Rabbi Steven Moskowitz

Below is a letter I penned to Natalie Portman. Dear Natalie, Let me first say what a big fan I am of yours. I have followed your career from one of your very first movie roles in “Heat,” the best cops and robbers film of all time. I thought your portrayal of Jackie Kennedy in “Jackie” was haunting. Your role as Rebecca in Israeli director Amos Gitai’s film “Free Zone,” was amazing even though the movie was strange. “Star Wars” was Star Wars. And congratulations on your director’s debut in the film version of Amos Oz’s autobiographical novel, “A Tale of Love and Darkness.” I am not writing, however, about your film accomplishments. I am instead writing about your decision not to attend the Genesis Prize ceremony at which Prime Minister Netanyahu would be speaking. The committee selected to give you this award in recognition of your dedication to the Jewish community. Other recipients were Michael Bloomberg, Itzhak Perlman, Michael Douglas, Anish Kapoor, and Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

The ancient rabbis taught: “Build a fence around the Torah.” It is a strange and curious notion. Erect a fence around a book? Does the Torah require such safekeeping? Are we meant to lock it within the Holy Ark? While the Torah scroll should be safeguarded, its essence does not require such protection. It is meant to be lived. The Torah is intended to be brought into the world. It is brought into the world wrapped in a hedge. We are to build fences around the Torah’s biblical laws so that we do not transgress its commandments.  On the Sabbath, for example, one is prohibited from spending money. Better not to carry it, the rabbis reasoned. Don’t even pick up your wallet. One fence was constructed–and then even more and yet more. The day of rest was walled off from any inadvertent work.... This post continues on The Wisdom Daily.

I am sure that many were as excited as I was when the May issue of VeloNews, the premiere cycling magazine, arrived in this week’s mail. Most of this month’s edition is devoted to analyzing the upcoming Giro d’Italia, the 21 day grand tour cycling race. Who is most likely to win? Chris Froome, last year’s Tour de France winner? Tom Dumoulin, last year’s Giro winner? Or, Fabio Aru, the victor in the 2015 Vuelta a Espana? I am certain that you are likewise poring over the magazine’s details. Does this year’s course favor sprinters or climbers? Who leads the strongest team? Is Team Sky cycling’s New York Yankees? Will Chris Froome even be allowed to compete given his negative doping results? Should I continue? The most exciting of all the features are of course the details about the course and the tour’s opening three days. There, portrayed on two pages, are the descriptions of the 9.7km time trial in Jerusalem, the second 167km stage traversing the coastal roads from H

This article also served as my sermon this past Shabbat evening, when my congregation marked Yom HaShoah. This past week the Jewish community marked Yom Hashoah, Holocaust Commemoration Day. I have often pondered how we can possibly give voice to the enormity of our people’s loss. Six million Jews were murdered. Of that, 1.5 million were children. Centers of Jewish learning were destroyed. Entire villages, and towns were decimated. Prior to the war, the Jewish population of Poland was the largest in Europe, with approximately three million. 9.5 million Jews lived throughout Europe. I realize once again that two thirds of Europe’s Jews were murdered. It is impossible to comprehend the magnitude of the loss. These numbers are staggering. How can we take to heart the Holocaust’s devastation? These are numbers that intoned each and every year. They do not convey the human costs. On two occasions in recent years I traveled to Europe. The first trip was to visit Budapest,

Central to the Passover seders we recently celebrated is the telling of our people’s slavery in Egypt. We proclaim, “We were slaves.” We are to imagine that our ancestors’ experience is our own. One might think that the experience of some 400 years of slavery would have traumatized our people. One might imagine that dwelling on our suffering, and recalling it with such vivid symbols, such as bitter herbs and charoset, would traumatize everyone gathered around the table. One might think as well that recalling this story year in and year out would scar our children. This is most certainly not the case. Instead our remembrances ennoble us. The Torah makes the intention of these rituals clear. “You shall not oppress a stranger, for you know the feelings of the stranger, having yourselves been strangers in the land of Egypt.” (Exodus 23) We remember so that we might uplift lives. At the seder, even the deaths of our enemies are muted....  This post continues on The Times of Isra

This past week Jews throughout the world gathered around their Passover Seder tables. The intention of this elaborate dinner is the telling of the Jewish people’s going out from slavery in Egypt to freedom. We read: “In every generation one is obligated to see oneself as one who personally went out from Egypt.” We recall our slavery so that we might identify with the suffering of others. At the Seder we try to identify with the liberation from Egypt so that we can discover its meaning for our own generation. The asking of questions is central to this ritual exercise. The Seder leaders are supposed to do things that prompt questions. It is how we teach the holiday’s important message. It is how we convey the meaning of our remembrance. Moses Maimonides, a medieval scholar and among the greatest of rabbis, offers this advice: “One must make a change in the Seder on this night so that the children will take note and ask, and say, ‘How is this night different from all other nights?’