Torat Rochelle Zell 5783

Janie Levitan ’22

Rae Rosenfeld ’23

Bailey Singer

INTRODUCTION

This past academic year was the first full year together since 2018-2019. Our seniors were freshmen that year, so they were the only students in the school that had experienced an uninterrupted school year. With this in mind, it was clear that we needed a focus on rebuilding school culture. What is school culture? It’s the intangible feeling that people in the community feel that values.

Each May, we sit with our graduates for an exit interview, exploring how the school affected them, Jewishly, academically, and beyond. Particularly in processing the two years during COVID, they reflected that the biggest losses from the pandemic were about everyday experiences. For seniors, it’s hanging out in the senior hallway. Or sitting in a circle during a class to discuss literature. There are moments that stick out in your high school career, and some of them are big events. But ask a graduating senior what they most appreciate, it’s the time together learning with their peers, with their teachers. It’s the everyday conversations.

We begin senior Modern Jewish Thought by studying Rabbi Louis Jacobs’s essay entitled “Faith,” where Jacobs establishes that Biblical understanding of faith “is an emotional and responsive term rather than a cognitive one. Faith is synonymous with bittahon (trust).” It is therefore no accident, he explains, that faith is ascribed both to God and to other human beings.

So how do we go about re-establishing school culture after being separated physically and emotionally for such a long time, one year after having hybrid learning, without staples of school life such as Shabbatonim, or even sitting together in the hallways during lunch?

The essays and art in this supplement speak to the unique culture of our school, the conversations around a seminar table that build the culture of an institution. These essays reflect deep learning and erudition, but they become that much more impressive by knowing that each of these pieces was delivered in front of the entire student body. Our students are deeply vulnerable with their peers and feel comfortable to share their deepest emotions with their school community. Students thrive in this community of faith, our community of trust. At its core, we have rebuilt our culture each and every day, through conversations, students sharing Torah, and themselves.

In the final paragraph of Jacobs’ piece, the quote which served as the cornerstone for the 2022 graduation ceremony, he states:

The either/or notion of faith — adopted both by the simple believer who refuses to surrender the smallest detail of the tradition because, for him, to reject any part is to reject the whole, and by the unbeliever who wraps it all up in the same uncomplicated bundle — is untrue to the history of the Jewish faith and its dynamism. The Jewish man of faith knows only too well of its confusions and uncertainties. His is a questing faith, in which to seek is already to have found.

Our students are searchers. Each and every day, we sit together to explore Judaism and the human condition. And to do so, is to live a life of faith and trust.

When we were in Jerusalem as a class a few weeks ago, we visited the Western Wall. I’m blessed to have prayed at the Kotel many times before, but sometimes I wonder how this holy site relates to the Judaism I practice today. The Holy Temple was made to be an embodiment of God’s presence on Earth, a place for Him to dwell amongst us.

Through sacrifice, prayer, and deep worship in the mikdash, the Israelites yearned to create an environment worthy enough for Him to come down and connect with man. And for many years, they did just that. But such ritual could not be sustained and after the destruction of the Second Temple, we rebuilt. Yet this time, we did not rebuild a structure, or a central location, or a specific architectural design to reach God. Instead, we rebuilt Jewish life. A life that revolves around the Torah, Jewish law, and the Rabbis. Under these newer beliefs, anything mundane could be transformed into something holy, worthy enough to be imbued with Godliness.

The founders of Rochelle Zell Jewish High School took that idea and ran with it. They took a strong secular education in one hand, and the precepts of the Torah in the other, and merged the two to bring our school to life.

As a student in my Bible and Talmud classes freshman year, my biggest challenge was translating the text to English. We were typically only challenged this way about half of the time, and I always used Sefaria for a quick translation, as, at the time, I saw no value in doing such work myself. Only last year, when forced to deeply analyze the Hebrew text in the Bible, did I learn to appreciate translating for myself. In many instances, one word in Hebrew could translate into four, five, or even eight English words, each changing the overall meaning of the pasuk drastically. There was never one right answer; when you are translating the Bible into English you are forced to make a choice, and then many more of them, again and again.

The translation we each feel to be “right” comes from a deeply personal place. Most of the time, I can’t explain why I find one more accurate than the other, I just feel it. And that feeling often comes from an unconscious place. I now know why my freshman-year teachers considered the English translations in the Tanakh to be inherently biased, something I thought only news sources were guilty of. I was quickly learning that my connection to any and all pasukim, parshiot, and books

Abby Singer

from the Torah is quite personal. No matter what we were studying, I was finding that the events of my life weren’t unprecedented since any problem Avraham was having, or Adam or Eve, somehow I, or my family, or my friends, were having in some form, too. I would often find myself interpreting words, phrases, and verses from the Torah with my own life experiences in mind.

In Jewish tradition, it is customary to study Pirkei Avot on the Shabbatot between Pesach and Shavuout. As Shavuot is almost upon us, it feels fitting to call attention to a quote from the 5th chapter of Pirkei Avot that perfectly articulates this concept: “Turn it and turn it, for everything is in it. Reflect on it and grow old and gray with it. Don’t turn from it, for nothing is better than it.” Here, the Rabbis even tell us directly that everything we could ever need to know lies between the lines of the Torah. To find what you’re looking for, you may have to really work at the text and play with various translations, metaphors, and narratives. Having the patience and determination to turn and turn the Torah text requires faith in the inherent value of that exercise. As Rabbi Louis Jacobs once said, “The Jewish man of faith knows only too well of its confusions and uncertainties. His is a questing faith, in which to search is already to have found.” Eventually, with enough turning, you will not only find everything you need, but you will make new discoveries of meaning along the way.

I think this concept beautifully describes our school and its magic. We are a class of 38 people, yet our time here has been incredibly rich in both unique and typical high school experiences. Not once did I ever feel like I was missing out on the opportunities of bigger schools or secular ones. Rather, it felt as if they were missing out on what we have. With a school culture so rooted in the Torah, RZ is essentially an extension of the Torah itself, specifically in the sense that we can turn and turn it, just like the

OverBible.four

years, we have turned and turned our school – the students, the teachers, the coaches, the building. Freshman year, we all felt the intimidation of our first class with Mrs. Friedman, watched Mr. Loeb go up in the chair during all school tefillah, connected with our seniors at the Freshman-Senior Shabbaton, cheered on the basketball team as they won regionals, celebrated Model UN winning first place, and saw the school musical. Each year, similar memories were made with a new class of freshman contributing to the school. Every one of us has stepped up in different ways to create such an accomplished and well-rounded community, the same way that every word of the Torah contributes to its wholeness and ability to connect to everything. The beauty of a small school is that we have all been leaders in some way, otherwise this magic would not be possible. And taking on these roles in various aspects of the school demanded faith in

ourselves and faith in each other. At one point or another, we have all embraced our adventurous spirit to step into positions that we did not necessarily have previous experience in. But the student life culture encourages students to embrace that “questing faith.”

The point is that, on a surface level, it seems like we would only be able to do so much as a school of this size. But, the reality is, that when you push one another again and again, there is no limit to what we can do.

One of the most perfect ways to depict our school, and the way in which truly do it all and continue to turn and turn it again, is the scheduling problems we have:

“Oh shoot we can’t play a soccer game this Sunday because it’s the All School “ShouldShabbaton.”Istay back from our class Israel trip to play my final season of high school sports?”

“I can’t make it to the soup kitchen because I’m going to The ARK.”

As I said, when you turn and turn again, you create the best form of problems, just like when you translate the Bible yourself, you create the problem of picking the most personal and best fit translation for yourself. It turns out that this also applies to secular subjects as well. The uncertainty one has when approaching any discipline often leads to immense discovery and new perspectives. Even if you are simply looking for the way to get the “right answer” to a math problem, sometimes the journey to finding that answer is where the best learning occurs.

There is so much to be said for a school culture rooted in the Torah, for it is timeless. And just as our time at RZ will take on new meaning each time we reflect upon it, so too the Torah is not a one time read and interpret event. We revisit it each year and find new meaning and interpretation from the same text, depending on where our lives happen to be at that moment. I know that when we look back on the values we were educated upon, no matter the age or time period, they will still be relevant to our lives and hold true.

So, if you ask any of us, what once was just a plot of land in Deerfield is most definitely worthy of God’s dwelling amongst us here on Earth and in our Jewish lives.

Janie Levitan delivered this address at the 2022 Graduation Ceremony.

This summer, I biked 2,679 miles across America, and in doing so, I embodied the core values of Sukkot. Many of the quintessential aspects of my trip were remarkably similar to those of the story on which Sukkot is based, in which the Israelites wandered through the desert before reaching Eretz Yisrael. The Israelites roamed the desert for 40 years; I biked across America in 40 days. The Israelites traveled as 12 tribes; we traveled as 12 kids. The Israelites’ ultimate goal was to reach the promised land of Eretz Yisrael; our ultimate goal was to reach the promised land of San Diego. The Israelites wandered in the desert, or bamidbar; we wandered through the Walmart midbar in Paris, Texas. Our magical sustenance was not manna but rather gatorade and protein bars. Instead of shaking the lulav and etrog in our temporary homes, we shook our bikes before we left camp every morning to check that our gear was properly strapped onto our bikes so it wouldn’t fall off while we were riding. Our Moses looked a bit different from the hero in the Bible; even though she was only five feet tall, 22 years old, and lacked a distinctive beard, she was as tenacious as our Biblical leader.

On Sukkot, we recall the Israelites’ 40 years in the wilderness after escaping slavery in Egypt and before finding refuge in the Land of Israel. The Sukkah is emblematic of the temporary homes which provided shelter for the Israelites during their time traveling in the desert. And so, Sukkot is a holiday deeply connected to nature. It forces us to attend to the majesty of the world that surrounds us. In Biblical times, the Israelites’ lives were defined by their direct experience with the natural world. In the age of social media, Sukkot encourages us to remove ourselves from our technology-centered lives and reconnect with the world and people around us. On my trip this summer, we did not have access to our phones for six weeks. This rule was a true blessing to me and my friends; it forced us to be present and not hide behind our phones. After riding more than 100 miles in one day, it would have been so easy for us to sit and scroll through Instagram.

Instead, we channelled our exhaustion into productivity and made meaning out of our time together. After our rides, we would play cards, shoot hoops, swim in lakes, and go on walks, doing whatever we could to deepen our bonds. When we stopped on the side of the road, we didn’t pull out our phones to text friends back home; instead, we appreciated the glory of nature that surrounded us and explored the wilderness. The absence of technology forced us to be one with each other and one with nature, and that idea of stepping

back from our technology-filled lives to appreciate the people and beauty that surround us is at the core of Sukkot.

The natural world is unpredictable, and while technology helps us transcend the helplessness we feel when exposed to natural elements, Sukkot forces us to confront human vulnerabilities. In today’s world, we are so used to having control over our environment. When it gets hot, we can easily turn on our air conditioning to reach equilibrium once again. That is not so easy to do in a Sukkah. Likewise, I didn’t always have that option this summer; I couldn’t turn on the air conditioning when it was 125 degrees outside, and I was sleeping in the chapel of a tiny church in Brawley, California. There was nothing to protect me when I was biking in 105 degree weather on a relentless, 20 mile uphill stretch. On Sukkot we pray for rain, but on this trip we prayed for it not to rain, as I had no windows to close to hide in the shelter of my home when it was thunderstorming, and I was biking 25 miles per hour to out-race the threatening storm. Within the sukkah, we are similarly exposed to natural elements, living in a temporary shelter with a missing wall and a roof that can be easily permeated by rain, cold, or heat.

On Sukkot, we emulate the Israelites’ time bamidbar. The term “bamidbar” is often directly translated to “in the desert,” but I like to think of it as the wilderness beyond the borders of society. By this definition, we can experience the freedom of spirit and connection to nature that the Israelites knew not only in the desert. The scenery of our escape is irrelevant; what matters is the act of leaving the comforts of society and our modern lives and entering an entirely new world with rules determined by the laws or whims of nature. I think that the act of shaking the lulav, hadas, arava, and etrog in the Sukkah supports my understanding of “bamidbar” as beyond the borders of society. These species are there to remind us of the beauty of Israel’s harvest and are symbolic of the Earth’s primary habitats: the desert, mountains, lowland, and river, all of which can be found in Eretz Yisrael. The diversity in landscape that we celebrate by shaking the lulav on Sukkot can certainly be found in America, as well, as I learned this summer. Each state has a unique landscape. While Texas is known for its dusty plains, in Georgia you will find rolling hills and farmland, and New Mexico is filled with seemingly endless mountains.

The exposure to nature bamidbar can elicit much joy, especially when coupled with a willingness to be vulnerable. Sukkot, a holiday during which we are expected to be joyful, closely follows Yom Kippur, the most solemn day of the year, during which we atone for our sins. Known as zeman simchateinu, the season of our joy, during Sukkot, we are asked to embrace the delight of the holiday, which can be difficult

Michaela Halpern ’25

to do after the emotional exposure we experienced on Yom Kippur. But, our joy can be understood to be a natural follow-up to Yom Kippur. After atoning for our sins, we look ahead and recognize that we will be able to continue experiencing the wonders of the world and that we have the privilege of being our authentic selves.

Because we are able to be vulnerable, Sukkot becomes a holiday filled with happiness. Our relationship with God, ourselves, and our community is enriched because we looked inward on Yom Kippur. Likewise, the vulnerability experienced by celebrating Sukkot or embarking on a cross-country bike trip can bring forth true, all-encompassing joy. This summer, I found true bliss when I was exposed to the natural world. My heart swelled when I saw a vivid, pink sunset, a distant view of a rocky mountain, or a scarlet, fluted cactus. I was happy because I felt I was my authentic self.

We also derive joy on Sukkot from the practice of Ushpizin, a ritual in which we welcome guests into our Sukkah. The medieval sage, Moses Maimonides, otherwise known as the Rambam, once remarked, “when one eats and drinks, one must also feed the stranger, the orphan, the widow and other unfortunate paupers. But one who locks the doors of his courtyard, and eats and drinks with his children and wife but does not feed the poor and the embittered soul—this is not the joy of a mitzvah, but the joy of his belly . . .” (Mishneh Torah, Laws of Festivals 6:18). By sharing our joy, we can together practice the unity and emphasis on community that is essential to celebrating Sukkot. Though I am used to welcoming others into my home, this summer, I was the beneficiary of this custom, albeit not from other Jewish families, but from the strangers affiliated with the churches and community centers that hosted our group of cross-country bikers. Local families would often cook dinner for us and ensure that we were well-taken care of as we rested after a long day of riding.

One morning in Springerville, Arizona, I was reminded of the importance of being kind to and hosting strangers. Generally on this trip, we woke up around 3:00 am, and on this particular morning in Springerville, we awoke in a local church. The wife of the church pastor had spent the night at the church, and she, too, woke up at 3:00 am just so she could put out some food for us to eat for breakfast. This simple act of hospitality has stayed with me for months, and in the spirit of Sukkot, I was reminded that our community is strongest when we open our homes and hearts to Ushpizin.

Justin Dickman ’25

In the Sukkot story, the Talmud recalls the emergence of an unlikely hero upon the Israelites’ arrival at the edge of the Red Sea. The tribes are all debating who will enter the sea first, each too scared to be the first and potentially drown in the sea. Nachshon ben Aminadav jumps into the sea, unsure of whether or not he will survive, but sure that he must take the risk or else return to Egypt. The sea parts and Nachshon makes way for the rest of the Israelites, and as we all know, they make it safely to the other side.

Nachshon takes a scrutinized leap of faith; knowing that he can no longer be limited by the oppression in Egypt and he must step up as a leader for his people, he considers his options and chooses to jump towards a new future for himself and embrace the opportunities that await him on the other side of the Red Sea. Nachshon teaches us that you must trust what is beyond you, be open to new opportunities and change, and be willing to make that jump. This summer, I took a leap of faith. I considered my circumstances and chose to take a risk. I chose to trust myself and be secure that I would be okay. I would be okay because I had faith and worked hard, and I would make my dreams come true.

As we experience Sukkot this week, we have the privilege of welcoming others into our Sukkah but also of being exposed to the elements. I encourage each and every one of us to take that leap and embrace this opportunity. Try to appreciate the nature that surrounds you and derive joy from it. Have faith that you will be okay. Who knows -- it may just result in you biking across the country!

VALUESOFCOMMUNITYA

When one of us hurts, we all hurt, and when one is celebrating, we celebrate Whentogether.Iwas in eighth grade, I started to experience an interconnected and caring community through my sisters, who were students at Rochelle Zell Jewish High School. We learned that my sister’s best friend’s mom had become sick. Her cancer, which had been in remission, came back, and we all came together to help the family. Abby’s mom, Andrea, planted a garden every spring, but when her illness came back, she struggled to keep the garden. Good friends took on the responsibility of planting and then tending the garden for her during this difficult time.

Knowing how important the garden was to her, our community donated plants to the garden. We, as a community, would help the family travel to and from hospitals, come together in prayer, invite them to our houses for Shabbat and high holidays, and organize meal trains, so they had home-cooked meals that Andrea was no longer able to prepare. We, as a community, prioritized doing all we could to make the rest of her life enjoyable and relaxing.

After she tragically passed away, RZ provided a bus to the funeral, and everyone came together to grieve. The garden remains in their backyard and blooms again every spring.

Before I started at RZ, I observed the tight-knit community as more of an outsider, but I didn’t think much of it and had yet to experience it fully. In my 8th grade year and my years as a 9th and 10th grader, I assumed that everyone has communities that surround and support them in times of need.

Now I realize that our supportive and nurturing community extends from our Jewish roots.

Through our discussions in my junior Talmud class, I have begun to recognize what a unique environment RZ creates for everyone, based on the foundation the Talmud provides. The capacity to grow, love, learn and help. Nivra b’tzelem elohim and chesed are key foundations for a Jewish life. Nivra b’tzelem elohim translates to “we are all made in the image of God” and therefore have infinite value. This concept presents itself in Genesis, from the story of creation, which

shows how important it is in Jewish life.

Nivra b’tzelem elohim describes how we should treat everyone with respect since we are all connected to God. The value of this concept is shown in the Mishnah as it describes when one life is destroyed, all lineage of that person will be erased. Sanhedrin 4:5 goes so far as to say that, “anyone who saves one life, the verse ascribes him credit as if he saved an entire world” (Sanhedrin 4:5).

Nivra b’tzelem elohim also explains how we are all interconnected, as we all contain a likeness of God within us. As Abby’s mom became ill, she was suffering; but it impacted the whole family. When our community supported her, we supported the whole family. When we recognize the value of someone and then see them struggling, our immediate response should be to help and restore their sense of value through acts of chesed. Rabbi Shai Held articulates, “We are asked to become like God by being creatures of chesed, of love manifested as kindness. Even more profoundly, we are asked to transform our suffering into love — to love the stranger, because, after all, we ‘know the feelings of the stranger.’” (Rabbi Shai Held, “Daring to Dream with God”). Once we understand that every human being is infinitely valuable, it compels us to treat others with chesed. We are compassionate and filled with the capacity to love and help. When we recognize each other’s struggles, we feel obligated to support one another.

I have come to understand why the environment and community at our school is so special and isn’t an accident, as we recognize that we are all made in the image of God and thus understand the worth of every person. Through these insights, Jewish people grow from a young age, embedded with this reason. The core of our key Jewish concepts – the idea that every person is worthy and valued — remains the structure that our community is built around.

Our beliefs drive our actions. Understanding this foundation continues to impact my perspective of our school community. At RZ, students constantly discuss our school’s connection with everyone’s family and how we all come together in times of need. My realization in my Talmud class is that our community’s care should not be expected and is not normal but continues because of our shared values of nivra b’tzelem elohim and chesed.

Going through these tough times with a community connects us. The community’s

Sasha Saplitski ’24

help did not stop after providing a meal for the family or attending shiva; rather, this support created lasting connections. These relationships now look like having coffee with members of the family, calling them on the phone, or having them at our high holiday meals. Our Jewish values compel us to reach out and support one another during hard times, which creates this meaningful and irreplaceable bond.

Recently, we have seen this connection on a global scale. Through the acts of violence perpetrated upon the people of Ukraine, JUF works to help and deliver aid halfway across the world. Our community cares for strangers as well, as emergency efforts are being deployed to assist the Ukrainian community. Even though we don’t know the Ukrainians halfway across the world, we can see them suffering and thus feel the duty to assist them, no matter how far removed they may seem.

Realizing how our shared values affect our community shifted my perspective this year. I now see these core values everywhere at our school. Friends here do not hesitate to ask for support because we all know that we are all infinitely valuable.

I help my peers understand physics concepts because I recognize that they have infinite value. My teachers devote their entire lunch period to help ensure that I thrive in class because they recognize mine, and every student’s, infinite value. Although many of us may think this type of community is “normal” because it is what we are used to, it is important to remember how special our environment at RZ is and the foundation for it. I will continue to use the ideas of nivra b’tzelem elohim and chesed in my Jewish life to help guide me in treating other people and creating a strong community.

Dear Future Me,

I hope that you are doing well. You hold, no doubt, a position in a world much different than the one which I currently inhabit. You, hopefully, have extended your reach, both intellectually and emotionally, beyond my current capabilities. But, there are certain ideas, stemming from thinkers which I have studied this year in Honors Modern Jewish Thought, which I believe are worth revisiting, as their essence may be lost in the busyness of our modern world. They have helped shape my current personal beliefs and actions. As you will rediscover them, I hope that you will rethink your current routines and attitudes, and see what you may glean from these texts, as I have.

For example, take Rabbi Jeremy Kalmanofsky’s “Cosmic Theology and Earthly Religion,” in which he describes a dual view of God. One way is the Ein Sof of God’s greatness: his changeless, infinite being. The other way is the sefirot of God’s connection with us particularly; he gives us commandments, demands moral action, and is regarded as having a personal connection with every person. Kalmanofsky urges us not to pigeonhole our view of God into just the particulars of laws and Bible pages, but also to consider the immensity of all there is in the universe.

He gives the example of our uniquely modern ability to imagine the vastness of creation—from the whole observable universe to the tiniest, intricate cells of the human body—when praying toward God in the Shema. His view has reshaped my conception of prayer. In the past, I found little connection to prayer, finding it repetitive and full of rote actions. But, I now think of prayer differently: as a way to reflect on and thank God for the vastness of creation, on the different aspects of our lives that reveal both the sefirot as well as the Ein Sof

Another important book that we read was Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik’s The Lonely Man of Faith, in which Soloveitchik calls upon the two different accounts of the creation of man in Genesis I and II to learn more about human nature. He sees these as not contradictory, but as embodying two opposing archetypes or states of people. Adam I embodies the human creative spirit—the ability to create, transform, and rule over things and ideas.

Meanwhile, Adam II is closer to God, receiving the world as it is and striving for close

Becca Berkley ’24

connections with other people. He explores the differences between these two chapters of Genesis, seeing how their personalities, relationships, communities, and sense of time differ from each other. Soloveitchik concludes that in order to live well, we must balance these two impulses. His fear, which you hopefully do not see fully realized, is that we live in a time of demonic Adam I, one in which Adam I categorically rejects the existence of Adam II. This idea has made me reconsider how I behave with close friends and family. I realized that I do not want to be the type of person who only focuses on achievement, but one who connects deeply with others and with God.

We also spent much time discussing the Book of Job, one of the books in the Ketuvim, or Writings, section of the Tanakh. In the book, the central focus is on Job and his three companions’ reactions to the suffering which God allows satan to inflict upon him. This leads to Ed Greenstein’s interpretation of the narrative in “Truth or Theodicy? Speaking Truth to Power in the Book of Job.” Greenstein asks us to consider how God judges that Job’s friends are wrong and Job is in the right at the end of the book. He figures that God must be scoring Job on some criteria other than blaspheming God (which Greenstein points out happens almost immediately with Job cursing the day he was born). For Greenstein, this is where the concepts of truth and truthfulness come in.

While truth is the objective reality of the situation, truthfulness is a person’s subjective, ethical idea of how things should be. Greenstein proposes that God was actually judging Job on his truthfulness — his integrity with his personal ideas and ethics. So, while Job may not understand the full cosmological significance of his suffering, as opposed to his friends’ rigid idea of what moral “truth” should be, Job’s expression of his resentment and the injustice of his situation is true to himself, and for that, he is rewarded at the end of the book. Therefore, I believe that I must listen to my own truthfulness. In the past, I remember trying to fit in, saying things because I believed that they were what other people said or what I was “supposed” to do. But, I eventually realized that I must be truthful to my own senses. This revelation made this text resonate with me, and reminded me of how I must act in the future.

Another subject we spent some time

exploring is the variety of different post-Holocaust Theologies. One idea which spoke to me on how to understand the role of God in the Shoah is Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik’s “Kol Dodi Dofek”. In it, he argues that great suffering, such as Job’s personal suffering or even the events of the Holocaust, can be a way to transform people.

In his view, God “knocks,” or dofek, at our door in order for us to change. The response often appears as a dichotomy that reflects upon their nature. A person who espouses what he calls a fate existence is acted upon and wonders, as Job initially does, why God let the horrible event happen. But, a person in a destiny existence, who acts to influence, uses the suffering as a catalyst to elevate themselves spiritually. He then uses the Holocaust as an example, with the response of the State of Israel as a series of “knocks” by God to the Jewish people. The depravity of the Holocaust, according to Soloveitchik, cannot be overstated. But, he emphasizes the possibility of the creation of the Jewish state. Soloveitchik’s idea of transforming a horrible situation into an elevated destiny made me rethink my own responses to

Previously,suffering.when

I experienced immense suffering or grief, I reacted in the manner of fate; I resented that God would let such an event happen. Now, I realize that I must take initiative to better the world, to shape destiny

So, I hope this brief reminder gives you insight into the transformations in the ways of our thinking which I learned from the world of Jewish thought. Kalmonofsky reminds us to be humble, to understand God as both the infinite Ein Sof and the personal sefirot. Solevitchik emphasizes the importance of balance between the creative/conquering Adam I and the spiritual/close Adam II. Greenstein shows that in situations outside of our control, such as Job’s, our own genuine truthful responses can be more powerful and revealing than what we are expected to do. Finally, Soloveitchik reveals the ability to grow out of suffering, to forge a new destiny instead of being driven by fate. I hope you keep these lessons with you, moving forward, as I am.

Nathan Kushner ’22

If you were to tell me three years ago that I would be a student at a small, religious Jewish private school, I would have never believed you. The person I am today, and the person I was when I attended a large suburban public school, are two extremely different people. Although I didn’t know it at the time, I was lost. To grasp a sense of who I was at the beginning of my sophomore year can be most easily depicted by comparing myself to Adam I, as described in Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik’s, The Lonely Man of Faith.

In the book, Rav Soloveitchik explores the first two chapters of Genesis, noting that there are two very different descriptions of the creation of humanity in each. He suggests that these two portraits portray two different character types that are inside all of us and we oscillate, move back and forth, between the two throughout our lives. Adam I, driven by success, majesty, and accomplishing tangible goals, is ultimately unable to connect to others beyond surface relationships, since he is unable to be vulnerable and therefore, connect to God. Except for a few of my peers, most of my friendships were surface level, and my motivation surrounding the school was status. In addition, I barely felt connected to Judaism nor had any desire to be.

But in addition to Adam I, there is Adam II, who is vulnerable, intimate, cathartic, covenantal, and able to understand where he stands in God’s creation. It ultimately took a “leap of faith” for me to finally embody Adam II, while still oscillating between both versions of Adam. Now as a high school graduate, I can reflect on the person I am today in regards to the content learned in our Modern Jewish thought class, beyond Soloveitchik’s Adam I and Adam II.

My decision to transfer to Rochelle Zell was my leap of faith. Rabbi Louis Jacobs’s article “Faith” highlights the importance of taking a leap of faith. He argues that faith and religion both necessitate a leap; you are choosing to place your trust into something unknown. At the time, I did not believe that my “leap” was going to alter my way of life in the way that it did. I was expecting to have new peers and a better learning environment, but ultimately, my leap of faith brought me so much more than that. Not only did Rochelle Zell bring me peers whom I share siblinglike relationships with, but also a new lens through which I see Judaism. It would have been impossible for me to obtain otherwise.

It is very difficult for me to articulate the take-aways that attending Rochelle Zell has on me, as I feel my newfound

outlook on life is something God-like, that even I fully don’t understand. My leap of faith became the bridge that allows me to oscillate between Soloveitchik’s Adam I and Adam II today, between the teenager who is confident and seeks to accomplish my goals and one who can bear witness to the wonder of the world and feel trust in those around me. It unlocked a door that I never knew existed.

To embody characteristics of those of Adam II, you have to transcend beyond yourself and stand with God. Taking a leap of faith by transferring to Rochelle Zell, allowed me to do just that. The Adam II in me strives for deep, covenantal relationships with my others and God where I speak and God will listen, only possible in a covenantal community, one where we sit in a circle, and people generally care for those sitting across from them. Although we learned about Adam I and Adam II first semester, I continue to have these ideas in the back of my mind. I never knew Adam II existed within me until transferring to Rochelle Zell.

These ideas are a lens through which I see my life through and would have never been possible to obtain without transferring. Beyond the school itself, the material that I’ve learned in our Modern Jewish thought class is something that will stay with me for the rest of my life. This too unlocked a door that I never knew existed.

An example of this idea coming to life was on the all-school Shabbaton. Not having access to our phones forced my peers and me to have real conversations.. There was one point on Friday night where we were sitting in a room and there was silence. All of us instinctively looked to our phones, as we always do during silence. Of course they weren’t there — we encountered the silence and trust of those around us. Typically, our phones would have been a crutch that prevented real interaction, to sit in the silence. We were forced to face questions of the unknown; in turn, we began to question our existence and life itself. Jewish life, our covenantal community of trust, gives us the opportunity to oscillate toward the Adam II in life, of genuine connection, that is so rare in our society today.

As I immediately referred back to MJT, I found that many of my questions could be answered and experienced through the content learned in this class. This was what it means to live as part of a covenantal community. This is what it means to live our values.

Kaiden Tocher ’22

Recently in Modern Jewish Thought, we studied a book titled, I and Thou by Martin Buber. Buber describes that every relationship is an I-You or an I-it relationship. I-you is a deep relationship with mutual trust. I-It is a surface level interaction often involving a goal between two parties. I have only been able to formulate a few I-You relationships in my life. Martin Buber describes an I-You relationship as “The basic I-You can be spoken only with onew whole being… Nothing conceptual intervenes between I and You.no prior knowledge and no imagination; and memory itself is changed as it plunges from particularity into wholeness” (I and Thou, 62). Because I-You relationships require one’s whole being, there are limits to the number of genuine relationships I can have. For me, I recognize an I-You relationship when I am able to be in a room or call with someone, there is silence, and I feel no need to break the silence. This level of comfort I only have with a few family members and friends.

A common theme in the I-You relationships in my life is that they all took years to formulate. I genuinely believe that the years of fighting and forgiving my family members has destroyed the obstacles blocking us from an I-You relationship. Being able to say whatever is on our minds without fear of offending each other, for me, is a sign of a real relationship. With my friends, a decade of comradery has developed a comfortability that I have with no one else. These two different paths are how I managed to formulate I-You relationships.

Building I-You relationships took years of work. However it did not take very long for me to recognize mitzvot and laws as a path to religiosity, of transcendent meaning. Buber believes that law restricts Jews from finding personal meaning. However, Buber’s colleague, Franz Rosenzweig critiques Buber’s thinking. Rosenzweig explains that in order to find pathlessness and personal meaning from Judaism, you must start on someone else’s path, the path of traditional Jewish life. For me, my path began with praying Shacharit every morning. At first I found no meaning in prayer, but I started praying after viewing my brother’s prayer and his positive experience with it. It was not until a few months of praying that I actually found meaning. It is not the actual language of the prayer that gives me significance, but the thousands of years of tradition of Jews praying together just as I am. That plus being able to pause my life to reflect during prayers such as the Shema and Amidah. That is how I discovered my unique path.

In a different essay, Buber finds deep meaning through religiosity, rather than traditional religion. What Buber finds is a deeper meaning for religion and life, which do not necessarily relate to what Jewish law dictates. Unlike Buber, however, through practicing tradition and religion, I discovered religiosity. Martin Buber explains, “Religiosity induces sons, who want to find their own God, to rebel against their father; religion induces fathers to reject their sons, who will not let their fathers’ God be forced upon them’’(On Judaism 80-81). I do believe this happens with many people. However, not with me. My father never forced his God upon me. I believe I accepted my fathers God on my own. For me though, it is my brother’s God. He started the path that I followed and ultimately, I went on my own path. I prefer Rosenzweig’s response of following a defined path because a path can lead to pathlessness in my case. I hope you can find meaning through my words and Tefillot.

For me, faith is not believing that God is watching over us. I don’t believe that God dictates our actions. To me, God is not a father. God is not a judge.

So what do I believe?

For me, to have faith is to strive. It’s about engaging - with the mystery of God. What does it mean to strive? It means that I want to continuously learn, to aim to improve my knowledge of God. What does it mean to engage? Engaging means to participate wholeheartedly - with the fullness of our self. Striving, engagingimportant elements of faith.

One of the central narratives that we read in Breishit, which we will conclude this Shabbat, features Jacob wrestling with a mysterious stranger. We, too, wrestle with the mystery of God. Jacob had an unforeseen life filled with many twists and turns; our learning processes of faith can be unpredictable in just the same way.

Rabbi Elliot Cosgrove explains in “A Quest-Driven Faith” that “...a person of faith has made a willed choice, to seek to understand, and stand in relation to the mystery of our existence.” A willed choice. To seek to understand. And stand in relation to the mystery of our existence.” Faith cannot be blind belief. Instead, we must make that decision ourselves to try and battle with that mystery of God.

With this difficult process of discovery comes doubt, and asking the question of “well, is there really something there?” We usually think that doubt is a bad thing, but doubt can be good. Doubt can help us. Doubt can help strengthen our faith. Doubt helps guide someone’s road to realization. Posing questions can lead to many problems that can be solved through learning and discussion. The Unitarian Minister Robert Weston once taught, “Doubt is the servant of discovery.”

Engaging with the text wholeheartedly is important in our learning of faith. Rabbi Louis Jacobs describes in his article on, “Faith,” that “The Jewish [person] of faith knows only too well of its confusions and uncertainties. [Their’s] is a questing faith…” God and faith can be puzzling, but this process of discovery in faith is a “questing” one, meaning it will take a long time and one’s true focus to undertake.

Finally, I want you to consider this: To me, God is like an asymptote. What’s an asymptote? In math, a line on a graph will never hit the location of the asymptote. It will get infinitely closer, but it will never reach it. This is God. The Jewish people will never see or feel God, but we do our best to try and reach that mystery.

That is faith to me.

Reaching, but never arriving. Striving while always doubting. Learning and forever growing closer to the mystery.

I have found that the conventional school environment teaches students to think like the character Adam I, as described in Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik’s The Lonely Man of Faith, a book that we recently completed in Modern Jewish Thought. The world of academics is inherently utilitarian, as students are always striving for further knowledge and to subdue their environment in the form of the course material they are confronted with. Personally, I have found myself exercising my Adam I characteristics every day, completing assignments for good grades so that I will get into college. Subconsciously, my mindset has been so warped and I have been so enveloped by the pursuit of academic accomplishment that I find myself scraping for one or two points back on an assignment. In times like this, I step back and question, what am I doing? Is this really practical? Does it matter in the broader scope of my life?

When I view the bigger picture of my present life, I realize that in the utilitarian, majestic society of Adam I, I must focus only on my accomplishments and how I can stack up more to assume dignity in the mind of others within my community. I also know that this is not the way it needs to be and not the way it should be. I am more than my accomplishments that I present to the world; what truly matters is transcendent meaning, when I and my peers learn and discuss for the sake of learning itself, and not for the grade at the end of the assignment. But there are times where I have become so accustomed to completing assignments “the right way,” that when I am called upon to infuse my own voice and think creatively, I am at a loss for words, and this greatly troubles me.

There are times when I am able to step back and allow myself to become Adam II, but these moments come less frequently. One example is when I am praying. Although during each class period in school, we are taught to behave as Adam I, tefillah, at the beginning of the Silverman

day, gives us a chance to express our inner Adam II. During this allotted time, we are able to abscond this mindset, removing ourselves from a goal-oriented way of thinking, as we have no ulterior or utilitarian motive during prayer. I am therefore able to think about more than myself, praying for those who are suffering without a second thought as to whether it will benefit me or not.

That is why prayer is a collective exercise. We are able to use prayer to practice empathy. Additionally, when I assume the role of Adam II during prayer, I am able to be vulnerable, confronting my flaws in a setting in which I will not be judged for them or negatively impacted by them, as Soloveitchick. Finally, upon practicing the collective exercise of prayer, I am called upon to follow it with the practice of Halacha, which is the epilogue to discussion with God in the covenantal community. Vows mean nothing if you are not willing to follow them with action. By demonstrating the Halachic pillars of tzedakah, kevod habriot, and chesed, among others, I am able to signify participation in something bigger than myself.

As Adam I, I do not need God to get an A on a test. Rather, that only requires the right amount of hard work and the act of “conquering” the course material. However, in order to strive towards redemption, I require the presence of God, as he is an integral part of the covenantal community. Since he no longer speaks to me under the framework of prophecy, I am forced to “ascend the mount” each day during prayer.

As presented by Kohelet, we learn that there is a time for everything. With maturity and learning comes the ability to oscillate between our Adam I and Adam II characteristics. Take a step back and set aside a period of time for self-reflection. Analyze the various backdrops of your life so that you can understand when it is okay to be defeated. Pursue your own interests without a second thought as to whether it will benefit you. Do something kind for another person without expecting reciprocity or gratitude. Because then maybe, you can take one more step towards redemption.

As human beings, we tend to suffer in many aspects of our lives. You might recognize this in your own life with the loss of a loved one or simply Ithisworkload.andyourfeelingoverwhelmingtheofschooleverydayWithinmind,haveafew questions to offer up. In the face of suffering, do you push God away or hold God closer? Do you blame yourself or those who are suffering in an attempt to rationalize the pain? In moments of utter helplessness where nothing in the world seems to go your way, how do you react?

Studying the book of Job and many post Holocaust theologians offers countless ways to react and understand suffering. In the book of Job, Job, a pious believer in God has all his wealth and family taken from him, yet he continues to reason and struggle with his faith in God instead of completely cursing God’s name. Job expresses, “If my anguish were weighed, my full calamity laid on the scales, It would be heavier than the sand of the sea; That is why I spoke recklessly... Would that God consented to crush me, loosed His hand and cut me off. Then this would be my consolation, as I writhed in unsparing pains: That I did not suppress my words against the Holy One” (Job 6:2-10). Job chose to hold God closer in order to make God accountable for God’s decisions. Job challenged the notion that good things happen to good people and bad things happen to bad people.

Instead of letting his anguish overpower him, Job pushed back and challenged the meaning of his suffering. But how does the suffering of an individual compare to the toture of millions of innocents? How can we understand the suffering of the Holocaust and God’s role in it? In one perspective, Emmanuel Levinas writes, “This would be pain in its undiluted malignity, suffering for nothing. It renders impossible and odious every proposal and every thought which would explain it by the sins of those who have suffered or are dead.” Perhaps in suffering you want to blame yourself or others, but Levinas offers that the Holocaust was the meaningless suffering of innocent people, making it impossible to place the blame on the sins of the victims.

A second commentary from Melissa Raphael works to answer the question of who was God in the Holocaust. Raphael paints God as a feminine presence witnessed through acts of chesed. Raphael voices, “God hides her glory and comes hidden in

Lia Chazan

the rags and filth of her suffering. She is, as it were, smuggled into Auschwitz: this is, or what should be, meant by the hiddenness of God.” In Raphael’s understanding, God was not completely absent from the lives of the hurting but was hidden among the suffering of the Holocaust. God was manifested through the love and compassion shown in those dire times.

When you are hurting it’s easy to push God and others away, to isolate yourself in self pity and blame. My challenge for us is to use those moments to pull God and those around us even closer. In those moments of pain, push back against those feelings of helplessness and find the small slivers of compassion and strength. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote, “There are times when defeat is all we face, when horror is all that faith must bear. And yet, in spite of anguish, in spite of terror we are never overcome with ultimate dismay.” Suffering is not an excuse to give up on faith or ourselves. When the whole world feels like it is set against us, we have to break through the barriers holding us back and continue to find strength in our faith.

Silence is loud

When the church bells stop ringing, And when the darkness of night is illuminated solely by your thoughts, Is when you feel most congested by noise, In Silence

I stand alone in a town square, My lungs fill with fresh air as I glare into the night sky, I feel compelled to lie on the cold stone floor, I look to a star searching for a mentor,

And for just a moment, On a wishful whim, I take a leap of faith,

Against every Rational BoneSensibleLogicalinmy body

I open myself up to Him

A wind howls

Gusting through the branches of a tree It Whirls, blasts, and whispers I am seen

And though a mere mortal can only wish to understand The infinite cosmos, We are bounded by a finite lens His sculptures like drawings His hours like seconds His symphonies like jingles

So Thatincomprehensibleweloseourselves in his labyrinth called Purpose Who am I What will I do

His world is a conundrum And yet my home, A fool roams these corridors searching for Him he feels trapped in what seems like an endless narrow hall But I see what’s wrong, Wandering without wonder windles the mind My eyes look to the paintings on the walls, Enthralled

What more is needed than the journey?

Have you ever summited a mountain? Stared into a view so vast? A horizon so wide?

Have you ever hiked in a jungle? With grass so green

And trees with unlimited height?

This is His majesty

He crafted this galaxy with rhapsody From every flower to fossil From every grain of sand to star Seldom is this world So rejoice that it is yours

And when this moment passes, When the church bells ring again And the wind ceases to blow, When the town Square is populated again, When the stars fade and these thoughts subside, I can think of this moment, as a testament to his pride

Yabi Silvers

Nate Woldenberg