calendar Notes for a Summer of Collapse (series).

Community Scholarship

Decades back, Riv-Ellen Prell — anthropologist, Professor Emerita of American Studies at the U. of Minnesota; bio at Jewish Women’s Archives — published a book of scholarship on the Havurah movement. Prayer & Community: The Havurah in American Judaism centers on a community to which Prell had belonged and obtained permission to study. What she found back in 1989 still has great relevance to communities struggling at the intersection of politics and worship.

The entire book is available in digital form through Wayne State University Press website. Excerpts are offered below in PDF form.

For anyone who wants to dig really deep, check out The Papers of Riv-Ellen Prell” (research, fieldwork, and correspondence regarding Westwood Free Minyan in Los Angeles and related studies.)

Related RoundTable on Do-It-Yourself Judaism, 2007

See also: Empowered Judaism : what independent minyanim can teach us about building vibrant Jewish communities. Rabbi Ellie Kaunfer. Jewish Lights Publishing, Woodstock, Vt., 2010

Community Words

Jewish liturgy is filled with references to “the People” [העם, ha-am] or “Your People” [עםך, amkhah, commonly with masculine singular suffix], sometimes “the people Yisrael” or “Jewish people” [עם ישראל, am yisrael]. Biblically — and so in the prayerbook — am can also mean “nation,” as in Yisraelites, or as in “other nation.” Related expressions in bible and prayer including adah [עדה, congregation], kahal or kehillah [קהילה, community], and tzibur [צבור, public/worship gathering]. In addition, Jewish tradition speaks of minyan [מנין, quorum] and havurah [חברה, fellowship].

Hebrew and English words: Tzibur -- public group. community -- kehillah. Folk [Latin and Hebrew characters] Minyan -- quorum. Adah -- congregation. Fellowship -- havurah.
Community Words: alt text below

Jewish prayer often situates “us” in a group that extends beyond any present gathering, physical or virtual — far into the past and into a hoped-for future.

Community Questions

Questions of alignment with larger movements, in- and outside of Judaism, are always present for individual Jewish communities. In these days of collapse, however, as individual congregations and groups become unmoored from anchoring umbrella-institutions, the questions become more complicated.

  • What is the community’s relationship to political movements in, and beyond, the US?
  • What is communal relationship to principles of labor and abolitionist organizing?
  • How do fundamental values — egalitarianism, transparency, mutual aid, collective decision-making, e.g. — manifest in our communities?
  • What can we expect of one another in a time of so much collapse?

These and so many other questions need asking, just at a time when so many of us — individually and in our collectives — have very little capacity. What’s a community to do?

Excerpts from Prayer and Community

Image description: Hebrew and English words: Tzibur — public group. community — kehillah. Folk [Latin and Hebrew characters] Minyan — quorum. Adah — congregation. Fellowship — havurah.

Rough Draft for a Rough Season

As Rosh Chodesh Elul approaches, rough draft of an al chet [litany of missing the mark] in hopes of awakening us to some areas of error we might try to fix as the Days of Awe draw near. Part of series: Calendar Notes for a Summer of Collapse

Selichot for Institutions, Elul 5785

New text for Elul 5785 (by V. Spatz, CC BY-SA-NC) with **quotations from Machzor Lev Shalem (Rabbinical Assembly, 2010)**

Two-page document is designed for praying, sharing, and printing through format that distinguishes machzor quotations and newer text for many readers. Full text also appears in post format below.

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Selichot (Forgiveness) Prayers for Institutions

The soul is Yours, the body is Your creation Have compassion on Your handiwork ** (p.225)

In function and in failure, our institutions are Yours as well
Re-orient us to divine sparks and powers within
Save us from ourselves with ourselves under Your guidance


Grant relief to this driven leaf (Lev 26:36)
Have compassion on that which is but dust and ashes

Cast away our sins, be kind to Your creations.

God saw it and appraised it, examined it and plumbed it,
and then God said to human beings:

“The fear of HASHEM — that is wisdom;
departing from sin — that is true knowledge”
(Job 28:28) ** (p.224)

Our institutions are at once fragile and ponderous,
fleeting and stagnant, intractable and so easily toppled
conflict and confusion foster many modes of collapse

Keep us from contributing our own brittleness and turmoil
Remind us of connection’s strength and possibility
Help us pursue repair when all seems lost


If you see within me cause for sadness, guide me toward eternal truths

Hear my prayer, God, give ear to my cry; do not disregard my tears;
like all my forebears I am a wanderer, a guest in Your house

Make me an instrument of Your salvation ** (p.228)

My soul yearns for You, though I am afraid of Your judgment

My heart is caught in the web it has spun.
Form me anew, granting me a heart freshly born ** (p.230)


Our understanding is limited, obstacles abound
Our errors serve as brambles, adding pain along the way
We’ve lost ourselves and misled others

Clarify our missteps so we know when we must turn
Teach us to notice stumbling-blocks and dangers in the road
When despair threatens, nudge us back toward hope


We call out in words You taught Moses to use in times of trouble: “HaShem, HaShem, God compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, full of kindness and trust, extending kindness to the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin –” (Ex 34:6-7)

For the sin we have committed before You in destroying without thought to the future
For the sin we have committed before You by bowing down to the past

For the sin we have committed before You by focusing on policy in a world on fire
For the sin we have committed before You by thinking crisis overrides all planning and care

For the sin we have committed before You by thoughtlessly allowing ourselves to be led
For the sin we have committed before You by refusing to honor leadership

For the sin we have committed before You by failing to ask how we can help
For the sin we have committed before You by assuming it’s easier to do it all ourselves

For the sin we have committed before You by approving decisions that worry us
For the sin we have committed before You by second-guessing every step

For the sin we have committed before You by treating critique as attack
For the sin we have committed before You by attacking under the guise of help

For the sin we have committed before You by treating lock-step as unity
For the sin we have committed before You by mistaking variety of opinion for inclusion

For the sin we have committed before You by assuming we know too little to offer opinion
For the sin we have committed before You by thinking we know it all

For the sin we have committed before You by assuming our perspectives somehow universal
For the sin we have committed before You by assuming our own experiences unique

For the sin we have committed before You by mistaking outrage for justice
For the sin we have committed before You by succumbing to complacency

For the sin we have committed before You by fearing uncertainty and pause
For the sin we have committed before You by letting uncertainty paralyze us

For the sin we have committed before You by bringing punitive efforts into abolition work
For the sin we have committed before You by using abolition language to absolve real error

For the sin we have committed before You by putting Movement above people
For the sin we have committed before You by failing to keep our eyes on the prize

To all these sins, awaken us, help us recognize harm, and grant us ability to change
Bring us to the day when we can ask that you forgive us, pardon us, and grant us atonement.


Featured image is cropped from earthquake photo by Angelo Giordano via Pixabay