by Rabbi Corinne Copnick
From the harbor where we disembarked, my daughter and I had walked almost the length of the Venetian canal to reach the Old Jewish Quarter. In Barcelona, we had found only an extinct Jewish community, memorialized mainly by a few inscribed cemetery stones inserted into a wall, tales of what used to be, and white-washed stories of the Spanish Inquisition. In the ports we visited in Croatia, we had discovered a small synagogue but little else that warmed the heart of Jewish life. In Albania, we found nothing. By contrast, the Old Jewish Quarter in Venice it was restored, vibrant, and alive with the sound of young, black-clad and hatted, Chabad students showing interested tourists how to lay tefillin – and how to blow the shofar (a ram’s horn traditionally used to herald the Jewish New Year). Scattered on a long table were shofarot of various shapes and sizes. In preparation for my Guest Rabbi stint on a Mediterranean cruise over the High Holy Days, I had carefully packed a small, whitish, bubble-wrapped, Israeli ram’s horn – chosen over my black Yemenite antelope’s horn, curlier and harder to fit in the suitcase. I didn’t know that I would be able to find a shofar – from such a plentiful array — in the Village Square of the Old Jewish quarter in Venice. You have to hand it to Chabad (even if they don’t accept women rabbis!)
The long table was set out in front of a storefront synagogue, a comfortable prayer space for travelers that Chabad had set up, and right next to it was – yes, a small kosher restaurant. Both were full. Klezmer music played, and it was next to impossible to keep my feet from dancing. The joyful atmosphere was infectious. It was old Jewish Venice revived.
In the Judaica shop, I was drawn to and almost purchased a good-sized Torah scroll (available in a smaller size, too, but harder to read) that featured a continuous, brightly-colored comic strip to tell the story of the Five Books of Moses. The balloons emanating from the characters in the story were in English (other vernacular languages may have been available), and bannered directly above each comic strip was the Hebrew text. It was a beautiful creation, not garish at all, not sacrilegious. A good teaching tool to interest bar/bat mitzvah candidates, I thought. And I’m not one to be thrilled by comic books (even though I did devour Wonder Woman comics and plenty of others when I was a kid).
“How much?” I asked the kind-faced Hasidic man who seemed to be supervising the store. That’s when I found out that the price was $1,000. That’s why there were donation pages preceding the text to record the names of the givers. Probably the scroll was intended as a bar/bat mitzvah gift. I still wavered – it was so unusual. Where would I ever find such a scroll again?
In Florida, that’s where! The truly excellent artist, Michal Meron, lives in the U.S., and the scrolls were produced there, too. “It takes her a year to make each scroll,” the Hasidic man said gently. He was a great salesman, but now he wanted to close the sale. The Judaica shop would ship it to L.A. for me, but the price was the price.
“Hmmm,” I prevaricated. Buying it would decimate my shopping budget for the entire, three-week trip. “I think we’ll take some time to think about it. We want to visit the restored synagogue first.”
So my daughter and I climbed the steps to the moderately-sized, Sephardic synagogue on an upper floor overlooking the square and listened to an informative guide explain its history, and how it had, like everything else in the quarter, been so lovingly restored.
Then we returned to the Judaica store where I regretfully told the Hasidic man, who eyes still smiled at us, that we couldn’t afford the comic book Torah, but the Hanukah dreidels (miniature tops that spin and are used for a children’s game) were also compelling. So we settled for several really beautiful dreidels crafted in Murano glass.
I haven’t been to Florida in years, but the next time I visit there, I’ll look up the inspired artist who creates Torahs for bar/bat mitzvah kids.
by Rabbi Corinne Copnick
If you only read one chapter of the Torah, read Va’etchanan. If you missed the Ten Commandments first time round in Exodus, Moses repeats them here (5:6a-18). The Shema prayer, the core affirmation of Judaism, is also here (6:4-9), included in the re-teaching of the laws and regulations that Judaism requires. So, just in this one chapter, you learn the nuts and bolts of how to be a Jew. You learn about Moses’ autobiographical experience, and about why God chose the Jews to impart his wisdom. “It is not because you are the most numerous of peoples that the Lord set his heart on you and chose you – indeed, you are the smallest of peoples” (7:7).
In fact, there is an old folktale (a whimsical story not in the Torah) that says God first offered the Torah to all the powerful nations of the earth in turn, but all of them rejected his offer. It was too much trouble to observe all the rules and regulations, and, anyway they were too busy conquering nations, amassing riches, and building pyramids. So then God offered the Torah to Israel, and this little nation felt honored to accept living in accordance with its precepts.
Why did Jews really agree to live by the Torah? Was it because they had an inspirational leader? According to Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, the word “why” is the most powerful question one can ask. “In Va-etchanan,” he writes in ‘The Power of Why,’ (an online article excerpted from one of my favorite books, Covenant and Conversation) “Moses says some of the most inspiring words ever uttered about the why of Jewish existence. That is what made him the great transformational leader he was, and it has consequences for us, here, now.”
As every mother of a three-year-old toddler knows, the insistence of “why” begins early. We start to look around our environment, the world around us, and our sense of wonder is stimulated. It is the repeated question “why” that leads us to God. All too often we forget that question as we grow older. It is easier just to accept things as they are.
But, referring to the history of the world, and, especially to the history of the Jews as God led them from bondage in Egypt toward the Promised Land, the Torah has an answer to this particular question: “You have but to inquire about bygone ages that came before you, ever since God created man on earth; has anything as grand as this ever happened, or has its like ever been known?” (4:32).
And there is another, essential, reason for our Jewish history. We are meant to inspire, Rabbi Sacks says, to be a light to the rest of humanity by example. Our ancient history and teachings have been recorded in the Torah for centuries – but our story is not only for Jews, but also for everyone who finds value in it. People often forget that the Hebrew Bible is a vital part of Christianity, known as the Old Testament. What Jesus originally taught his followers was to return to the values of Torah, pure and simple. In addition to the Torah, the first five books, the Hebrew Bible includes the books of the Prophets and the Writings (such as Psalms and Proverbs).
One of the most essential things the Hebrew Bible teaches us is resilience, how to regain our strength and purpose after disaster. On this Sabbath we read Va’etchanan from the Torah because it is the Sabbath of Comfort. This reading comes right after Tisha B’Av, the holy day commemorating many collective Jewish disasters (myjewishlearning.com/article/a-day-of-disaster): the destruction of the First (586 BCE) and Second (70 CE) Temples as well as the fortress of Shimon Bar Kochba (135 CE); and much later, the Edict of Expulsion of the Jews from England (1290 CE) and a century later, the Edict of Expulsion by the Spanish Inquisition (1492 CE). These cruelties were deliberately initiated on Tisha B’Av; so were some heinous crimes initiated by the Nazis in the twentieth century.
After the Second Temple was destroyed by the Romans, Jews were prohibited from reading aloud from the Torah. Instead they followed the law by substituting similar messages from the Prophets. These became known as the Haftarah. There is one to accompany each Torah portion.
On the Sabbath of Comfort, Va’etchanan, a selection from the Haftarah is also read. It is the first (Nachamu, nachamu) of four Haftarahs of Consolation that are read preceding Rosh Hashanah. So on this special Sabbath when the inspiring Va’etchanan is read first, we are offered both comfort and consolation.
“Comfort, oh comfort My people,
Says your God.
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem…” (Isaiah 40:1-2).
by Rabbi Corinne Copnick
500 Years Ago
Despite the fact that the Spanish government, a democratic monarchy now headed by King Juan Carlos’ son, Felipe VI, has tried to redeem the ugly facts of the long ago expulsion of Spain’s Jews. It happened 500 years ago. Amazingly, in 2014, the well-meaning Spanish government decided to offer full citizenship to Jews whose ancestors were once expelled from Spain. Better late than never. Yet, despite this enticement to come back, the number of Jews living in Spain still remains small.
As history reminds us, the Jewish presence in Spain effectively ended with the decision of the devoutly Catholic monarchs of Spain, Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand, to to establish what was known as the Spanish Inquisition in 1478. Officially it was called The Tribunal of the Holy Office of the Inquisition. There were to be no heretics in Spain.
Some 15 years later, The Edict of Expulsion, issued in 1492, compelled all Jews, rich or poor, either to convert or to leave the country within a four-month window.(1) There were some 300,000 Jews in Spain! Many of their families not only had been living in Spain for centuries but had also contributed largely to the country’s brilliance and prosperity. Of these, 40,000 to 100, 000 (estimates vary) Jews, refused to convert. Consequently, they were forced to liquidate everything they owned — if indeed they could — and flee.
The majority of the Spanish Jews, however, wished to remain in Spain; in order to do so, they were forced to convert to Catholicism. Forever after, they were known as Conversos (or derogatively, Marranos, meaning pigs). Although many Conversos adhered to Judaism in secret, it was a dangerous practice. They were constantly suspected of “Judaizing.” Discovery of secret practice or Jewish associations incurred severe punishments, such as torture or burning at the stake. Confiscated holy books were burned. Assets were seized.
Despite the efforts of a prominent, wealthy, Jewish scholar and businessman, Don Isaac Abravanel – who reportedly had financed the three ships for Columbus’ voyage to the New World (the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria) in order to influence the rulers to delay or rescind this order, the rulers remained firm. They were under the indomitable sway of the Grand Inquisitor, Torquemada. No Jews in Spain. In addition, it was undoubtedly to the rulers’ economic advantage to seize Jewish properties and other valuable assets that could not be transacted within the four-month deadline.
Many Spanish Jews fled in terror to nearby Portugal (where, unfortunately, their safety was very brief) and to the other countries of the Mediterranean. Others fled across the Mediterranean to Arab lands. They carried their culture, their Spanish language, and their haunting Ladino songs with them. Some also carried the keys to the old synagogues and passed them down. Always, these Sephardim hoped to return. For the first time in centuries, they can.
A Period of Transition: 1975
The first time I visited Spain was in 1975. It was a period of transition from the dictatorship of General Francisco Franco, which had begun in 1939 after he led his right-wing Nationalist party to victory in the the fiercely fought Spanish Civil War. During World War II, Spain leaned toward the Nazis in Germany and the Fascists in Italy.
By 1975, when Franco died and the dictatorship ended, local people still seemed guarded, reluctant to converse with foreigners. Policemen helmeted in the curious Spanish manner were still evident on the streets of Barcelona, Catalonia — the first city in southern Spain on my tour’s itinerary. While the beautiful Costa del Sol was being developed as a resort area, reflecting the political uncertainly, stalled projects, reflecting the political uncertainty, could be seen along the beaches. The whole country, it seemed, had warily assumed a waiting posture as the process of establishing a democracy had begun under a monarch, King Juan Carlos, as head of State.
The Spain I was revisiting four decades later in 2016 was a happy, bustling place.(2) People had welcoming smiles for visitors and, in Barcelona, there was great pride in the extravagantly joyful, out-of-the-box (even weird), Gaudi architecture that is the pride of this lovely city; the icing on the cake is that there are beautiful beaches too.
Barcelona, however, has a noticeable paucity of Jews: According to the Jewish Virtual Library, about 5,000 live in Barcelona now, while some 12,000 Jews live in Madrid (the Conservative Beit El synagogue is there), Malaga, and Barcelona combined.(3) There is a small synagogue converted to a museum in Toledo. However, depending on the source, estimates for Jews living in Spain today vary considerably, anywhere from 13,000 to 50,000. A handful of Jews live in Valencia and Marbella, as well as in two North African enclaves. Once there were so many more.
Back in Los Angeles, I had researched the old Jewish synagogue still standing in the center of Barcelona. Its name, Sinagoga Major de Barcelona, suggests its past importance. Dating back to the 6th century CE, with sturdy Roman foundations and the remains of arched Roman walls, it may well be the oldest synagogue in Europe. In fact, it is one of only five medieval synagogues that have survived. Its two rooms – that’s it! — are pictured on the Internet.(4) Since I had already viewed the photographs, the Sinagoga’s rooms seemed familiar when I arrived in person, except that they seemed so much smaller than I had anticipated. In order to enter, I had to descend a flight of stairs. Of course! Because of its great age and the fact that it had been unearthed, the little synagogue was very considerably lower in the ground than the surrounding buildings.
I had the sense of entering a dimly-lit cave. That’s what it felt like – a smallish cave with a structure held up by enduring Roman walls. Two ladies (Jewish?) sat there in folding chairs, ready to impart information to visitors. They told us that there was probably a mikvah buried under the adjoining building, but it could not be excavated because it was the private property of other people (who understandably didn’t want their café dug up).
Good Will and Then Some…
Given the good will of the current Spanish government, the efforts to rebuild Jewish life in Spain continue. Unfortunately, there is also a strong and very disturbing anti-Israel, pro-Palestinian feeling pervading the country – a new kind of anti-Semitism, even though few Spanish people have ever met an actual Jew. Or even have a true understanding of what happened to the Jews in Spain 500 years ago.
Unfortunately, what passes for the old Jewish quarter in Barcelona is really a figment of the imagination. It’s not even a good stage set. In reality, it consists of a bunch of engraved plaques attached to tall brick buildings constructed long after the original buildings were demolished. The plaques identify where the original buildings in the narrow alleys of the Jewish quarter ONCE stood. None of the brick buildings were the original buildings. Consequently, our visit there was a disappointment.
Until. One of the walls of a building – possibly identifying the site of the quarter’s long ago cemetery – had individual names in Hebrew letters etched in them. What??? Salvaged stones from the old Jewish cemetery had been built into the new wall. I kissed the Hebrew names etched in each marked stone within my reach. Even centuries later, those who visit this quarter-that-isn’t can still honor the Jews who once were there.
Even though, as Daniella Levy writes in her excellent article about her own, more extensive visit to Spain (5), she found a pro-Palestinian slogan (Palestina Libra) — scrawled maliciously across the Hebrew letters identifying the site of the old Jewish quarter.
As I wrote in the Guest Book of the Sinagoga Major, “I am still here.”
(1)The full Edict can be read online at www.vituallibrary.com and other sites.
(2)It reflected my own feelings as, once again, a Guest Staff Rabbi on a Cruise Ship, this time to the Mediterranean.
(3)www.jewishvirtuallibrary.com
(4)www.wikipedia.com
(5)“Dear Spain: Want to Attract Jews? You’re Doing It Wrong,” Scribe: The Forward’s Contributor Network, Forward, July 24, 2017.
by Rabbi Corinne Copnick
All the way along the coast to Rio de Janiero, we could see the progress of the world-renowned Carnival in the small towns and cities near our ports-of call. Early on, stands were already being constructed; a little later, decorations were being added, parts of costumes tried on, carried on hangers, even worn in the streets in each of the places we stopped. Every Brazilian town of any size, at least on the east coast, has its own Carnival.
It’s not just a once a year performance that’s at stake; it’s a progression towards the ultimate by the inhabitants of Brazil, toward maybe being the best samba dancers, musicians, and artists in the land. The Rio de Janiero show will be attended by thousands of tourists — and, of course, proud Brazilians.
As we sailed up the coast of Brazil, we could see the grim signs of poverty too, the ugly graffiti that deface once beautiful buildings and the grey, broken-down favelas (miserable slums occupied by squatters) that, ghostlike, ring big cities like Rio. Of course, the city also boasts areas where the rich live, like the luxury apartments and big hotels surrounding the fabled Copacabana Beach (reminiscent of Miami) or the magnificent mansions around the site of the historic Imperial Palace. As the English Charles Dickens wrote in a Victorian context, it’s a tale of two cities.
However, in Brazil you can’t always tell the income level of an area by what appears outside. It’s common for residents not to keep the exteriors in good repair to avoid paying extra taxes. Inside the apartments may be very nicely furnished and well kept.
The favelas, though, are completely run-down; the front lawns are rubble, where children play and teenagers flirt. Because these areas are a jumble of lanes without addresses where mail can be delivered (at least, at the time I was there), the socialist government (no longer in power) was providing free telephone service and Internet access to the residents. Despite the pervading poverty, it seemed like everyone had – or had access to — a smart phone.
Portuguese-speaking, local taxi drivers who couldn’t speak English used them as portable translators; the customers spoke English into the phone, and it was translated into Portuguese; and vice versa.
“I’m sorry I don’t speak English,” the driver apologized.
“I’m sorry I don’t speak Portuguese,” I replied (that is, Portuguese Brazilian style, whose guttural sounds are far removed from Portuguese, Portugal style!)
Yet somehow we communicated very well. It’s amazing how far cell phones and hand gestures can take you. Plus the limited phrases from our guide book (and the couple of classes in getting-to-know Portuguese that we took on the ship) helped us as we drove around the city.
Rio is undoubtedly well guarded. Standing over Rio, its huge, art-deco-style dimensions and outstretched arms protecting the city, is the iconic statue of Christ the Redeemer. Standing atop a pedestal on the summit of Mount Corcovado, and made of reinforced concrete covered with 1000s of triangular soapsones, it is 98 feet tall; the reach of its extended arms is 92 feet. Since 2007, it has been considered one of the Seven New Wonders of the World. Although it’s by far the largest statue of Christ in the world, Catholic Churches of varying sizes and splendor can be found everywhere throughout Brazil.
“Thank God that the people have the Church and Carnival,” I remarked to the cruise ship’s Catholic priest. “I think they would explode without them.” The tension in the country, centering on the need for jobs in the face of big projects stalled every where for lack of money, is palpable. At each of the ship’s stops, young men stood in groups, arms grimly folded, eyes devouring us, hoping for work that wasn’t there for them.
It is a syncretic kind of religion, though, that colors Carnival. Some Brazilian natives (especially in the north of Brazil, closest to the U.S.) had been slaves, transported to this country from Africa by colonial powers to work in the plantations and mines. Despite the best efforts of Christian missionaries, though, Brazilians throughout the country still retain vestiges of the native religions that once permeated the jungle areas. Although eventually most converted to Christianity, they superimposed their native deities on top of the Christian trinity and saints. It makes for a very vibrant, transposed religion in many keys that dances its way to the competitions of Carnival.
Carnival is so integral to the spirit of Brazil that I had always thought it was run by the government, but this is not so. Apparently, it is a private, year-long enterprise. It organizes samba clubs all over Brazil that develop their own routines, different each year, and practice hard and long to enter their own club’s “show” in competition. Eventually twelve and then six samba clubs are chosen. These are invited to design their décor and sew their costumes in a specially constructed complex in Rio.
It is these six clubs that finally perform at Carnival, and thousands of people attend. Each club performs for an hour and a half in one night’s frenzied entertainment. So with six clubs performing, that’s a total of nine continuous hours that audiences sit on concrete benches to applaud the frenetic dancers and musicians. (By the time we got to Rio, tickets were $500 per person to sit on the backless benches; if you wanted a reserved seat with a back and a little closer to the entertainment, the tickets were $1,000 apiece.) The very next day there is a Carnival parade for the populace led by the winning club.
Our ship had arranged for local dancers and musicians to put on a private, onboard show (beautifully costumed dancers, shaking their almost bare backsides to frenetic rhythms, delighted some of the older men on board by dancing with them). Rather than brave the crowds and continuous alcohol consumption late at night, my daughter and I opted for this shipboard arrangement (it was terrific)! In addition, since many smaller towns also put on a dynamic show, we attended one at the next stop, Parintins; it was well worth the price ($150 per ticket).
As it happens, the revelry of Carnival takes place close to the time of Purim, the Jewish festival where young and old kids dress up as Queen Esther and King Ahasuerus and hiss and shake noise-makers at the villain, Haman, who wanted to kill all the Jews in long-ago Persia. The Festival of Purim, too – the one night of the year Jews are supposed to get drunk! – has acted as a safety valve for the many years that Jewish people suffered persecution at the hands of various countries. People need to let off steam in difficult situations, and a festival of this kind is a joyful way of doing it.
Whatever your religious belief, thank God for Purim, and thank God for Carnival. These festivals continue to allow for a reprieve of happiness in the midst of miserable conditions; the concentration of working towards a collective, bigger-than-oneself goal; and the opportunity to be grateful for the vibrancy of life while we live it. They can be a lifeline to better times.
by Rabbi Corinne Copnick
“See, I place this land at your disposal. Go, take possession of the land that the Lord swore to your fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, to assign to them and to their heirs after them” (Deut. 1:8).
The word “Torah” simply means “instruction.” Its history of the ancient Israelites teaches us how they grew into a nation, how, as a people, after 400 years of enslavement in Egypt, they made a covenant with God to follow the Ten Commandments; how, deep in the desert, they developed a purity code to augment the Commandments; and, finally, how – in accordance with God’s directions and considerable loss of life — they took possession of the Holy Land. Through the example of the early Jews, we learn how to govern ourselves and our nations. Circumstances change, but human nature doesn’t. Amazingly, it makes good sense today, thousands of years later.
The Torah contains five books (the Greeks call it “the Pentateuch” in the first translation of the Hebrew Bible into a foreign language, other than Aramaic). The Hebrew Bible itself contains three sections: the Torah (the first five books), the Prophets (which includes the writings of the former and latter prophets and the 12 minor prophets), and Writings (which includes Psalms, Proverbs, and other well-known biblical books).
But today let’s talk about the Torah and its familiar five books:
The Book of Genesis not only describes the process of Creation, it is also about the development of human relations. As individuals multiply (according to the first command ever given) and form families, the Torah also teaches how we should treat or not treat one another.
Exodus is about the development of a nation, as first the Jews seek freedom from tyranny in Egypt, and then, as a covenanted yet still tribal people, learn to work together collectively towards a common goal – to travel through the wilderness toward the Promised Land.
Leviticus, said to have been written by the priests, is about the development of a holiness code. This is how a covenanted people must live, as individuals and as a nation, in order to be worthy of the Holy Land.
Numbers is a very practical book. It assesses the strength and determination of the Israelites gathered in the desert – and their worthiness – to enter the Promised Land and, in conquering it, to make it a holy land.
Deuteronomy is a different kettle of fish. On one level it represents the words of Moses addressing all of Israel: It is thus the long monologue of a courageous leader who understands his time is done, and that he must hand over leadership to a proven younger man (Joshua, son of Nun), who belongs to the next generation, which has grown up in freedom. “Imbue him with strength, for he shall allot it to Israel” (Deut. 1: 38).
On another level, it is the summary of the four previous books, of all that has gone before. If you can only read one book of the Torah, read Deuteronomy – that’s the common wisdom. You might, however, find it a little drier in its rendition than the previous chapters. It’s a history, after all.
“Deuteronomy occupies a unique position in the Hebrew Bible and in the history of biblical scholarship,” writes biblical scholar William W. Hallo. “More nearly than any other biblical book, it can lay claim to having been a book in its own right before it was incorporated into the Bible”. In an accompanying article, Rabbi Gunther Plaut writes that it is a combination of Homily, Cult Libretto, Law Book, and History.
Who wrote Deuteronomy? This question has been a source of speculation for centuries. “The question,” writes my favorite medieval commentator, Abarbanel (who always asks a lot of questions), “is whether this book is from heaven like the first four books, or whether – since it is all in Moses’ voice – these are the words of Moses and not of God.” Was Moses the author, as some contend? If so, why does the last verse announce his death? Obviously, Moses couldn’t do that! Of course, the announcement of his death could have been tacked on to a previous account at a later date. Other authorities think that Deuteronomy was written much later than the earlier books. Still others think that what we call Deuteronomy is the missing scroll that good King Josiah “discovered” as the Temple was being repaired (ca. 640 BCE), the scroll that caused him to henceforth centralize religious ritual at the Temple in Jerusalem (at least that was the reason given at the time). No more rites (with their pagan potential) were to be held at spurious altars outside of the Holy City. All sacrifices henceforth had to take place in Jerusalem.