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

Eikev: Thanks for the Grub - Yay, God!

Judaism considers it important to bless our food. We have short phrases to recite *before* we eat something (with specific wording for basically ANY food or drink you can imagine!), and then longer prayers that are recited or sung *after* we eat as well. So let's take a moment and ask ourselves, “why?” Well, the Biblical explanation comes from a single verse in this week’s Torah portion… but that only tells us part of the story. It can get us thinking about the importance of blessing our foods, but then we need to dig deeper still. Our ancestors believed a fundamental truth about how food relates to the Divine, to the earth, and to our bodies, so let’s examine their perspective and see whether it remains relevant for us today as well. 

You may be familiar with the traditional Jewish Grace after Meals, a.k.a. Birkat Ha-Mazon, a.k.a. “the benching” (Yiddish for "blessing") There are shorter versions and longer ones, with special additional paragraphs for Shabbat and holidays. Interestingly, in even the longest version, there’s only ever ONE verse that comes directly from the Torah. The benching does include psalms and other Biblical quotes, but in terms of material specifically from The Five Books of Moses, it’s just this one verse from our parashah: “When you have eaten, and are satiated, you shall bless Adonai, your God, for the good land which God has given you.” (Deut. 8:10) So back to our original question, why? Why do we bless God? Because the Jewish theology around food is quite clear - you don’t own anything that you eat. It all belongs to God, and you/me/everyone needs to express gratitude for our ability to eat and be satisfied. 

Maybe that concept seems obvious to you… or maybe you fundamentally disagree (and feel free to comment below and share your thoughts), but it has always resonated with me. Whether we grow our own food, support a farm collective, or buy everything from a store or online grocer; the food still isn’t ours. We really need to acknowledge that in our community today, many of us do not struggle with food insecurity, the way millions of people do across the globe every single day. We had no control over where we were born or in what era. Our financial means and our abundant access to food - all these things are miraculous gifts from God! Yet sometimes we let ourselves think that we made this happen. 

All around us, we hear sentiments in society that essentially amount to some version of: “Why should I share my resources with others who don’t deserve it?” The Torah’s resounding answer is, it’s not your decision. God gave you this bounty, not you yourself, and you are expected - required even - to thank God for all these blessings. There are so many dangerous pitfalls where we may be tempted to think we made our own successes happen. We contributed, sure, but God’s partnership was, and always will be, vital for anything to work. When we acknowledge that, we hopefully learn to be humble, and then ideally show compassion towards (all!) others who have less than we do. So many of us are truly blessed to not worry where our next meal will come from. That verse I quoted from Deuteronomy reminds us that when it’s effortless for us to eat, and obvious that we’ll get to feel satiety, we must then also bless God. Now, who’s hungry?

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. jimbomack66 on Wikimedia Commons
2. AllaSerebrina on Deposit Photos
3. pxhere.com
4. The US National Archives

Shemini: Redefining “Kosher”

This week, we read a lot of the basic laws for Kosher and non-Kosher animals, so I thought I’d take the opportunity to delve into this topic for a bit. Let’s start off with a basic, yet complicated question: What does it mean to keep Kosher? You may respond by noting the rule against mixing meat (-based products) and dairy (-based products)... which could lead to talking about separate dishes in our homes or synagogues. Or perhaps you'd refer to the prohibition against pork or shellfish, or ANY meat that hasn’t been certified Kosher by a rabbinic certifying organization.  Notice how we've already started to veer into the minutia - right off the bat - and how we quickly become bogged down with questions of what's ok, who decides, and what method(s) do they use? We may further lose ourselves in questions of separate cutlery, Kosher restaurants, ethical practices in meat plants, Passover rules, Shabbat concerns, Kashering utensils, and on, and on, and on. But let’s try and bring it back to that original question: What does it mean to keep Kosher?

It is worth noting that the first humans created in the Torah were vegetarians, and that the overarching message of the Torah *seems to be* that we should all be herbivores too. Meat-eating is essentially an acquiescence to the more savage, carnal cravings in us as humans. Furthermore, the laws of Kashrut feel kind of arbitrary, with no explanations of "why": Mammals have to have split hooves and chew their cud. Ok... but why?? Anything in the seas needs fins and scales. Ok again... but still, why??? The fact that they’re seemingly random distinctions tells me something about Kashrut: The value is in HAVING laws governing food; not necessarily the specifics of WHAT those laws are. 

This is perhaps a bit controversial to say, but I think it’s primarily about having a “food ethic.” The rules of Kashrut are the guidelines for us as Jews, but they’re not objectively “the best laws imaginable.” Whoever we are, we DO need rules. If we don’t demand of ourselves that our eating should follow ethical parameters, we wind up with systems where the animals suffer, the people working in the food industry may be mistreated, and ultimately we all put ourselves at risk when our foods are poisoned with salmonella and e-coli. So maybe you don’t keep Kosher, or maybe *your* version of Kosher doesn’t match someone else’s standards, or you’ve got that one friend who loves to point out the hypocrisy in your self-imposed rules. (And don’t we all just LOVE that person’s attitude...) I think all of that is missing the point. 

Develop a food ethic. Or if you have one already, write it down. Be deliberate and intentional about it, and hold yourself accountable. If you simply like a certain product, but you know it is sourced through immoral means, or the company spews hateful rhetoric, I encourage you to examine your choices. "It tastes good" shouldn't be enough of an excuse to eat... well... anything. Perhaps even the word “Kosher” shouldn’t mean certified/Shabbat-observant/separated-meat-n-milk/no-pork... but rather, Kosher should mean ethical. The laws in the Torah - expanded upon by millennia of rabbis - are one version, and some aspects are there to challenge us to be kinder, more compassionate eaters. But it isn’t a perfect system, nor does it need to be. It just needs to be evolving, conscientious, vigilant, and above all else, moral. Kosher should mean “food ethic.” So... do YOU keep Kosher? You don’t have to answer *me*, but you probably SHOULD answer this for yourself. 

CC images in this post, courtesy of:

1. Mike Mozart on Flickr

2. Marco Verch Professional Photographer on Flickr

3. path0s on Pixabay

4. LuisRaa on Flickr

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

Va-Yeitzei: Sometimes, a Mandrake is not a Mandrake...

You know that feeling, when you can cut the tension in the room with a knife? It could be for lots of different reasons - sadness, anger, desire, awkwardness - but somehow you’ve found yourself in a room with two, or more, people (you might be one of them) are experiencing a strong, uncomfortable emotion, usually yielding silence... and now no one knows what to do or say next. The tension creates a stifling energy that is palpable, thick, heavy. We’ve all been there (not infrequently in the context of Thanksgiving...). Part of the challenge of that moment is, almost nothing can ease that tension. If you try and change the subject, the tension will likely just follow your smooth transition, and even a conversation about the weather, the Eagles, or food risks dialing the awkward back up to 11. We see a fascinating example of this in our Torah portion, where the tension in question both comes to a sharp climax... and is actually not resolved at all. 

It begins with some mandrakes. Oh, sure, you’re thinking. Of course! Doesn’t drama seem to always begin with some mandrakes??? (*Awkward Silence*) Yeah, I didn’t really know what they were either. Basically, it’s a plant, with pretty flowers and roots that look like the human form when pulled out of the ground. For our purposes, it’s worth knowing that in the ancient world they were considered very potent herbs, either to stimulate conception and/or as an aphrodisiac. In our story, Jacob’s oldest son, Reuben, while still a boy, finds some mandrakes growing out in the field, and he brings them back to his mother, Leah. Innocent enough, right? But the underlying tension is that Leah has given Jacob six (!!) sons already, but Jacob still loves his OTHER wife, Rachel, who has not been able to conceive. Because of this, Rachel is VERY interested in those mandrakes... but Leah might be reticent to share them with her sister... who is also her rival!

When Rachel asks Leah for some of the mandrakes, the pressure instantly boils over! Leah snaps: “Was it not enough for you to take away my husband, that you would also take my son’s mandrakes?!?” (Gen. 30:15) The story moves on from this moment, obviously, but I wanted to stay in this discomfort for another minute, because I think many of us can TOTALLY relate to both Leah and Rachel in this predicament. One of them is feeling, “ENOUGH already!! You take, and take, and take!” The other might be feeling, “Sheesh. I just asked her for some flowers...” In many of our lives, we bicker, nitpick, squabble, and spar over the silliest of things: “He never puts the cap back on the tube!” “She hums incessantly!” “They always get into the dumbest arguments about the garden!” Sound familiar, right? Especially around the holiday season, this whole blog post might be hitting a nerve... or perhaps several dozen of them!

Ultimately, what I want to suggest to you all is, the squabbling is NOT easier. We tell ourselves over and over again, “It isn’t worth it.” I’m not going to zero in on the *real* issue, so we’ll just go on arguing about the dishes, the remote, or laundry. And I think this kind of tension is actually VERY damaging to the psyche over time. We learn to live with it, so it doesn’t cut as deep every time, but would it really be SO much worse to just talk about “the thing” itself? The elephant in the room? Maybe it seems like THAT conversation would be much, much worse... but is this languishing and bickering really SO much better? It’s the same amount of pain, just inflicted in tiny pricks over decades... and I’m pretty sure that would be considered a form of torture in some cultures! So my challenge to us all is, what would happen if you didn’t make it all about the mandrakes? What if you, and I, and everyone acknowledged when a mandrake isn’t really a mandrake, and we’re yelling at each other over an older grievance that was *never* resolved? And now it’s festering like an old wound. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of wrangling over silly things. It’s just a weed, people. What do you REALLY want to talk about?

CC images in this blogpost, courtesy of:
1. pixabay
2. Wikimedia Commons (via Wellcome Images)
3. pixabay
4. Durova on Wikimedia Commons 

Shabbat Chol Ha-Moed Pesach: How Did We Pass Over This One Before???

It doesn't matter how many times you read through the Torah, it can still blow your mind. Don't believe me? Well, brace yourself. I'm on Year Ten of writing this Torah commentary, and I wrote a weekly column as a rabbinical student for my congregation in North Carolina before that.

I've led Pesach Seders a whole bunch of times by now, and I've participated in the holiday festivities since I was born. So I didn't necessarily think the Torah text could surprise me all that much. Well, I was wrong. You know how the name of the holiday comes from the night that God sent the tenth - and final - plague against the Egyptians? How the Angel of Death slew the firstborn child in every Egyptian home, but PASS(ED) OVER the homes of the Israelites? It's in the Hebrew as well; God will see the lamb's blood on the doorposts of the Israelite homes, "U'fasachti" - "And I will pass over you" (Ex. 12:13). "Fasachti" comes from the root "PeSaCH." And yet, somehow (and quite shockingly), that isn't the origin of the holiday name at all...

Our Conservative Movement Chumash, the Etz Hayim, just throws out this gem in the commentary, like it's no big deal at all: "The Hebrew noun 'pe-sach'... is
assumed in this narrative to be an immediately understandable term, so it too must have a history that predates the Exodus." WHAAAA???? The author then goes on to suggest it's actually related to an Akkadian (!!) root meaning "to appease," and says this notion of "passing over" is only one of three traditions as to what this word is really trying to convey. The other two possibilities are "to have compassion" and "to protect." Again, I've celebrated Pesach for close to four decades now; I NEVER before heard that the term "Pesach" predated the entire Exodus story, came from an Akkadian word, and might actually have had nothing to do with passing over anything. Mind. Officially. Blown.

But while we're already exploding old narratives, why stop there? The Etz Hayim has yet another lovely little nugget to share with us as well. In Exodus 12:14-20,
the Torah first tells us that "this day," namely the 14th of the month of Nisan, will be a day of remembrance for all time. It will be celebrated with the Paschal offering. THEN the text starts talking about the 15th of Nisan being the start of a seven-day holiday, known as the Feast of the Unleavened Bread. As if it were the most obvious thing in the world, the commentary then states: "Without doubt, throughout the biblical period this celebration remained distinct from the one-day paschal rite." Oh, sure. Didn't we all just KNOW that once upon a time there were TWO, separate holidays, one called Pesach and the other 'The Festival of Matzah'??? I mean, geez, who didn't know THAT?!?!

I hope you know I'm being facetious here. I didn't know any of this. Just as I didn't know the name of the holiday predates the festival itself. But I never mind learning
this kind of stuff. I absolutely LOVE that the Torah can still surprise me with new and substantial realizations after years and years of study. The Talmud has a famous saying: "Shivim Panim La-Torah," meaning "The Torah has 70 faces." So I guess if I learn a new face/nuance/approach/interpretation each year, I've still got a little more than 30 yet to learn!! :-) We could spend more time on these two startling new insights. But for now, my main point is, our text is even more ancient than we sometimes give it credit AND it can surprise us even when we least expect it! Maybe next year, when we're preparing for the Seder, we'll try on yet another face(t) and see what we think. Then we'll only have 30 more left to try on... :-) Happy Passover!!


CC images in this blog post courtesy of:
1. @GwynethJones on Flickr.com
2. pxhere
3. Avital Pinnick on Flickr.com
4. Wikimedia Commons

Shemini (Shabbat Parah): FOUR Questions??? That's Just the Warmup Act...

Jews ask questions. I might even say it's bound up in our very DNA, that our name as a people - Yisrael, meaning "one who wrestles with God" - is a call to push back,

to grapple with, to challenge, and yes, to question God repeatedly. The Torah begins with Adam and Eve instantly challenging God's only rule in the Garden of Eden, against eating the fruit of a particular tree, and the Five Books of Moses end with a question as well. Moses' final utterance (before the text tells us he died and God buried him) includes the question "Mi Kamocha," "Who is like you?" (Deut. 33:29), spoken about Israel, the people, and its unique relationship with the Divine. So yeah, Jews ask questions. From philosophers, theologians, politicians, and prophets... to doctors, lawyers, community organizers, rabbis, and even comedians, it is perhaps one of THE central traits that has defined us. And in just a few weeks, we'll be asking four special questions at our Passover Seder tables.

There is an odd irony regarding those Four Questions, however, because they are not supposed to be the *only* questions at the Seder. I believe they should be the FIRST questions asked, but they are just meant to get us started. They are the warm-up to get our curiosities going.... The Seder

contains endless peculiarities, hidden clues, provocative statements, and other pedagogical tools; all designed to get the people around the table to ASK. MORE. QUESTIONS. Because, if you think about it, a question draws you into relationship. An answer, by contrast, closes the discussion and you move on to something else, while more questions pull you further and further into dialogue, back and forth, deepening and enhancing the exchange. I love to say to my congregation: Why would you ruin a perfectly wonderful question... by trying to answer it??? So let me invite you to think about two more essential questions, in this season leading up to the Passover Seder:

First, what does it mean to have a food ethic? Pesach is defined by its excess of dietary restrictions, which seems like another peculiar irony, since we call this The Season of Our Freedom. Freedom?? Yeah, right; season to eat cardboard and horseradish, you mean... :-) This week's Torah portion, Shemini, challenges us

to think about our eating habits, much like Pesach does. We read many of the fundamental rules of keeping Kosher, including which animals we are permitted to eat and which ones are treif. There are four categories of creature (there's that number four again...) discussed in the text. Land animals, flying animals, sea creatures, and yes, swarming insects (mmmm, locusts...). But really, the text gives us more *questions* than answers. The distinguishing features seem arbitrary and have nothing to do with cleanliness or morality. Furthermore, some animals defy categorization or exhibit traits that confuse us, and many of the laws are simply not detailed enough. To make them into usable, ritualized, comprehensible mitzvot, more questions need to be asked (meaning more relationship-building...), and a lot of the specifics will need to be "fleshed" out (haha!).

Question-asking is good. Not only does it help you understand more, but it opens you up to forming bonds, caring more about something, and bringing more of yourself to the table. Soooo, here's my final question for you: What don't you (yet) know about Judaism? What are the burning

questions you've never gotten to ask? In preparation for a Sisterhood event I'm leading on April 28th, I'm looking for help to explore the topic of "Jewish Fact; Jewish Fiction." There is a lot of misinformation out there, so I'm wondering what you've always *known* to be true about Jews... that might actually be patently false!! Or at least just "sorta-kinda" correct... Put your question in the "Comments" section, send it to me by e-mail, post it on Facebook, or stop me in the hallway. The most important thing to remember is: Questions are GOOD! Regardless of how, and if, they can be answered. So get ready for the Passover Four Questions - because the Seder will be here before you know it... - but please don't forget they're supposed to be a spring board. The very, very START of a longer conversation. What else do you wanna know? How can you learn more? I'm curious to find out... aren't you?


CC images in this blog post courtesy of:
1. Max Pixel
2. cmswire.com
3. nightowl on Pixabay
4. Fortepan on Wikimedia Commons

B'Shallach: ... and That is Why We Celebrate the Trees...

It doesn't really have a clear beginning and an end. It's strange, I know, but it's done that way on purpose. Everything is part of a cycle - the year, the Torah,

life-long learning - all things go around and around, and thus our Jewish tradition intentionally likes to leave us with no obvious and definitive beginnings. Like this blog post, for example. Did it feel like you just jumped into the middle of a conversation? Good. :-) The Torah itself sets this tone, when the very first verse of Genesis states: "When God began creating..." as if something else preceded it. At the end of Deuteronomy, the Israelites are standing at the border of the Promised Land, about to enter and begin a new story. Hardly a final resolution for the end of the Torah. This week, we are celebrating a "minor" Jewish holiday that really emphasizes the cyclical nature of, well, EVERYTHING in a very crucial way.

Every year, it strikes me as a bit funny that we celebrate the festival of Tu Bishvat in January, in the dead of winter. This is the New Year for trees, plants, fruits, and basically for nature. We sing about how everything grows so beautifully...

while looking out at a barren, frozen, desolate tundra. Sure, we're singing in solidarity with the land of Israel (where it's still pretty cold too, by the way...), but it still feels odd and misplaced. Like, if we waited two more months, we'd belt out "Ha-Sh'keidiyah Porachat" (about a blooming almond tree...) with a lot more fervor! But then I always come back to the notion of "absence makes the heart grow fonder." We sure do miss the trees and leaves right now, don't we?? With so much of winter still ahead of us, we long for spring and the regrowth of nature, so our singing and yearning takes on another level of intention. To me, this also relates to how Tu Bishvat has become a central holiday for the environmental movement.

We take our planet for granted. I can give you countless proof-texts, but I sincerely hope I don't have to. Just google "trash island" if you want to see one horrific example... The point is, opportunities to express our gratitude to our planet, and recommit ourselves to caring for it, are *vitally* important.

The Torah constantly nudges us to value the earth, yet sometimes uses subtle techniques for doing so. You see, the ground/land/earth partners with God time and again, either to reward or punish us. We don't always think of nature as a character in our Bibilical stories, but it's ever-present. This Shabbat, we are chanting "The Song of the Sea," after the Israelites escaped through the Sea of Reeds on dry land... and the water crashed back down and drowned the pursuing Egyptian army. Moses then led the Israelites in singing this song, which indeed praises God, but also refers to all manner of natural phenomena - water, wind, rocks, and fire - that team up with God on our behalf. Noticing the role of nature in *this* story might also make us pause and discover its pivotal role elsewhere too. Suddenly, we see that just prior to our Torah portion, the Ten Plagues turned natural phenomena into instruments of terror against our enemies. And right *after* the Song of the Sea, the Israelites head into the desert, and there God will turn bitter water into potable drink and the morning dew into life-sustaining manna.

We sometimes miss this message. We talk about God and Moses and Pharaoh and the miracles... but we miss the role of our earth. In the Torah, it looks like fantastical fables and pure science-fiction. But the message is dead-serious. Can we really dispute the claim that if we take care of the earth, it rewards us with

bounty... and when we abuse it, it turns barren and fruitless? The text tells a riveting story, but let's not ignore the vital underlying lesson - the central principle of the holiday of Tu Bishvat: Be good stewards of the planet. Stop abusing it. Time is running out, and we simply cannot afford to ignore the warning signs. Are there costs involved with becoming more environmentally conscious and reducing our carbon footprint? Sure, of course there are. But do you think it's cheaper to maintain the status quo?? Aren't we *actually* paying, one way or the other? We humans sometimes have the absolute audacity - the chutzpah - to think we're outside (or above...) the natural order. Well, guess what? We are part of all these cycles. We are not the be-all-end-all of creation; it existed before us and will continue after us. Everything goes in a circle, without a beginning or an end. But while we're here, we need to do our utmost to take care of that which has been entrusted to us. We haven't got much time. Soon another chapter will begin, and...


Images in this blog post:
1. CC image courtesy of kmicican on Pixabay
2. CC image courtesy of Andrea Pokrzywinski on Flickr
3. CC image courtesy of amboo who? on Flickr
4. CC image courtesy of Rkantckd on Wikimedia Commons

Haftarat Lech Lecha: Seeds of Partnership

Two themes that repeat over and over again, both in the Torah AND in the subsequent books of the Hebrew Bible, are Responsibility and Relationship.

Time and again, God - often through various prophets - conveys the message that we have to take ownership of our role in this world; with the earth itself, with our fellow human beings, and with all animals and plants. And Adonai continuously reminds us that we are God's partners in this work. Some of it gets done From On High... but we've got to pull our weight as well. This week, at Ohev Shalom, we're talking about Food Waste and how we can make less of an impact on our planet and our resources. Hidden inside our Torah portion and its accompanying Haftarah, I see clues and hints that support this important issue. That shouldn't surprise you, because Food Waste Awareness is also about Responsibility and Relationship, and I JUST told you that those themes play on repeat throughout our Tanach!! Sooo, let's begin our hunt for clues...

Last week, I told you that our Haftarot sometimes have obvious links to their parashah, and sometimes they have tenuous ones. Lech Lecha, like Noach (last week), is on the more obvious end of the spectrum:

The Torah reading introduces us to our patriarch, Abraham, and the Haftarah, from the prophet Isaiah, declares that the Children of Israel are "the Seed of My friend, Abraham" (41:8). For our food-related purposes, notice the word "seed," which both in Hebrew and English serves a double function. It means "progeny" or "descendants," but also literal kernels that we plant in the ground. I know it's kind of subtle, but I see this dual meaning as a reminder that we are OF the earth, not separate from it. We are beings created by God, and formed out of the substance of our planet, just like everything else around us. We cannot survive without consuming other STUFF from the earth - whether it's vegetable, grain, or animal - and that too should be a reminder to us of the urgent need to be in symbiotic relationship with the world around us. We are seeds in all senses of the word.

Isaiah also emphasizes relationships, both with fellow humans and with God. In 41:6-7, he states: "Each person helps another, saying to a neighbor, 'Take courage!' The woodworker encourages the blacksmith; the one who flattens with the hammer [encourages] the one who pounds the anvil." Just a few verses later, Isaiah adds:
"Fear not, for I am with you... I strengthen you and I help you" (10). And those two verses are brought together when God then states: "I will help you... thresh mountains to dust" (14-15). In other words, our ability to work the earth, to till the soil, to feed and nurture our families and communities - THAT is a sign of God's favor and partnership. But in return, we must be good partners and not waste, wantonly destroy, or callously ignore dangerous warnings. Think of it this way, if we only fed our bodies junk food, never slept enough, and didn't exercise, we all know we would see signs of deterioration, illness, and pain in ourselves. How can we ignore those same signals from our planet, in the form of rising temperatures, convulsions of the ground, and other natural disasters?

Abraham is, in many ways, God's first human partner. God tried with Eve & Adam and then with Noah and his family, but ultimately Abraham is the first reciprocal PARTNER, and the one who enters into a covenant with God.

We all are, indeed, the "seeds" of Abraham, and the latest inheritors of that relationship. How are we taking responsibility for the tremendous task that has been left in our hands? And not just on a global scale, but truly on a local, everyday, simple, what-do-you-do-in-your-own-kitchen type of way? You too are a descendant of Sarah and Abraham, and you too are being called to partner with God. I hope you'll join the interesting presentations and conversations taking place at Ohev this weekend. You can also check out online resources that are both Jewish AND environmentally-focused, like Hazon and Greenfaith. I encourage you to think about what Relationship and Responsibility mean to you, and how you embody them in your own life. Oh, and I have a hunch you'll see those two themes returning - interwoven or standing alone - in many more blog posts to come.

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of Josealgon on Wikimedia Commons

2. CC image courtesy of Jacopo on Wikimedia Commons

3. CC image courtesy of Crochet.david on Wikimedia Commons

4. CC image courtesy of Iknowtrash on Wikimedia Commons

Korach: I want more, more, MORE!!!

This week, I find myself asking the question, "When is it enough?" I would argue that this query can be applied to A LOT of stories in the news these days. The healthcare debate certainly brings up questions of who gets more, who gets less,

and why. There are also stories about the ride service company Uber that might cause us to ask this same question. Though I especially found myself wondering about "enough" in regards to the commerce giant Amazon purchasing the grocery chain Whole Foods. There is an accepted "wisdom" among tech companies that I think is inherently flawed and generally problematic, and interestingly enough, we see people yelling about this very same issue in the Torah right now.

Moses is under attack. At least two different uprisings are launched against him, and, if nothing else, it forces everyone (including us, the readers) to examine the direction in which the Israelite nation is heading. Are they moving towards

a better place, and are they led by the best people for the job? Korach, the primary would-be usurper, along with Datan and Aviram, question whether Moses should be in charge, and whether the tribe of Levi should be managing the sacrificial rite under the authority of Aaron, the High Priest. Interestingly, the first attack they hurl at Moses and Aaron is: "You have gone too far!" In the Hebrew, the phrase is, "Rav Lachem," which could also be translated as, "You have too much!" Maybe it's too much power, too much influence, too much exclusive access to God's (proverbial) Ear. Whatever it is, I find the statement itself - the accusation - so fascinating... and so current.

Amazon purchased Whole Foods so they could expand (further) into the food industry. Why? Because everybody knows: If you aren't growing, you're dying. Obviously, being the best in ONE particular industry

isn't enough. Obviously, companies need to offer photo storage and video streaming and music players and clothing and gardening equipment and furniture and pharmacy products and E-readers and, and, and... It feels like a battle for world domination. Every company wants to be the sole retailer for their customers, and everyone wants to pioneer the newest market for... whatever; flying or self-driving cars, fancier smartphones, homes that think for themselves. When do we all get to collectively rise up and scream: "YOU HAVE GONE TOO FAR!!!"

To me, these races between Google, Amazon, Netflix, and any number of other companies highlight a real problem in society. Fierce competition doesn't always lead to bigger, better, newer, smarter. And trying to destroy one another and swallow up every other industry and competitor seems not only foolish but

dangerous. Korach and his associates raise some genuine issues with Moses and Aaron, but the antagonism and the toxicity of the debate lead only to destruction and chaos. It's not constructive or productive. And I fear that society today faces a similar problem. It may be a good mantra for all of us to hold in our heads - when is it "Rav Lachem"? When is it simply "too much" and we need to scale back? Four verses after Korach's attack, Moses throws it back in his face. He uses the same phrase, "Rav Lachem," about Korach's audacity, his chutzpah. Indeed, it is a question that EVERYONE needs to consider, on a global, societal, and individual level. Sometimes we all could use a reminder that "less is more." Now how do we get that message over to Amazon?

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of Kcida10 on Wikimedia Commons

2. CC image courtesy of Michaeldsuarez on Wikimedia Commons

3. CC image courtesy of Infrogmation on Wikimedia Commons

4. CC image courtesy of FotoDawg on Wikimedia Commons

Vayikra: Why God Needs a Perfect Seder

Every so often, I get questions from congregants (and others) that basically amount to, "Why does God need x?" The context of each is unique, the holiday/
commandment/ritual/ethic affected is different, but the underlying curiosity is the same. I would rephrase what they're all asking me as, "If God is omnipotent, omnipresent, and good... why does God need something from us??" Just last week, an Ohev member asked why God needed the Israelites to paint their doorposts with blood, just before the firstborn Egyptians were killed in the tenth plague; doesn't God know who lives where?? A fair question indeed.

A similar query could be asked regarding this week's Torah portion. Vayikra (the Torah portion AND the third Book of the Torah) begins with a description of 

various sacrificial rituals. With every type of offering, an emphasis is placed on perfection. Animals must be "without blemish" (Lev. 1:3, 1:10, 3:1, 3:6) and grain/produce must be "the finest" available (2:1, 4, 5, 7, 12). I mean, everyone knows that God loves fancy things, right?!? What kind of an offering would it be, if your banana had a brown spot on it?? Is this a hobo-god we're dealing with?!?!? I don't think so!! God requires "the good stuff." God needs stuff to be pretty and perfect. OBVIOUSLY! (I hope my excessive use of exclamation points and question marks has made it clear that I'm being sarcastic. God doesn't want any of that silliness.)

But if God DOESN'T need perfection, and if God doesn't need our doorpost markers, then why are they listed as such in the Torah? Why do we regularly see God asking for things, gifts, gestures, and responses that an 

omnipotent Deity couldn't possibly NEED? So here's my answer to all these questions: It isn't about God. It's about us. No, I don't think God needs this "stuff." But WE need it. We need to be active partners in this covenant, this Jewish enterprise, for it to really mean something. If God does everything for us - if God just folded some arms and blinked some eyes and all the slaves magically found themselves settled in the Promised Land, with no plagues, no Exodus, no struggle - would we even really care? This is kind of a basic rule of human existence, right? If someone hands you a $100 bill, and you work your tail off to earn a different $100 bill; will they really be of equal value to you? We all know the answer.

This Sunday, April 2nd, Ohev is running a program called "How to Host a Seder." Hebrew School families are invited at 9:00 a.m. and the whole congregation at 10:40 a.m., to learn tips, suggestions, recipes, and (hopefully) interesting material about how to run a Seder. And I'm mentioning this here, because this too is about 

OWNING Jewish ritual. You can run a 5-minute Seder and call it a day, OR you could go a step or two further and make it a meaningful and spiritual experience. Not because God needs your super-Seder, but because you do. We get more out of experiences when we first put more INTO them. Offering a perfect specimen, rather than the shriveled one you were going to toss in the trash anyway, makes the sacrifice more special and precious. I promise that on Sunday we won't review animal sacrifice rules or smear blood on door posts; that might be taking it a smidge too far... But we WILL be talking about how to make the Seder more meaningful AND fun. Again, not for God's benefit. God's doing just fine. This is for our sake, because the Seder has much to teach us, IF we're willing to learn. As we say in the Haggadah, the Seder night IS different from all other nights; let's work together to figure out just how unique and special it can be.

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of Internet Archive Book Images on Wikimedia Commons

2. CC image of a (appropriately named) "Pink Perfection" flower, courtesy of Chamaeleon~commonswiki on Wikimedia Commons
3. CC image from "I Dream of Jeannie," courtesy of SreeBot on Wikimedia Commons
4. CC image courtesy of Arthuc01 on Wikimedia Commons

Vayakhel-Pekudei (Ha-Chodesh): Don't Pass Over This New Beginning!

Well folks, Passover is around the corner! The weather (sort of) is turning towards spring, the days are getting longer, and Seder prep is upon us (oy...). On the
Jewish calendar, this is the start of the New Year. Didn't you know? On Shabbat, we will be reading a special maftir that introduces the month of Nisan (which includes Pesach) as follows: "Adonai said to Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt: 'This month shall mark for you the beginning of months; it shall be the first of the months of the year for you.'" (Exodus, 12:1-2) And indeed, Nisan is known as the first month of the Jewish year. Only one problem though: Don't we refer to Rosh Hashanah as "The Jewish New Year"? And if Nisan is the first month, why does the calendar tick over from 5777 to 5778 on Rosh Hashanah, in the seventh month of the year, Tishrei??? Yup, you guessed it; it's crazy Rabbinic Math!

I like to say to people, if the ancient rabbis had a choice between a simple solution and a complicated one, they almost always opted for the latter. Or they made up a
third option, or perhaps a sixth. Sigh. The answer to our question of when the year ACTUALLY begins is (of course) both. Rosh Hashanah marks the beginning of all Creation, and we read the beginning of Genesis about how the world came into being. And since Jewish tradition purports the earth to be 5,777 years old, it makes sense that the calendar changes in Tishrei, when we celebrate Rosh Hashanah. Passover, on the other hand, celebrates OUR Genesis; the origins of the Jewish people. We were a ragtag band of nobodies before this story; the Exodus from Egypt put us on the map of world history! It is the first month on the JEWISH calendar, because it marks the start of our formation into a a nation. So believe it or not, BOTH months celebrate an important new beginning. Not as dumb as they look, those rabbis...

I share all of this to help ground us, and to take stock, as we prepare for Pesach. That same maftir reading, which introduces Nisan as the first month, goes on to
describe how the very, very first Passover Seder was conducted: "They shall eat it (the Paschal lamb) roasted over the fire, with unleavened bread and with bitter herbs... You shall observe this ritual as a statute for you and for your children forever. And when your children say to you, 'What do you mean by this service?' you shall say, 'It is the sacrifice of the Lord’s Passover, for God passed over the houses of the people of Israel in Egypt, striking the Egyptians but sparing our houses'" (Ex. 12:8, 24-27). According to Tradition, that Seder took place nearly 3,500 YEARS AGO! And even if you don't believe that, it is certainly true that our ancestors have been sitting down for a (too lengthy) Seder as far back as we know there were Jews. Regardless of your theology or opinion of tradition, you are participating in a ceremony that is REALLY old.

Many of the rituals have definitely changed, and they will continue to shift and evolve; but at its core, our Seder is the same. We're still eating Matzah and Maror, and still listening to curious children prod adults for answers to EVERYTHING.
This holiday is where it all began for us, and I think that's a really big deal! And it's also NOT about the specific rituals you do or don't do during your Seder. Don't worry about all that. But I hope you do find yourself at a Seder - of some variety - and that when you do, you take a moment to appreciate how ancient this ritual really is. And how it celebrates our very origins as a people. When we know where we've been and where we are, it can truly transform our understanding of where we're going. May we all use this opportunity for New Beginnings, and feel a genuine sense of renewal and replenishment this Passover season. For our ancestors, Pesach meant the start of a New Year. May it mean that for us as well.

Chag Sameach and Shanah Tovah!

Photos in this blog post:

In honor of the upcoming holiday, I'm including pictures from my collection of Haggadot. I don't actually know how many I have, but it's A LOT! In this post, I've included pictures from:

1) The American Heritage Haggadah

2) A Japanese Haggadah

3) My Swedish Haggadah growing up

4) A wooden-cover, illuminated Haggadah

Ki Tavo: Mining the Curses for Hidden Blessings (guest-blog)

This week, my colleague and friend, Rabbi Kelilah Miller is guest-blogging for me. When life throws you curve balls, it's nice to know there are relief pitchers in the bullpen...

I want to thank Rabbi Gerber for inviting me to share some thoughts on the Torah portion as a guest blogger this week.  It is a special honor to be invited to guest-blog this week in particular, since it is on this coming Shabbat that Ohev Shalom will be officially welcoming Rabbi Gerber’s new son Max into the community and celebrating this new addition to the Gerber family!  Mazal Tov!

In keeping with the idea of celebrating new beginnings, this week’s Torah Portion is all about the privileges and responsibilities of (finally!) entering into the Land of Israel.  Also, in keeping with the hopes and anxieties of many parents (new and otherwise), this week’s Torah Portion contains a long litany of potential blessings and curses that await the People of Israel in the Land.

The blessings and curses of Parashat Ki Tavo are delivered in dramatic fashion, with half of the tribes of Israel shouting the blessings from one mountain and the other half of the tribes shouting the curses from another.  If the People of Israel observe God’s Covenant, they will be blessed beyond measure.  If they reject the responsibilities of the Covenant, they will suffer dire consequences.

It is interesting to note that this is not just another message that Moses delivers to the People as a “solo speech”. By having the tribes recite both the blessings and the curses, Moses forces the People to take ownership over what they are saying.  They have to own and acknowledge that they are not powerless victims of random fate or beneficiaries of blind luck.  They also have to recognize that they are not the sole masters of their fate.  Instead, they are partners with God in an effort to maximize blessing in the Land.  They are part of an integrated system of cause and effect, a web of ethical connection and Covenantal responsibility.

While perhaps not all of us subscribe to a literal understanding of God as an all-powerful (perhaps punitive) judge, we are becoming more and more aware of our interconnectedness as we confront a looming, multifaceted, and ongoing environmental crisis. As the scientific evidence piles up, it becomes clearer and clearer that we have a powerful opportunity to claim and shape our role as agents of either blessings or curses.  Just as the Children of Israel need to name the blessings and curses in this week’s Torah Portion, maybe we need to name the curses that we risk bringing upon ourselves as well as the blessings that might emerge from a community and culture that are grounded in the awe and wonder of Creation.

It just so happens that this Shabbat coincides with Interfaith Food Waste Weekend, when many religious communities are exploring the impact of food waste on our lives, on our communities,  and on the planet.  As Rabbi Gerber and I were discussing the Torah Portion this morning, he observed that the issue of food waste really encompasses both blessings and curses.  We are blessed by an abundance of food on our planet.  If we were to distribute that abundance justly and efficiently, no person would need to go hungry.  But we bring curses on ourselves when we waste the blessing of food.  And it’s not only the curse of hunger that we create through wasting food; the carbon footprint of food waste rivals that of some entire countries.  Our inefficient food systems actively contribute to the degradation of a livable planet.

But...just as blessings can be transformed into curses through carelessness or spiritual disconnection, curses can also be mined for blessings.  The precariousness of our ecological situation reveals awe-inspiring truths about our relationship to all living things and provides inspiration to act on a more powerful vision of the future.  In bearing witness to natural disasters and the injustice of hunger, we can become more keenly aware of the image of God in all people and discover commonalities that make us better allies to one another.

I hope that, as we enter into the High Holiday season, we find ways to take joy in the recognition of our partnership with God, and in the responsibilities and opportunities that go along with that relationship.