Ki Tisa: Unforgivable?

This week’s Torah portion includes the gravest, most inexcusable sin of the entire Exodus narrative; the building (and worshiping) of the Golden Calf. Even that is really saying something, because throughout their 40 years of wandering, the Israelites grumble against God, rebel (and nearly kill!) Moses and Aaron, and immediately upon receiving the commandments, begin breaking them. So to say this is their absolute *worst* transgression means it’s really quite terrible. They take the gold that was supposed to be used to construct the Tabernacle, and they melt it down into an idolatrous statue. They flaunt their rebellion against Moses and God with song, dance, and idol worship. It’s just so utterly embarrassing for them. How do you come back from something like that?

I think there are a few layers here. There’s the violation itself; the breakdown in communication and relationship with God, but also with Moses, and even with Aaron; and then we also should consider the aftermath as well. In terms of the sin itself, there’s certainly no place to hide, and no (good) excuses to mitigate what they did. Moses comes down from the mountain, catches them red-handed, and immediately begins to yell and chastise them. Some of the worst offenders are even killed by the Levites for their abominable behavior. Interestingly, God is the one who wants to sever the bond right then and there. God cannot imagine any reconciliation, repentance, or forgiveness. In Exodus, 32:10, God declares to Moses: “Now let Me be, that My anger may blaze forth against them and that I may destroy them, and make [instead] of you a great nation.” Even though Moses too is distraught, he nevertheless speaks up on their behalf, and convinces God not to wipe them all out. Perhaps the Torah wants us to know that teshuva - repentance - is always, always possible; no matter how bad things look or feel.

We often look at this story mainly from the perspectives of God or Moses, but what was going through the minds of the Israelites? They selfishly committed this atrocity without thinking about God - who had freed them from slavery through miracle after miracle - or about Moses, who basically gave up his entire life to lead them through the wilderness. And they can’t take it back. They can’t undo the damage caused, but simply have to live with this terrible shame… yet somehow also keep going. The medieval commentator, Rashi, adds an ominous perspective, commenting on Ex. 32:34, when God states, “… but [in the future,] when I make an accounting, I will bring them to account for their sins.” Rashi imagines God saying to Moses: “At present I listen to you and will refrain from consuming them all at once - but ever and ever throughout the ages, when I am visiting them for their sins, I shall visit them at the same time for a little of this sin in addition to their other sins for which I am then punishing them. Indeed no punishment ever comes upon Israel in which there is not part payment for the sin of the golden calf.” Like the Mark of Cain or a Scarlet Letter - this violation will never go away.

This all sounds and seems just awful. And it absolutely is. Yet I also see our ancestors continuing to wander in the desert. And later, in generation after generation, even as they still feel the sting of humiliation for this horrific sin, they too keep going. One foot in front of the other, one day after the next; they commit themselves to the hard work of teshuva. Sometimes that means continually saying you’re sorry, even if you’re worried you won’t be believed or heard. Sometimes it means sitting in the deep pain of your own actions, and acknowledging the awful rippling effects of that idolatrous act. As a people, they don’t give up. They keep going and growing, and trying to be better in the future. They endeavor to learn from their mistakes and their terrible decision-making. And I think continuing to talk about this story and acknowledging what they did can help each of us today grapple with the worst moments in our own lives as well. Their sin was really bad. Just devastatingly awful, actually. If they could keep walking and keep staying in relationship, despite everything that had happened and what they had done, surely we can as well, no matter what. 

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Gandalf's gallery on Flickr
2. depositphotos.com
3. Yair Haklai on Wikimedia Commons
4. pxhere.com

Tetzaveh: One on One with God

Tetzaveh, this week’s Torah portion, has the unique (ignoble?) distinction of being the only parashah - from Exodus through the end of the Torah - without a mention of Moses. He’s IN the story, mind you, but God only ever addresses Moses as “you.” Nevertheless, it’s peculiar to find an entire Torah portion without the word “Moses” appearing even once. As you can imagine, there is A LOT of discussion about this in rabbinic literature, and right now I'd like to offer my own take on this peculiar omission. We hear an awful lot about God and Moses speaking to one another, but it always feels like there’s someone else intruding on that conversation as well... us! It’s supposed to be just the two of them… so why are you and I there, rudely eavesdropping?!? If we’re privy to all their conversations, how is it a special connection just between Moses and his God? 

We still learn the laws in this section, specifically about the High Priest’s garments and the ceremony for his installation. But by leaving out Moses’ name, the text may be suggesting that he had some one-on-one time with God as well; just the two of them. There’s the content itself, but then also a larger message about Moses developing a personal connection with the Divine. Only when we notice Moses' absence do we take the time to reflect on his experience... and maybe see him from a changed point-of-view. As with so many things in the Torah, it isn't just about the people IN the story, but about us, the readers, as well. We are invited to create a unique, individually tailored relationship with God as well. It isn’t meant to be reserved for a Moses or a Miriam, a David or a Deborah (Judges, chapter 4). Each of us is given the opportunity to develop a spiritual life, to genuinely walk with God, and to gain a deeper understanding of our purpose on this earth. 

Sometimes people ask me, "Why don't we hear God's Voice these days, like it's presented in the Bible?" Well, part of me wonders if we're listening for it? Would we trust that what we heard was actually a Divine source, or would we just think we were going crazy, or someone was playing tricks on us?? I also feel like so much of the public discourse these days pits religion and science against one another, as if they are competing on the same playing field. But it would really be like debating which subject was better in school, math or history! They're dealing with different basic premises, and they're trying to discern totally different things. There's really no need to see them as competing or clashing. I consider myself a believer in science, rational thinking, and the theory of evolution. Yet I also need to make room for faith, the Bible, and a personal relationship with God.

Maybe this week's Torah portion is trying to teach us about stepping back from the normal way of doing things. What if, like Moses, we focused on silence, contemplation, and self-reflection, instead of talking and DOING all the time? To me, the notion of conversing with God isn't about receiving a Divine mission or discerning the future. It's about humility and mindfulness. It is just as much about being in relationship with our true selves - hearing our inner voices and thinking about where we're going in life - as it is about hearing a Voice From Above. We are, after all, created in God's Image, so maybe forming a bond with God can be as simple and straight-forward as looking in the mirror and really *seeing* ourselves fully? Talking about God isn't easy... even for me, and I'm a religious professional! But I think it's actually really important, and I haven't talked about God enough in this blog. So I'm going to try to change that, just as I'm also going to dig a bit more deeply into myself. Not all of it will make it into the blog, mind you. Some of it is just between me and God, because I get to have that one-on-one time too. And if you're ready for it, so do you.

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. j4p4n on Openclipart
2. Thirsty in LA on Flickr
3. CTLiotta on Wikimedia Commons
4. Boston Public Library on GetArchive

Terumah: (De)Constructing Holiness

Recently, I received an absolutely wonderful gift. I imagine that, by now, many of you have heard me talk about our Lostice Torah scroll, which survived the Holocaust, as well as the Lostice Megillah which tells the story of that scroll. Well, a member of the congregation, Craig Shor, worked together with a fabulous artist/carpenter who has created MANY amazing things already for our community (but who doesn’t like when I mention his name…), and they made a box in which to keep our Megillah. You can see it in the pictures associated with this post. I think it looks truly spectacular, and houses (and protects) our precious Megillah marvelously well. It also reminds me a lot of this week’s Torah portion, and the notion of what makes something special, valuable, and even holy. 

Our parashah is called Terumah, and it begins a rather monotonous part of the Biblical text. God gives lengthy and meticulous building instructions, and commands the Israelites to construct a portable Sanctuary to carry with them throughout the desert, known as the Mishkan, or Tabernacle. Skimming through these blueprints, I find myself wondering: Why does God need all of this? Offering sacrifices previously was done in the open, perhaps on a rock; wasn’t that good enough? And especially when they’re wandering in the wilderness for 40 years, wouldn’t this be an *excellent* time for informal, nature-based worship, rather than constructing heavy, ornately decorated ritual objects that they now have to shlep everywhere they go?? God seems to have become awfully materialistic...

But maybe we're coming at this all wrong. The Israelites' time in the desert probably felt quite structure-less on its own, and perhaps even chaotic. Maybe that is exactly where and why they need something created by people - by themselves even! - to distinguish it from their desert reality. When we look at it that way, we may also understand better why the instructions are *so* precise, intricate, and detailed. The more effort the people put into this project, the more meaningful and unique it would feel to them. The text commands them to build an ark of acacia wood (Ex. 25:10-22), a ceremonial table (vv. 18-30, and a lampstand - a menorah - made out of gold, with decorations and flourishes all around it (vv. 25:31-40). And the Torah's just getting warmed up! Then there are curtains, cloths, planks, bars, posts, hooks, utensils, and an altar. Which each new item, and each explicit command, the people pour their hearts, souls, effort, time, and talent into this project... and the Tabernacle becomes more and more holy and invaluable to them. It isn't for God; the Mishkan is for the people.

Which brings me back to the box that these two men built for us. We certainly *could* have kept the Megillah in something much more generic and simple. We could even have splurged and bought something ornate, glitzy, and expensive. But what I truly love about this particular box is that it was hand-crafted, FOR this scroll specifically, and with our community in mind. When you look at it up close, you can also see the time and effort that went into each component. Several types of wood were attached to one another to create a beautiful pattern. Each screw is hidden by a wooden dowel, sanded down perfectly smooth. It is lined with felt, and the top is attached with a unique hinge; both of which were carefully selected for just this box. It is really just beautiful! And when I look at it juxtaposed with our text about the Tabernacle, I see how holiness is literally constructed. Piece by piece, minute after minute, and talent heaped upon talent; it all combines to transform something mundane into a ritual and spiritual artifact. What a wonderful hands-on lesson about creating holiness!

Images in this blog post show the new box for our Lostice Megillah. Many thanks, again, to Craig and D** for constructing it!