I never thought I would be forced to interrupt a Torah reading the way I did on the 11th of Adar 1, 5782 (February 12, 2022)…otherwise known as “The Shabbat before the biggest Super Bowl in L.A. history.”
At Westwood Village Synagogue, where I am privileged to serve as spiritual leader, and where we have our fair share of sports fans, there was a festive feeling in the air. We welcomed a wonderful young man named Akiva into our community as our new Ba’al Koreh (Torah reader). It had been a few months since we had a regular weekly Torah reader, so Akiva’s arrival marked a joyous new beginning for us.
After introducing Akiva to the community and handing him the silver Yad (Torah pointer), we called up the first aliyah. When Akiva began to read, it seemed like he had always been with us. His reading was melodious, beautiful and well enunciated. So it was for the first aliyah, and the second, and the third.
Suddenly, I felt compelled to put a stop to everything. I asked Akiva to pause for a moment. What happened that made me stop him?
While listening to Akiva’s beautiful reading, I glanced ahead at the next aliyah and came upon a verse that shocked me. Its words were too painful to look at, let alone pronounce. I shuddered at the thought that they would soon be chanted directly from the Torah. What to do?
With the same sense of Soren Kierkegaard’s “fear and trembling” that I feel on Rosh Hashanah before blowing the ram’s horn, I stood before God and my community, and, with tongue only slightly in cheek, I shared some words from the heart of an L.A. sports fan.
“Master of the Universe, and honored members of the community,” I said with humility, “I stand before you today in deepest awe and respect for every word of our sacred Torah. I live by these holy words, for they are our life and our length of days, and we will meditate on them day and night.”
“However…there is one little verse that I find problematic today. As one who has faithfully sounded the ram’s horn with awe and joy my entire life, how, on this day before the Super Bowl, can I stand in the synagogue and hear the following words read from the Torah: You shall slaughter the ram and sprinkle its blood (Exodus 29:16).”
The congregation immediately figured out where I was going: not a good day to read about slaughtering rams!
The congregation immediately figured out where I was going: not a good day to read about slaughtering rams!
“Slaughter the ram? Not in our house,” was the collective thought. So, with the deepest sense of spiritual sincerity, we prayed that our rams – the LA Rams – would prevail the following day at SoFi Stadium: “Merciful God, in the merit of the ram’s horn we sound on Rosh Hashanah, have mercy on our LA Rams. Spare them from this one terrifying verse!”
Akiva did read the verse, of course, but by then, God knew what was in our hearts.
So it was, after a long period in exile, the Rams returned to their historic homeland of Los Angeles. When we prayed for Israel and said “Strengthen the hands of those who defend our holy land and crown them with victory…” – God knew what was on our minds.
On the very next day – Super Bowl Sunday – our prayers were answered. No Rams were slaughtered.
“Do not raise your hand against the Rams,” cried out a voice from heaven. “And there were some Cincinnati Bengals on the field, caught in the thicket by their helmets, and they were offered up in place of the Rams.”
Many of us take our L.A. sports teams to heart, even when we are in synagogue. Rooting for our teams creates a unique sense of communal bonding and unity. So yes, I really did have Akiva stop reading, and yes, we really did pray that this Torah verse should not come true.
Of course, my description here was a highly dramatized re-enactment of the actual events. After all, this is Hollywood, the world of drama and happy endings.
Mazal Tov, LA Rams.
Rabbi Daniel Bouskila is the Director of the Sephardic Educational Center and the rabbi of the Westwood Village Synagogue.
