Tetzaveh: And You Thought It was Only Used for Cooking...

Often, when I sit down to write this blog, I stumble on a word, phrase, sentence, or theme in the week’s reading that catches my attention. I research it a little, massage the idea in my head before sharing it with you, and then sometimes add a little “spice” or “fragrance” at the end. I think you’ll see what I mean. :-) This week, we’re learning about the garments, behaviors, and practices of Aaron, the High Priest, and the other Kohanim (priests) in the ancient Tabernacle in the desert. They had a lot of rules. A lot of regulations, expectations, strictures, parameters, and guidelines. It definitely wasn’t an easy job, and being the intermediaries to connect with the Divine for the ENTIRE people certainly didn’t make the stakes any lower either! And it was the initiation ritual - to really *grease* the wheels and gears of the whole operation, and get it up and running - that peaked my interest this time.

In Exodus 29:7, having read that Aaron and his sons were clothed in all the ritual garb prescribed, and that they’re FINALLY ready to get to work, Moses actually *anoints* them to complete their transformation into holy priests: “Take the anointing oil, and pour it on his [Aaron’s] head.” (Also mentioned in Ex. 28:41) Interestingly, the word for “anoint” in Hebrew is “limshoch,” and this root gives us the word “Mashiach,” or “Messiah,” meaning “anointed one.” Of course, when many of us think of the word “Messiah,” we may jump to a very Christian, Christ-filled context, or drift off into the world of eschatology, meaning End of Days theology, and the questions of an ultimate Redeemer or Savior coming to rescue us all on Judgment Day. In other words, it’s a pretty loaded term. Which is also why I often like to point out that the word itself just means “rubbed [with oil].” It was originally a technical term for installing the ancient High Priest (from our parashah), then became a ceremony for proclaiming a new king (from the First Book of Samuel), and eventually morphed into this notion of an Ultimate King, a Sovereign - chosen by God - to save us at the End Of It All.

Then I got to thinking: why oil? Why this particular ritual, and not some other way of initiating someone into a high position of authority? Like a knighting ceremony, or a swearing in with a Holy Text, or perhaps just a hazing ritual; why oil, and why poured over the head and rubbed into the skin? I was fascinated to read (under the topic of “Holy Anointing Oil”) that our ancient ancestors associated foul odors with disease, decay, rotting processes, and death. Even then, they didn’t mean it was awful or evil, just a reminder of mortality, of how transient life is, and that all (mundane) things die. Conversely, pleasing aromas were both associated with cleanliness and vitality, but also food production, harvesting, abundance, and immortality. Fragrances in ritual worship became a necessity, because they would elevate the experiences of the people, and remind them of holiness and divinity, and were also seen as “pleasing” to God. Throughout the Torah, and even in later books like Psalms, the text refers to Adonai enjoying the “rayach nichoach,” “pleasing aroma” of the sacrificial offerings. 

I have also recently been learning more about meditative practices, yoga, energy, and other ways to connect to our inner selves and to spiritual aspects of the world beyond ourselves. One of the practices in this discipline revolves around - you guessed it - essential oils. Not just the oil itself, but specifically FRAGRANT oil, just like we read about in the Bible. In this world of spiritual healing, essential oils “bypass the brain” and connect to a higher, yet deeper side of ourselves. I'm not saying you have to rush out and smear yourselves in essential oils, but just sit with the concept for a second. How often do we think of spirituality through the olfactory sense? Not too often, I venture to say. And the physical aspect of actually *rubbing* oil into the skin definitely has calming and relaxing benefits. How crazy is this really? Just ponder it, without judgment. Notice how we can engage our senses in so many different ways. We sometimes call this New Age-y stuff, but how fascinating to see it date back to the Torah! It is always good to challenge ourselves to see something in a new way. I hope that my pointing out the connection between Aaron's ritual, then anointing a king, to Messianic hopes, to spiritual self-healing has opened your mind a little. And maybe your nostrils too! :-)

CC images in this blog post, all from Pixabay, courtesy of:
1. Pavlofox
2. stevepb
3. marcosantiago
4. mohamed_hasan

Cabaret Night - I Am a Rock

In case you missed it (or wanted to watch it again...), here is my video from Ohev Shalom’s 2021 Cabaret Night:

https://youtu.be/PT_C6e0rzUI

Terumah (Purim. So beware...): Newly Discovered Psalm(ish) Translations

I had fully intended to write a “regular” blog post this week, discussing the riveting intricacies of Parashat Terumah, but an incredible discovery was... well... discovered this week, and I had to share that with you instead. As you may know, the Purim story took place in the city of Shushan, the capital city in the ancient Persian Empire of... um... Persia. Modern-day Iran. In fact, the Jews spent centuries upon centuries in that region, so it would really be swell if the Iranians would let us come in and excavate (respectfully, of course), to see what kinds of Jewish history could be unearthed underneath the... er... earth. 

BUT, this week, the Jewish scholarly world was tickled pink to learn that a never-before seen scroll was smuggled out of modern-day Shushan, and it contains the translations of several Biblical psalms by a Persian, Jewish philosopher. This previously-unknown scholar lived 2,500 years ago (!), and his name, apparently, translated to Rabbi Zephaniah Seussai. I am tickled-even-MORE-pink to share with you the English translations of two of his incredible, upbeat, Farsi-riffic psalms:

Psalm 145 (more well-known as the Ashrei):

Fortunate are those who dwell in Your house; 
may they praise You louder than the praise of a mouse. 

Fortunate is the people whose portion is thus; 

Adonai is their God; they have no reason to fuss. 

A psalm of David,

To You, my God, the King, I sing. 

I would swing, flap my wing, 

and let Your Name forever ring. 

Every day I will bless and not guess, then give an address, no less! 

Extol Your Name, not a shame, lots of fame, you got game, each day I say the same. 

Adonai is the greatest, unfathomably great;

God’s also magnificousleriffic - of that there’s no debate!

God’s splendiforously splendid, I think you’ll agree. 

God’s acts are the mightiest, as strong as can be. 

God is boundlessly bountiful, I think that’s a lot. 

Is righteously righteous, and fiery red hot!

So praise and extol God, from Aleph to Tav;

Adonai is the greatest… now show God some love!

Psalm 150:

Hallelujah!

I will praise God in the Temple,

I will praise God, O so gentle. 

I will praise God in the sky,

Praising low and praising high. 

Praise with horn and harp and flute

And even with something called a lute. 

I’ll play the timbrel (does one play it?)

And the lyre (that’s how you say it?)

A pipe can be played best,

Upside down against your chest. 

While the oboe sounds sublime,

At 5am, so be on time!

I’ll play the shofar in the shower,

Beat a drum for one full hour. 

God is worth it, that’s for sure,

Whether on the Nevel or Kinor. 

If you’re a Levite, try a Minim

Or an Ugav, or a Tof;

But the Machol can be tricky,

And the Tziltzalim are rough. 

These ancient instruments are odd,

But the point here is still good. 

Every breath of life praise God,

Come on, you know you really should!

It is even rumored that a descendant of Rabbi Zephaniah Seussai, centuries upon centuries later, made it to the United States, where he - of course - became a world-famous doctor. :-))

Happy Purim! 🤪

L’Chaim (newsletter) article, February, 2021

When Can We Finally Say “Dayeinu”?!

We’re not quite up to the holiday of “Dayeinu” (Passover) yet, but it still feels like a word - or at least an exclamation - that, for many of us, is all too present right now. In the context of the Pesach Haggadah, this one word is the refrain of a popular song, and the word itself means “Enough.” Or, to be more precise, it really means, “It would have been enough for us…” 

The song, Dayeinu, is supposed to remind us of just how many glorious miracles God performed for us when rescuing us from slavery in Egypt, bringing us through the desert, giving us the Torah, and bringing us into The Promised Land. Any one of these gifts and favors would have been “enough,” yet God did for us more and more and more.

In modern Hebrew, the word “Dai” (pronounced like “die”) is a common word in everyday conversation, and means “quit it!” Or “enough already!” And, to be honest, I think that’s more the feeling we’re all experiencing these days: Pandemic still raging? Dayeinu! We’ve had enough! Insurrection at the Capitol and a turbulent, complicated transfer of power? Dayeinu! Environmental crises continue, but now we all feel even LESS well-equipped to deal with it? DAYEINU!! 

Nevertheless, here we are. And one of the things that repetitive Passover song also reminds us of, is the importance of being mindful and present to our experiences. Even when we’re not feeling grateful, and when things seem rough, we should STILL be “in the moment.” Because we can learn a lot. As challenging as the Exodus story was for our ancestors - filled with agony, pain, and loss - it did ultimately become a foundational story for us as a people. And repeating that story (along with its songs) has preserved us as a people for millennia. 

There is a lot we can learn from all we are going through right now. It isn’t fun, and it’s pushing us in many challenging ways. We want to say “Dayeinu!!” - “I’ve had it up to HERE!!” But as a people, we have learned over the ages that these can also be life-changing moments of clarity, intentionality, meaning, and purpose. We’re all likely maintaining social distancing for a fair while longer… let’s use this time to be mindful and focused, so that we can emerge on the other side with grounding experiences that inspire us as well as future generations. 

Mishpatim: It's All About Me... isn't it?

Ordinarily, when I write a D'var Torah or a blog post, I try to focus in on *one thing* that I want to speak about. Less is more. Have an interesting and/or funny beginning, make one good point, stick the landing, and get out of there! Maybe that sounds a bit trite, but let's face it, it works. When someone instead feels the need to make six individual arguments, and include a plethora of citations, it gets a bit... lengthy... and boring. This week, however, I had the unique opportunity to work with nine third graders in our religious school, who are going to be giving the D'var Torah at services on Saturday. Each child is going to mention a different mitzvah from our parashah, so I felt I was given the chance to examine nine separate commandments, rather than just focus on one. Yet interestingly, a single common thread still emerged, and a singular value floated to the surface of this mixture of Biblical laws.

This Torah portion is quite commandment-heavy to begin with. After having focused mainly on narrative and stories for all of Genesis and half of Exodus, this reading begins a lengthier section of Biblical text that center instead on rules and guidelines for creating a society in Ancient Israel. Slavery is now in the rearview mirror for our ancestors; now they have to start figuring out how to form a sustainable community. On Saturday, our Gimmel (3rd grade) class will touch upon laws related to treatment of foreigners and disenfranchised individuals in society; gossiping, lying, stealing; a person's obligations vis-a-vis the larger community (e.g. responsibility for animals, one's home and property, and what constitutes ownership); idolatry, blasphemy, and even the rules for holiday observance and sacrificial offerings. It sounds like a BIG undertaking, but I promise you, they're up to the task!

After we had decided on all the mitzvot the kids would be covering, we spoke for a bit in class about what connects them all together. Is there any underlying value that winds its way through all these rules and ordinances? The answer - which perhaps doesn't altogether surprise you - is "yes." If I had to phrase it in one sentence, I would say, "it isn't all about you." Whether the Torah is proscribing idolatry, describing holiday observance, decreeing rules to govern a society, or admonishing wealthier, more influential community members against taking advantage of those who are weaker - the message is actually the same. You must consider the needs of others, and what works best for you personally is simply NOT the only consideration. What perhaps *also* isn't all that surprising, is that as simple and straightforward as this message may be, it seems very difficult to learn and live by. And you and I both know I'm not just talking about people in Ancient Israel...

There is an interesting and complex balance at work here. On the one hand, we are mammals; hard-wired to stay alive, avoid potentially lethal situations, activate our fight-or-flight instinct at a moment's notice, and constantly prioritize survival. At the same time, we also pride ourselves on being civilized and peace-loving. We teach and preach compassion, kindness, sharing, manners, and teamwork. Not too infrequently, these basic values conflict. In those moments, our conscience and our sense of right-and-wrong is supposed to, ideally, determine if this is a life-threatening situation. And if it isn't, we should put aside those survival instincts and share our resources and means with those around us. Sometimes - and this is ESPECIALLY hard for some to fathom - we are actually meant to be altruistic EVEN when it may be a dangerous, potentially lethal circumstance.

Among many different groups and societies, this notion of "it's not all about you" is called The Golden Rule. It's phrasing may change slightly, but it's always the same principle. And yes, we know it contradicts an animal-instinct deep inside us. That's kind of the point. It isn't natural or obvious to lower your drive towards self-preservation, and instead emphasize your care and concern for someone else. But that is what makes us human, or at least has the potential to. I am grateful to these third graders for helping me see this, amidst all these disparate laws. And they got a pretty great D'var Torah out of it too!

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. The Good News Network
2. Pixabay
3. Gan Khoon Lay on theNounProject.com
4. Pixabay

5. Pixabay

 

Yitro: What Moses Brought Down from the Skyscraper

The Israelites made it out of Egypt, they crossed the Sea of Reeds, and now it is time to start morphing from a ragtag band of slaves into a nation. Needless to say, this is no small task. But one major tool that will help them along is a foundational document; a text that solidifies who they are, what they’re about, where they come from, where they’re going, and what they stand for. Enter... The Ten Commandments. These are, of course, a big deal; given here in this week’s Torah portion, and then reiterated towards the end of the Torah, in the Book of Deuteronomy. One thing I emphatically want to stress for you, dear reader, is not actually the specifics of WHAT these stone tablets say, but a hidden feature that is essential for making these edicts applicable in our lives today.

I want to focus on one of the commandments in particular, to illustrate my point, but just to quickly run through them all (even though different religious traditions actually enumerate them differently... but that’ll be the topic of a future post), we’ve got: Acknowledge that God took us out of Egypt; Do not worship idols; Do not swear falsely using God’s name; Remember Shabbat; Honor your parents; Don’t murder; Don’t commit adultery; Don’t steal; Don’t testify falsely; Don’t be jealous of someone else’s “stuff.” At first glance, they seem straightforward and crystal-clear. But let me ask you; what is the practical action that is required in order to “Acknowledge” that God redeemed us from slavery? Or how, precisely, should you “Remember” Shabbat? What is the Torah actually mandating with these statements? The hidden feature I mentioned earlier is, in fact, the vagueness of the commandments. And yes, I know that sounds strange.

So the mitzvah I want to focus on for another minute is “Honor your father and your mother.” Similar to my points in the last paragraph, what does “Honor” really mean? It's really quite vague on its own, but then the ancient rabbis complicate things further, by asking a challenging question: “What if your parent asks you to steal or testify falsely??” If we're supposed to (perhaps) “obey our parents,” what happens if that parent instructs me to break one of the other Top Ten!?! In the rabbinic mind, that is precisely why the Torah does *not* command us to obey them, but instead leaves us with the opaque term, To Honor. It is not, say our Teachers, honorable to commit a crime, just because your parent told you to. The precept against illegal activity wins out. When we pull back and look at our relationship with Torah, over the course of millennia, we actually see that the space left for interpreting, questioning, and challenging the text is absolutely FUNDAMENTAL. Furthermore, values will change over the course of time. A rigid, uncompromising law will not age well, while one that has grown, shifted, and been reinterpreted and unpacked generation after generation will much more easily evolve along with us, its intended adherents.

And yet, my original assertion still remains true: To become a people, our ancestors needed a foundational set of laws. Those tablets formed the solid base upon which to grow a religion. But much like engineering has discovered about skyscrapers, bridges, and many other structures, the ability to sway and bend is *critical* for survival. Earthquakes will shake buildings into oblivion, unless they can move WITH the natural forces, but in a controlled way. Believe it or not, the Torah works this way too. An ability to sway and shift is actually built into the process of law-making and meaning-making. But it can be tricky. A little too rigid, and religion may beat people up and demand blind adherence! A little too “bendy,” and the laws may be seen as saying whatever the heck we want them to! It is, indeed, a balancing act. When we read about Moses ascending Mount Sinai, we may think he’s bringing back cold, hard, immutable edicts; literally carved in stone! But the internal structure is actually much more ingenious and intricate than that. Hidden in the words, the sentences, and even the very material itself, is something much more fluid and adaptable. And THAT fluidity is actually the key to why we’re still here to this very day. 

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Geograph
2. qimono on pixabay
3. pixy
4. Claudio Núñez on Wikimedia Commons