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dwelling in booths on Sukkot. But it gives no explanation for the mitzvah of the Four Species.

One explanation is given in Leviticus Rabbah, a collection of poetic commentaries (midrash) on the book of Levitucus. In Chapter 30:9 of Leviticus Rabbah we read,

“Fruit of a beautiful (hadar) tree”—this is the Holy One, Blessed is He, as it is written of him, “Glory and splendor (hadar) are before Him” (Ps 104:1).

“Palm branches (temarim)” —this is the Holy One, Blessed is He, as it is written of him, “The Righteous One sprouts like a palm" (Ps 92:13).

“Myrtle branches”—this is the Holy One, Blessed is He, as it is written of him, “And He stands among the myrtles” (Zech 1:8).

“Willow branches (aravot)” —this is the Holy One, Blessed is He, as it is written of him, “Praise He Who rides above the heavens (aravot)” (Ps 68:5).

The MJTI Rabbinical School is inaugurating an annual Summer Seminar to bring together our rabbinical students and advanced graduate students to study together. Several months ago, as I was putting together the schedule for this summer, I realized that the Seminar is taking place just before the Ninth of Av.

The Ninth of Av (called Tisha b’Av in Hebrew) is an annual Jewish fast day to commemorate and mourn the destruction of the First and Second Temple in Jerusalem. The Temples were destroyed about 656 years apart, but on the same day of the Hebrew calendar, the Ninth of Av. Other calamities that have befallen the Jewish people over the centuries are mourned on the same day. And beyond the calamities is the exile of the Jewish people. Even now, with Israel established, most Jews live elsewhere. This is yet another cause for mourning.

The Messianic Jewish Theological Institute was formed to develop and educate rabbis and other leaders for the Messianic Jewish movement. This is our first and most important mandate. As Director of the School of Jewish Studies, my emphasis is on the educational side of that equation. But what exactly is a Messianic Jewish rabbi? Is he or she sort of Jewish pastor, whose main job is to preach, counsel, comfort, and exhort a congregation? While it’s true that many rabbis lead congregations, the core definition and main role of rabbi lies elsewhere. I want to focus on a single sentence taken from the “Definition of a Messianic Jewish Rabbi” of the Messianic Jewish Rabbinical Council (see http://ourrabbis.org). The work of a Messianic Jewish Rabbi is: To expound and apply Torah as fulfilled in and mediated through the person, teaching, and work of Yeshua.

Understood in a Jewish context, “Torah” means more than the first five books of the Bible. It also relates to the Scripture and tradition that arise from those books and have guided and shaped the Jewish people for millennia. The Messianic Jewish rabbi does not speak as an outsider who has merely studied the Torah academically, but as an insider, a member of the trans-generational Jewish people who has learned and lived the Torah.

Rabbi Chanina said: “I have learned . . . from my students most of all.” (Babylonian Talmud Ta’anit 7a)

I am extremely grateful for the quality and vibrancy of the men and women I teach at the MJTI School of Jewish Studies. I like to talk about them because they are examples of men and women who are gripped by the hunger to study Jewishly and to be more effective in serving the body of Messiah.

When I teach online, most of my students start out as strangers to me. Fortunately, our graduate courses are all seminars (maximum twelve students), and the uniqueness of each student starts to come across right away. I would like to introduce one of these students. In order to preserve her privacy, I’ll call her “Marcela.”

Marcela was born, raised, and lives in Brazil. She is an MD, with Medical Residence in General Surgery and Dermatology. She is also a published poet. Marcela has Sefardic Jewish heritage, with ancestors from Portugal, Spain, and Turkey. At some point in the distant past, the family became Christians. But, to this day, many in her extended family maintain Jewish practices inherited from their Sephardic past.

“. . .every scribe who has become a disciple of the kingdom of heaven is like a head of a household, who brings out of his treasure things new and old.” Matthew 13:52

Abraham Joshua Heschel’s God in Search of Man is among the foremost works of Jewish theology and spirituality of the past fifty years. Toward the end of the book, Heschel addresses the posture and orientation of the individual Jew within the Jewish community:

“…I am moved by an anxiety for the meaning of my existence as a Jew. Yet when I begin to ponder about it, my theme is not the problem of one Jew but of all Jews… It embraces not only the Jews of the present but also those of the past and those of the future, the meaning of Jewish existence in all ages… The tasks begun and carried out by the patriarchs and prophets, and carried out by countless Jews of the past, are now entrusted to us.”¹

Heschel wants to be sure that his readers understand that ours is not a private spirituality, the isolated relationship of one Jew—or any number of individual Jews—with God.  The same thought applies to Messianic Jews as part of the larger Jewish community.  We share in the fate of all Jews.  Like other Jews, our identity vacillates between a private spirituality and a communal ethos.

“. . . every scribe who has become a disciple of the kingdom of heaven is like a head of a household, who brings out of his treasure things new and old.” Matthew 13:52

After the destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem in 70 C.E., the sages of early Judaism worked diligently to understand, refine, and transmit the traditions, rooted in Scripture, that had been handed down to them. A giant of that first generation was Rabban Yohanan Ben Zakkai. At times, Rabban Yohanan would test his students by intentionally slipping in a wrong answer to their questions. They learned to pay attention! And one of his students, Rabbi Joshua, later expressed in a few words that true learning involves hard work:

Rabbi Joshua says, “He who repeats a tradition but does not work at grasping it is like he who sows seed but does not harvest . . . .” Rabbi Akiva (a younger colleague of Rabbi Joshua) says, “A song in me, always a song.” (Tosefta Ahilot 16:8)

Joshua learned that it is not enough to repeat what we have heard. We have to work hard not merely to remember and repeat what we have heard, but also to take hold of the meaning and make it our own. In this way, our tradition will live in each generation. We must grapple with what we are taught in order to make it our own.

“. . . every scribe who has become a disciple of the kingdom of heaven is like a head of a household, who brings out of his treasure things new and old.” Matthew 13:52

Tradition! Just saying the word makes me think of Tevye and Fiddler on the Roof. The movie is set in the mythical Russian town of Anatevka, where life is a poor, hard grind, the Russians can’t be trusted not to kill you one day, and—however hard he tries to stop it—Tevye is watching his tradition disintegrate day by day. At the end of the movie, the whole village packs up and leaves for America.

My grandparents did not live very far from the villages that inspired Sholom Aleichem, author of the Tevye stories. And they came to the United States in the same tide of immigration that Tevye would have, intent on finding a new life.

When I was growing up, I was often exhorted by my grandmother, with a twinkle in her eye: “Boychick—you’re a link in the chain,” she would say with her heavy Yiddish accent. “Just make sure you don’t break the chain!” The message was clear and my generation heard it often, especially from the lips of relatives from the “old country.” The message was, If you don’t keep Jewish customs, our tradition will die—and it will be your fault! Even when said with a smile in her voice, the message was somber. Here I was, little Carl Kinbar, a link in a great and mighty chain stretching from the past and—if I did the right thing—into the future as well. No pressure there!

“. . . every scribe who has become a disciple of the kingdom of heaven is like a head of a household, who brings out of his treasure things new and old.” Matthew 13:52

Spirited debate plays a crucial role in the history and culture of the Jewish people.  Let’s take a look at a lengthy argument that took place about two thousand years ago.  The story is found in the Talmud, tractate Eruvin, page 13b:

For three years there was a dispute between the House of Shammai and the House of Hillel, the former asserting, “The proper practice is in agreement with our views.” And the latter contending, “The practice is in agreement with our views.” Then a voice from heaven announced that “Both these and those are the words of the living God, but the practice is according to the rulings of the House of Hillel.”

“The House” means “the disciples of.” The disciples of Shammai and of Hillel argued for three years, back and forth, back and forth. Now, that’s an argument! Oddly, we’re not even told what they were arguing about.  But, then again, they argued over just about everything, usually taking exactly opposite positions.

Rabbi Chanina said: “I have learned much from my teachers, more from my colleagues and from my students most of all.” (Babylonian Talmud Ta’anit 7a)

In one sense, Messiah Yeshua has taught me everything I know.  He has taught me in the Scriptures, in life’s circumstances, and through others.  He has been involved in all the learning I have ever done.  But I have also had teachers, colleagues, and students—men and women whose wisdom and patience have helped shape my life, the way I think, and what I know.

What have I learned from my teachers?  Everything from ethical conduct to secular subjects to Torah.  These teachers helped me to build the framework for everything I learned afterward.  There is the pastor who first told me about Yeshua.  He was able to share the good news with me in a Jewishly sensitive way.  There is the man whose teaching on serving others impacted my life deeply and the woman whose teaching about global issues somehow modeled a very local humility.  A teacher at my local Jewish Community Center taught me, by example, that a class of one is not a disappointment but an opportunity.  A teacher at Spertus College transmitted an intense love for Jewish texts.  I could go on and on.

“. . . every scribe who has become a disciple of the kingdom of heaven is like a head of a household, who brings out of his treasure things new and old.” Matthew 13:52

In the August 2009 issue of Verge, I wrote about the crucial role that spirited debate has in the history and culture of the Jewish people. We looked at a lengthy debate that took place between the House (or disciples) of Shammai and the House of Hillel. Finally, a heavenly voice intervened, saying “both these and those are the words of the living God, but the practice is according to the rulings of the House of Hillel.”

But how can the words of both Houses be “words of the living God?” They can’t both be right—since they disagreed with each other, obviously one of them must be right and the other must be wrong! The answer is that taken separately the words of both Houses are just human words. Only when taken together, in the process of vigorous debate, can their words be considered “words of the living God.” In the development of our tradition, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, greater than all the rabbis put together.