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Perception is reality. Or is it? 

In Parashat Shelach-Lecha, Moses sends representatives from each of the twelve tribes to reconnoiter the Promised Land. All twelve are impressed with the land’s fertility and bounty. They are equally impressed with the fortifications of its cities – so much so, that ten of the spies believe it will be impossible for them conquer the inhabitants. 

But the final blow is their perception of the military might of the Canaanites. “We saw the Nephilim there- the Anakites are part of the Nephilim – and we looked like grasshoppers to ourselves, and so we must appear to them” (Numbers 13:33). 

Were they really like grasshoppers? Did they appear so small to the Nephilim? Or was it merely their self-perception, their own sense of insignificance and timidity? 

It is telling that two of the twelve spies disagree with this self-assessment. Joshua and Caleb try in vain to rally the broken spirits of their brethren. We should go up, they say. We can conquer it. 

What about us? How do we perceive ourselves, our Temple? Are we small and just hang-ing on? Are we ceding the field? Or are we just getting started, preparing for takeoff? Are we grasshoppers? Or are we actually the giants, the worthy inheritors and proponents of a vital and vibrant Jewish life? The answer is in our eyes, in our hearts, and ultimately, in our hands. 

As I noted in my annual meeting message, I think we’ve been preparing for our renaissance. And people are beginning to notice: membership applications are rolling in. 

To re-write A.A. Milne’s famous affirmation: We are braver than we believe, stronger than we seem, and worthier than we know. 

Though I will be (as usual) serving our Reform movement at camp for the first part of this month, your Temple is here for you, through the year and all summer long. 

L’shalom ulivracha (for peace and for blessing), 

Rabbi Cheryl Rosenstein

Dear Chevrei, 

I am pleased to be leading a new Mussar Vaad, now in progress – not only for the sake of the eight participants, but selfishly, too. The work of self-study and self-improvement never gets old or tired, especially when one has companions alongside. Moreover, looking at Torah through a Mussar lens is delightfully enlightening. 

Recently we re-read Parashat Yitro – the story of the Revelation of the Law. The scene at Sinai – the smoke, the thunder, the cloud concealing the Divine Presence, the people, gathered anxiously at the mountain’s foot; and the articulation of the Ten Words, appropriately garner most of our attention. But the parasha’s namesake, and his encounter with his famous son-in-law, have much to teach us before we even get there. 

Yitro is the Midianite priest whose daughters the erstwhile Egyptian prince rescues from the harassment of other shepherds. It is in Yitro’s service as a shepherd himself that Moses encounters the burning bush. Responding to that Divine summons, Moses leaves his wife and sons behind to lead the people out of Egypt and across the Sea of Reeds. 

Just before the people’s moment at Sinai, Yitro arrives to return Moses’s family to his side – and instantly sees what Moses cannot: that he has taken on too much responsibility to do his job well, let alone to have time for his own family. 

Fortunately, Moses has the anavah, the humility, to listen to and learn from Yitro. He takes the advice of his father-in-law to appoint other officers and judges to bear some of the load of adjudication and instruction of the Law. (Clearly, Moses is also long in sav-lanut, patience, or he would not have been able to sustain such a back-breaking schedule!). 

Humility – knowing just how much space to occupy in any given situation – is useful, not only to help us avoid stepping on other people’s toes. It is a necessary quality to cultivate for the sake of learning. This story of Yitro teaches us that we can, and should, be open to learning from anyone. 

Recently I have been networking with progressive members of the Bakersfield and Kern County communities. I’ve learned that I have much to learn from the extraordinarily diverse cross-section of people of various faiths and backgrounds I am encountering. Despite our many differences, we share values and visions. Some are working for the preservation of at least parts, if not all, of the Affordable Care Act (of which my own family is a beneficiary); others for the preservation of rights for the LGBTQ community, or for the right of women to access good reproductive health care and to control their own bodies. All of us share a passion for human rights , for freedom of worship and freedom from tyranny. 

I am humbled and heartened by these people, many of whom are largely ignorant of Jewish teaching, who nonetheless embody Torah values, especially the value of caring for the poor, the stranger, the voiceless and the disenfranchised. And I am happily learning ways in which we might, working together, achieve our goals. 

As we gather – twice in one weekend! – to celebrate Purim, I pray that the story of our brave Queen Esther inspires us to learn and to act. 

Be happy –it’s Adar! 

Chag Purim Sameyach, 

Rabbi Cheryl Rosenstein 

Parashat Ki Tisa – the Torah narrative that includes the story of the Golden Calf – opens with these words: 

“The Eternal spoke to Moses saying: When you take a census of the Israelite people according to their enrollment…” (Exodus 30:1) 

We do a lot of head-counting at Temple Beth El – and as a consequence, a lot of hand-wringing. “Where have all the Jews gone?” we lament. 

Ki Tisa begins with a count of Israelite males over the age of twenty. But it isn’t the men who are counted. It is the half-shekels that they contribute. 

Biblical censes notwithstanding, in fact, our tradition teaches us that we ought never to count actual Jewish heads. When King David conducted a census, the people were stricken with a plague. The great commentator Rashi reasoned that counting Jews risks their exposure to the evil eye. Perhaps this is part of our problem! 

Conventional wisdom has it that there is strength in numbers. Yet historically, our people have always been numerically modest in comparison with the broader population. One estimate has it that currently, Jews make up a mere 5th of one percent of humanity. 

Biblically, we might see that our smallness is part of a grander design. In Deuteronomy 7:7 we read: 

“God did not set affection on your and choose you because you were more numerous than other peoples, for you are the fewest of all peoples.” 

Our greatness, as Rabbi Jonathan Sacks reminds us, is not and has never been measured by our numbers, but rather, by our contributions. Consider, for a moment, the great Jewish thinkers, philosophers and scientists, the great Jewish artists and musicians, jurists and economists. From Einstein and Wittgenstein to Levi-Strauss to Freud; from Milton Friedman to Proust and Kafka, from Agnon to Schoenberg to Berlin and Gershwin; from Brandeis to Frankfuter to the “notorious RBG,” our tiny people has produced an unceasing flow of intellectual, scientific, legal and artistic achievement: 48 Nobel prizes in the field of economics alone! 

We can confidently claim that our congregation has not broken the mold. OK, I am unaware of any Nobel winners that trace their roots to TBE. Yet our contributions to the quality of life in Bakersfield at large – and yes, even to ourselves – belie our diminutive size. Our members are still, and have long been, local leaders in the fields of law, education, communal service and the fine arts. And who would think that our little shul could produce Purimspiels and Megillah-renderings as entertaining and as creative as what we annually experience? Who would think that two tiny shuls, working together, could produce an event as grandiose and worthy as our Jewish Food Festivals? Or even that we might inspire and shepherd so many seekers to become Jews themselves? 

Enough with the constant counting of tushes in the pews and people at our programs. (Though truly – if all one does is complain about it and not show up, one is part of the problem, not the solution!). 

Let us measure our worth by the richness of Jewish life in Bakersfield. For if we focus on growing our contributions to that, we will surely attract the attention we desire – and the half-shekels that come with it. 

My family and I wish you all a sweet and kosher Pesach. See you at the Jewish Food Festival! 

Livracha, 

Rabbi Cheryl Rosenstein

Dear Chevrei, 

I’ve been thinking a lot about Shifra and Puah lately. 

You remember them, don’t you? In the Book of Exodus, they were among the remarkable half-dozen women who blazed the trail for Moses. Specifically, Shifra and Puah were the midwives who refused to throw the male Hebrew newborns into the Nile to drown, in defiance of Pharaoh’s command. Their failure to follow orders was the first recorded instance of civil disobedience in the Torah. 

Though the sages identify Shifra and Puah with Yocheved and Miriam, Moses’s mother and sister, in truth we cannot even be sure if the midwives were Israelites. The Hebrew phrase describing them may be read either as “the Hebrew midwives” OR as “the midwives to the Hebrews.” In defense of the latter translation, the commentator Luzzato reasons: Hebrew midwives could hardly be expected to murder the children of their own people! 

The Torah never “name drops” without reason, and the ambiguity about the midwives’ identity is equally important. In the words of Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, the Torah is teaching us that “this kind of moral courage transcends race and nationality.” 

It is both very hard, and very easy, to recall that the march in Selma, Alabama, happened only fifty-two years ago. The recently-made movie “Selma” omitted mention of Jewish involvement – and in particular, the presence of the great Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, who walked arm-in-arm with Dr. King. Yet Rabbi Heschel was there, along with other rabbis and Jewish supporters. Moreover, both the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965 were drafted in the Reform Movement’s Religious Action Center in Washington, D.C., under the aegis of the Leadership Conference, which was for decades also housed at that address. 

Why was this partnership in the fight for civil rights so natural? Partly, yes, because of Shifra and Puah. And also because from its very beginning, our Torah proposes the radical notion that every person is created in the image of the Divine. In antiquity, and up to and into the 17th century, only kings claimed divine authority and/or lineage. 

The message that Divinity is in every soul, together with the legacy of Shifra and Puah, is why we, as Jews, have for so long been at the forefront of efforts “to address persistent discrimination in voting, housing and employment against not only women and people of color but also in the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender community and the disabled community.” (Religious Action Center website: www.rac.org). 

To borrow from Robert Allen Zimmerman, aka Bob Dylan, our times, they are a-changin’. Perhaps not since the 1960s has our kind of radicalism – our voices, feet and hearts – been more necessary in the defense of people of color, women, the disabled and the LGBTQ community. Given our heritage of Torah, it is incumbent upon us to care for our fellow human beings, and to stand up for their ethical treatment and civil rights. 

The Religious Action Center website, cited above, is not only full of information and inspiration; it is also a source of petitions and other action items. Click on www.rac.org to sign up for their email updates, which can be customized to help you pursue your own personal passion for justice – and to share that passion with others in making our world a better place for all. 

May the force of Shifra and Puah be ever with us. 

L’shalom uliv’racha, 

Rabbi Cheryl Rosenstein