Passover and Patriotism

Happy Passover, everyone!

Read Rabbi David's column in today's Aspen Times on the connections between the Passover story and America's story: Click here.

D'var Torah by Jessica Slosberg

Shabbat Vayikra
March 23, 2012

This week begins the books of Vaykira or Leviticus. This particular book of the Torah is dedicated to a variety of laws – it is the do’s and don’ts of life for pretty much everything. It opens with the description of the how, when, what and who of sacrifices. As this is something we as Jews no longer do, this parsha can be particularly challenging to make relevant. But in reading it through this time I was really struck by how different Judaism is then and now. I don’t just mean sacrifice vs prayer, which is a major difference in of itself; but rather how regimented everything about sacrifices was – from the place, the time and the substance.

It seems even more regimented compared with how we pray today. There is no mandated place, time or substance required. Yes, there are guidelines, the things we associate with prayer – the siddur, the Torah, the synagogue etc. But really, we are free to take it in to our own hands. I must confess, in some ways I envy the Jews of the past, with their sacrifices (not the blood and guts part) but with how simple showing your devotion to God was. Now, as it is more individualized; it is also more challenging. How do you make it meaningful, for you? Do you worry about what people think? Do you go through the motions because it looks like it, or do you do your own thing? This is something that I struggle with – sometimes tefilah or prayer comes easy and other times it is a struggle. And even when I am frustrated and looking for even a moment of connection, I remind myself that this is a journey with many winding paths and that no matter I do, its probably alright.

As our tradition teaches in the Talmud that “R. Eleizer ben Jacob said: “Hence, the Holy One, blessed be He, declared to Israel: When you pray, pray in the synagogue in your city; if you cannot pray in the synagogue in your city, pray in your open field; if you cannot pray in your open field, pray in your house; if you cannot pray in your house, pray on your bed; if you cannot pray aloud on your bed, commune with your heart. Hence it is written, “commune with your own heart upon your bed, and be still. Selah.”

And while this doesn’t exactly answer my why is this so hard question, it gives me hope that no matter what I do, it is right. Now, when I say that, what I mean is right for me. Unfortunately, we live in a world where there is a loud and outspoken contingent that says, what is right for me is also unequivocally right for you. And this often leads to unpleasant if not outright violence.

Unfortunately, this behavior is found in Israel whether it is the insults hurled at secular women by Haredi men when they won’t move to the back of the bus. Or when the Haredi leaders decide to gender segregate streets, or riot because parking lots are open on Shabbat, or when they deny Sephardic girls entrance into their seminaries. Or when they don’t allow women to give eulogies and the list goes on and on.

And sometimes these beliefs end up in radical acts with tragic endings. Once again this week the worldwide Jewish community suffered a loss when three Jewish children and one of their teachers were murdered at their school. The suspect also killed three French soldiers. The suspect was a self-proclaimed jidhadist from the Al-Qaeda. Here is a case where the mere idea of others believing differently was so intolerable to an individual innocent people were killed.

My hope is that each and every one of us is able to find some way to establish a connection that is meaningful, intentional and fulfilling – even for a moment. Here is a prayer that one day we can enjoy a world where what I do is what I do and what you do is what you do and that is just fine.

Schmaltz...a Grease Purim!

Video of our Grease themed Purim spiel is now online!  Enjoy, and share with your friends!

Purim and a New Jewish Unity

March 2, 2012 • Parshat Tetzaveh

An enemy arose to destroy us... We managed to survive. Now we celebrate by eating special food. Or as the common saying goes, they tried to kill us, we survived, let's eat!

This cliche is a common theme of Jewish holidays. With Purim coming next week, we have yet another opportunity to eat our defeated enemy -- this time, in cookie form.

The story of Purim is found in the Book of Esther, one of the most enigmatic in all of Tanakh. I want to touch on just one aspect of Esther tonight.

We think of the Purim story as “Haman vs. the Jews,” but it didn’t start that way. We know that Esther had a Hebrew name, Hadassah, and that “Esther” is probably a Persian word (related to “star”).

Consider Esther 2:10: "Esther did not reveal her people or her kindred, for Mordechai had told her not to reveal it." These Jews in ancient Persia are not, to be anachronistic, Hasidim. They look, speak, and dress like other Persians.

That’s why, when you look closely, you see that Haman didn’t know Mordechai was Jewish, at first. Consider this episode of their fateful encounter (Esther 3:1-6):

3:1 "Some time afterward, King Ahasuerus promoted Haman son of Hammedatha the Agagite; he advanced him and seated him higher than any of his fellow officials. 2 All the king’s courtiers in the palace gate knelt and bowed low to Haman, for such was the king’s order concerning him; but Mordecai would not kneel or bow low. 3 Then the king’s courtiers who were in the palace gate said to Mordecai, “Why do you disobey the king’s order?” 4 When they spoke to him day after day and he would not listen to them, they told Haman, in order to see whether Mordecai’s resolve would prevail; for he had explained to them that he was a Jew. 5 When Haman saw that Mordecai would not kneel or bow low to him, Haman was filled with rage. 6 But he disdained to lay hands on Mordecai alone; having been told who Mordecai’s people were, Haman plotted to do away with all the Jews, Mordecai’s people, throughout the kingdom of Ahashuerus."

From anger at one courtier who refuses to bow, Haman goes on a rampage. Once he finds out who Mordechai’s “people” are, he has a bigger target for his rage.

In that detail is the all too familiar history of our people living among the nations. A powerful ruler decides “the Jews” are inconvenient, second-class citizens, or worse -- less than human. Anti-semitism has often been a tool of demagogues to consolidate power; to distract and unite a disgruntled populace; to target the eternal scapegoat, the Jew. “All of our problems will be solved,” they have said through the centuries, “if we just get rid of the Jews.” (Sounds horrifyingly similar to the hateful words spewing forth from modern-day Persia, Iran.)

It’s doubly interesting that these Persian Jews, these Jews who dressed and spoke like Persians, and lived and worked among their fellow Persians, still felt enough connection to peoplehood, to unite, at least when threatened. Esther’s leadership and courage brought them together to act as Jews. I suppose it’s not so unlike Jews in the modern world, who may go in a thousand different directions, politically, but when they feel Israel is threatened, they rally around it together.

This ancient story is still the story of our people. But part of it is changing. That feeling of unity, of peoplehood, is one of the casualties of the modern world. In an open marketplace of religion and affiliations, anyone can opt in or out at any time. In the next generation, we risk seeing fewer Jews connected to Judaism, and fewer to Israel. We're already seeing it.

Some blame intermarriage, but I think that’s only a sign of a much bigger trend underneath.And by the way, talk about glorifying intermarriage -- Esther’s marriage to the definitely-not-Jewish King Ahashuerus allowed her to save the day! And the traditional commentators had to do serious mental gymnastics to avoid the obvious conclusion that she ate traif and slept with a non-Jew while living in the royal palace...)

One way we might address this challenge of a new age is to change what we mean by “Jewish unity.”

I want to share two lessons to illustrate what I mean: one from Esther, one from this week's parshah.

First, a striking detail toward the end of Esther, after the King issues his decree saving the Jews: (Esther 8:17) "And in every province and city to which the king's edict and law reached, there was happiness and joy for the Jews, a celebration and a holiday. Many of the gentiles converted to Judaism, for the fear of the Jews had fallen upon them."

The plain reading is that the other Persians feared the Jews’ collective might. And that has been one important element in the fight against anti-Semitism in the world: Jews who can fight back, e.g. the IDF.

But Rabbi Moses Isserles has another interpretation: “fear of the Jews”/pachad ha-yehudim can mean either, the Persians’ fear of the Jews, or that which the Jews themselves feared. Hence, Isserles teaches: "'that which the Jews feared fell upon them [the gentile Persians]' -- the awe of Heaven experienced by the Jews was of such intensity that it infused even their countrymen, inspiring them to convert."

Not by might, and not by power, said the prophet Zechariah (4:6), but by the Spirit of God.

Jewish might without Jewish spirit is amoral, empty, and purposeless. In our efforts to build up Jewish defense, let’s not forget to shore up our Jewish souls, the spiritual core, after all, of what we’re fighting for.

An anecdote, from one of my teachers: In the early 1990s, Jewish population surveys
concluded that intermarriage and assimilation were the death knell of Jewish life in America. Fears were fueled, “Jewish continuity! Jewish continuity!” became the communal battle cry, and many funds were raised. My teacher went to class in rabbinic school that year, with his teacher Rabbi Larry Hoffman, who said to the class -- as if the one still, small voice amidst the panic -- “Jewish continuity, but for what?” That should still be our guiding question, today.

The second lesson: In this week's parshah, Tetzaveh, we heard verses chanted about the Urim & Thummim. They were, it's believed, some kind of decision-making artifacts that adorned the high priest. Notice how they’re designed and worn:
"Aaron shall carry the names of the Children of Israel over his heart...for remembrance before Adonai at all times." (Exodus 28:29)

Here we have actually a perfect image for how every Jew should carry him or herself in the world: with the names of all the Children of Israel over your heart.

I’m not going to suggest that we Jews should not disagree, even vehemently. I’m actually saying that we should embrace our unique ability to disagree for the sake of Heaven. Since the days of the first Rabbinic quarrels between Hillel and Shammai, which were amplified, even celebrated, in the Talmud, we Jews have been perfecting the art of sacred arguing.

But what I see now in the Jewish landscape, especially among American Jewry, is a failure to maintain reverence in our arguments. And it’s only going to get worse in an election year, and when so much is at stake for Israel’s future.

We would do well to learn from those Persians who “feared” the Jews and converted -- let’s be motivated, too, by Pachad HaYehudim, fear -- or, better, awe and reverence -- for other Jews, and for the divine author that we share. Let’s carry all the Children of Israel in our hearts -- those with whom we align, and those with whom we eternally argue.

Surely we are not so naive as to think that enemies won’t continue to rise against us. But we will
not defeat them if we turn each other into enemies, too.

May this coming Purim, a time of celebration -- this carnival holiday when we mask and unmask ourselves -- renew our faith in our fellow Jew, and in our commitment to find a new Jewish unity with diversity that can withstand the challenges that the 21st century brings.

La-Yehudim hayta ora v’simcha v’sason vikar (Esther 8:16).
May we too experience light, joy, happiness, and honor in our days.

"And I will dwell among them..."

Shabbat • Parshat Terumah

Let them make Me a Mikdash, 

and I will dwell within them. 

(Exodus 25:8)

This Shabbat is not only the 20th anniversary of Cantor Rollin’s Bat Mitzvah, but also two years since we were here interviewing and auditioning for the position of rabbi for this community.

What impressed us most then, and what still impresses us today, was not the glitz of Aspen, nor the celebrities, nor even the awe-inspiring surroundings and outdoor adventure opportunities -- but the people.

From our first weekend here, two Februarys ago, we were blown away by the people. How warm, welcoming, honest. How down to earth! How happy to be living or visiting here. How grateful.

This week I looked back at something we prepared for the search committee back then, which we called our “Ideas for Aspen.” It filled 3 pages with our vision for what this community could be.

And the places where we have achieved that already, where we’ve had success and fulfillment, are the ones where people make the difference, where relationships are valued above all.

From my intro to Judaism course last year (“Newish to Jewish”), to our monthly Shabbat rock band Shir Bliss, to the learning sessions I’m doing at local churches, to the progress we've made with the school board and staff leadership regarding Jewish holidays and the district calendar, to the b’nai mitzvah program and worship services, and musical performances, and outdoor spirituality -- they have all worked because of the people who make them possible. 

Because of YOU.

You and others showed up with your enthusiasm and with your unique gifts, just as this Torah portion reminds us:

Tell the Israelite people to bring Me gifts; you shall accept gifts for [God] from every person whose heart so moves him. (Exodus 25:2)

This communal generosity of spirit is the background for the main event, the building of the Tabernacle, which we heard chanted just now:

v’asu li mikdash v’shachanti b’tocham / Let them make Me a sanctuary, and I will dwell among them. 

(Exodus 25:8)

“Among” them, our translation says, but more precisely, “within” them. A congregation, a sanctuary, is nothing without the individuals who comprise it. A physical space, even one as lovely as this, is just a tool, a vessel.

Without our gifts, it remains empty, cold, inanimate. (Even colder when we forget to turn the heat on in advance!) We make it holy by our presence, by our being present for each other.

While I am proud of what we have accomplished together in about 18 months, we are just getting started. 

The last phrase of our Torah portion tonight, summing up God’s instructions on the Mishkan, says it all:

v’chen ta-asu / and so you shall make it (Exod 25:9).

It’s in the future tense, because I think we are always in the process of making sacred community, building and rebuilding, perfecting or tearing down and trying again.

The fact that you are here tonight means you are already bringing something to the table. My questions, for all of us, are: 

What gifts do you still have in you, to bring holiness to our community? 

Who else could you bring along, to share the holiness, connectedness, spirituality, or whatever it is that you’ve found here?

What else can we do as a community to keep building our mikdash, our sanctuary, here in the valley? And how do you want to be involved in that building?

There are a number of ways in the near future to get involved, and you’ll hear about many of them tonight. From a congregational vision process, to a Purim spiel, a concert, holiday celebrations, Shabbat greeters, membership and outreach... and so much more...

But more than any program or event, the real meat of what we do happens when people meet.

So, introduce yourself to someone new. Reconnect with someone you thought you knew. Sit down with me or Cantor Rollin to talk about your life journey, your Jewish identity, with your questions and doubts; about what keeps you up at night, and what you want to do in the world to leave your mark.

To create a community where the divine dwells within us, we first have to recognize that God dwells in each of us, but incompletely.

v’shachanti b’tocham: I will dwell among THEM, collectively, says God.

When we bring our individual sparks together, there’s no limit to the sacredness we can create.

Shabbat Shalom.

Thoughts on Tebow and Faith

Rabbi David Segal

Aspen Jewish Congregation

Shabbat Shemot • January 12, 2012

Exodus 4:1-5

But Moses spoke up and said, “What if they do not believe me and do not listen to me, but say: Adonai did not appear to you?” Adonai said to him, “What is that in your hand?” And he replied, “A rod.” He said, “Cast it on the ground.” He cast it on the ground and it became a snake; and Moses recoiled from it. Then Adonai said to Moses, “Put out your hand and grasp it by the tail” — he put out his hand and seized it, and it became a rod in his hand — “that they may believe that Adonai, the God of their fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, did appear to you.” 

Moses was never excited about being chosen to lead.  From the first time God called him, he started in with excuses and reasons God should choose someone else.  In this episode, Moses stalls by worrying that the Israelites might be doubters:

Moses spoke up and said: “What if they do not believe me, but say, ‘The Lord did not appear to you!’?!” (Exod 4:1)

God responds like a magician, as if to say: "Nothing up my sleeve..."  It’s a story about faith and doubt, about signs and miracles, and looking for proof of God’s existence.

Last month, in the Wall Street Journal, there was an article called “Tim Tebow: Denver’s New Favorite Mensch.”  It reported on the growing number of Denver rabbis who admire Tim Tebow and sermonize about him.  Now you can add me to list of rabbis giving sermons about him!

There has been a lot of public conversation about Tebow in the last weeks and months. About his very visible faith, and it’s potential role in Broncos victories.  I saw a poll on the NFL Network this morning: 43% (43!) of Americans attribute the Broncos’ success to divine intervention.  (42% do not, and 14% are not sure.)

Not long ago, Rabbi Joshua Hammerman wrote in The Jewish Week (the column has since been removed),

If Tebow wins the Super Bowl, against all odds, it will buoy his faithful, and emboldened faithful can do insane things, like burning mosques, bashing gays and indiscriminately banishing immigrants. While America has become more inclusive since Jerry Falwell’s first political forays, a Tebow triumph could set those efforts back considerably.

This take on Tebow’s faith is borderline offensive, and more importantly a misreading of Tebow, and of American religiosity.

Rabbi Brad Hirschfeld, in “What GOP Candidates Could Learn from Tim Tebow,” reminds us of the Gallup poll finding that 90% of Americans believe in God.  That said, Hirschfeld continues: “We are believers who embrace questions and seem to prefer ambiguity over certainty. When offered the chance, in a related Gallup survey, to choose between beliefs in God, a ‘universal spirit,’ or a ‘higher power,’ only about 15% chose God.  America is neither as secular as those on the far left would have us believe, nor as theologically certain as our Republican presidential candidates seem to be.”

Hirschfeld goes on:

“Tebow proudly proclaims his personal faith, but does so with remarkable modesty about his understanding of God, God’s word, or how it is meant to play out... What Tebow does not do...is tell people what God’s plan is for him or his team.”

Now, it’s easy to be a detractor.  Looking at Tebow’s faith as if it’s about “pray hard enough and win the Super Bowl” -- that’s a house-of-cards theology.  There’s no integrity to it, and no depth.

It would be like taking our story of Moses’ concern too literally.  In order to prove himself to the Israelites as a true prophet of Adonai, God’s solution is: do some magic tricks!  Turn your rod into a snake.  Put your hand in your chest, take it out, and there are scales on it; put it back, and they’re gone.  Now you see it, now you don’t!  And if those tricks don’t work, take some water from the Nile and sprinkle it on the ground, and it’ll turn to blood.  Impress the people with presto-chango, some sleight of hand.

But we should be aware of the ancient context, and the place of magic traditions.  If religion is to be meaningful and useful today, it must be more than magic tricks.  The God described by the Israelites may not be quite the God we believe in today.  And the signs and wonders they looked for aren’t the signs and wonders we put our stock in anymore.

After Denver’s unlikely 4th-Qtr comeback vs. the Bears, some beautiful theology emerged from an unlikely source: namely, Bob Costas.  It’s worth sharing his words at length:

...the truth is, there’s nobody else quite like Tebow. No fewer than five of his seven victories have featured late fourth quarter comebacks. Approaching — okay, we’ll say it — the miraculous. 

Again today, Tebow did next to nothing until the waning moments, and then, down 10-0 with two minutes left, he throws a touchdown pass, and the Broncos tie it at the gun on a 59-yard field goal. And then win it in overtime on a 51 yarder. The combination of Denver’s continuing late heroics, and today, the Bears otherwise unexplainable errors, is enough to have some at least suspect divine intervention. Except that Tebow, whose sincere faith cannot be questioned, and should be respected, also has the good sense, and good grace, to make it clear he does not believe God takes a hand in the outcome of games.Most of us are good with that. Otherwise, how to explain what happens when there are equal numbers of believers on either side. Or why so many of those same believers came up empty facing Sandy Koufax. Or hit the deck against Muhammad Ali. Or why the almighty wouldn’t have better things to do. 

Still, there is no doubt that Tebow and his team benefit from his honest belief. How? Frank Bruni put it well in today’s New York Times. Whatever Tebow may lack in classic NFL quarterbacking traits, he possesses other qualities in abundance. And in his case, those qualities — confidence, equanimity, optimism — and a presence that can’t be explained, but can certainly be felt. The whole Tebow persona derives from how he sees the world, and his place in it. Those qualities, no matter how one comes by them, are an asset, perhaps especially in sports. 

Good for Tebow, and those who share his beliefs. And those who don’t can still acknowledge, and appreciate, that who Tim Tebow is, is not only genuine, but for the moment at least, it makes him and the Broncos, one of the most fascinating, and in whatever sense you interpret it, uplifting stories in sports.

I would like to invite Bob Costas to speak at services, because there’s profound wisdom there on faith.  And I have a feeling it resonates with many.

Let’s leave room for doubt and uncertainty -- we are honest about not knowing God’s will, or the scope of God’s action in the world, or, yes, even the possibility of miracles -- but even without certainty about these things, we can still say: Faith is good, prayer is good, religion and spirituality are good. They are good when they make us better.

“Confidence, equanimity, optimism” says Costas.  I’d add to those: compassion, justice, righteousness. Reverence.

As George Meredith said, “Who rises from prayer a better man, his prayer is answered.”


I hope that’s a lesson from Tebow that we can all embrace. If you have faith, and through that faith caring community, then even when you lose -- even when things don’t go your way -- you still have love, you still have strength, you still belong, and you matter.

That’s what we’re about here. Building this congregation out of people of faith -- faith that helps us belong, and matter, and make a difference to each other and to the world.

And whether you’re on the gridiron or in the infinite expanse of time and space, we can say: we were here, and we made a difference.  We lived, we connected, we had faith.

Shabbat Shalom.

D'var Torah by Jessica Slosberg

Last Friday, our Educator Jessica Slosberg stepped in to give the d'var Torah.  Thanks, Jess!  It's a powerful message that makes the Torah portion come alive:

This week’s parshah, Vayigash, begins with one of the most poignant and literary moments in the Torah. Joseph reveals his identity to his brothers that he is not only the one they sold into slavery but he is one of the leaders of Egypt. This exchange takes place after Joseph had enacted revenge by planting objects and accusing his brothers of stealing and Judah pleads with Joseph (whom he doesn’t recognize) to let Benjamin return to Canaan and Jacob, their father, and have Judah stay in his place. The region is in the midst of a seven year famine and the brothers are in Egypt attempting to buy much needed supplies. After Joseph tells his brothers who he is, he asks whether or not Jacob is still alive. Judah assures him that he is and then the whole family is moves to Egypt, which of course sets up the Jewish people being slaves, but that is a topic for another d’var.

As I re-read the telling of when Joseph reveals his true identity what struck me was the obvious lovey-doviness of this reunion – and not the one between father and beloved son – but between the brothers. Brothers, who if you remember, treated each other incredibly callously and acted with real, unadulterated hatred toward one another. I mean, how else do you categorize bragging about a parent’s affection, selling your brother into slavery and then telling your father your brother was eaten by wild animals, and then having that brother come to power, unbeknownst to you, and then seek revenge. The ability to let bygones be bygones seems an important lesson in itself. Looking out at the world as we move into the New Year, it seems like in general everyone could benefit from reading this week’s portion. But I don’t think “love more” is really that practical of a suggestion, but it did make me wonder what our tradition has to say about love and how to love. Call it a hunch, I figured I would find something,.

Maimonides writes in Laws of Character Development that the only way to draw people close is through love. On first glance, this seems pretty straight forward – the whole you’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar concept. People want to be treated with respect and understanding, and I get that (that is how I want to be treated). But does this mean we are to blindly accept and learn to love the faults of those around us? In the story of Joseph and his brothers there are some pretty large character flaws and incidents to forgive and forget. Is this really even possible?

And then in the Talmud I found this “Without reproof there can be no (true) love.” Now this seems to have some legs. So yes, love everyone (as best you can) but this doesn’t mean you have to love blindly. Our tradition gives us the power to better our relationships and the world at large by telling us that love is as much about challenging those around us as turning a blind eye to their faults or wrongdoings.

As an example of standing up and chastising out of love, I would be remiss in not mention what is happening in Bet Shemesh. For those of you who haven’t heard, a girls’ elementary school was built for the orthodox-zionist community on the border of a Haredi neighborhood. Since the school opened the students, girls 7, 8, 9, 10 have been yelled at, spit on and attacked by a minority group of Haredi men. This story was recently featured on the Israeli news and was then picked up by msnbc. This story has elicited condemnation from across the Jewish spectrum – from the most progressive communities to other ultra-orthodox groups such as Aish HaTorah. The message from all the groups is this is NOT the way of Torah, Jews should love (or try to) love other Jews. My hope is that eventually this group of radicals hears this message that comes from many Jewish communities – including communities where people live Torah observant lifestyles and from outward appearances look the same as these extremists. But mostly it reminds me that we have a duty, as Jews to speak up and criticize other Jews when necessary – and that we do it out of love. Because ultimately, these people are our brothers (and sisters), even if we disagree with their actions and it is up to us to remind them of the right way to act and to live our lives as an example.  I have a tremendous amount of respect for the families of the girls who have organized shifts to walk the girls to school, who have not yielded to the pressure and who have resisted the idea of dividing Bet Shemesh because they believe, as Jews, We should all be able to live together – with the idea that God said to Israel, “My children what do I seek from you? Nothing more than that you love one another and another one another.”

For me, the lesson of love through criticism is easy to learn when it comes to large, world issues that we are naturally removed from. But when it comes to interpersonal relationships it is much harder to accept criticism when it comes from a loved one. The ones closest to us are the ones who can hurt us the most even when – especially when – they are telling us something we already know but need to hear anyway. Comments from loved ones no matter what they are or when are given seem to be ill-timed, worded insensitively and generally unpleasant. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t some validity there. The brothers were all reproved whether it was when Jacob didn’t believe his sons that Jospeh lived, because he thought them liars, or when Joseph gave Benjamin finer clothes to show how  futile the fight over the jacket really was, or when Pharoah told Joseph to talk to his brothers. This was all done out of love and affection – from people they had real and deep relationships with. I can’t imagine that these were easy lessons to learn on either side – important doesn’t usually mean easy..

So my resolution as I head into the New Year is to learn to take any reproof that comes from love as it was meant and to remember that this person has a duty to me out of love – to challenge me and push me and I have duty, out of love, to challenge them right back when necessary. 

Shabbat Shalom