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Allergic to the Lulav on Sukkot

I have a confession to make. Now I know that a confession is an odd way to open a blog post, but nevertheless, I feel I must.

My name is Jason Miller and I am allergic to the lulav. I swear I'm not making this up. It's true. As a rabbi, the lulav - that significant Jewish symbol - has become an occupational hazard for me. Because of this allergy, as you can imagine, Sukkot has never been one of my favorite chagim. Even before I became allergic to the lulav, I was never a big fan of Sukkot.

Marching around in circles waving a plant and a shriveled lemon-looking fruit always struck me as pagan-like and silly. And don't even get me started about pine needles in my soup. At JTS, one of the most popular holidays, Sukkot is met with excitement, dancing, and large festive meals. For me, it would be more accurate to say that I greeted Sukkot with itching, sneezing, and headaches.

In fact, several years ago, I asked one of my rabbis at the Seminary what I should do about the lulav allergy. He advised me not to shake the lulav and etrog that year. And then, after Shacharit, there I was walking down Broadway in front of the entrance to Columbia University. I saw them from a couple of blocks away. And they obviously spotted me and my yarmulke walking their way, because as soon as I got close enough to them, they blocked my path on the sidewalk. "Did you shake a lulav today?" they asked. Chabad Lubavitch. The Mitzvah Police. I didn't know what to say. I was in a hurry and certainly didn't want to stop and explain my odd medical condition to these strangers. I considered telling a little white lie, saying that I had already performed the mitzvah of lulav that morning. But, I just couldn't bring myself to doing that. So, realizing I didn't really have a choice, I took his lulav and etrog, said the blessing, and showed those Lubavitchers that I could make a lulav shake as well as the next Jew. And then I was back on my way, sneezing and itching as I went. It was then that I decided to find some deeper meaning in the mitzvah of lulav and etrog.

Apparently, I am not the only one searching for some rationale behind the shaking of the lulav. In the midrashic text Pesikta D'Rav Kahana alone, there are five potential interpretations for the commandment to take the lulav. The one that rings truest for me is that the pri etz hadar refers to the Jewish people. Just as the etrog has both taste and fragrance, so within the Jewish people are those who have the merit of both Torah and good deeds. Just as a palm tree, the lulav, has a taste but no fragrance, so among the Jewish people there are those who are learned but have performed no good deeds. Just as a myrtle has a fragrance but no taste, there are those who are uneducated but active in demonstrating lovingkindness and good deeds; and, just as the willow has neither taste nor fragrance, there are those in the Jewish community who are uneducated and have not performed loving deeds.

The midrash makes the beautiful point that as these are all joined in a single bond, they will affect atonement for one another. Kol Yisrael Aravim Zeh Lazeh - the entire Jewish people are responsible one for the other. By holding these seemingly different four plants together, we make the statement that God will consider us as a united entity and judge us together, recognizing our differences, but embracing our love and care for one another as well. This message could not be more appropriate during this season when we just finished uttering the confessional - the vidui - on Yom Kippur. We recited it in the plural form, in full knowledge that while we might not have committed all of those sins during the past year, ashamnu, bagadnu, gazalnu, we are to be held accountable nonetheless for our fellow community members. We stand up together, united, as the different plants of the lulav, each with our unique characteristics, but bonded together ready to be judged for another year.

After studying this beautiful midrash, I considered the directions in which we shake the lulav. The most common interpretation for the six directions in which we wave our lulav, and the one I learned as a five-year-old in day school, is that God is all around us and we are thus recognizing this belief as we offer our thanks. A nice interpretation, but in light of the midrash from Pesikta D'Rav Kahanna, I meditated on a different possible meaning for these six directions.

We must realize that our Jewish community does not end in this synagogue, or in New Jersey, or on the East Coast, or in North America for that matter. When we talk about a united Jewish people - Klal Yisrael - and when we state proudly that each of us is responsible for our fellow Jews, it is essential that we consider all of the Jewish communities around the globe, from Europe to South America to Australia to the most remote regions of Africa and Asia.

As I have been preparing for a course I am teaching this fall to our high school students - "A Virtual Tour of the Jewish World" - there's been one song that I cannot get out of my head. Maybe you've heard this song? "Wherever you go there's always someone Jewish. You're never alone because God made you a Jew." Indeed, it is a powerful statement for us to make as we take the lulav, a symbol of the collective Jewish people - our sisters and brothers - and metaphorically show it to the Jewish communities all over the world essentially saying "hineni" - "Here I stand with you ready to be judged together."

Sukkot has a completely new meaning for me now. The lulav has a completely new meaning for me. I guess I look back at that day when the Lubavitcher handed me his lulav to shake in a whole new light. Maybe, just maybe, in handing me his lulav, he was making a deeper statement about our people. It is a nice thought. So now I take my allergy medicine and embrace my newfound understanding of the power of Sukkot. I guess you just have to keep shaking that lulav until some meaning comes out.

Parshat Chukat - Using Our Words

In this week’s parsha, Chukat, Moses is once again feeling the stress of leadership. Tired and quickly losing hope following the death of his sister Miriam, the Israelites complain to Moses that they would have rather died in Egypt. They go so far as to wish they had died a horrible death along with those punished for joining Korach’s rebellion. They grumble that they were happier during their slave years in Egypt, where at least they had certain assurances compared to their current nomadic experience. They protest that they have been brought to a wretched place with no good food to eat or water to drink.


To produce water for the people the Lord commands Moses and his brother Aaron to assemble the community and order a rock to yield its water for the Israelites to drink. Rather than obeying God's order verbatim, Moses takes his rod and strikes the rock twice producing drinking water. Immediately, Moses is condemned by God to die in the wilderness rather than being allowed to marshal his troops all the way to the Promised Land “because you did not trust Me enough to affirm My sanctity in the sight of the Israelite people.”

This certainly seems a harsh punishment for Moses’s actions, but upon deeper examination there is much to learn from both the mistake and the punishment. Rashi comments that the double striking of the rock was unnecessary and proved insulting to the sanctity of God by diminishing the greatness of the miracle. A midrash explains that the sin of Moses was not merely the physical act of striking the rock, but also that he lost control of his temper during Israel’s rebellion. The commentaries of Maimonides and Samson Raphael Hirsch concur that the severe punishment was for losing patience with the Israelites and striking the rock twice in frustration. In the Talmud we find the lesson that “When a prophet (like Moses) loses his temper, his gift of prophecy abandons him.”

Several excuses can be made in defense of Moses’ action. Clearly the leadership of such a complaining nation in the hot desert grew taxing on Moses, raising his stress level and making it more difficult to reason with the Israelites. Further, he did have the best interest of the people in mind when answering their call for more drinking water. However, he allowed his emotions to get the better of him and resorted to hitting rather than speaking. While Moses hit an inanimate object rather than speaking to it, his action should alert us to a serious problem today.

Domestic violence occurs in Jewish families at about the same rate of 15% as in the general community. However, studies demonstrate that Jewish women tend to stay in abusive relationships two or three times longer than those in the general population. The misnomer that domestic abuse is not a Jewish concern further exacerbates the problem by discouraging abused women from reporting the abuse to others.

Rather than speaking to each other about difficult issues within the relationship, many partners (mostly men according to statistics) resort to violence. Oftentimes, men blame their abusive actions on stress from work and they allow their emotions to impair their better judgment. Regardless of how demanding one’s life may seem with weighty responsibilities at home and at work, resorting to abuse is never acceptable. The lesson of Moses aptly demonstrates this for us. His punishment was indeed severe, but so is the message it sends to our community. It is always better to use words than to hit.

For more information on domestic abuse in the Jewish community, visit www.jcada.org.

Vaera: Action More Than Words

In Parshat Vaera, the Lord speaks to Moses, saying, “Go and tell Pharaoh King of Egypt to let the Israelites depart from his land.” However, Moses protests. He raises doubts that the people will listen to him. He uses a kal vachomer – the hermeneutical device often used by the rabbis in midrashic literature. Applying the outcome from a minor case to a major case, the formula is "If X, then all the more so Y." Moses says to God, “The Israelites [my own people] would not listen to me; how then should Pharaoh heed me, a man of impeded speech?” If his own people will not listen to him because of an inability to speak well, then how can God expect Pharaoh to listen to Moses’ demands?

This is not the first time that Moses appeals to God using his speech impediment as an excuse. In last week’s parsha, Moses claims Lo ish d’varim anokhi – “Please, O Lord, I have never been a man of words, either in times past or now that You have spoken to Your servant.” Ki khvad peh u’khvad lashon anokhi – “I am slow of speech and slow of tongue.”

Martin Luther King, Jr. (uncredited)

Moses says, “I am not a man of words.” So, how is he such a successful leader? He is a man of action. Moses says, “I am slow of speech.” What does he mean by this? He is a man of justice. He might have physical disabilities or limitations precluding him from eloquently conveying a message, but it does not deter him from demonstrating strong and charismatic leadership abilities in other ways. What Moses lacks in oratorical skill, he makes up for in his action, and in his pursuit of justice.

This past week our nation commemorated the life of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. on the anniversary of his birthday. Dr. King was one of humanity’s greatest orators. He could steer an audience’s emotions with his booming voice, with his carefully crafted words, with his memorable sound bites. And yet, it was his acts of social justice that ultimately made him the great leader that he was. Many of us have seen the famous photographs of Dr. King walking arm-in-arm with Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel at the march in Selma Alabama. Heschel famously commented that on that day, he was “praying with his feet.”

Equally moving was the time King and Heschel, two modern masters of words, walked together in silence to Arlington’s Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in protest of the war in Vietnam. They laid a wreath in pledge to lo yilmedu od milchama – that humankind would “no longer know war.” They certainly could have movingly expressed their feelings with words, but it was more powerful to resort to action. They let their actions do the speaking.

We should be curious as to why God does not perform a miracle and correct Moses’ speech impediment. After all, this is a God who only moments later causes miraculous plagues to triumph the Egyptians and opens the sea for our ancestors to cross. The answer must be that actions speak louder than words. Moses leads by example. He leads by doing.

This should become a powerful message of American Judaism. We have the moral imperative to strengthen our social action initiatives. We must apply Jewish ethics to contemporary issues pursuing social justice. From the words in our Tradition, tzedek tzedek tirdof (only justice shall you pursue), we must make it our ethical responsibility to make social action one of our highest priorities. Rabbi Shammai teaches in Pirkei Avot, “Say Little Do Much.” Not everyone is a great speaker. But that should not be a hindrance. Be a “doer.” You can change the world.