Shemini (Shabbat Parah): Magic Purity Potion (Read the Warning Label...)

Recently, when we were celebrating the holiday of Purim, I talked to the congregation about the difference between a story being labeled a tragedy vs. a comedy. They may seem like opposite ends of the literary spectrum, but sometimes they’re actually just one plot twist apart. The Book of Esther, for instance, reads an awful lot like a tragedy… right up until Haman’s evil plans are thwarted, and now the story is a comedy. Sometimes things that seem so different from one another are actually just a minor shift away from being nearly identical. Case in point, a very mysterious, peculiar ritual that is the focus of this week’s special Shabbat. As we continue to prepare ourselves for Pesach, one of the stops along the way is Shabbat Parah, “the Shabbat of the Cow.” The special Torah reading for this Shabbat describes a ritual used to purify someone who had become ritually impure, in order to allow them to partake of the upcoming Paschal offering. The ceremony revolved around the sacrificing of a “red” (probably closer to brown…) cow, and then using its ashes as the main ingredient for this purifying agent. But that’s actually not the part that I think makes this so curious and confusing. Or why I was reminded of the minor distinction between comedies and tragedies.

The Book of Numbers tells us there were basically four “jobs” involved with preparing this miracle elixir that could make anything ritually pure again: A priest to oversee the sacrificing and burning of the cow. A second priest to actually handle the fire and the burning. A third individual to carry the ashes from the altar to a spot outside the Israelite encampment. And a final, fourth person to sprinkle a mixture of water and sacred ashes over the impure person(s). And then, presto-chango, they are rendered pure. Numbers, 19:19, states: “[The purified individual] shall then wash his clothes and bathe in water, and at nightfall he shall be pure.” Pretty straightforward, right? The ritual worked! But here’s the thing: All four of those people who handled the ashes from the red cow are now considered impure! Anyone who came in direct contact with this purifying agent is now, inexplicably, “contaminated,” and remains impure until the evening. This really fascinates me. It’s almost like saying that if you handle a bottle of Windex, you immediately become filthy yourself! It’s a little counter-intuitive, no?

One might have thought that everyone who gets near this fabulous potion is automatically pure, just by association or proximity. But instead, it seems to have just *one* intended purpose - to cleanse someone who was already in this impure state. Everyone who was essentially “neutral” becomes impure from touching the stuff. Though I should clarify, however, that the level of impurity is quite different. The person being cleansed would have otherwise remained in that contaminated state forever, and would thus never be able to rejoin the community for any ritual observances. Those who handled the ashes of the red heifer, on the other hand, are only impure until the evening; then they’re able to return to the community again. But the more I think about it, the more it actually makes sense. If someone cleans houses or washes cars all day, they are by no means clean themselves when the work is over! And on a deeper level, there are many examples of tools of learning, peace, communication, and convenience that can very easily become corrupted and turned into weapons of destruction and oppression. 

Whether it’s a literal weapon used for self-defense or an ancient, sacred text like the Bible; it can be utilized to help and protect… or, conversely, to hurt and punish. Most things that are purifying agents - or at least have the capacity to clean or repair - can also be abused if placed in the wrong hands. Perhaps a central reason for insisting that everyone who touches the ashes of the red heifer remain impure for a time, and stay outside the camp until the evening, is to make sure they understand and respect their task. If these ashes are the only agent of total purification… how much couldn’t you charge to give others access, after making them wait in line? Or how much power could you demand from your community, so as not to withhold this precious substance? It is easy to see how this could become corrupted, and wielded as a weapon very, very quickly. Today, the language of “pure” and “impure” doesn’t resonate as much in modern society. Yet I hope the contemporary examples above have demonstrated the relevance this teaching still holds for us today. Do we insist that our leaders undergo a ritual or ceremony to truly impress upon them the awesome and daunting power of their position? Sadly, I don’t think we do. Or certainly not enough. Maybe as soon as they’ve performed their tasks, we should quarantine them for a day (or more), so that they can be humbled, reflect, and give thanks for their unique and vital role. Perhaps that could help turn a few more tragedies into comedies.

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Open Food Facts
2. zphaze on Flickr
3. rawpixel
4. Dean Beeler on Wikimedia Commons

Tzav: Smells Like a Fond Memory

Now that we’ve passed the holiday of Purim, it feels like Passover - and spring - are right around the corner. Even though the weather has been fluctuating wildly, there’s still evidence of the seasons changing all around us. Flower buds poking out, it’s getting lighter and lighter, and everything seems to smell like spring. Once Pesach gets even closer, our sense of smell will truly kick into high gear; first when we clean for the holiday, then when the familiar festival foods start cooking, and eventually when we sit around the Seder table in less than a month. With all this in mind (or in “nose”…), I’d like to spend this blog post talking about our sense of smell. And not just ours, but the Torah portion this week appears to spend a lot of time picturing God’s sense of smell too!

Now that we’re into the Book of Leviticus, the text is really hyper-focused on the ancient sacrifices and all the rituals surrounding them. And while the text may emphasize the sacrifices themselves and the people doing the offering, the real focus of all of this is God. The sacrificial rite was essentially The Way that our ancestors communicated with the Divine. And how did they know if their offerings were accepted? The text repeatedly tells us that the smoke from the altar, wafting up to heaven, would produce “a pleasing odor to Adonai” (Lev. 6:8, 14; 8:21, 28). Watching the mists rising into the sky would tell the worshiper that God was listening… and smelling. The ancient rabbis emphasized that this term, “pleasing odor to Adonai,” was used to describe the most simple to the most complex offerings. It referred to gifts from poor and wealthy alike. The Mishnah states: “ "This teaches you that whether a person gives a costly one or an inexpensive one, as long as he directs his heart to heaven, the type is irrelevant." (Menachot 110a) In other words, what God is “enjoying” isn’t the smell of the food or the animal, but rather the meaning behind our intentions. 

Furthermore, whether we’re talking about God’s olfactory sense or ours, it’s clear that the meaning is deeper than just the aroma. The very first instance of the Torah referring to a “pleasing odor” (Ray-ach Nee-cho-ach) was back in Genesis, chapter 8, when God smelled Noah’s offering right after he emerged from the Ark, and immediately promised never to send another flood to destroy humanity. The scent seems to have triggered something for God, much like a perfume, spice, or food may “flood” our brain with memories. More than any other sense, fragrances can take us back to a long-forgotten memory with remarkable speed and accuracy. According to the mystical teachings of the Kabbalah, smell was regarded as the loftiest and most transcendent of the senses, the critical connection point between body and soul. Perhaps it doesn’t just work that way for us, but for Adonai as well.

Smells aren’t as closely tied to our Jewish rituals any longer. We have the besamim, spices, at the Havdalah ceremony that ends Shabbat every week, but otherwise smells seem more tangential or connected to customs and foods, rather than ritual or theology. But it is still significant to read in our ancient texts how pivotal our noses were, and how the “pleasing odor” from our various offerings were seen as a direct sign of God’s acceptance. As we move further into spring and closer to Pesach, I invite each of us to think about what smells remind us of this upcoming season. How closely linked to your nose are your own associations with nature and with Passover’s foods, rituals, and experiences? It isn’t always the first sense we focus on, yet when we really stop and think about it, it is quite significantly hard-wired to our memories and our emotions. Winter is behind us, the pandemic is receding (thank God), and even though we don’t know what lies ahead or what the future holds, now seems like a perfectly good time to stop and smell the roses… as well as the matzah ball soup, the charoset and maror, and all the other fragrances that connect us - and God - to this wonderful, aromatic season!

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Eric Horst on Flickr
2. pxhere.com
3. pxhere.com
4. Olaf herfurth on Wikimedia Commons

Vayikra (Shabbat Zachor): Remembering What it Means to be Human

Right now, Russia’s war against the Ukraine and the Ukrainian people dominates the newspaper headlines. Are we disproportionately concerned with this conflict, over the plights of the Rohingya from Myanmar, the Uyghurs in China, or any other oppressed group around the world? Honestly, yes, we are. It’s not the most flattering aspect of human nature, but we are prone to care about people who look and live like us. But there are also understandable reasons to be hyper-focused on this war: The global threat of a nuclear superpower like Russia attacking neighboring countries at will is simply terrifying. And to us as Jews, it may feel disturbingly like the mid-1930s, which makes it absolutely imperative that the world not accept Putin’s show of strength or thirst for power. Yet as incensed as we certainly are, we must also admit that megalomania too is a familiar byproduct of human nature. This Shabbat, our calendar has brought us to an interesting special observance that is very relevant to the stories in the newspaper headlines. And it brings with it a lesson that we absolutely, positively cannot ever afford to forget.

The Shabbat before Purim (which begins on Wednesday evening, 3/16) is always known as Shabbat Zachor, or the Shabbat of Remembrance. What we are specifically remembering is that Haman - the Megillah’s infamous villain - was a descendant of the Amalekite people. The Amalekites repeatedly attacked the Children of Israel as they traveled through the wilderness. They weren’t the only enemy we encountered, but their tactics were particularly heinous, as they would sneak up on the older, weaker, infirm Israelites straggling along at the back. So as we prepare to read about Haman’s hatred of the Jews, we remind ourselves that his anti-Semitism was not an isolated incident or an anomaly; it is something we’ve confronted in every generation, and against which we must always - in future generations too - remain vigilant as well. 

I recently read a Torah commentary on Shabbat Zachor by a former professor of mine from the Schechter Institute in Jerusalem, Professor David Frankel. Frankel writes: “Amalek represents that which is evil, destructive, and reflects a lack of morality and a basic sense of decency.” Then he goes on to add a challenge that we all need to take to heart: “The fear and the danger that the Torah wants to warn against is that we may forget that this is humanity. That this is part of humanity. We may think that we are somehow in a new era, that mankind has advanced, civilization has advanced, and so we can plan our world for a brighter future without worry. The Torah teaches us “zachor”, always remember because what happened with Amalek is paradigmatic of the human character and nature.” And that is why I included my comments in the first paragraph above - caring more about people who look like us is our default human instinct, and we, as a species, are also prone to produce heartless, narcissistic dictators obsessed with power. Are these pleasant things to acknowledge about ourselves? No. But the Torah is reminding us that we still must look at these characteristics, or we’ll always be doomed to repeat our worst behaviors.

In its brutal campaign, Russia has reportedly bombed a maternity and children’s hospital. They opened up a humanitarian corridor for civilians to escape… but tried to force those paths to lead straight into Russia and Belarus. More and more atrocities are being committed every day. This too is Amalek. It is not an anomaly or a shocking, unexpected thing for a delusional despot like Vladimir Putin to undertake. Professor Frankel reminds us: “The evil which is within humanity does not go away, we have to fight it in each generation.” And this then is our generation’s fight against the Amalekites. Just as it is also our responsibility to push back against our default inclination to mainly help people like ourselves. We are obligated to defend the Rohingya, the Uyghurs, and oppressed groups everywhere... including disenfranchised and marginalized groups who live in this country. There are countless ways that you can help, but here’s one that our congregation recently set up on our website:

https://www.ohev.net/form/Aid-for-Ukraine

Kindness, compassion, defending others, and offering our support and assistance; these are also essential features of humanity. Obviously, we prefer to focus on those attributes, and donating to help the Ukrainians is a praiseworthy way of inhabiting our better selves. But we do need to acknowledge the darker, more sinister sides as well. We ignore them at our own peril, and we simply cannot afford to do that. Lo Tishkach! - Do not forget!

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. victorgrigas on Wikimedia Commons
2. Tilemahos Efthimiadis on Wikimedia Commons

3. GDJ on openclipart.org

4. Ministry of Defense of Ukraine on Wikimedia Commons

Pekudei: An E(a)rnest Thank You.

This week, I want to pay tribute to the worker bees, the behind-the-scenes folks, and all the people who aren't always visible, but who *really* get things done. I will be mentioning one person in particular - a congregant who recently passed away - but I really mean for this to be a big "thank you" to all the people who fit this description. The reason I'm focusing this blog post on these doers in our communities, is because it's a theme in our Torah reading. Not a central theme, mind you, or a major focal point in any significant way... but that's really the whole point, isn't it? Even when we don't emphasize them or zero in on their contributions, so many people put their time, energy, effort, and support into making community work. We may not see them; but we wouldn't be here without them. In the parashah itself, we're talking about the incredible work of Betzalel ben Uri. "Who?" you ask. Exactly.

When it comes to the Exodus story, the "big names" are really Moses, Aaron, Miriam, and Joshua, and maybe a few others as well. But none of those people actually constructed the Mishkan, also known as the Tabernacle. This was the holy space where God's Presence dwelt, to which sacrifices were brought, and where Moses and God conversed throughout the wanderings in the wilderness. It was also the tent wherein the Ten Commandments where kept. So, safe to say it was a pretty important structure. And the Torah tells us that God called Betzalel - by name - to oversee the work. But we don't honestly know that much about him. His name means "in the shadow of God," which is kind of an interesting mental image in and of itself... especially for the quintessential behind-the-scenes character. He also has an assistant, named Oholiav, who is equally obscure to us, the readers. Despite their importance, and the essential nature of their building project, Betzalel is only ever mentioned six times in the whole Torah! And Oholiav comes up five times. Considering that the Tabernacle - which later morphed into the Temple in Jerusalem - was the central location of all Israelite worship, and takes up basically the entire Book of Leviticus, one might have thought these architects would be featured more prominently. But they are not.

And this is where I see the lesson of valuing people at *every* stage of a project. What makes them valuable is not their fame or prominence, but rather their absolutely invaluable contributions to the final project. Academy Awards are given for costume design, makeup, and a slew of technical categories, because movies aren't made by actors, directors, and producers alone! Betzalel and Oholiav represent all those people who make the magic happen, but who aren't visible and sometimes don't get the thank you's they deserve. When we stop and take the time to recognize them, what we're actually doing is about much more than just expressing gratitude. We are also pausing to acknowledge that most things in our lives are more complex, nuanced, and detailed than we often give them credit. It is important to step back and see the bigger picture, and to notice the many parts that make up the whole. That is especially true when we look at community.

This Shabbat, we are celebrating our annual Kabbalat Ha-Siddur ceremony, where the third graders in our Hebrew School receive their own prayer book and help lead Saturday morning services. The architect of this ceremony, and our third grade teacher for years and years, was Karen Ernest (of blessed memory). Karen was a long-time Ohev member who was always doing, helping, building, cooking, preparing, and teaching. Last year, she was still battling illness when the third graders were getting ready for their service. Karen pushed through her pain to attend the ceremony; that's how much the service, the kids, and teaching meant to her. She was a true Betzalel, who took great pride in her work, often contributed behind the scenes, and probably didn't get thanked as often as she deserved. There are people in our lives, like Karen Ernest, who are precious in what they do and who they are, and I am immensely grateful to have worked with many people at Ohev who are dedicated, passionate, and proud of their community - just like Karen was. The ceremony will continue this year, because it's an important annual tradition here at Ohev... but it won't be the same. For many of us, Karen's shadow will always be a part of it, as she will be - and very much is - deeply missed. 

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Sy on Flickr
2. Matt Moloney on Stocksnap
3. kalhh on Pixabay
4. Ohev Shalom's Centennial Book