Rabbi Natasha Mann

  Disposable People The Torah speaks of slavery in two ways: the Israelite slave and the Canaanite (or, really, non-Israelite) slave. The Israelite slave had many previously unheard-of protections, such as the mandated release after six years. The non-Israelite slave in the Torah was given some protections, such as not being returned to the master after escaping, but was ultimately treated similarly to any ancient slave.  Moving forward through history, a thousand years or so, and the rabbis of our tradition found themselves uncomfortable with the state of the written law. And through a truly masterful legal framework, they gave all slaves the protections of the Israelite slave.  Another thousand years, more than a thousand years, and the question of abolition of slavery came to be. Some rabbis saw the trajectory of our narrative, with its reminder that we were once slaves and its growth of protections around the enslaved person, and became abolitionists. I’m sorry to say...

  Sacred Pain and Chicken Soup I’ve mentioned before on this bimah, I think, that since October 7, I’ve been meeting semi-regularly with a small group of Jewish and Muslim leadership. We’ve mostly been speaking about what’s happening within our communities and how our communities relate, or don’t relate, to one another. A few weeks ago, I joined some of those friends at a local mosque. It was our first time meeting outside of a living room, which always felt a little quiet and maybe even secretive - but there were no issues with inviting us into their sacred space. Some weeks before that, I invited a group of Muslim student imams and future leaders from Indonesia into New London Synagogue for a tour and some learning, too. I don’t want to shy away from it - there were some awkward questions. But there was also meaningful conversation and I think we all left understanding each other better.  The truth is, I don’t do enough interfaith work. There’s always too many other things t...

  Passover is almost upon us - and the cleaning season is beginning!   Mishnah Pesachim begins, as our season does, with the removal of chametz (leavened product) from the house. Just before Pesach begins, it tells us, we engage with the process of b'dikat chametz (checking for chametz). Mishnah 1:1 assures us that places we would never take chametz do not need to be checked.   Mishnah 1:2 poses a problem. Okay, sure, you might not take toast into the shower, but you're not in complete control of the world. What if there's a crumb on the floor, and the cat picks it up and takes it into the shower?   . אֵין חוֹשְׁשִׁין שֶׁמָּא גָרְרָה חֻלְדָּה מִבַּיִת לְבַיִת וּמִמָּקוֹם לְמָקוֹם, דְּאִם כֵּן, מֵחָצֵר לְחָצֵר וּמֵעִיר לְעִיר, אֵין לַדָּבָר סוֹף   They need not fear that a weasel may have dragged [chametz] from one room to another or from one place to another, for i...

  Memory as Empathy - Pesach VIII The Seder is a fascinating exercise in telling stories. It is almost easier to talk about what the Seder is not. It is not an exercise in engaging with history as a historian. When a historian engages with history, she does it in a manner closer to the scientist than the Jew at the Seder; she finds data points and weaves a narrative around them, a narrative which is always on unsteady ground, because the threads of it may unspool with the discovery of new data altogether. When we sat at the Seder last week, we were not historians. But we were also not the tellers of fiction. Even the most outlandish of midrashim are not really fiction, not in the plain meaning of the word. Even if I were speaking with someone who believes that not a single element of the story was a historical reality - a statement I would disagree with, but nonetheless - I do not think I could support the view that we were just, well, telling stories.  This is the fun...

It is a running joke with my Hebrew students that I am not good at translating Hebrew into understandable English on the first attempt. The Hebrew is fine, I like to claim; it’s the English I’m having difficulty with. This is how I find myself explaining to Omar, the head of the industrial kitchens at the American Jewish University: “The way that it swallows it is the way that it throws it back up.” Omar looks at me blankly. He’s holding a blowtorch in one hand, and has just asked me the very innocent question of whether he can use the blowtorch to kasher everything in the kitchen in preparation for Passover. Omar is very excited about the blowtorch. “I’m going to try that again,” I say, peering over at my cauldron of nearly-boiling water. It’s taking forever to heat up, but I’m not; between the steaming water on the stovetop, the ovens being turned up to full capacity, and Omar’s blowtorch occasionally firing, the industrial kitchens at the American Jewish University are sweltering. I...