My dear and respected friend, Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardozo, recently wrote an article about the "relocation" of God. Here is an excerpt from that article.

Conference for University Students:

Where the Yeshiva Meets the University

Sunday, April 14, 10:30am to 2pm
Congregation Shearith Israel, 8 West 70th St., New York, NY
Just steps from the B/C and 1/2/3 at 72nd Street

Sponsored by the University Network of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals. This program, including lunch, is free for college and graduate students--but advance reservations are required:

Register today at jewishìdeas.weebly.com

Join students from around New York for a stimulating
conversation with Rabbi Hayyim Angel!

10 to 10:30am Registration
10:30 to 1 1:45-- Orthodoxy & Biblical Archeology: Friends or Foes?
11:45 to 12:45 Lunch
12:45 to 2pm-- Sarah’s Treatment of Hagar: Morals, Messages & Mesopotamia

Shalom uvrakha, I hope your academic year is off to a good start. I wish you all the best for the New Year.

Here are a few items for your attention:

YOUR MAILING ADDRESS: Please be sure that we have your correct mailing address. If you've moved, please let us know your new address. We mail you copies of our journal, Conversations, as well as other periodic mailings, and we want to be sure they reach you. You can check and update your data at jewishideas.org

Why were our Temples in ancient Jerusalem destroyed? Jewish tradition offers answers.

The first Temple was destroyed in 586 BCE by the Babylonians--because of the sins of the people of Israel. This is evident especially from the prophecies of Jeremiah. The Talmud notes that the Israelites of that period committed major sins. The destruction and exile were brought about "because of our sins."

The second Temple was destroyed by the Romans in 70CE. The Talmud suggests that the destruction was a punishment for the sin of "Sinat Hinam," Jews hating each other without justification.

Sometimes it takes a crisis to remind us of the transience of life. It might be an illness, the death of a loved one, an accident, a shocking and tragic news report. At these crisis moments, we suddenly and starkly remember that we are mortal, that life on this earth is temporary.

When people confront their own mortality, they often come to the realization that time is precious; that life is too valuable to be frittered away on nonsense; that it is self-destructive to engage in petty feuds or egotistical competitions. It can take a crisis to help us live on a higher, happier level. Facing the transience of life, we take our living moments more seriously.

When I was a teenager growing up in Seattle, our family was affiliated with Congregation Ezra Bessaroth. Our rabbi was Rabbi William Greenberg, of blessed memory.

I still recall vividly a conversation/confrontation I had with Rabbi Greenberg. He taught me a lesson which I’ve never forgotten.

One Shabbat morning, a member of our congregation came to services. Rabbi Greenberg gave him a big smile. The gentleman was given the honor of being called to the Torah, and Rabbi Greenberg welcomed him warmly during his sermon.

Many years ago, when I was a new young rabbi, an unkempt hippie walked into our synagogue on a Shabbat morning. He was wearing dirty jeans, a gaudy plaid shirt, and long hair with a pony tail. He wasn’t wearing a jacket and tie as is the proper male attire for our synagogue.

This hippie was quickly ushered out of the synagogue, to the relief of a number of veteran congregants. After all, who would want such a disrespectful person to be at our prayer services?

In his classic work, “The Lonely Man of Faith,” Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik writes of two aspirations of human beings: dignity and redemption.

Dignity results whenever we triumph over nature, e.g., when we make scientific and technological advances, when we control our environment, when we achieve social or economic success. In these instances, we see ourselves as masters, not as victims. This is dignity.

Redemption, though, is something quite different. It stems not from our feeling of being in control but from our feeling of being entirely dependent upon God. We are vulnerable. We are afraid. We recognize deeply and without reservation that our lives are in God’s hands, not our own. No matter how successful we may appear to be, only God has full control.

In this week’s parasha, the Torah describes the rainbow as a sign of God’s covenant with His earthly creations. It is a testimony that He will never again cause a flood to destroy humanity. It is significant that God chose the rainbow as a sign of His permanent covenant with humans.

A rainbow, after all, is intangible, unreachable and ephemeral. God rested His covenant not in something solid and unshakable, but in a bodiless, colorful bow of vapor refracted in the sunlight. By choosing the rainbow, God conveyed to humanity that His power can be seen not only in great mountains and mighty oceans—but also in something as insubstantial and transient as a rainbow.