Los Angeles Jewish Home

I’ve been asking this question in synagogue and in classes over the last couple of weeks, for we have just started reading Deuteronomy, the last book of the Torah. Moses knows that he is very close to the time of his death, and that the Israelite people will then cross into the Promised Land without him. In a series of speeches, Moses reminds the people of the major events of their travels, goes over many of the laws he has taught them, and implores them to walk in God’s ways when they are in their new land. He is making a gift to them of his values.

Moses is impassioned in his teaching and in his pleas. He fully recognizes that the people, naturally endowed with free will, are prone to choosing to go their own ways, rather than follow the spiritual and ethical path he has taught them.

We all have a sense of what is good and worthwhile, and what is not. Just as Moses urged his people to follow God’s ways and lead an ethical life, shouldn’t we give our children and grandchildren guidance based on the fruits of our own experiences? Of course it’s most important to teach by example; but many people, as they reach advanced years, quite rightly want to be more explicit in the values they pass on.

One resident surprised me by saying we shouldn’t try to teach the next generation anything, as they know more than we do. It is true that, in many cases, the children and grandchildren of residents have been blessed with more education that the residents had, and have gone further in the world of careers; but what the older generation has is a lifetime of experience, wisdom, and knowledge of what it means to live a life that is good and worthwhile.

As we get older, most of us have a clearer sense of what is really important in life. I remember someone approaching the end of her life who said that now she realized that what really mattered were relationships with family and with friends. This person now saw how nurturing our connection with others was a higher value than all the measures of success in the world, like money or fame.

At one class, when I asked what values residents would want to pass on to later generations, one said: Work for society. It was a call to pursue fairness and justice in society, perhaps the major theme of Torah. Another talked of kindness, another of generosity. We touched on gratitude. (In recent years, gratitude for the blessings in life has become for me one of the strongest aspects of what it means to be religious).

One resident spoke from the heart when she called out: Be forgiving. This is wonderful advice to pass on, and especially good to think about as we approach the High Holy Days.

Then there are values like honesty; or courage; or humility. As the story of Moses shows, even a strong leader can have humility. Or would you emphasize respect for all other human beings, and want to teach the importance of listening to people and seeking to understand them? There are residents who are very communal-minded, and stress the importance of love for the Jewish People and support for its causes and institutions.

A number of residents talked of faith in God as paramount; I know that such faith has been the essential support to many people in meeting life’s challenges, including surviving years in concentration camp.

Do you remember the values your own parents taught you? A resident spoke movingly of his parents’ last words to him when they put him on the kindertransport at the age of 11. His mother’s simple words to him were: Be good! He never saw his mother or father again, but those words have remained a guiding light to him his whole life.

Each one of us has had our own experiences which have helped develop our values. We all have much that’s worthwhile to pass on to the younger generations. Let’s take the time to do it.

Labels: For the Spirit, Legacy, Letter from the Rabbi, Torah, Values

Do you ever feel uncomfortable about things you have said? I think sometimes we all do. If we wanted to avoid ever saying things we later regret, we’d probably have to keep silent all the time! Our Sages recognized how common it is for us to speak “evil” – to say things our better self wishes we hadn’t said. That is why they placed at the end of the silent Amidah, the set of blessings which is central to Jewish prayer, a personal meditation that starts: My God, help me keep my tongue from speaking evil. If only God, or some watchful personal angel sitting on our shoulder, could check our words before we utter them!

These thoughts came to me in connection with a very odd story in one of the Torah readings this month. The Israelites are on their way to the Promised Land, and are passing close to the territory of a local king. This king, Balak, is frightened by the strength of the Israelites and fears they may attack his country. So he commissions a seer, or prophet, from a far-off land, to come and curse the Israelite people. That way, the king thinks, they will be weakened and easy to defeat. Curses were seen in those days as powerful weapons to put down another person or even a whole people.

Now the prophet, whose name is Balaam, would be quite happy to do as the king is asking him, especially as he will be well paid for his trouble. It seems he has no great love for the Israelites, and no moral problem with cursing them. His problem is God! During their time in the wilderness since leaving Egypt, the Children of Israel have often behaved badly, and have grumbled a great deal, but God is not going to let them be harmed either by curses or by foreign armies.

So God warns Balaam repeatedly that he must speak only the words that God puts in his mouth. Whatever Balaam’s bad intentions may be, God makes sure his tongue speaks only good words. Three times the king orders Balaam to curse the Israelites, and three times Balaam utters words of blessing. In speeches that infuriate King Balak, the prophet Balaam praises the Children of Israel, recognizes that God is with them, and prophesies that they will have success in their endeavors.

The idea of cursing may seem very old-fashioned, but words do matter: Our tongues have great power to deeply affect the world of others. We can raise others up, as Balaam did; or we can bring them low, as Balaam would have done if God had let him. We see ourselves as good, loving people, and most of the time it is true. We may not realize it when our words, or our tone of voice, or the expression on our face, cause hurt to another. Even silence can hurt, for instance when I withhold appreciation for something good that has been done for me. I know for myself that I can be impatient and my words may come out more harshly than I would want. If only we could find the right words and the right tone at the moment we need them! It doesn’t mean there is no proper place for anger or for criticism. Of course there is. But we can still do our best, in the way we talk, to make sure the other person is not made to feel small.

Just think how good it feels when someone speaks kindly to you, or even just smiles at you. Doesn’t it add to your sense of wellbeing; or if you are feeling bad, doesn’t it brighten your life a little? And if we have said something silly, how much better it is to be responded to with understanding rather than with contempt!

Many of us know the words lashon hara – saying bad things about someone else behind his or her back. Most people love gossiping, which often means saying negative things about others. Even if those people never hear of it, their good name is being stolen from them, making them the subject of ridicule or contempt.

The tongue we have in our mouth is an instrument that can bring great good or great harm. May God help us to make all our words, and the way we speak them, a source of blessing to others, and never a source of curse!

Labels: Evil Tongue, For the Spirit, Lashon Hara, Letter from the Rabbi, Power of Words, Speak, Torah

Have you ever been hurt or damaged by what someone has done to you? Do you remember how it felt – and perhaps how the memory still upsets you? Were you treated brutally? Or taken advantage of financially? Were you teased or hurt by cruel things said to you? Were you damaged because someone was prejudiced against your people? Were you ignored or laughed at in conversation?

I think most of us can recall all sorts of ways we've been hurt, in our feelings, our body or our pocketbook. What do we do with these hurts? For some, what comes naturally is to take them out on others – to damage others like we've been damaged. Others may see the best thing to do is put aside our hurts (if not quite forgive and forget), and get on with our lives.

Because of a Torah reading this month that contains that powerful principle, Love your neighbor as yourself (sometimes called the Golden Rule), I have been thinking about a famous variation of it. Some of you may be familiar with the story about Hillel, the great Jewish sage who lived two thousand years ago: a non-Jewish person came before Hillel wanting to be converted, on condition that Hillel would teach him the whole of Torah while the man was standing on one foot. Hillel said to him, "What is hateful to you, do not do to others: that is the whole Torah; the rest is commentary; go and learn it."


What Hillel is doing here is taking the Golden Rule and making it much easier to understand and use. Love your neighbor as yourself is a wonderful principle from which all other moral rules derives, but it is not always easy to know how to apply to our lives. However, if we can hold in our minds the words of Hillel – What is hateful to you, do not do to others – we have a ready guide to behavior. For this principle tells us what to do with our own feelings about how we like, or hate, to be treated, and what to do with all those hurts we have suffered: not to put them aside, not to take them out on others, but instead to use them to guide our life and our actions for the good.

For instance, if I know how horrible it was for me to be teased or subjected to cruel words, I must never do that to others. If I recall the hurt I felt as a child being called a "dirty Jew" (thankfully that was not a frequent happening), then that must guide how I think about other peoples, or religions, or races, or nationalities: not ascribe negative characteristics to those groups, and not treat members of them badly because of those imagined characteristics.

If I have felt ignored when I was in need or distress, or when I had something to say, then I need to be especially careful not to ignore others. If I have found my reputation damaged because people have been gossiping about me, I must guard against gossiping about others. Of course there are many wrongs that I personally haven’t suffered, but I can imagine how much I'd hate the experience, and that should be a warning bell for me not to cause such wrongs to others.

Hillel's demand that we use our own experience and feelings as a guide to action is reflects a teaching found frequently in Torah, about how we should treat the "stranger" – i.e. the immigrant from another land who lives amongst us. The Torah teaches: "When a stranger resides with you in your land, you shall not wrong him. He shall be to you as one of your citizens: you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt." We are to use our own bad experiences as strangers (and slaves) in Egypt – or wherever we have lived as a minority community in a country not our own – to ensure that strangers among us are treated much better.

While this is how Torah tells us to treat the stranger, Hillel's teaching, What is hateful to you, do not do to others, is a powerful reminder about all our actions. Our experiences, bad experiences in particular, are to be central to our moral stance in the world; and we cannot claim to be living ethically if we ignore those experiences in how we treat others.

Labels: Elman, For the Spirit, Hillel, Letter from the Rabbi, Love your neighbor, Torah

One of the Torah readings this month includes two stories that look like they are heading for a disastrous conclusion. The stories concern the fate of one or other of Abraham’s sons, Ishmael and Isaac.

At the urging of his wife Sarah, Abraham sends away his concubine Hagar and her child Ishmael (Abraham’s elder son). Mother and child set off into the desert carrying food and water, but before very long, the water bottle is empty. Hagar cannot bear to see her son die, so she puts him under a bush, goes to sit some distance away, and weeps bitterly. As for us, at this point in the story we have feelings of distress, of doom. There is no future.

Let’s leave that story for a moment and look at the other – the horrific tale we call the Akeda, the binding of Isaac. We are told that God tests Abraham, instructing him to take his beloved son Isaac and sacrifice him as a burnt offering. We watch with horror as Abraham prepares for the journey, without a word of protest. He and Isaac arrive at the designated place. Abraham builds the altar, binds up Isaac and lays him on the altar; he takes the knife and makes ready to slay his son.

Again, as in the story of Hagar and her son Ishmael, we feel so helpless, as it seems the story must take its inevitable, painful, course. It’s partly that in each case, the adult sees no alternative. Each is blinded to other alternatives. Hagar is wailing as her son faces certain death. Abraham is determinedly doing what he believes is the will of God, seemingly unable to shift course and put life before death.

I believe we have all had moments when we feel there is no way forward. A sense that life – real living – has come to a stop. But in these stories new inspiration and new life intervene.

God interrupts Hagar’s wailing and tells her to go back to her son, promising that the boy’s descendants will become a great nation. Well, God speaking is all very well, but let’s not forget Hagar has run out of water. So although she must be heartened by God’s words, she still cannot see a way out of the deathly present, into a life-full future. Isn’t it true for us too? When we’re stuck, we just can’t see a way forward.

So God intervenes in a different way. He “opens Hagar’s eyes”. To her (and our) surprise, where Hagar has seen only desert, she now sees, just a short distance away, a spring of fresh water. She fills the water bottle, goes to her son, and gives him to drink.

Let’s return quickly to that other story. We left Abraham, knife in hand, about to slay his son Isaac, bound on the altar in front of him. Here again, it is God’s voice that interrupts Abraham’s set path, calling to him not to kill his son, not to harm him in any way. God says that, as Abraham has shown his willingness to listen to God’s word, Isaac (like Ishmael in the other story) will be the father of a great nation.

I picture Abraham as still paralyzed, unable to take a step away from the brink, unable to make the move towards life. He still needs to see a way forward. We read then that Abraham lifts up his eyes and sees a ram caught in a thicket by its horns. That’s when he is able to change course: he sacrifices the ram instead of his son Isaac.

So each of these stories has a surprise twist that enables the person to “see” what couldn’t be seen before – a spring of water, or a ram caught in the thicket. Suddenly there are possibilities.

I know that sometimes, for instance after the tragic loss of a loved one, or when one is struck by major illness or disability, there may seem no more possibility of rich and valuable life. But I have seen so many residents find new meaning in their lives, new possibilities of richness and joy. Here is a challenge to us all, to be willing to be surprised – to discover that the course of our own story may have a twist we didn’t expect, one that we couldn’t have dreamt of, one that opens a new path to a life of meaning and richness. Let’s just open our eyes!

Rabbi Anthony Elman

Rabbi Anthony Elman is the Skirball Director of Spiritual Life at the Jewish Home and also serves as Rabbi of the Home's Grancell Village campus. His professional background is multifaceted, encompassing the fields of law, social work, and psychotherapy. Rabbi Elman has been with the Home since his ordination and graduation from the Academy for Jewish Religion-California in May 2007

Labels: Abraham, Aging, Akeda, Elman, Getting Older, God, Hagar, Isaac, Ishmael, Letter from the Rabbi, Life, New Meaning, No Alternative, Open Your Eyes, Sarah, Torah

Skirball Hospice chaplain Rabbi Aviva Winocur Erlick wrote an amazing article for The Jewish Journal. We decided to share it.

I work as an on-call hospice chaplain, and I am often paged following the death of a patient. I was called recently to support a rather large group who had just witnessed the death of a woman in her 90s, whom I’ll call Bea.

Bea had been not just a mother, a grandmother and a great-grandmother to family members, but a surrogate grandmother to others, who came to cry with the family.

I shared a prayer written to be read following a death, which includes the phrase: “even though her life was incomplete.”

Bea’s loved ones thanked me but then shared that they disagreed with the prayer. Bea’s life had been absolutely complete. There wasn’t a thing more that she or anyone else had wished she had achieved. They even showed me a video taken the morning of her death. Bea could be seen speaking calmly from her bed, wishing blessings to all of her loved ones, by name. She was clearly at peace with her circumstances and wanted everyone to feel the same.

This week’s portion, Chayei Sara (The Life of Sara), actually begins with her death. The second sentence of the portion reads: “Sarah died in … Canaan; Abraham began to eulogize for her, and to weep for her” (Genesis 23:2).

Commentators often take time this week to eulogize Sara, too. As it says in the Talmud, “Three days are for crying, and seven for eulogizing.” Weeping is essential, but eulogizing, telling the story of a person’s life, must not be put off too long. It is essential to the grieving process to experience both our sadness at the loss, and our faith that the life lived was good, worthy of recollection, an inspiration going forward.

The first sentence of the parasha seems to teach this point. To translate literally, it says: “And the life of Sara was the 100 years and 20 years and 7 years of Sara’s life” (Genesis 3:1).

Why the odd repetitiveness? Rashi, a medieval commentator, writes that it is because all of Sara’s years were equally good. The Sfat Emet, a Chasidic teacher, adds that this doesn’t just mean that no days were especially bad. For a righteous person, no day is any less spectacular than the most amazing day of one’s life. Every year, every day for Sara, was fantastic!

So how do we square this with what we know about Sara’s life: the pain of famine; the disgrace of having to bed local kings to save her husband’s life; the frustration of waiting into her 90s to birth Isaac; and the humiliation of growing to despise, and eventually evict, her servant Hagar and her husband’s first son, Ishmael, from their camp?

Apparently, despite all these hardships, Sara was also consistently happy. According to Jewish teachings, happiness is not the result of good news or pleasant circumstances. It is a matter of perspective. “Aizeh hu ashir? Hasameach b’chelko,” it says in the Mishna: Who is rich? The one that is happy with his lot.” Similarly, the Psalmist writes, “Mi haish hechafetz chayim? Ohev yamim lirot tov.” Who among you loves life? The one who wants to see good all his days.

Sara lived every day as a good day not because good things happened, but because she wanted to see them this way. She chose to be satisfied, to find reason for gratitude — as Bea did even on her deathbed. It is a mental exercise that these women model for us all, both on the physical and spiritual planes.

Being “happy with our lot” usually brings to mind the idea of being aware of, and satisfied with, our circumstances. If we choose to, we can find opportunities to appreciate, rather than take for granted or be chronically discontent. Call it an “attitude of gratitude,” a mindfulness practice or a legacy in the making.

Beyond this is the question of calling. Our “lot” or “portion” could just as easily mean our truest work, our destiny. God speaks to our hearts, and if we listen, we can live God’s work through our own. Sara served as half of the partnership that founded our religion, helping her husband Abraham to teach the word of the One God. According to Rashi, when Genesis says the couple traveled with the “souls they had made,” it meant the people who had been won over to the faith that was yet to be named Judaism. Sara was a Teacher of Israel.

May we all learn to live the life of the righteous taught by Sara and by Bea. When we pass away, may there be many who gather to weep, eulogize and dedicate their lives to what we taught, just by how we chose to live.

Shabbat Shalom.



The Skirball Hospice is a program within the Los Angeles Jewish Home's continuum of care.

Labels: Chaplain, Chayei Sara, Complete, Cross Post, Death, For the Spirit, Hospice Care, Jewish Journal, Life, Rabbi Aviva Winocur Erlick, Share, Skirball Hospice, Staff, Torah

The act of becoming a bar mitzvah, a public acknowledgment of a young man’s obligation to fulfill the commandments, is a traditional part of Judaism. In today’s society, the spiritual commitment of young women is often celebrated as well. For most of the Jewish Home’s female residents, becoming a bat mitzvah was unheard of when they were twelve or thirteen.

This was true for Jewish Home resident Marilyn Matty. As a young girl, she and her sister attended Sunday school, but not Hebrew school. As a married woman, she learned to keep a kosher home. Marilyn became involved in a Conservative synagogue and, as a pianist, worked with the choir. As life brought its share of challenges, her connection with Judaism was loosened. One day, about three years ago, she realized she wanted to go back to her community and began attending synagogue again. “That was the beginning of my feelings of getting back to Judaism,” Marilyn recalls.
After moving to the Jewish Home in February 2010, the feeling became even stronger, leading her to become a bat mitzvah on November 5, 2011, at age 85. View photos of Marilyn here.

Rabbi Anthony Elman, the Jewish Home’s Director of Spiritual Life, worked closely with Marilyn for 1 ½ years in preparation for her bat mitzvah. He regards this as a valuable part of the overall work of the Home’s rabbis in enhancing the spiritual life of residents and of the Home itself. “We try to respond to the desire of individual residents to develop further in their spiritual tradition,” said Rabbi Elman. “We also provide learning opportunities to a range of resident groups and meaningful prayer services. Our goal is to create a climate for the whole community where the spiritual dimension of life is valued and respected.” In Rabbi Elman’s view, the Home’s rabbis are here not just to allow observant Jews to continue their religious practice, but to give an opportunity for all residents to live spiritually rich lives.

When he addressed Marilyn after she had read from the Torah, he said: “You, Marilyn, are truly worthy of being called to the Torah as bat mitzvah. You achieved the necessary learning and read from the Torah beautifully. Kol hakavod for that – all honor to you. But becoming a bat mitzvah is much more than learning and reading. In my eyes, it is who you are as a whole person who merits this honor today. Walking in the footsteps of our father Abraham, you exhibit the principle of chesed – loving kindness. It is a giving from the heart – not just on a whim, but in a solid, robust, long-lasting kind of way. I have been truly moved by how you have gone out of your way to help and support others, and to practice bikur cholim – visiting the sick.”

Here, in her own words, is Marilyn’s story of accomplishing this great spiritual achievement.

This week’s parsha, Lech Lecha, is the story of Abraham and Sarah. It tells the story of leaving your present home and going toward the unknown. God told Abraham to leave his land, his birthplace, and go to a place God will show him, and he will become a great nation. Abraham took his wife, Sarah, and started on a journey to a new, and unknown, life.

Leaving your familiar home to go to the unknown is scary and uncertain. Like Abraham, I believe a message from God gave me the choice to stay in my home or search for another place to live, with no guarantee of a great nation. With the able assistance and guidance of my daughter, Tina, we found the Jewish Home, Grancell Village. This was the unknown to me, a new place, new room, and new faces, and maybe not a great nation, but a lot of love. Abraham headed west to Canaan and I headed east to Reseda.

After Abraham and Sarah lived in Canaan for 10 years, we are told that Sarah was barren, she had no children. Commentators have suggested that this repetition means she physically had no children, but spiritually she had so many as she inspired so many people.

I in turn find this inspiring. I will talk later about a woman at the Home who inspired me so much, and changed my life.

Sarah decided that the best way for Abraham (and perhaps her) to start a family was for Abraham to take Sarah’s servant, Hagar, as a concubine, with Sarah’s blessing. I see this as a great act of giving, of generosity. I think it was a mitzvah from Sarah’s heart.

Like Sarah, doing something for someone else is very important to me: visiting residents who are ill, seeing new residents or seeing someone who needs company. I have made reaching out to others a part of my life at the Home, and it gives me great pleasure. But if we go back to the story of Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar, we see that there might sometimes be a downside to giving.

When Hagar became pregnant with Abraham’s child, she scorned Sarah, and this was very painful for Sarah, who perhaps had hoped that her relationship with her servant Hagar wouldn’t change.

Sarah told Abraham how badly Hagar was treating her, and he said she should do whatever she wished. Sarah was horrible to Hagar and made her life miserable.

Hagar ran away from her mistress, and, in the desert, she met a stranger in her path. Unknown to Hagar, this was an angel, a messenger from God. He asked her what she was doing and Hagar said that her mistress was unkind and she ran away. The angel of God told Hagar to return back to Sarah and that she, Hagar, would be granted many descendants, so many descendants that they would be uncountable. So Hagar returned home and had a son whom they named Ishmael – “God heard” – that is, God heard Hagar’s pain.

Why did Sarah do such a generous thing as give her servant to her husband for them to have a child? She hoped this would be like a child to Abraham and herself (so that Sarah would bring up the child), and fulfill God’s promise that Abraham would become father of a great nation. Sarah gave, but then it seems she regretted giving; she became filled with bitterness. This makes me question: can giving sometimes go too far?

A true mitzvah is one of giving unconditionally. But I also know that too much giving can deplete one’s resources. As well as giving, I’ve learned the importance of balance in my life. I personally find pleasure particularly in playing blackjack, bridge, reading, and allowing time for hair, nails and chit chat – things that are about fun rather than suffering. These allow me to go on being a person who can be with others in distress.

As we get older, we have to make choices and changes, especially when we are no longer able to be independent. It’s a big adjustment for everyone, but I believe God had pointed the way for me. The Jewish Home has given me a place and I’m finding communal living both beautiful and challenging. My choice to come to the Jewish Home’s Grancell Village was not at first an easy one, but it soon filled by heart and soul with joy. I adjusted, met a lot of people, and satisfied myself with love from the new feeling of community.

Being part of the Jewish Home community brought me back to Judaism, which had become misplaced from my life. I became aware of my hunger, so I started studying Hebrew and Torah, which led on to this exciting moment in my life.

When I first arrived at the Jewish Home, I met a woman who changed my life. She was a young 96 years and always eager to learn. We started reading the Torah weekly and asked questions of the Rabbi. Spending regular time with May Blank inspired me to fully understand and appreciate life. Like Sarah was to countless others, May was an inspiration to me. We developed a great friendship, so that at the end of her life she called me her “sister.” Memories of May will me daily and help carry me through to my Bat Mitzvah. May her soul rest in peace.

There was another woman who became important to me – a wonderful, brave person, Miriam, was part of a “learning threesome” with May and myself, and we became known as “The Three Ms.” Miriam was blind, and had lost a leg, but was active with us, learning and contributing her knowledge and wisdom, until her end.

There are so many wonderful people here at the Jewish Home, that my life is blessed with friendship and love.

I would like to thank Rabbi Elman for being my teacher and guide, helping me to take my place more fully as a Jewish woman. The story does not end here: I plan to continue studying Torah so as to learn and deepen my understanding of our beautiful Jewish heritage. I would also like to thank Rabbi Wendy for her support.

As I look out to the congregation and see my loving family, which include my devoted children and their spouses, grandchildren (and their spouses), sister, two nieces and a nephew, I feel such love for you all. Thank you all for being here with me today as witnesses – and my special gratitude to those of you who are participating in this service this morning. I am intensely proud of my family.

I know that my mother is giving me her blessing because this is the anniversary of her death. Rest in peace, Mom.

Finally, I wish to thank my entire Jewish Home family for their love, and for making this a wonderful Jewish community in which to live.

Once again, I am THIRTEEN!

Labels: Abraham, Around the Home, Bar Mitzvah, Bat Mitzvah, Bible, Elman, Feature Articles, Jewish Home, Jewish Home Residents, Judaism, Marilyn Matty, Remarkable Residents, Sarah, Staff, Thirteen, Torah

On Tuesday evening, we start the Jewish festival of Shavuot, originally a harvest festival but now most notably z’man matan torateinu, the season of the giving of our Torah. Traditionally seen as divinely given, Torah offers a way of life for a just and spiritual society. In synagogues throughout the world on Wednesday, people stand to listen in awe to the telling of that dramatic event at Mount Sinai, when the Jewish People stood at the foot of the mountain to receive G-d’s word, in the form of the Ten Commandments – major spiritual and ethical teachings, from worshipping the one G-d, to keeping Shabbat, honoring one’s parents, and a series of don’ts like not killing and not committing adultery.

But one commandment, the final one, always seems to me to be different from the others. It is not about worship, and it is not about what we do to others. It is about what goes on in the secrecy of our thoughts and our longings: we are told not to look over our garden fence and covet our neighbor’s house or wife or anything of his.

I have come to think of this odd commandment as an absolute necessity for a happy and fulfilled life. It is about wanting what is not mine. Many people have a tendency to see other people as having great advantages, whether financially, or in brain power, or in the beauty or seeming happiness of their family. This tendency leads to what can sometimes be the two most pernicious words in the English language – “if only”! If only I had a Mercedes like his! If only my wife/husband were elegant like that.

When we long for what is not ours, we are impoverished. A famous teaching in the Ethics of the Fathers goes like this: Who is a rich person? The person who is happy with his/her lot in life. This does not mean that we should not try to improve our lives. Of course it is good to strive for excellence in our various endeavors. Of course it is proper to work to better our financial situation or to do all we can to improve our health.

But I think there is a difference between trying to improve our lives, and the moping “if only” that is based on comparison to others. The problem may lie not only in jealousy of others, but in longing for what I myself once had. Let me explain: here at the Jewish Home, the residents who successfully build new lives are those that can say: This is my life, I will make the best of it. In contrast, those whose energy goes into longing for what was, when they were independent and ran their own homes, can never quite reach the place of finding life a blessing, thanking G-d for it, and finding new friends and new activities.

That tenth Commandment can be a reminder to us all that this is our life to lead in the fullest way we can – and a reminder of the wonderful wisdom of Torah!

Chag Shavuot Sameach – Happy Shavuot.

Rabbi Anthony Elman serves as Rabbi of the Jewish Home's Grancell Village Campus. His professional background is multifaceted, encompassing the fields of law, social work, and psychotherapy. Rabbi Elman has been with the Home since his ordination and graduation from the Academy for Jewish Religion-California in May 2007

Labels: Covet, Elman, Envy, holiday, Jewish Holiday, Live Life to the Fullest, Richness, Shavuot, Ten Commandments, Torah, Wanting

As we celebrate Passover, it is good to ponder on what the holiday is about. Many of us remember the story: the Israelites had been enslaved in Egypt for many generations until Moses, directed and inspired by G-d, led them out to freedom. That coming out, that Exodus, marks the birth of the Jewish people. But the meaning of it has resonated around the world throughout time. In our own era, Martin Luther King, Jr. found inspiration in the story of Moses and the Exodus, as he led his people in their struggle for civil rights.

Passover is known as the season of our freedom. But why is freedom so important? Why are people across the Middle East and North Africa even at this moment struggling, and sometimes dying, for freedom? Watching the news of those struggles has led me to think more about what it means to be a free person, and part of a free people.

People held down by a dictatorship or foreign power cannot fully thrive. It is not just that they cannot choose what to do; something in the soul of a people is beaten down. Their imagination and inventiveness are squashed — they are a people without true dignity.

Is freedom simply about being able to do as one wants? (Can any of us really do everything we want?) In our Jewish story, leaving Egypt meant we did not have taskmasters telling us how to live every minute of our day. We were free from those restrictions, but that didn't mean we were free to live a worthwhile and dignified life.

That is why Passover — the season of our freedom — and Shavuot — the season of the giving of our Torah — are so closely connected. Torah gives us laws and ethical principles, so that we know that real freedom lies in how we interact in our community and our larger society. First and foremost, the Jewish people are obliged by Torah to love our neighbor as ourselves; we must not oppress the widow and the orphan; we are repeatedly told to be respectful of the stranger who lives in our society, remember what it was like when we were strangers in Egypt.

Torah reminds me that in a free society, I have a duty of care and consideration for my fellow men and women. The free society that Torah gives us is one in which we are bound together in relationship.

Ideally we do not celebrate Passover in solitude. We celebrate it in groups, in families, in communities. At the Seder, we read from the Haggada "let all who are needy come and celebrate Passover." It is together that we are able to taste the sweetness of this "season of freedom".

Rabbi Anthony Elman serves as Rabbi of the Jewish Home's Grancell Village Campus. His professional background is multifaceted, encompassing the fields of law, social work, and psychotherapy. Rabbi Elman has been with the Home since his ordination and graduation from the Academy for Jewish Religion-California in May 2007

Labels: Civil Rights, Community, Dignity, Egypt, Elman, For the Spirit, Freedom, holiday, Israelites, Judaism, Letter from the Rabbi, Moses, Passover, Pesach, Torah

Labels: For the Spirit, Judaism, Parah, Parshah, Passover, Pennes, Pesach, Shabbat, Torah, Word of Torah

On January 23, 2011 the Home celebrated the dedication of its first ever new Torah scroll (Bible) hand written by a holy scribe. It took over a year to create the scroll, and many of our residents participated during the course of the year in the writing of the letters of the scroll. If you click here you will see a short presentation of the ceremony held that day. On the same day we also dedicated a beautiful crown for the Torah which was donated by the family of Phyliss Marell. Please enjoy and thank you to all who participated in this joyous event.

Labels: Around the Home, For the Spirit, Pennes, Torah, Video, YouTube