Ki Teitzei: What the Torah Expects of You

 I want to begin by acknowledging that I've been off the blog for several weeks. In part, it was sort of a summer hiatus, and in part I am trying to decide how and if to continue this blog. I've been writing about the weekly Torah portion for thirteen-plus years now, and it may be time for a new topic and/or format. Your feedback and opinions are welcome, by the way. In the meantime, I will continue writing through the end of Deuteronomy, but will likely stop writing after that, either temporarily or perhaps more permanently. I just wanted you, my readers, to be aware. Thanks for your understanding!

This week, our Torah portion offers a series of laws that have a common theme. I find it interesting that the text doesn't outright *name* the theme (though it does so elsewhere), yet it's hard to miss it when you put all the pieces together. Our synagogue follows the triennial cycle of readings, so our Torah portion this week begins at Deuteronomy, 24:14, and here's how the reading starts off (I'm paraphrasing for brevity):

- Do not abuse a needy or destitute laborer, whether a fellow countryman or a stranger.
- Pay people their wages on the same day (i.e. in the proper time).
- No one should not be put to death for someone else's crimes, even family members.
- Do not subvert the rights of vulnerable people in society.
- Leave some of your field for the poor and the needy.

I imagine you can see the theme as well as I can, right? Take care of those who either can't take care of themselves, or who have a lower status than you in society. You may be in a position to take advantage of them - clearly the ability is there and you won't face immediate consequences - but God will know, and just don't do it. The reason why I wanted to highlight the theme specifically, is because I think sometimes people get bogged down in the details. "Oh, sure," someone might say, "this applies if I own a field, or am meting out capital punishment, or have laborers working on my property... but I don't live in ancient times! None of this applies to me." Which is why I want to divert our attention away from the specific scenarios and instead focus on the overarching principle.

The idea that the Torah is putting forth, is that every person in society has obligations towards that shared community. In America, we hear a lot of people touting individual liberties above everything else, and the concept of certain "inalienable rights." Now, I would never disagree with each person's rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit (though not guarantee...) of happiness. However, the Torah is reminding us that our personal desires and interests are not the only factor at play. We are also part of a network of interconnected parts and people, and sometimes we are required to focus less on ourselves and more on the system as a whole.

As we work our way through the Jewish month of Elul, in which we prepare ourselves daily for the upcoming holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur (blowing shofar in morning minyan and reciting a Psalm for the Season of Repentance), I urge each of us to think about this concept. Don't get too focused on the literal subjects of day laborers, courts punishing people, and what you're supposed to do with your field. What about sharing your income, resources, time, and energy with people less fortunate than you? What about speaking up on behalf of people who are being abused or taken advantage of, either within our country or around the world? Or abused animals, or the very planet itself? These laws in Deuteronomy 24 really do apply to all of us. We are never asked to be perfect or flawless, but we are indeed expected to strive to be better; to aspire to keep making the world (around us as well as globally) a little bit better every day. And that idea never gets old.

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Publicdomainpictures.net
2. Picryl.com
3. pxhere.com
4. Smart Chicago Collaborative on Wikimedia Commons (it's a quote attributed to Albert Einstein that states, "Strive not to be just a success, but to be of value.")

Sh’lach Lecha: Who Puts the "Ger" in Stranger?

One wonderful and infinitely complex aspect of the Torah text - in general - revolves around the issue of interpretation. It’s so hard to say “the Torah says…” because every time you translate something, you have to choose between synonyms to decide the nuance, tone, and intention of what you think the original text says. This week, we find a critical example of this ambiguity in one pivotal word that affected our ancient ancestors and still (maybe more so) affects us today. It caught my eye, because the Torah restates this commandment in back-to-back verses. Ok, so let’s “ger” right into it, shall we? 

In Numbers, chapter 15, verses 15-16, we read: 

“15: There shall be one law for you and for the resident stranger; it shall be a law for all time throughout the ages. You and the stranger shall be alike before Adonai. 16: the same ritual and the same rule shall apply to you and to the stranger who resides among you.”

Perhaps surprisingly, the ambiguous word in those verses - and indeed throughout the Torah - is “stranger.” The word in Hebrew is “Ger,” and a big question that we need to clarify is, who is the stranger? Is it just someone who is unfamiliar to you personally? Or someone who resides with you temporarily, but not permanently? Is this someone who was not born Jewish but who converted? Or a non-Jewish individual who has no intention of converting, but who nevertheless lives with you? What complicates the matter is that it’s used in all of the above ways throughout the Torah. In Genesis, Abraham refers to himself as a Ger, meaning he’s an outsider with no claims to land and no status among the Hittites where he lives (but he certainly hasn't converted to their religion, nor does he have any plans to). In Exodus, the Jewish People are repeatedly reminded by God that we were “strangers (Gerim) in the land of Egypt.” But again, the Israelites weren't converts TO Egyptian culture, but merely status-less outsiders. Yet when the text later talks about Gerim living among us - like in our parashah - most commentators translate this as “convert” or “proselyte.” And the implications are significant.

Why does this matter? Well, when the Torah commands us to take care of the poor, the orphan, the widow... and "the stranger" in our midst, is it talking only about converts (and thus perhaps only concerned with taking care of fellow Jews), or about all people, including non-Jews? Most classic rabbinic commentaries defer to the convert-translation. One of the most famous of these was Rambam (or Maimonides) who wrote a thousand years ago: "All [occurrences of the term] 'Ger' which are said regarding gifts to the poor are nothing other than a 'Ger Tzedek' (i.e. a convert)." Personally, I am dismayed by this assertion, because I read our texts as absolutely commanding us to be kind and considerate to *all* people, regardless of religion, race, ethnicity, or any other defining characteristic. How unfortunate that, when our texts already have multiple instances of commandments directing us to take care of fellow Jews, and here we have an opportunity to expand the circle and extend God's Love more broadly, so many authorities choose instead to read it as yet another example of taking care of our own.

Even if we were to agree to read Ger as convert, I'm still bothered by it. We so often state that once someone has converted they are Jewish, plain and simple. No second-guessing, no questioning, no exclusions. So why would this text be talking about fellow Jews as "strangers" and "outsiders," just because at one point they converted into the religion?? Today, in our diverse and multicultural world, I firmly believe we need to emphasize inclusion. We can absolutely still acknowledge the differences between being Jewish and not, and I don't mind saying there are certain mitzvot and rituals that are exclusively performed by Jews during a Jewish prayer service. But we cannot, and should not, wall ourselves off from our neighbors all around us, no matter how different from us they may be. Clearly, not all authorities read it this way, but there is no doubt in my mind as to what the Torah (and God) meant here. And the commandment to treat all people the same was not only true in the time of the Torah, but is just as much true today in our modern world. If not more so.

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Historical Thesaurus on Flickr
2. Nick Youngson on Pix4free
3. Wind-Struski on Wikimedia Commons
4, U.S. National Archives on Picryl

Naso (repost): Feeling the Loss of God's Face

This is a repost of something I wrote in 2012, and I dedicated it then in memory of Henry Dickson, who was a member of the congregation and a good friend. It's hard to believe it's been ten years since he passed. I wanted to make sure to mention the tribute, because Henry is mentioned in the post itself. May his memory always be remembered for a blessing.

Our Torah portion this week is Naso, the second parasha in the Book of Numbers. One of the most famous sections in Naso is the Priestly Benediction, which still to this day is used by many parents to bless their children at the Friday night dinner table, and is also included in many lifecycle events. The Etz Hayim Chumash translates the Priestly Benediction as follows: "Thus shall you bless the people of Israel. Say to them: 'The Lord bless you and protect you! The Lord deal kindly and graciously with you! The Lord bestow His favor upon you and grant you peace!'" (Numbers 6:23-26) Now, Henry would have looked at that translation and said, "Is that REALLY what the Hebrew text says?" And of course my answer would be, "No." The Etz Hayim translators would probably argue that they're giving you the figurative meaning of the text, but personally, I like the literal meaning. And Henry was one of many people who, like me, wanted to know what the words were literally saying, and then he could make up his own mind about the interpretive meaning. So let's delve, shall we?

I'm ok with the first line, it is indeed talking about God blessing and protecting us. So far, so good. But the second and third lines have a fascinating wording that provokes a very different theological understanding: "May God shine God's Face upon you and be gracious to you! May God turn God's Face toward you and grant you peace!" Are we uncomfortable with the notion of God having a face? Is that why we gloss over this with a figurative translation? Let's instead sit with the challenge of this wording for a minute. What does it mean to see/experience/feel/know God's Face? And even if you don't believe in an anthropomorphic God (a tangible, human-like Divine figure), isn't there something we can learn from the concept of God turning towards us, rather than just asking God to show us favor?

One idea that jumped out at me comes from the Book of Genesis. After not having seen his brother, Esau, for nearly 20 years, Jacob is reunited with his sibling once again. As he tries to offer his brother a caravan filled with gifts, he exclaims, "Accept from me this gift; for to see your face is like seeing the Face of God, and you have received me favorably" (Gen. 33:6). To me, what Jacob is saying is that good fortune in life, special joyous occasions, and moments of thanksgiving - they are all LIKE seeing the Face of God. The Divine Countenance is also discussed in the Book of Psalms, a book filled with every human emotion across the spectrum. In at least ten different Psalms, the theme of God's Face features prominently, either as a Presence strongly felt (and therefore the source of joy, confidence, and safety), or a gaping void (and thus the source of agony, sorrow, rejection, and defeat). And it is the central focus of the Priestly Benediction, which has remained one of the most well-known Jewish prayers for over 3,000 years.

God's Face is not theologically problematic to me. Because whenever good things happen in life, it can indeed feel as if the Face of God is shining on us all. And when we are alone in our grief, mourning the loss of wonderful people, it certainly can feel as if God's Face is hidden, and the world is just a little bit emptier. The people who bless our lives with their presence, they are the embodiment of God's Light shining in our lives. And knowing that the light can come and go forces us to cherish them while they are around. So make sure to identify the people who represent the Face of God in your life, who light up your existence and spread warmth, joy, comfort, and positivity. Treasure every precious moment that you have with them, and be grateful always.


Photos in this blog post:
1. Image of the Google Translate app courtesy of Rabbi Gerber's iPad.
2. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber's iPhone on a gorgeous afternoon.
3. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber's iPhone... but the gift courtesy of Ohev Shalom's awesome Confirmation Class 2012!
4. CC image courtesy of The California National Guard on Flickr

Bechukotai: The Deadly Repercussions of a Selfish Society

Too often, I have found myself writing a blog post in the wake of yet another unfathomable mass shooting. If I go back and review what I've written over the years, it breaks my heart to see how many posts refer to recent violence somewhere in the country. There are a lot of them. Way, *way* too many. This time, we were first reeling after a gunman attacked shoppers in a grocery store in Buffalo, NY, and just as we were trying to come to terms with that horrific attack, another assailant killed 19 elementary school children and two teachers in Uvalde, TX. It is a truly powerless feeling to live in a country with so many armed individuals and so few checks, restrictions, or failsafes that could prevent senseless loss of life. We are living through an epidemic - a plague - of gun violence. And it is made exponentially worse by the failure of society to teach more people the paramount value of human life. When we feel this level of despair and sadness, we can also feel numb, desensitized, and totally speechless. In those moments, I find that the texts of our ancient, Jewish tradition can offer a broader perspective that may help us process all of this a bit better.  

First of all, I want to preface this by saying that the Torah is unlikely to make us feel better at this moment. I mean, how could it? How could anything?? Right now, if our gun laws won’t change, and our elected officials don’t feel compelled by the terror we’re all living under, little else is going to turn the tide. So the Torah can’t just heal us from this pain, much as we desperately wish it could. But maybe we can still use this moment for introspection and self-examination, and that is certainly a realm that the Torah understands incredibly well. In this week’s Torah portion, which concludes the Book of Leviticus, we actually do see some of our current societal struggles reflected in the text, as our ancient ancestors learn about the consequences of not observing laws or letting society descend into chaos.

God first offers the Children of Israel a series of blessings that will come if-and-when they observe all the laws of the Torah. This is followed by a longer, more unsettling section that elaborates on the repercussions of non-compliance. The key takeaway for us is that these warnings aren’t just Biblical; they have an eerie resonance in our lives today. For example, if we don’t care for God’s earth, and take responsibility to protect it, the text informs us: “I will make your skies like iron and your earth like copper, so that your strength shall be spent to no purpose” (Lev. 26:19-20). To me, that sounds an awful lot like the fallout from global warming; skies that don’t produce rain and land that is unable to provide crops. Furthermore, we might see a foreshadowing of the pandemic, when the text states: “If you withdraw into your cities, I will send pestilence among you.” (v. 25) I interpret that to mean that when we “wall” ourselves off and only care about our families and our own communities, and we don’t work together to protect everyone in society (or share vaccines with people who desperately need them around the world…), the pestilence/plague/pandemic gets worse.

And finally, the text forces us to confront this particularly horrific scourge of gun violence, when it states: “I will loose wild beasts against you, and they shall bereave you of your children..." (v. 33) I doubt I need to help anyone connect that verse to Uvalde, TX… or to Sandy Hook or Parkland. So looking at these ominous warnings, especially in the context of communal introspection, I think the most important thing the text is trying to teach us is that we’re all in this together. When the Torah talks about following God’s laws, I look at the many prophetic texts that emphasize again and again that God wants us to care for the poor, the orphan, and the widow. God expects us to share our bounty and not turn our backs on those less fortunate. I don’t see this as focusing on Shabbat observance or keeping Kosher; I see it as saying these calamities are all the repercussions of selfishness, greed, and apathy. Recognizing this doesn’t magically make the tragedies disappear, but it may teach us how to respond to them. We need to care for one another, strive for peace relentlessly and constantly, and demand our elected leaders do the same. I pray that we’ll all learn these lessons, and soon. Otherwise, I fear I’ll be back here soon again, writing another blog post after we’ve been plagued by more violence. 

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Zcdrrm on Wikimedia Commons
2. Phil Murphy on Flickr
3. Pashi on Pixabay
4. McKinsey on Rawpixel

Kedoshim: When The Rule Needs a Little More Love

How you phrase something matters a lot. Changing your wording just a little bit can really shift the meaning and the outcome dramatically, and this week’s Torah portion offers us a pretty famous example of this principle. Parashat Kedoshim features the oft-quoted Golden Rule, which is, of course: _______ … hmmm… well, how would you articulate The Golden Rule? Take a moment and think about exactly how you, in your own mind, might express what you consider to be the Biblical maxim that we refer to as The Golden Rule. I say that, because I read a Torah commentary this week that really emphasized how important phrasing can be, and specifically when it comes to this famous concept. I thought it would be interesting for us to spend a few minutes looking out how different each formulation is, what each means, and how the outcome of which option we choose has direct impact on interpersonal relations in our world today. 

If you Google The Golden Rule, you will find that a version of it exists in almost every culture and religious tradition on earth. And, as I stated above, each group tends to express it slightly differently. A common example of the “negative” phrasing of it is: “That which you hate to be done to you, do not do to another.” And if you reconfigure it to a more positive statement, you might say: “Do unto others as you would have them do to you.” Those two are basically saying the same thing, right? And every other version of this principle is essentially identical as well, and we could call them all doctrines of reciprocity. The thing is, they’re actually not the same. Phrasing matters. I read a Torah commentary this week, written by Shaya Cohen, where he points out: “the negative construction of [The Golden Rule] does not require any engagement – you can fulfill the Golden Rule by simply leaving other people alone.” We see this in many parts of modern society too, right? “Live and let live,” we might hear people say. Or we might look at how siloed our society has become, where everyone does his/her own thing, but it doesn’t really entail any communal engagement or responsibility for one another. Essentially, just don’t get in each other’s way, and everyone will be fine. But will they?

Even the positive formulation might potentially lead you to a similar conclusion. Cohen observes: “it suggests a quid pro quo, doing to others as you want them to do to you. If you want to be left alone, then you can fulfill this rule merely by leaving others alone as well!” It’s articulated in a more proactive form, but ultimately this well-known version of The Rule still allows everyone to go to their own corner, wall themselves off from others, and just make sure to treat people with the same respect you’d want to receive from them. But yet again, no engagement or commitment is required. So then we get to the Jewish iteration of The Golden Rule, and the one found in this week’s reading: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” How is this any different than the others? Cohen posits: “love is an ongoing investment, not a mere thing or product.” Our Torah is challenging us to take this one (or maybe several…) step(s) further. Is it enough to just have a non-aggression treaty? To just mind our own business and let others do the same? I really don’t think it is. 

If we examine any of the major issues swirling around us in the world right now, the earlier two formulations of The Golden Rule just aren’t enough. Whether we’re talking about battling Covid, supporting people in Ukraine fighting to fend off Russian aggression, or even the ongoing debate about the Supreme Court ending Roe v. Wade and our country’s protections for abortions; in each of these instances, I contend that more is needed than just a “live and let live” mentality. We need the interactive and ongoing relationship that Cohen suggests comes with the word "love." In particular, think about what you would want or need to thrive in the world. It isn't enough for others to just get out of our way, because there are many, many challenges that we all face, and we need one another to really overcome obstacles and be successful. So it is essential that we consider how much phrasing matters, both in terms of how we express The Golden Rule, and then how we choose to implement it in our lives. Nearly every culture in the world has articulated this principle in one form or another, which tells us that it is really important... *and* that we all need to be reminded of it pretty frequently! It's been a vital teaching for several millennia, and continues to be an essential concept for us to learn, internalize, and put into practice. If and when we can do that, then it won't just be a rule to follow, but a shining, golden example of how to treat one another throughout the world.

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:

1. GDJ on openclipart.org

2. Fractal Angel on Wikimedia Commons

Acharei Mot: The Letter and the Spirit Square Off

When you think about the performance of mitzvot, which would you say is more important, the action or the intention? Let’s imagine, say, that we’re back at the Passover Seder from a couple of weeks ago. Would it be “better” to do all the rituals, sing all the songs, and read every page of the Haggadah, even if your heart isn’t in it and you’re distracted? Or better to go into the holiday with excitement, enthusiasm, and interest… but recite half the prayers, sing two abridged songs, and read none of the extraneous material? At first glance, you might think the answer is obvious. And two different people reading this blog post might each think the answer is self-evident… while holding opposite opinions! I don’t know if there is a “correct” answer here, or even a practice or approach that is better or worse. But the ancient rabbis get into an interesting debate about each of these perspectives, and I thought perhaps it might be worth our while to examine their opinions for a bit.

Their first statement might surprise you. Mira Balberg, in her book “Blood for Thought: The Reinvention of Sacrifice in Early Rabbinic Literature,” explains that the rabbis of the Talmud understood the institution of sacrifice not so much as creating lines of communication to God, but rather about meticulous and flawless performance of Divine commands. In other words, they firmly believed in the first part of my statement above: Whether it’s about sacrifice, keeping Kosher, or celebrating Pesach, the most important thing is to GET. IT. RIGHT! Rabbi Ilana Kurshan wrote a Torah commentary this week in which she wrote, “The rabbinic discussion of the high priest’s activities on Yom Kippur is focused on the precision and accuracy with which each step must be taken.” Based on this, it’s pretty clear how the Talmudic rabbis  would have ruled on this question. Intention is all well and good, but really it’s about performing mitzvot correctly and fully. However, this isn’t the only thing the rabbis say on the subject. There are other sources to look at as well. Furthermore, it gives me pause to hear how the rabbis discussed Temple sacrifice and its rituals. They didn’t live in the era of the Temple. In fact, they were descendants of the Pharisees, who were quite anti-Temple, and who felt the whole institution had turned corrupt and was not fulfilling the Will of God. So when they talk about how meticulous the High Priest was, and how perfectly every single detail had to be performed, are they advocating that behavior… or subtly critiquing it?

There are countless stories of people unable to recite the correct prayers, but directing their hearts to God, and their petitions being accepted. We read the prophet Isaiah - in a text that was chosen by some of those same ancient rabbis to be the Haftarah specifically for Yom Kippur - instructing his listeners that God does *not* want the ritual sacrifices. God, through Isaiah, insists rather that we must “share your bread with the hungry, take the wretched poor into your home. When you see the naked, clothe them, and do not ignore your own kin.” (Isaiah, 58:7) Doesn’t this sound like the opposite approach? Informing us that our practices and observances could be 110% perfect, yet simultaneously meaningless if they don’t have the proper intentions of kindness and compassion. So which one is it, the letter of the law or the spirit of the law? It is so difficult to choose…

And indeed I don’t think we’re actually supposed to choose at all. Like many things in life, we are constantly striving and changing, and mainly seeking to achieve balance and harmony. The same applies here. We can indeed aspire to do things as correctly as possible, acknowledging that the letter of the law has merit and purpose. Yet the spirit can be equally as impactful and significant, and shouldn’t be disregarded. At times, we might even strive to achieve them both together; the precise instructions of the Torah as well as the wholehearted intention described by Isaiah. But humans are not perfect. We aspire, not with the expectation that we will eventually get everything right, but merely in order to keep improving and growing. And I fear that when we imagine leaders like the ancient High Priest in this week’s parashah performing everything perfectly, and we tell ourselves we should be emulating that, we are setting ourselves up for failure. So maybe it’s ok that we can’t do all things well at the same time. That shouldn’t be our goal. Instead, we can appreciate the values of strict adherence *and* heartfelt intention, knowing it’s rare that we can achieve both together. So to answer our question at the start of this blog post, the best option isn’t one extreme or the other; it’s the balance and harmony we strive to achieve inside of ourselves.

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Magnes Database Record on Flickr
2. FotoGuy 49057 on Flickr
3. Rawpixel
4. Peggy_Marco on Pixabay

Tazria (Ha-Chodesh and Rosh Chodesh): Take Out the Babysitting; Keep the Gratitude

We’ve ticked over into April. In general, that’s a very good thing, though it does also bring with it some anxiety - for us as Jews - because Passover is just *that* much closer. We might especially feel the coming of the holiday over the weekend, because this Shabbat includes a special reading, known as Ha-Chodesh (meaning, “The Month”), basically heralding the approach of the festival. I talked about this special Torah reading last year as well, but I find myself returning to it yet again, for reasons that I hope will become clear as you read on. The particular text that we read for Shabbat Ha-Chodesh comes from the Book of Exodus; specifically the first twenty verses of chapter 12. God instructs Moses to inform the Israelites - while still in slavery - that something really monumental is about to occur. This month will become the first month of our soon-to-be-established Jewish calendar, because of this huge upcoming event. God’s instructions for them will be enshrined as “a festival to Adonai throughout the ages; you shall celebrate it as an institution for all time.” (v. 14) You understand what this means, don’t you? “Throughout the ages” and “for all time” means that you and I, today, in 2022, here in the United States, are obligated to observe all these rituals and commandments as well. So it’s probably good to do a quick review of what God has actually commanded us to do, don’t you think?

It gets a little tricky though, I’ll be honest with you. God does lay out some specific rituals for the pre-Exodus Israelites (which I’ll lay out in a second), but one question I have is, are we required to observe every part of these instructions forever, or just the celebration of the holiday *itself* for all time? They seem very still-in-slavery specific, so I’m a little unclear on what we’re meant to do. The text states in verse three that each family needs to “take a lamb” on the 10th of Nisan, and then “watch over it until the 14th day of the month” (v. 6), and then slaughter it at twilight. So right off the bat, I have not done a good job with my four-day-lamb-babysitting duties, nor have I brought it to slaughter before the holiday. I’m guessing you haven’t been observing that one either. Then we’re told to “eat it [the lamb] roasted over fire with unleavened bread and bitter herbs” (v. 8). Honestly, we’re all doing ok on that one. We have the bone (Zeroa) on the Seder plate to *commemorate* the paschal lamb offering we no longer consume, and then we *do* eat the bread (matzah) and herbs (maror) as prescribed. Good job, us!

Then it gets dicey again, because the Torah instructs us as follows: “This is how you shall eat it: your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand, and you shall eat it hurriedly…” (v. 11) Oh, and I forgot to mention back in verse seven, that we were supposed to paint the doorposts of our homes with lamb’s blood. I’m being a little flippant, but I do want to make a genuine point here: God instructs us to keep this holiday, and it is worth our taking a few minutes to stop and think about which aspects of these observances have survived across the millennia, and which have changed. It’s both fascinating to see that some rituals have indeed been enshrined, while others have outlived their usefulness or lost their meaning. But even if we no longer paint blood on our doorposts, babysit lambs, or wear our sandals on our feet as we scarf down our food, the importance of the holiday for us as a people -  for all time - has not been lost on us. It was monumental back then, and I think our ancestors would genuinely be awed to discover how central it has remained for us “throughout the ages.”

There is value in looking at both sides here; the underlying meaning of the holiday as well as its practical observances. I think constructing our Seder to, in as many ways as possible, truly mirror the Exodus story can be magical, inspiring, and fun. In years past, I have put strips of red paper on the door posts, actually marched around the Seder table (as many Persian and Iraqi Jews still do), and I know people who sit on pillows on the floor to make it feel more “Middle Eastern.” So going through the motions and inclining (or reclining?) our rituals to actually feel more ancient or connected to our ancestors can be really meaningful for participants of all ages. At the same time, we should talk about the underlying message, which is slavery, freedom, and gratitude. To put it succinctly: We were severely oppressed, and we no longer are… and therefore we should be grateful. And one way that we show our appreciation to God is by “paying it forward,” and looking out for others who are enslaved and/or oppressed and/or in need of rescuing. This year, I encourage all of us to mention Ukraine at our Seder tables, to really think about how we can do our part to help others who are living under oppression, and who are - so tragically - starting their own Exodus away from everything they previously knew. Even as our rituals and observances have changed, aspects of Pesach have endured throughout the ages, and for good reason. It is our job to keep talking about those reasons, going through those ritual motions, and embodying those critical values in every generation, and yes, for all time. 

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. The Magnes Collection of Jewish Art and Life on Flickr (picture from ca. 1920)
2. symkin on Depositphotos
3. pxhere.com
4. Studio Sarah Lou on Flickr

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

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

Va-Yechi: Bless *this* Moment

This week’s post will be my last of 2021. Thanks to all of you fabulous readers for sticking with me for yet another year of Take on Torah. It boggles my mind that I’ve posted well-over 600 times over these 12+ years. Thank you. 

I also want to add that I’m dedicating this post to the Daled (fourth) and Hey (fifth) grade classes in our Hebrew School. They put together a terrific D’var Torah for this Shabbat, and truly inspired this post. I feel really blessed to get to work with such awesome students! 🤩🤩

What does it mean to bless someone? Is it just something nice you say to them? “I think you’re great!” Or “you look lovely today.” Are those blessings… or just nice compliments? These were some of the questions I discussed with our Daled & Hey students over the last few weeks, as we prepared a D’var Torah together for this parashah. I think what really threw them for a loop (along with basically anyone reading Genesis, chapter 49…), was how our ancestor, Jacob seemingly intended to offer blessings to his children before he died… but then cursed and scorned several of them! Some of his “blessings” were pretty terrible... perhaps even mean. So that really challenged us to discuss what it even means at all to bless someone. I invite you to take a moment for yourself and think about how you would answer that question…

First of all, Jacob only blessed his sons, which upset everyone in the class. What about his daughter, Dina?!? Patriarchal society, sure, but total silence?? However, we then read the first couple of “blessings,” and decided that maybe Dina actually dodged a bullet. He started off telling his oldest son, Reuben, that he’s the firstborn and deserving of honor (v. 3). BUT then proceeded to chastise him for something that happened *years* earlier (4), and ended his words with rebuke and a curse, all because of this grudge he never could shed (or even express aloud!). As if that wasn’t bad enough, his second… um… “blessing” (?) was even worse. He admonished his two sons, Simeon and Levi, also for something that happened years prior (5-7), and finished his statement by declaring that he did NOT want to be associated with the two of them. Ever. Yikes. 

Some of his subsequent declarations were much more kind and praising… but in some ways that just made the bad ones sting even more! Many of the students in the class were incredulous, and when they each took on the persona of one of the children, and expressed how that person felt about their father's words, even the ones who got good blessings mostly just expressed how badly they felt for their “siblings.” So having read all of Jacob’s… er… opinions, we came back to this challenging question of what it means to bless someone. And we discussed how it could indeed be praise or filled with kindness, yet we also acknowledged that sometimes it can be about saying something hard to hear. Perhaps Jacob meant to challenge his more rebellious children; bluntly telling them that if they don’t shape up, bad things will befall them? Or even if he didn’t intend it that way, we talked about how the recipients of these reproaches could choose to reframe them for themselves, and vow to prove their father wrong! In a way, that too could serve as a blessing, regardless of intent. As a wakeup call, an eye-opener, or a jarring rebuke; it could *still* prove beneficial if the person took action or changed their behavior, to ensure that the future would be better than the prediction.

My favorite part of this endeavor - other than the wonderful responses the students created for each Biblical character - were the blessings their parents offered them. The class teacher, Allison, and I asked each child’s parents to offer a short blessing for their child, using the guidelines our class had discussed about what is, and is not, a blessing. What they wrote was truly beautiful. And it reminded me that blessings can be incredibly powerful. Our words can lift someone's spirits… or scar them for life. And when phrased as a blessing - one that actually intends to help and inspire the person - it can be an incredible force in their lives. So my final takeaway from this Torah portion, and this wonderful class (and the end of 2021...), is to not let any moment go to waste. We should bless one another now, later, and as often as we can push ourselves to think of it. It can be an immense gift to share with someone, and it costs us absolutely nothing. At this holiday season, and as we prepare to enter a new year, let’s think about the gifts we give one another. Let us perhaps move away from the material presents, and instead offer a blessing and some inspiration to one another, which can really help each and every one of us start this new year in the very best way possible. 

I'll offer you an intention to conclude this post: We often say that kind things "go without saying." They're obvious and known; why mention them? I challenge us all to have our sentiments of goodness, kindness, praise, and support instead go WITH saying. Even if/when you think they know it already, take a moment and say it. Out loud. Trust me. May you all have a blessed AND HEALTHY start to the new year!

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. elycefeliz on Flickr
2. martialtribes.com (from the movie, The Matrix)
3. Jerney Furman on Flickr
4. kalhh on Pixabay

5. Zenaidy Castro on Wikimedia Commons