Talmud Class: Navigating Between Scylla and Charybdis With Matza and Manna

For the last two weeks, I have been wearing this tallit. At Kiddush, both weeks, I have discovered that our congregation is very generous when it comes to offering feedback. People had opinions about the tallit which they shared promptly and candidly.Comments like: “What’s with that new tallit? What is it? It doesn’t really look like a tallit. Is it a shawl? Is it a scarf? Is it a new shawl, scarf type of tallit?”Or: “Rabbi, it doesn’t sit right on you. It’s lopsided.”Or a very generous offer of help: “Rabbi, can I give you a signal that your tallit is off, and that way, mid-sermon, you can make an adjustment?”Or: “The tallit must be a war tallit. That’s it. It’s dark. It’s blue. This is a war footing tallit which you are wearing to show solidarity with the IDF and our American troops in combat.”So first of all, thank you. Thank you for noticing and offering your feedback. The truth is, the tallit is not new. It is an old tallit renewed. Many years ago, my in laws were on vacation in Hawaii. My father in love saw this fabric, it was a white fabric with bright blue stars. It was not a tallit. He just imagined that it could be. So he bought the fabric and took it back to Minneapolis, where he was a rabbi. He gave the fabric to a local tallit-maker and asked her to make it into a tallit. He used it as a specialty tallit, wearing it only on Pesach, Shavuot, and Sukkot, because it was fun, it was different, it was Hawaii, it was celebratory, it captured festival energy.When my father in love retired in 2004, he gave this tallit to me. I loved it so much, because it reminded me of him, that I wore it every Shabbat, every holiday, including the High Holidays. It was the one and only tallit I ever wore. Every Yom Kippur Shira and I would walk home and she would say: “My father’s starry Hawaii tallit is not the right energy for Yom Kippur.” But I wore it anyway. At last the tallit got so tattered, torn and frayed beyond repair that I reluctantly concluded it was time to let it go. But Shira had heard of a local woman who is a tallit wizard. Shira gave this tallit wizard the tattered tallit and asked: Is there anything you can do with this? She worked on it for several weeks, and this is the result.The new tallit is different from the old tallit. It is not as big. It is a different color scheme. It is blue and blue instead of white and blue. But the core of the old is still in the new. It still has the bright stars that first captured my father in love’s attention. And it is still a gift from my father in love, a generational and emotional connection.The truth is that all of us are on the verge of our own moment making something new out of something old; making something that is ours out of something that we inherited from our parents and grandparents.

One of the hardest things in the world is to come up with something new to say about a subject that has been amply covered by other writers. A new biography of Abraham Lincoln, a new history of the Civil War, a new take on the New Deal—is a new insight even possible on topics that have been written about so extensively?In that spirit, can there be a new Haggada that comes up with a new take that no one else has ever seen before in thousands of years of Haggadot? Apparently, the answer is yes. Last week Danny Gordis referred his readers to a new Haggada that just came out from Israel, entitled Echoes of Egypt: A Haggada, written by Joshua Berman, a professor of Bible at Bar-Ilan University, who did his undergrad at Princeton, spent eight years at Yeshivat Har Ezion outside of Jerusalem, and got his PhD in Bible at Bar-Ilan. This Haggada is a revelation. Small wonder that Danny Gordis highlighted it. I have been studying Haggadot my adult life, and in reading Joshua Berman’s work, I learned things that I never knew before—basic things, important things, that once you read them seem indispensable to understanding Passover. Egyptian artwork adorns every page of this Haggadah. Professor Berman shows that both the Torah and the Haggada take Egyptian themes, rituals, artwork, cultural motifs, appropriate them, and turn them on their head in order to express core Jewish values. There is a constant dance between the Egyptian reality and the Hebrew/Jewish appropriation of that reality. As just one example: a leading motif in ancient Egypt was the Pharoah’s strong hand and outstretched arm ready to whack enslaved people. The Torah and the Haggada apply this iconic Egyptian language of strong hand and outstretched arm to God as God liberates an enslaved people. Egyptian reality. Hebrew language. Jewish values. All invite us to ask ourselves: how will this year’s seders be different from any other seders now that we know we cannot understand the Exodus until we more deeply understand Egypt.

Cantor Elias Rosemberg and Temple Emanuel member Evan Falchuk discuss Evan's family roots in Venezuela and the current political situation. 

If you have ever had back surgery, you know what a shlepped-out ordeal it can be. You have back pain. You go to your doctor who wants to try a conservative treatment plan. Pain medication. Then you try heat. Then you try cold. Put your legs up in bed on a stack of pillows. Lie this way, lie that way. Then comes physical therapy. All those appointments. All those exercises. Still have the pain. Then you try the shots. At last, you do surgery. Then comes the recovery. And then therapy. PT. OT. And then please God, at long last you feel hopefully better. Now, what is worse than back surgery? Answer: a second back surgery. You went through all this rigmarole, all the steps, and then you enjoyed a reprieve from pain. And then, again.One of the hardest words in the world is again. There is the pain of getting laid off--and the pain of getting laid off again.The pain of fighting addiction, of falling off the wagon--and the pain of falling off the wagon again.The pain of losing a loved one--and the pain of losing a loved one, again.Most of us will experience the pain of again in our personal lives. And the pain of again is what makes this such a fraught moment on the world stage. For Israel, it’s not just that sirens are sounding, missiles are falling, buildings are being crushed, routines are shattered and nights of sleep are disrupted. It is that all this happened in June, and it’s now happening again. Sirens sounding again, missiles falling again, buildings crushed again, routines shattered again, no sleep again. How do we think about the problem of again?

What text can best take in the challenge of American Jews at this moment who love America, who love Israel, and who face the daily torrent of news about the war? The text that comes up for me is Homer’s classic The Odyssey, in which Odysseus and his crew must navigate between Scylla and Charybdis. Both fierce and fearsome monsters are lethal. On the one hand, we have Scylla, a war against a genocidal enemy whose mottos are “Death to America” and “Death to Israel”; which had a tower in Tehran promising the end of Israel by 2040 based on the then Supreme Leader’s promise in 2015 “The Zionist regime will not survive the next 25 years.” Small wonder that 93% of Israeli Jews, even though they bear the cost of the war directly, even though their buildings are destroyed and their schedules shattered and their nights of sleep are ruined, they still support the war because the Islamic Republic has made destroying Israel its highest priority, more important than providing food, education, water, electricity and opportunity to its own people. On the other hand, we have Charybdis, the heartbreaking costs in blood and treasure and tremendous uncertainty of this war. After multiple days of war, and after the Supreme Commander was assassinated, the new leader is the son of the Supreme Commander. Is this progress? How will this end? And in the meantime, there is a growing narrative that Israel pushed America into this war, and real concern that an unpopular war that turns into a quagmire will inflame antisemitism and antizionism even more. So what do we do when navigating Scylla and Charybdis? In class we are going to examine Matza and Manna two foods that are more than foods. Two foods that embody truths for biblical Israel, for Israel today, and for the Jewish people navigating a tumultuous time without great choices.

If you have ever been married, or if you have ever walked an adult child down the aisle, think back to the energy, the electricity, the excitement of the wedding day. All that love in one sacred place. Pure magic.There was a young, bright, beautiful Israeli couple looking forward to their wedding day. The bride and the groom were getting married in the backyard of the bride’s parents. Joyful and magical. Except for two small details.The date of their wedding was Thursday, June 12, 2025. The couple was getting married that night. Israel’s war with Iran, what would become known as the 12-day war, would begin at dawn on Friday, June 13. And the groom is a fighter pilot for the IDF. He flies F16s. The groom knew the war was coming imminently. He knew that he would be flying an F16 into Iran. He was scheduled to be the first pilot of the first F16 into Iran. Which would have required him to be at the base at the time he was to be under the chuppah. So he asked the IDF if he could be the second pilot into Iran. The IDF said yes. That allowed him to stand under the chuppah with his bride. Before the chuppah, he had borrowed his grandmother’s car. It was an hour’s drive from where he would spend his wedding night to his army base. The car was packed and ready to go. The bride and groom got married. On their wedding night, a loud and scary siren reverberated throughout Israel that was the nation’s signal that war with Iran was at hand; and that was the groom’s signal that his wedding was over, it was time to take his grandmother’s car to the base, to get into an F16, and to fly into Iran. Within mere hours of smashing the glass under their chuppah and kissing his bride, the newly minted husband was in the F16 flying into Iran. During the 12-day war, he would fly an F16 into Iran, and back to Israel, day after day. Roll the film forward. The couple, now newlyweds, moved to Cambridge. She is now a first-year business school student at Sloane, MIT’s business school. And liking it. He is working for an Israeli start-up. And liking it. They are together, happy, happy. And then January, and the build up to the war with Iran, again. To be an Israeli fighter pilot, one needs to fly their F16 at least once a week. He was no longer certified to be a pilot, because it had been several months since he had last flown. He could have stayed in Cambridge. He could have stayed with his still newlywed wife. But he knew that if he did not fly the F16 into Iran, someone else would have to do it. He felt a duty to his country. He felt a duty to his people. He felt a duty to his fellow fighter pilots. So, again, he leaves his new bride, in mid-January he goes back to Israel, he gets back in his F16s, he gets recredentialed as a seasoned and qualified fighter pilot, and he has been flying mission after mission into Iran this past week. Meanwhile, she is living by herself, again, in Cambridge.Interrupted wedding night. Interrupted newlywed year. It just is.Why am I telling you all this? When the war broke out, I had thought that American Jews, certainly the ones I know and love at Temple Emanuel, would be uniformly and unambivalently in support of this war. Of course war is hell. Of course we prefer peace. Of course we pray for peace. Of course war unleashes unpredictable and uncontrollable outcomes, so many of which are destructive. And yet, the Islamic Republic of Iran is, and has always been since its very inception, openly and unapologetically genocidal. Its motto “Death to America” is genocidal. Its motto “Death to Israel” is genocidal. What it did in Argentina in the 90s, killing innocent Jews twice, is genocidal. What it did through its proxy Hamas on October 7 is genocidal. The clock in Tehran promising the end of Israel by the year 2040 is genocidal. Given all this, I had expected uncomplicated support of American Jews for this war. Boy, was I wrong.

Rabbi Elan Babchuck serves as the Executive Vice President at Clal (National Jewish Center for Learning and Leadership) and the Founding Executive Director of Glean Network, which partners with Columbia Business School.  He has published in The Atlantic, The Guardian, Washington Post, and Religion News Service, writes a column for The Wisdom Daily, contributed to Meaning Making – 8 Values That Drive America’s Newest Generations (2020, St. Mary’s Press) and is the co-author of Picking Up the Pieces: Leadership After Empire (2023, Fortress Press). His newest book about Shabbat, Sacred Time, is coming out in 2027.He also serves as a Founding Partner of Starts With Us, a movement to counteract toxic polarization in America, and is a founding Research Advisory Board Member of Springtide Research Institute.

What do we do with what we remember? How does what we remember cause us to act? This question comes from two places. It is Shabbat Zachor, the special Shabbat before Purim when we remember Amalek that hated us, that tried to kill us, and that inspired commands to never forget that hate, and to respond in kind. And it is the week of the US Men’s Hockey Team’s first Olympic gold in 46 years. Poignantly, the team’s victory picture included the #13 jersey of their teammate, and hockey super star, Johnny Gaudreau, who was killed along with his brother Matthew in August, 2024 while they were riding bikes by a drunk driver at the wedding weekend of their sister. The team also featured Goudreau’s young children in the photo. All of us move through life carrying all sorts of memories. Painful memories that evoke hurt, loss, indignation, grievance. Joyful memories that evoke triumph, accomplishment, blessing. We carry the memories of people whom we have loved and lost who were always there for us. And the memories of people who disappointed and wounded us. What do we do with all those memories? There is a special mitzvah in Jewish tradition to remember: zachor. There is a special Shabbat, tomorrow, to focus on remembering.  Remembering is the easy part. Where the rubber hits the road: what do we do with what we remember?

The Torah offers more than one account of what was revealed to Moses on Mt. Sinai. This week’s reading, Terumah, suggests that the Ten Commandments were not the focus of revelation. What are the implications for us of the different portrayals of Moses’ experience?About Rabbi Peretz RodmanRabbi Rodman is a Jerusalem-based writer, translator, and editor. A native Bostonian, he has studied and taught at Brandeis University, Hebrew College, and the Rothberg International School of the Hebrew University.

There is a depressing news story that won’t go away. There are fresh chapters every week. The story goes something like this: People who were preeminent in their field—law, business, finance, real estate, professional sports, entertainment, higher education, medicine, health and wellness, spiritual counseling, politics, government—were emailing with a registered sex offender.What is that? So many people. So many different fields. So preeminent. So polished. So terribly off.If our Torah is to speak to our world, in a way that helps us understand our world and live a better life, we need to get to the bottom of this conundrum.Our weekly Torah portion speaks to this dilemma with a simple question: Are we the same person on the inside as we project to the outside world?What are some practical strategies for being the same person on the inside and out?