A Quick Torah Thought

This is a very strange verse, but one of the most famous ones in the opening chapters of Bereishit.  Because God has cast a stupor on Adam, removed his back (or one of his ribs) to create Eve, therefore, "A man shall leave.... and cling to his wife, and become like one flesh." The narrative is strange for a number of reasons. Adam is given the immense honor of naming all living creatures, essentially, discovering their essence and giving them names based on that essence.  When he fails to find a helpmate whose essence resonates that of a kindred soul, a soulmate, then, God, in his infinite mercy brings a deep sleep upon Adam and the rest is history.  Was the kindness of God to be repaid by Adam, midah c'neged midah, reciprocally, in that Adam would at a later point leave behind parents he never had? There is a paradigm Hashem is implanting here in the relationship between man and wife, the underlying meaning essentially being that no one other than one's soulmate can ...

 Singing has never been my strong suit. More than once I've had people plug their ears - my grandfather included - when I sang in hearing range. Gladly, my wife can still tolerate my voice (or at least she says she can), and when I sing zemirot, my daughters beautifully chime in. I used to tell people that I was tone deaf, but then a music teacher told me that if you can talk, you're not tone deaf, so I'm really left with little in the way of an out. But that notwithstanding, I was happy to see the definition the Targum Onkelos gave for the word, shira , or song in this past week's parsha, Vayelech, namely, "praise." A song is meant to praise in the words of the bible; songs can be joyful, have elements of sadness, but essentially serve once clear and very precise function, praising and bringing honor to the one for whom the song is about or otherwise intended.  There is an odd verse though that prefaces the song. The last verse of Vayelech states:  "Then...

When I studied towards an MA in Political Communication at Hebrew U. some 10 years ago, I had a striking conversation with a fellow student. Ironically, of all places, we met on a protest march from the university gates to Sheikh Jarakh, an Arab neighborhood that adjoins the burial place of the last of the members of the Great Assembly, Shimon Ha'Tzadik. A vibrant Jewish community has taken root there, despite the efforts of the residents of Sheikh Jarakh to stymie its growth.  On that day, nearly a decade ago, I had joined the protest march, headed by leading university figures who wanted to use the auspices of the academic institution to say that the faculty deplored the Israeli occupation. So I tagged along, thinking, that if this is the field I'm studying, I may as well edify myself with some understanding of the dynamics at play.  Truth be told, it was probably more a matter of naïveté, but I remember ever so distinctly turning to one of the students marching in prot...