Shabbat: Parsha V'Zot Ha'Berachah

Shabbat Shalom and welcome to Judeo Talk. The Torah portion for this week is Parsha V'Zot Ha'Berachah, Deuteronomy 33:1-34:12.

This week's parsha is the final portion of the Five Books of Moses. In it, Moses stands before all of the Israelites and says his final words, a blessing to each of the twelve tribes. He enumerates the essence of what those tribes represent and the nature of the path each of them will follow in the days to come.

What is so striking about this parsha is that, for all the grumbling and anger of the past, Moses is leaving his people with words of love and appreciation. He is a father figure of sorts, looking out on all the children he raised and being proud of them despite the growing pains and problems of the past.

Moses is the closest thing Judaism has to a great, heroic figure. He is not without his faults and his mistakes, has been dreadfully wrong and even sinful over his long years in life, but the Torah still holds him in high regard. The question we must ask ourselves in these closing moments of our central scriptures is what exactly does Moses represent for us today? He is not a king or a priest. He is not magical or of any particularly grand lineage. What value does the figure of Moses have to modern people?

Ultimately, we need only look at other great figures from history to understand what Moses is to any culture that learned about him. He has come to be associated with liberators like Harriet Tubman and Martin Luther King Jr. We see Moses, who the Torah summarizes an unparalleled man of God, in leaders who we believe embody the epitome of righteousness and social justice without seeming particular super-human, either.

Unlike the central figures of other major faiths, Moses is overtly flawed. He is far from Christ-like perfection and infinite patience, he is possessed of only a fraction of the wisdom of Buddha or the steely leadership of Mohammed. Moses is a leader, whether he likes it or not, but he still needs a lot of help from both God and other good people. If the Torah posits Moses as the best possible man of his time, it does so with an overarching philosophy of earthly imperfection. We must all certainly aspire to be Moses-like in our courage and devotion, but we are all inevitably Moses-like in our flaws and ignorance.

So, this is how the Torah closes its central story, with the well-wishes of its best but certainly imperfect man. This places the responsibility of the law and the future on all of us, the descendants if not in body than in spirit of the people who crossed over into the Promised Land.

But that in itself is a quirk of the Tanakh. In the Five Books we never actually witness the Israelites enter into the Holy Land and I do believe this is entirely intentional. Moses spends his last moments talking about the strengths of each tribe, but those are just sentiments. If the Torah is a story about the struggle to be righteous and holy, it is also a story that has no real conclusion. This is where we stand, now and for the rest of our lives- At the border of Zion. We stand without the leaders and parents of our pasts, bearing the full weight of all our decisions. The best any of us can ever be is incomplete and imperfect, but we can still achieve enough good to have made the world better. We are all Moses floating down the Nile in a basket, each of us at once royalty and slaves. The substance of our days depends on what we choose along the way.

Shabbat: Parsha Ha'azinu

Shabbat Shalom and welcome to Judeo Talk. The Torah portion for this week is Parsha Ha'azinu, Deuteronomy 32:1-32:52.

This week, we read from the penultimate parsha in the Tanakh, the Five Books of Moses. Ha'azinu is a poem, the second to last poem he ever recited. It is, without a doubt, a piece meant to literally put the fear of God in his people. But we can't look at the verse of Ha'azinu as a stand-alone piece. Indeed, the last thing Moses ever does before he dies in next week's parsha is speak a blessing over the Israelites. Anyone who has spent a decent amount of time studying Torah should know that this order of events is significant. The fear is not the last word, but the blessing.

This sentiment rings true throughout the Torah. Even within the terrifying language of Ha'azinu, there is a hint of moral certainty. It talks about violence, about war and iniquity. It paints a picture of a life consumed by these things and how awful such an experience would be. There is a loneliness to it as well. Moses speaks as an individual, not as a nation. The focus is not on "us" but on "me", the solitary life of the warrior without God or anyone else. This violent life is the old life, the life without God or law. The future, the Promised Land, is a life beyond that constant war.

I have written many times now about the essential metaphor of the Promised Land and the holy life. I cannot stress the idea enough that "Israel", "Zion" is a state of being, not a physical place. Moses's poem in Ha'azinu describes the way people experienced life in his time and place prior to the advent of law, but he is also talking about the painful, confusing existence of the individual prior to spiritual clarity.

As we contemplate our lives in the Days of Awe, we should read Ha'azinu as a call to think of all our past mistakes and problems. How long will we stand on our own Mount Nebo, able to see the Promised Land but not able to enter it? As these final passages of the Tanakh have stated both directly and in allegory, we all already know how to be better people, how to be individuals of peace and prosperity, it's just a matter of taking those necessary steps forward.

As we approach Yom Kippur, we will be asked to think on our guilt, but it's not meant to be a wallow. Guilt is our minds' way of acknowledging the wrongs in our lives while simultaneously noting the right that was never done. This means, at best, that we know what is right. The Days of Awe are a time for us to re-commit ourselves to choosing the right in the coming year where today we only have the guilt of choosing the wrong in the year that passed.

Shabbat Shalom. I wish you all an easy fast and a meaningful day of reflection on Yom Kippur.

Rosh Hashanah and the Days of Awe

For those of us who grew up in the Jewish community, the High Holy Days are synonymous with long ritual services at the local synagogue and large meals with friends a family. But really, the days in between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are arguably more important than the services themselves. Judaism, as I often try to convey, doesn't happen in the sanctuaries of our temples or the libraries of our scholars. None of the lessons of the Torah mean anything if we do not actively incorporate them into our lives.

The Days of Awe, the most holy time in the Jewish faith, includes not only the holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, but also the eight intervening days between them. In addition to the rituals we practice as a community during the holidays, Jews have much more personal responsibilities in the week between them.

On Rosh Hashanah, there is a phrase in our liturgy that describes the "book of life" where our names are inscribed by the hand of God for the coming year. One might interpret this (and I would say incorrectly) as a metaphor for fate. As with everything in the Torah, this symbol is not meant to be so strange and esoteric. We describe the book of life specifically so we will ponder the gravity of having seen another year pass and standing at the beginning of a new one. Rosh Hashanah literally translates as "The head of the year", the simultaneous conclusion of a full cycle and the start of the next. We are meant to review the year that has passed so that we may prepare ourselves for the year yet to come.

It is impossible to live without regrets. Rosh Hashanah, at its best, gives us the opportunity to seek out some kind of internal resolution of the mistakes and losses of the year. It is also a chance to reflect on all of the good things that have come to pass in that time. As we stand at the beginning of a completely fresh stretch of time, arbitrary as that is, we have all of creation before us. It contains yet more mistakes and yet more triumphs. In the coming year, we will lose and we will gain. The purpose of Rosh Hashanah is turn our minds to the future so that we may handle our losses gracefully and cultivate our triumphs to the greatest degree.

So, in these Days of Awe, contemplate the year that has gone by, but do not forget to place your whole self in the year to come. Begin breaking bad habits, cultivate stronger, more honest relationships and do not accept anything less than the best of your own happiness and well-being. This life is yours to do with what you will. In Jewish philosophy, it is not God's responsibility to make you good or successful or happy. L'Shanah Tovah this Rosh Hashanah. I wish you all good meditation and much growth in the Days of Awe.

Shabbat: Parsha Nitzavim-Vayelech

Shabbat Shalom and welcome to Judeo Talk. The Torah portion for this week is Parsha Nitzavim-Vayelech, Deuteronomy 29:9-31:30.

This week's parsha is fairly brief. All in all, it feels like a sort of narrative capstone for the previous few parshiot, a kind of philosophical breather. On one level it is a review of basic themes and a sort of stepping-back perspective moment. The terms are broad and general, referencing elements of older passages, specifically the blessings and curses as well as some of the fallen cities from biblical history.

On another level, this parsha is much more emotionally intimate than the grand language of Deuteronomy normally affords. The first thing Nitzavim-Vayelech tries to establish is that the entire nation of Israel is experiencing this moment. Literally and figuratively, each and every individual stands at a pivotal time. As far as this portion is concerned, this is no less than the instant when each person must choose between a righteous life and a wicked life, between the world that could be and the world that has been. Standing at the border between civilization and the harsh wilderness, this parsha does not assume that everyone is going to choose a new, better life over cycles of loss and destruction.

Another important part of this portion is the reminder that goodness is not something for which we wait. The parsha says specifically that happiness has nothing to do with heaven or any other moment of retrospective. Rather, it is a pursuit for the here and now. In rather simple language, this Torah portion is telling us to pay attention to our lives in the present and to likewise make our moral decisions sooner rather than later. To borrow from Rav Hillel, "If not now, when?"

If ever there was a Jewish philosophical sentiment, this moral immediacy is it. It is in this sense that Judaism differs from so many other modern religions. According to our texts, God's covenant with the Israelites involves life only. There is no mention in the brit of a reward in the afterlife. Rather, the only active agreement between God and humanity involves earthly responsibilities for the latter in exchange for mortal prosperity granted by the former. In more concrete terms, it's not Judaism if it involves anything outside of life as we're living it.

Since Nitzavim-Vayelech is rather short, I also want to take this time to make a point of order in how this blog treats exegesis. Last week we received an excellent post in our comments section illuminating an additional perspective of Parsha Ki Tavo. The views expressed on Judeo Talk are by no means exclusive or final. Quite the contrary, actually. There are many layers to every passage in the Torah, so much so that whole generations of scholars pour over these texts every day of every year and never fail to find new insight. The true richness of the Torah is in the sheer impossibility of condensing a comprehensive lesson of a given parsha into the space of a single article or essay. The written d'varim I provide for this blog are meant to be little more than starting points for study, both yours and my own. I highly encourage any of you readers to delve into these scriptures for yourselves so that you will see more lessons than I could ever hope to provide here.

So, in your studies and in your lives this coming week, I wish you all Shalom, good health and personal growth.

Person of the Week: Ruth Bader Ginsburg

Jews have long been associated with the practice of law. This only stands to reason considering Judaism's preoccupation with the details of its own religious law. Thousands of years ago, scholars of the Torah began to approach scripture from a decidedly judicial angle, using reference-supported commentaries and a foundation of precedent to elaborate on the vague elements of the written law. At its best, Jewish legal theory has been integral to the process of social justice in a variety of cultures, not the least of which is the United States where the Jewish people have cultivated a reputation as formidable lawyers. One of the greatest contributors to US law and the adjudication of civil rights is Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

Justice Bader Ginsburg was born Ruth Joan Bader in Brooklyn, New York in 1933. She was reportedly very active as a student and also took early leadership roles in the Jewish community. She received her religious confirmation at the Midwood Jewish Center and embraced a number of everyday ritual responsibilities among her peers.

Ruth's mother passed away after a long battle with cancer just prior to Ruth's graduation from James Madison High School, now the location of a highly respected law program in Bader Ginsburg's honor. Ruth pursued her undergraduate degree at Cornell University then attended the Harvard School of Law. She married Martin D. Ginsburg in 1954, relocating with him back to New York City where she continued her law studies at Columbia University. Martin Ginsburg is currently a nationally renowned professor at Georgetown University. The Gingburgs have two children together, Jane and James.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg became a professor of law at Rutgers University less than a decade after passing the Bar. While there she began her extensive work in gender equality law, founding the Women's Rights Law Reporter journal, eventually attaining a tenured position at Columbia. She continued her work in women's rights when she took up the mantle of chief litigator for the American Civil Liberties Union concerning their cases in gender equality.

After serving as the judge for the appellant court of Washington D.C. for several years, Ruth Bader Ginsburg was appointed to the Supreme Court of the United States by President Bill Clinton. In her time there Justice Bader Ginsburg has maintained her reputation as a liberal-leaning judge, coming down in favor of reproductive rights, workplace equality and overall anti-discrimination concerns. Recently, Ruth Bader Ginsburg has had her own ongoing struggle with cancer. She has been at the bench since February 2009 after undergoing surgery to remove a tumor from her pancreas and has been in relatively good health. The 76-year-old Justice has made no comments concerning retirement.

Over the course of her extensive career, Ruth Bader Ginsburg has become a symbol of progressive politics and social reform. As the first Jewish Supreme Court Justice, she has represented her people honorably and admirably. For all young Jews of any gender, Ruth Bader Ginsburg is a fine example of how to pursue tikun olam in the world of law.

Shabbat: Parsha Ki Tavo

Shabbat Shalom and welcome to Judeo Talk. The Torah portion for this week is Parsha Ki Tavo, Deuteronomy 26:1-29:8.

Ki Tavo is one of the most well-known parshiot in the rabbinic tradition and certainly one of the most oft-quoted. This is the parsha of Blessings and Curses, a great litany of the ills that will befall those who do wrong and the benefits following those who keep the mitzvot. I have personally heard those passages read and interpreted by several rabbis, yet I've never heard one reading that I feel captures the true essence of what this parsha is trying to say, or for that matter how it goes about saying it.

I often write about the importance of context to the exegesis of the Torah. The real challenge of these scriptures is understanding that it's not just a matter of one context, or even a handful, but the context of everything. Each passage out of the Torah exists on a great net of interconnected elements, some more obvious than others. There are historical conditions to consider in addition to other stories in the Torah, folklore from outside the Torah and, in this parsha specifically, an entire poetic language weaving throughout the lines. We so often read Torah as one homogeneous chunk of scripture that we ignore drastic shifts in form that occur at important moments like Blessings and Curses.

Ki Tavo has a distinctly florid tone where much of the Torah is rather matter-of-fact. This parsha is not a chronicle or a parable, it's a song or a poem. As such, literal interpretation is more than a little obtuse. Taken at face value, Ki Tavo promises epic plagues that match or even trump those visited upon Egypt in Exodus to the sinners of Israel and it offers paradise to its righteous ones. There is no value whatsoever in a direct application of these words.

Similarly, we should not take Blessings and Curses as a promise that God is simply a device that dispenses rewards and punishments predictably. We have the rest of the Torah as evidence to the contrary. Ki Tavo, in very symbolic language, is attempting to impress upon its readers a sense of what they carry with them when they go about their lives. When we act unjustly or foster cruelty, we cultivate hatred and ruin, not as an arbitrary punishment from on high but as a matter of course. The worker with an unsympathetic boss grows spiteful and the company suffers; the parent who neglects his or her child ensures the loss of love and cooperation.

We need no divine intervention to see our actions result in blessings and curses, which is why the Torah takes such poetic tones in Ki Tavo. Stylistically, it makes more sense to push melodrama than to speak literally about the need for daily righteousness. One can't simply cap an epic story about God, prophets and miracles with a sober sermon about responsibility. So, read Ki Tavo as a passionate song. It has infinitely more value as an appeal to the emotions and imaginations of readers than any actual attempt to motivate behavior with bribes and boogeymen.

Person of the Week: Hillel The Elder

Judaism is a religion of scholars and has been since the beginning. Many great thinkers occupy positions of the utmost honor and respect today, but once in a while certain sages attain a sort of super-stardom in Judaic philosophy. Perhaps no scholar in Jewish history is more well-known and popular than a quasi-mythic figure named Hillel.

Little is known about Hillel's origins and his greatness has invited a large amount of obvious invention. Some accounts have him living for 120 years and serving as the originator of many famous phrases such as "Do unto others as you would have done unto you." These claims serve as place-holders for a lot of cultural material and a means of making an ideal thinker into a hero. The reality, what little we have, is that a man named Hillel lived in and around Jerusalem in the time of Herod (the Roman occupation) and he contributed greatly to the Jewish philosophy of the time.

Hillel's family background is unknown. There are occasional references to his grandchildren and his brother, a merchant. Hillel himself made a living as a woodcutter. Like many notable scholars, he began his study later in life. It is commonly accepted that he began studying in some of the higher schools of Judaic law at around age 40. He was involved with the development of the Talmudic commentaries and the expansion of the Mishnah, the rabbinic laws that further expounded on the Torah.

Essentially, Hillel was a lawyer of sorts. He interpreted biblical rules and customs through the lens of modern concerns and the human experience. The stories we commonly tell of Hillel posit him as a warm humanitarian, a lively figure who promotes a faith of increase and joyful learning. Fables place Hillel in the role of a willing teacher and a consummate innovator, often in civil opposition to his hard-line contemporary Shammai.

All of this mythologizing points to one reasonable conclusion. Hillel operated in a time of great socio-political change in the Roman province of Judea and in the Jewish faith. It was close to when the Diaspora in which we still live began and when the spiritual leadership of Judaism shifted from the priesthood to the rabbinic scholars. Hillel has come to represent the rabbi in ideal, so it only stands to reason that he would be painted as a more sympathetic figure than his contemporaries. Our interpretation of Hillel says more about our own modern values than what the man himself actually professed.

So, if Hillel is the closest thing modern Judaism has to a spiritual champion, what does that mean? It means that our civilization took a stance approximately 2000 years ago to pursue a flexible rendition of the law, a gentler, more humanitarian approach than had originally been the case. As we moved away from the practices of sacrifice and tithing (i.e. the priests of the Cohanim), we followed the fledgling rabbis into what would become the current trajectory of Judaism. The soft politics of heart-and-mind philosophy won out.

Shabbat: Parsha Ki Teitzei

Shabbat Shalom and welcome to Judeo Talk. The Torah portion for this week is Parsha Ki Teitzei, Deuteronomy 20:10-25:19.

There is a seemingly unassuming passage at the end of Ki Teitzei that forbids the use of "diverse weights", which is to say tools with which to cheat people in business. Whether in measuring grain, grapes or gold, everything must be honest and fair. That's what this entire parsha is really about. It is concerned with what the culture at that time viewed as justice and propriety.

The Torah is hardly unique in its use of scales as a metaphor for justice. Countless cultures have recognized that same symbol on their own. To me, this seems to be the key to understanding the origins of the concept of "justice", however nebulous and subjective a term it is. The symbols found in the Torah come from some of the earliest civilizations in human history. They are the poetic devices of people for whom cities and codified laws were new concepts. One can infer that these ancient societies valued balance above all things. By this token, it can be argued that social values have since changed. Do our modern laws, whether of secular government or moral conduct, really hope to bring balance, or has their aim evolved past that?

Take, for instance, the stark contrast between ancient Judaism and modern Judaism concerning corporal punishment. In Ki Teitzei there are many crimes listed as punishable by death, beating, and in one case dismemberment. We have no reason to doubt that ancient Jews took these laws literally and seriously, though it has been several centuries since Jews applied any kind of death penalty. What changed between then and now that caused Jews and indeed many other societies to re-think such moral codes?

To put things lightly, no system is perfect. The older a system is, the more likely it is to be obsolete or based on incorrect assumptions. In ancient societies, people essentially tested the hypothesis that cultural balance can be achieved by unequivocally removing elements of imbalance, i.e. killing criminals, separating foods, creating social castes and forbidding foreign religions. This concept, at least on paper, sounds like it would work. Of course, it ignores the unacceptable cost of maintaining balance.

At some point in its history, Judaism as a philosophy underwent a significant value shift. It ceased to pursue balance at all costs and instead re-calibrated its focus to the preservation and improvement of life. Currently, the Jewish philosophical consensus is roundly against such things as the death penalty. Were we simply following the laws laid out in the Torah, or more accurately the Tanakh, this would not be the case. Just as we should explore why the laws and stories in the Torah say the things they say, we should also contemplate why our modern views differ from them.

The greatest lesson here is that it is effectively certain that our current system of rules is far from perfect as well. There are values we hold today that will prove to be incorrect or too costly to future societies. Even on the much more personal, local level, we can use the dissonance of Ki Teitzei as a reminder that our own individual values will likely change over the course of our lives.

Person of the Week: Matisyahu

While there have been plenty of Jewish pop musicians in American history, from the jazz age to the world of heavy metal in the 70's and 80s as well as the diverse grounds of hip hop, few, if any, of them have actively pursued music with overtly Jewish themes. This only follows the non-proselytizing stance of Judaism and there's also the question of whether or not there's enough of a market to support pop artists who make religious Jewish music. Compared to the multi-million dollar industry of Christian pop, which is intended as an alternative to morally questionable secular pop, Jewish music is a tiny niche market. That's what makes the mainstream success of Hasidic reggae artist Matisyahu so inexplicable. His work has gone far beyond the novelty that first garnered it attention while still introducing listeners to Jewish spirituality in a very inviting way.

The man known as Matisyahu was born Matthew Paul Miller in 1979 to the West Chester, Pennsylvania Millers. He grew up in the Reconstructionist movement, a primarily American sect that is still considered very new and difficult to define, though it has developed an increasingly respectable reputation across the nation as of late. The Millers relocated to White Plains, New York where young Matthew received his Jewish and secular education, as well as discovering his love of pop music, especially hip hop and reggae.

It wasn't until after a troubled period of wandering and drug use that Matthew Miller began a new life as a Hasidic Jew when studying in Israel at Hod Hasharon. First in the society of the Chabad Lubovitch movement and later with the soulful Tiberian Hasids of the Karlin-Stolin philosophy, Matthew found the community and spirituality he had craved since childhood. Newly devoted, he adopted the Ashkenazi Hebrew name Matisyahu, a biblical version of the name Matthew, and began recording reggae music with overt Orthodox Jewish themes.

Matisyahu's first studio album was Shake Off The Dust... Arise on the non-profit JDub label. After playing at the Bonnaroo music festival in 2005, Matisyahu found mainstream exposure and saw his debut album climb into the US Top 40. His hit single "King Without A Crown" is arguably the first Jewish spiritual song to see popular success outside of the soundtrack to the musical Fiddler on the Roof.

Since the unlikely pop sensation of Shake Off The Dust.. Arise, Matisyahu has continued expressing his faith through music with two more albums, Youth in 2006 and the recently released Light. His style has branched out from reggae to American hip hop, rock and other styles, but his positive, spiritual message remains the same.

Ultimately, it may be better and more fitting for the chief representative of Jewish faith in pop music to come from the Hasidic tradition. While many people both Jewish and non-Jewish find the strict codes of conduct and old-fashioned morality of Hasidism to be off-putting, we must not forget that the culture of Orthodox Judaism has done more than any other sect to preserve some of the unique elements of Jewish art and storytelling. The metaphors and sentiments in Matisyahu's music come from a long line of cultural symbols and powerful emotions. It is important to remember that sometimes the religious experience is best expressed through the raw, wordless passion of the Hasidic nigun.

Explaining Messianic Judaism

Many people have heard the term "Messianic Judaism" and are unaware of exactly what it is. Further adding to the confusion, someone who has little knowledge of mainstream Judaism may interact with individuals or writings in the Messianic faith and have little means of distinguishing it from what most Jews consider the central tenets of Judaism. It is important to understand that Messianic principles are not traditional Jewish principles. This is not to say they are bad, only that they differ much more significantly than the name suggests.

In short, Messianic Judaism is the application of Jewish rituals and aesthetics to a core belief in the divinity of Jesus and his role as the savior of humanity. From any informed perspective, this is simply another form of Christianity. No matter what, the concept of a messiah who has already lived runs counter to the very highest principles in Judaism. Christianity by any other name is still Christianity. Messianic Judaism is no more Judaism than a tigershark is a tiger.

In order to understand what Messianic Judaism really is, one must understand its history. Modern day Messianism grew out of the Hebrew-Christian movement of 19th century England. It is important to remember that Jews were, without question, considered a distinct ethnic group until roughly the middle of the 20th century, and even then the shift toward pure religion or culture happened largely inside the US. For practicing Christians who were considered ethnically Jewish, there was something of an identity crisis. The solution, however short-term, was to integrate the face of Jewish culture into solidly Christian philosophies. In that sense, Hebrew-Christianity was a lot like Greek Orthodox Christianity. The language and decor was of a particular ethnic flavor, but the religion was mostly the same.

When Hebrew-Christian concepts made it to America, the Messianic Judaism movement grew from it. So, while Messianic communities integrate Hebrew into their churches and services, keep the kosher laws and observe a Friday night-Saturday morning sabbath, their central beliefs are undoubtedly Christian.

Many practicing Jews, myself included, are vocal in their objection to Messianic Judaism, or at least the term. First and foremost, because the term "Judaism" is present, the adherent philosophies of Messianism are sure to mislead others into thinking that traditional Judaism accepts the idea of Jesus as savior. More disturbing is the missionary intent of this sect. The name "Messianic Judaism" is very likely aimed at mainstream Jews as a means to a missionary end. At best this is a misguided attempt to introduce Christian philosophy into the lives of practicing Jews and at worst it is a conscious attempt to convert by subterfuge.

All current sects of mainstream Judaism, from the ultra-orthodox Chasidim to the most progressive side of the Reform and Reconstructionist movements, recognize Messianic Judaism as being Christianity in all but name. There are a few voices that run contrary to this stance, but they are an extreme minority. Without exception, the Jewish faith simply cannot include the concept of a Christ-like messiah.

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