Torah for the 21st Century by Rabbi Ariel Stone

Shabbat BeHukotai: Justice, Not Vengeance

“Even though Trump wanted me executed even when it was proven that I was innocent, I’m not celebrating this verdict. We should be proud that today the system worked. But we should be somber that we Americans have an ex-president who has been found guilty on 34 separate felony charges.”

– Harlem City Councilman Yusef Salaam, one of the exonerated Central Park Five

This week we come to the end of the book VaYikra with the parashah named BeHukotai (note: the word is parashah by itself, and parashat only when it is immediately followed by a modifier. So: we read the parashah. Which parashah? This week it is parashat BeHukotai.)

The content of parashat BeHukotai is traditionally known for the hair-raising curses it lists in lurid detail. These tokhekhot, “reproofs”, can easily be misunderstood as a cheap form of threat: if you do not obey My rules, HaShem seems to be saying, I will hunt you down and torture you for generations in many creative ways.

I recently ran across a book called 1177 BC: The Year Civilization Collapsed, by Eric Cline, which chronicles a widespread decline of Mediterranean societies in the late Bronze Age. According to the scholarly consensus, the people of Israel emerge as a traceable entity just about or after that time, in the land of Canaan. In that context, the curses of our parashah are a simple list of what everybody knows happens when political upheaval and economic instability are exacerbated by pandemic and climate changes.

Cline’s point is that human civilization goes through cycles, and that the collapse of civilization can happen again, and so it is in our interest to understand why if we would forestall it in our own day.

Torah insists that we all must understand our part in society in terms of our own agency as a human community capable of justice. If we do not do justice, bad things will happen, and if we do not notice and act, it will get worse: If you will still not hearken to me then I will chastise you more… (Lev.26.18) The growing catastrophe is expressed in terms of what HaShem will do, yes; this the Torah’s way of expressing the inevitability of cause and unfortunate effect.

Our Torah’s approach, just as in the case of the catastrophic Flood that destroyed civilization, focuses on the ethics that lie underneath it all. Not in some simplistic way that seeks out the appropriate place for blame, but, going deeper, demands that we consider the interconnected way in which we are all part of what is happening.

The difference is vital, for if we do not understand our interconnectedness, blaming too easily gives way to vengeance. We look for someone other than ourselves to blame and to execute vengeance upon, and then – too easily – find ourselves faultless. And after all, HaShem says “vengeance is Mine” (Deut. 32.35), meaning not appropriately ours. Justice, the more difficult and higher good, is the necessarily condition for secure and stable society, for, as the prophet proclaims, only there does HaShem dwell:

כֹּ֚ה אָמַ֣ר ה’ שִׁמְר֥וּ מִשְׁפָּ֖ט וַעֲשׂ֣וּ צְדָקָ֑ה כִּֽי־קְרוֹבָ֤ה יְשֽׁוּעָתִי֙ לָב֔וֹא וְצִדְקָתִ֖י לְהִגָּלֽוֹת׃

HaShem says: Observe what is right and do what is just; for soon My salvation shall come, and my deliverance be revealed. (Isaiah 56.1)

HaShem dwells among us only when we are united: when we treat our neighbor as we wish to be treated, when we care for the vulnerable as we want to be cared for because they are a part of us. And, yes, when we regard the evil that others do not as theirs alone, but as a warning sign of what we would prefer not to realize is part of us, also.

Only justice will help us build the world we want to live in, and only continuing to believe in and to do justice on every little level of our lives will support us if ours turns out to be a small outpost in some looming chaos. We can’t control what happens to us, but we can, always, choose our response. We can always choose to rise above the emotions that tempt us to rejoice in our enemies’ downfall, and to seek vengeance. We can always seek out the continuing Presence we are capable of evoking.

וְאַף־גַּם־זֹ֠את בִּֽהְיוֹתָ֞ם בְּאֶ֣רֶץ אֹֽיְבֵיהֶ֗ם לֹֽא־מְאַסְתִּ֤ים וְלֹֽא־גְעַלְתִּים֙ לְכַלֹּתָ֔ם לְהָפֵ֥ר בְּרִיתִ֖י אִתָּ֑ם כִּ֛י אֲנִ֥י ה’ אֱלֹהֵיהֶֽם׃

Yet, even then, when they are in the land of their enemies, I will not reject them or spurn them so as to destroy them, annulling My covenant with them: for I ‘ה am their God. (Lev. 26.44)

Shabbat BeHar: Everything is Connected

מָה עִנְיַן שְׁמִטָּה אֵצֶל הַר סִינַי? – What does shemitta have to do with Mount Sinai? (Rashi ז“ל)

Suppose there is something going on in the universe which is to ordinary, everyday reality as our unconscious is to our daily lives? Softly, but unmistakably guiding it. Most of the time, we are unaware of it. Yet, every now and then, on account of some fluke, we are startled by the results of its presence. We realize we have been part of something with neither consciousness nor consent. It is so sweet and then it is gone. You say, But I don’t believe in HaShem…What makes you think it matters to HaShem? – Rabbi Lawrence Kushner, Invisible Lines of Connection

The first two verses of parashat BeHar, are:

וַיְדַבֵּ֤ר יְהֹוָה֙ אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֔ה בְּהַ֥ר סִינַ֖י לֵאמֹֽר׃ דַּבֵּ֞ר אֶל־בְּנֵ֤י יִשְׂרָאֵל֙ וְאָמַרְתָּ֣ אֲלֵהֶ֔ם כִּ֤י תָבֹ֙אוּ֙ אֶל־הָאָ֔רֶץ אֲשֶׁ֥ר אֲנִ֖י נֹתֵ֣ן לָכֶ֑ם וְשָׁבְתָ֣ה הָאָ֔רֶץ שַׁבָּ֖ת לַיהֹוָֽה׃

יהוה spoke to Moses on Mount Sinai: Speak to the Israelite people and say to them: When you enter the land that I assign to you, the land shall observe a sabbath of יהוה. ((Lev. 25.1-2)

What is this, out of nowhere, mention of Sinai? We haven’t seen a mention of the place of Revelation for many a week’s Torah reading. And, as Rashi ז“ל asks, why now, of all times?

This famous comment by the most famous of Torah commentators has become in our tradition the Jewish equivalent comment of “what does that have to do with the price of tea in China?” That is to say, as Rashi asks, what does shemitta, the topic immediately following the opening verse, have to do with Mt Sinai, mentioned in that first verse. What can one remotely have to do with the other?

This kind of encountering the Creation is rooted in the idea that everything can be sorted out. Our lives are full of categories: animal, vegetable, mineral; kosher, vegan, omnivore; thinking, feeling, sensing. Many of us are caught up in serious and anxiety-provoking questions of identity and practice. We are supposed to define ourselves as this and not that, with or against, clearly separating and delineating the categories of our lives, and where we belong among them.

But that’s actually not possible, because we exist across categories. Everything does.

Whether or not we’ve noticed it, the forty-nine day ‘Omer counting period we’re engaged in since the first day of Pesakh offers us an interesting chance to experience the reality of our interconnectedness. As we contemplate each day of the ‘Omer, we are invited to consider our existence as a myriad of different yet interconnected characteristics of being: emotions of judgement and mercy; intellectual understanding, physical endurance, and more.

The idea is simple: you are a complicated being. You are more than one thing at a time (an expert in some things and a novice at others, for example) and you must sometimes bear the burden of inner conflict as a result. The mystical practice of counting the ‘omer invites us to recognize our conflicts and consider how we can turn them into an awareness of our essential ability to connect even when we seem very distant. It does this using a chart of the various attributes of our existence, and tracing their interconnectedness, day by day. You can see one version of the chart here: Sefirot.

Today, for example, is the thirty-first day of the ‘Omer. On this day we are to contemplate the interface in our lives of the qualities (among many others) of tiferet and hod. Tiferet is variously understood to mean compassion, harmony, and beauty. Hod is translated as splendor, also prophecy (maybe because hod is so often used to describe the Divine Presence), and may be understood as a short form of the word for thankfulness, as well.

How can you apply these concepts to your life in this moment, on this day? Gratitude for beauty where it may be found? Compassion in the face of dire prophecy? So many mixes might seem relevant. And at the end of these few moments of contemplation, you might find your sense of being in this world on this day is expanded, just a bit. Add to that a deep breath, and you might be a little more ready for what Shabbat invites you into: a time out of time, where you can be reminded by our parashah that everything relates to everything else, no matter how strange that may seem to our limited vision.

Shabbat Emir: Torah and Disability

What does it mean to “be without blemish?”

בְּשָׁעָה שֶׁיָּצְאוּ יִשְׂרָאֵל מִמִּצְרַיִם הָיוּ כָּל רֻבָּן בַּעֲלֵי מוּמִין, לָמָּה מִפְּנֵי שֶׁהָיוּ יְגֵעִים בַּטִּיט וּבַלְּבֵנִים וְעוֹלִים לְרֹאשׁ הַבִּנְיָן וּמִי שֶׁהוּא בּוֹנֶה עַל יְדֵי שֶׁהָיוּ עוֹלִין לְרָאשֵׁי הַדָּמוֹסִין, אוֹ הָאֶבֶן נוֹפֶלֶת וְקוֹטַעַת יָדוֹ, אוֹ הַקּוֹרָה אוֹ הַטִּיט נִכְנָס בְּעֵינָיו וְהוּא נִסְמָא. וְהָיוּ בַּעֲלֵי מוּמִין.

When the Israelites left Egypt, all were blemished, because they labored with clay and bricks and ascended to the top of the building. And whoever was a builder would ascend on ladders made of those bricks. Either a stone would fall and cut his hand, or a beam or a piece of clay would enter his eye and blind him. They were all blemished. (BaMidbar Rabbah 7.1)

This week in our Triennial Cycle minhag (“custom”) of Torah study, we begin the parashat hashavua here:

אִ֣ישׁ אִישׁ֩ מִבֵּ֨ית יִשְׂרָאֵ֜ל וּמִן־הַגֵּ֣ר בְּיִשְׂרָאֵ֗ל אֲשֶׁ֨ר יַקְרִ֤יב קׇרְבָּנוֹ֙ לְכׇל־נִדְרֵיהֶם֙ וּלְכׇל־נִדְבוֹתָ֔ם אֲשֶׁר־יַקְרִ֥יבוּ לה’ לְעֹלָֽה לִֽרְצֹנְכֶ֑ם תָּמִ֣ים זָכָ֔ר בַּבָּקָ֕ר בַּכְּשָׂבִ֖ים וּבָֽעִזִּֽים

When any person of the house of Israel or of the strangers in Israel presents a burnt offering as the offering for any vow or any freewill offering that they offer to ‘ה, it must, to be acceptable in your favor, be a zakhar tamim [“a male without blemish”], from cattle or sheep or goats (Lev. 22.18-19)

Earlier in the parashah, Levites with blemishes are similarly (not identically, however) disqualified from serving as priests. What can we moderns do when confronted with this teaching, other than disavow it as out of touch with our understanding of the equal worth of all human beings?

In our Torah-centered community, for example, we are dedicated to the mitzvah of equal access for all who seek to learn Torah. In order to actualize that goal, we’ve made attending Torah study free of charge, and we’ve made sure that all our community gatherings are on the first floor of the Eastside Jewish Commons. We use microphones to amplify voices and provide a link for those who access best by screen.

What can we learn from this Torah? First, we must remember the basic tenet that every word of Torah is capable of teaching us – sometimes we just can’t see it right away. If our human instinct is to refuse to leave anyone out who wishes to participate, then we must also extend that expectation to the words of Torah themselves: if we reject the idea of blemished people being unable to serve, then let us begin to examine this disturbing Torah from the perspective that no word of Torah is so blemished that it cannot be offered in the sacred service of Torah learning.

What might be the deeper understandings, beyond the surface peshat, of this idea that each of us who wishes to come close to HaShem must be zakhar tamim?

Zakhar: this word is translated both as “male” and as “memory.” Were men expected to be storytellers, preserving the identity of the community through transmitting its history? Or are the two words merely homonyms, spelled the same but entirely different in meaning? If you know my teachings at all you’ve heard me suggest that what is required of us is not to bring all our males before HaShem in order to be acceptable, but to bring our memory, our history, our tradition, with us when we encounter HaShem.

Tamim: I noted that the comparison to sacrifices is not exact. The word tamim does not apply to the priests as it does to the animals. So: Torah does not expect that we sacrifice ourselves to HaShem; it uses the word tamim to mean something else when applied to human beings. If we compare to other usages in Torah, we see this:

אֵ֚לֶּה תּוֹלְדֹ֣ת נֹ֔חַ נֹ֗חַ אִ֥ישׁ צַדִּ֛יק תָּמִ֥ים הָיָ֖ה בְּדֹֽרֹתָ֑יו אֶת־הָֽאֱלֹהִ֖ים הִֽתְהַלֶּךְ־נֹֽחַ׃

This is the line of Noah.—Noah was a righteous man; he was blameless in his age; Noah walked with HaShem (Gen. 6.9)

וַיְהִ֣י אַבְרָ֔ם בֶּן־תִּשְׁעִ֥ים שָׁנָ֖ה וְתֵ֣שַׁע שָׁנִ֑ים וַיֵּרָ֨א יְהוָ֜ה אֶל־אַבְרָ֗ם וַיֹּ֤אמֶר אֵלָיו֙ אֲנִי־אֵ֣ל שַׁדַּ֔י הִתְהַלֵּ֥ךְ לְפָנַ֖י וֶהְיֵ֥ה תָמִֽים׃

When Abram was ninety-nine years old, ‘ה appeared to Abram and said to him, “I am El Shaddai. Walk in My ways and be blameless (Gen. 17.1)

תָּמִ֣ים תִּֽהְיֶ֔ה עִ֖ם ה’ אֱלֹהֶֽיךָ

You must be wholehearted with your God ‘ה (Deut. 18.13)

As the sages point out, Noah, described as “blameless in his age” was certainly not perfect – his age was so wicked that it brought about the destruction of the world. Abram is similarly a human being, and not perfect – even if we hold him up as our exemplar, the final use of the term makes it clear: we, all of us imperfect beings, are all to be tamim with HaShem, which in context here means loyal to HaShem only. To be “whole- hearted” is to be spiritually whole.

It is worth considering that among the deeper meanings of this teaching is this: that just as in the case of tzara’at, a visible blemish is an opportunity to learn by way of symbolism. Tamim in this way of understanding refers to spiritual wholeness, complete trust, and that rarest of modern qualities, a personal sense of integrity.

If we are to approach HaShem, then, the Torah may be hinting to us, we need to be zakhar tamim, fully aware of our place and responsibility within the vast Memory of our people, and in possession of a personal sense of peace and wholeness within us.

May our kehillah kedoshah always do all we can to make that wholeness and that belonging as accessible as we can possibly can for each other, so that we can fulfill the mitzvah of standing before HaShem as we are meant to: together, aware, and whole.

Shabbat Akharei Mot: When Memory Comes

After Pesakh, we return to the regular scheduled readings of the parashat hashavua. This week the parashah is Akharei Mot, in which we are confronted with a difficult narrative that recounts the violent accidental deaths of two young priests on their first day on the job.

וַיִּקְח֣וּ בְנֵֽי־אַ֠הֲרֹ֠ן נָדָ֨ב וַאֲבִיה֜וּא אִ֣ישׁ מַחְתָּת֗וֹ וַיִּתְּנ֤וּ בָהֵן֙ אֵ֔שׁ וַיָּשִׂ֥ימוּ עָלֶ֖יהָ קְטֹ֑רֶת וַיַּקְרִ֜יבוּ לִפְנֵ֤י ה אֵ֣שׁ זָרָ֔ה אֲשֶׁ֧ר לֹ֦א צִוָּ֖ה אֹתָֽם׃ וַתֵּ֥צֵא אֵ֛שׁ מִלִּפְנֵ֥י יְהֹוָ֖ה וַתֹּ֣אכַל אוֹתָ֑ם וַיָּמֻ֖תוּ לִפְנֵ֥י ה׃

Aaron’s sons Nadab and Abihu each took his fire pan, put fire in it, and laid incense, on it; and they offered before HaShem alien fire, which had not been enjoined upon them; and fire came forth from יהוה and consumed them; thus they died at the instance of HaShem.

There’s a poignant linkage between those two young men and all young adults, equipped as they are with all the trappings of adulthood but without yet fully functioning frontal lobes of the brain. They can be well intentioned yet ungainly in carrying out their aims as a baby calf, and the awkwardness, alas, can be deadly.

The violence on college campuses across the U.S. is caused by this conflict between the uncompromising morality of youth and the inability to see “what is being born” as a result of ill-considered actions. Without real organizing skills, hampered by a participation trophy society that has convinced them that their every feeling and action should be judged equal with all others, their good intentions go badly awry.

And Jews are the ones caught in the middle, as we often are during periods of social unrest. Unlike other marginalized communities, we are never the cool kids; there will never be a Movement for Jewish Lives joined by non-Jews everywhere in the cause of justice.

This month of Iyar on our Jewish calendar brings us the observance of two anniversaries to invite our comprehension of the morning news onto a higher level. On Sunday evening and Monday May 5 and 6 we observe Yom HaShoah v’HaGevurah, the day of remembering Holocaust and Heroism, timed to commemorate the Warsaw Ghetto uprising. Our people were starving and hopeless and yet rose up with all their remaining strength against the Nazis, and managed to hold them off for longer than the armies of Poland or France had been able to resist invasion. We remember their heroism, and, as well, we pause to remember all those who died in the years of that terrible evil.

Only a week later, we will commemorate the 76th anniversary of the founding of the modern State of Israel. It is often said that the modern State is like the phoenix that rose from the flames, but that is a Eurocentric narrative that discounts much. I will offer you more on that in next week’s email.

It is not madness for Jews, as traumatized as we have been as a community for so long, to fear the rising antisemitism in the U.S. It is, however, unwise and wrong to fault students for protesting moral evil such as that demonstrated by the current government of the State of Israel. Yes, their protests are hijacked by right wing elements. Yes, they give state power an excuse to lash out. But there is no stance more solidly Jewish than protesting injustice.

Follow the lead of Israelis who seek peace, not U.S. Jews flailing about in the world of secondary information. As Jews who care about justice, we must balance an awareness of the moral sins of the state of Israel as honestly as our ancient prophets did, yet also hold close the truth that because of antisemitism our ancestral homeland and our people will always attract far more than its share of attention and criticism.

May is Jewish Heritage Month. It couldn’t come at a better time, reminding us as it does of a greater perspective than the all-consuming daily news. Jews have a vibrant and welcoming culture: bagels! circle dances! and the Bible, source of the ethics of those passionate young people, whether they credit it or not:

צֶ֥דֶק צֶ֖דֶק תִּרְדֹּ֑ף לְמַ֤עַן תִּֽחְיֶה֙ וְיָרַשְׁתָּ֣ אֶת־הָאָ֔רֶץ אֲשֶׁר־יְהֹוָ֥ה אֱלֹהֶ֖יךָ נֹתֵ֥ן לָֽךְ׃

“Justice, justice shall you pursue, that you may live and thrive.” (Deut. 16.18)

This week, we make room for remembering and for mourning. Next week we will carry on seeking to build the better world we envision. That is Jewish culture; that is Jewish life.

Shabbat Shalom

Shabbat Hol HaMo’ed Pesakh 5784: Only Love

On this Shabbat which is called Shabbat hol hamo’ed Pesakh, the Shabbat of the Intermediate Days of Pesakh, we are – just as the name implies – in the middle of the story. The middle is a dreadful place, neither here nor there, full of uncertainty and fear. In short, it is not usually the place where we are at our best. We find fault quickly with others and we succumb to anger all too often.

That wilderness of uncertainty is what our ancestors flung themselves into when they fled the certain misery of Egypt. To take them at their word, it was easily just as bad. For some it was worse, even as some of us would choose to accept a bad answer over a good but eternally open question.

If the message of the Exodus is that we must leave certain misery in order to become free, then the message of this hol hamo’ed Pesakh is that leaving is not a momentary act, but an ongoing lifelong practice.

The language of addiction gets at this idea, but is too confining; all of us are regularly in need of support to continue moving through the wilderness of neither here nor there which is truly the only constant of our lives – if we are awake to it. The stress of this uncertainty is what can bring out either the best that we can become, or, sometimes, the worst of what we have been.

HaShem is our role model here. In the special reading for this Shabbat (not your regular parashat hashavua) we read of the world-destroying anger that Moshe, with unfathomable courage, stands against. Even HaShem is affected by the reality of the wilderness wandering which has just commenced, in which nothing can be predicted with certainty and all are afraid.

We too can destroy worlds with our anger. Worlds of relationship, of belonging, of dependable reliance. In this usefully anthropomorphic passage, just as HaShem tells Moshe of the erupting anger that threatens to end their story, so we should find someone we trust to tell them of the anger we feel, and get help managing it before it destroys something.

Our ancestors derive from this story the lesson that anger is the most destructive human emotion – when turned outward we destroy connection, and when turned inward we destroy ourselves. Like Moshe, we should listen to our companions’ anger for the words that will allow us to bring up another perspective:

וְעַתָּה֙ הַנִּ֣יחָה לִּ֔י וְיִֽחַר־אַפִּ֥י בָהֶ֖ם וַאֲכַלֵּ֑ם וְאֶֽעֱשֶׂ֥ה אוֹתְךָ֖ לְג֥וֹי גָּדֽוֹל׃

“Now, let Me be, that My anger may blaze forth against them and that I may destroy them, and I will then make of you a great nation.” (Ex. 32.10)

At that moment Moshe sees the opening. He does not “let HaShem be,” but jumps in to persuade and cajole – and HaShem is able to hear, and to relent. Just after this exchange, our sages offer stories of other ways in which we can see HaShem as a role model; just like us, HaShem, they assert, also has a need to take time for prayer.

What is HaShem’s prayer?

מַאי מְצַלֵּי? אָמַר רַב זוּטְרָא בַּר טוֹבִיָּה, אָמַר רַב: ״יְהִי רָצוֹן מִלְּפָנַי שֶׁיִּכְבְּשׁוּ רַחֲמַי אֶת כַּעֲסִי.

Rav Zutra bar Tovia said that Rav said “HaShem says: May it be My will that My mercy will overcome My anger.” (BT Berakhot 7a)

May we be reminded of that other quality that we also carry with us, the lifesaving and community building attribute of mercy. This week, the first week of our omer counting period, focuses us on mercy, and its companion characteristics of grace and love. The other name for the Hesed sefirah in Jewish mysticism is Greatness – which is found only in love, never in anger.

Anger is justified in our times as a necessary corrective to abuse. With Brenee Brown I would suggest that this is an impoverished understanding of emotional complexity; what we call “good” anger is actually righteous indignation. To see the difference, simply consider the effects in the world. Does love triumph and community thrive? Then it was not anger.

The wisdom of our ancient tradition indicates that we must read the Song of Songs during Pesakh. May its words help us to learn to balance our anger with love, even during the most uncertain of times. Only with love will we reach any place worth being.

מַ֣יִם רַבִּ֗ים לֹ֤א יֽוּכְלוּ֙ לְכַבּ֣וֹת אֶת־הָֽאַהֲבָ֔ה וּנְהָר֖וֹת לֹ֣א יִשְׁטְפ֑וּהָ אִם־יִתֵּ֨ן אִ֜ישׁ אֶת־כׇּל־ה֤וֹן בֵּיתוֹ֙ בָּאַהֲבָ֔ה בּ֖וֹז יָב֥וּזוּ לֽוֹ׃

Vast floods cannot quench love,

Nor rivers drown it.

If a person offered all their wealth for love,

They would be laughed to scorn. (Song of Songs 8.6)

Shabbat Tzav: Forget Your Perfect Offering

Sacrificing the Idea of Perfection

והנה תראה כי הוא לבדו ית״ש השלימות האמיתי המשולל מכל החסרונות ואין שלימות אחר כמוהו כלל.

And behold, see that HaShem’s alone is true perfection, devoid of all deficiencies. And there is no other perfection like it at all. – Derekh HaShem, Moshe Hayim Luzzatto, Amsterdam, 1745

“The better is the mortal enemy of the good.” – Pensées, Charles Louis de Montesquieu, 1726

Consider Aaron, getting ready for his first day of work. He’s been appointed by no less than HaShem to the highest ritual position, that of High Priest. In his priestly clothing he symbolizes the intimate and complex link between the Twelve Tribes of Israel and HaShem, and in that way, between earth and heaven.

He might be expected to strive for perfection in this position, since the Israelites will be looking to him as a perfect channel between the Source of Truth and Justice and their deepest needs, highest aspirations, and regular, reliable spiritual guidance.

Perhaps that’s why our parashat hashavua begins with this requirement of the High Priest on the first day of his new job:

זֶ֡ה קׇרְבַּן֩ אַהֲרֹ֨ן וּבָנָ֜יו אֲשֶׁר־יַקְרִ֣יבוּ לַֽה’ בְּיוֹם֙ הִמָּשַׁ֣ח אֹת֔וֹ עֲשִׂירִ֨ת הָאֵפָ֥ה סֹ֛לֶת מִנְחָ֖ה תָּמִ֑יד מַחֲצִיתָ֣הּ בַּבֹּ֔קֶר וּמַחֲצִיתָ֖הּ בָּעָֽרֶב…כָּלִ֥יל תׇּקְטָֽר׃

This is the offering that Aaron and his sons shall offer to ‘ה on the occasion of his anointment: a tenth of an ephah of choice flour as a regular meal offering, half of it in the morning and half of it in the evening…to be turned entirely into smoke. )Lev. 6.13-15, excerpt)

On the day of his initiation Aaron is to bring a קׇרְבַּן֩ , korban, which is best understood as bring-near, a sacrifice; on his first day of work, he is to sacrifice, perhaps, the expectation of perfection in his work. Note that it is entirely burned; he derives no sustenance from it, no souvenir of the first day of work. And it’s not even a lordly bull or majestic ram; it’s just a mixture of flour and oil, a simple batter that turns into a flatbread and then burns to ashes.

Up in smoke goes the perfect offering, and with it, perhaps, the expectation of perfection. What advice could be more important to give Aaron on this first day, when expectations and hopes are highest? This gentle message not to expect anything other than humanity – by definition, imperfection – is reminiscent of the compassionate Seder leader who makes sure to spill the wine onto the perfect tablecloth early, in full view of guests.

This is how we draw near to our best selves; not as visions of perfection, but as people who know how to respond to our own and each other’s mistakes with compassion. Not “cancelling”, but mercy.

All human projects would be best off with a spilled glass of something at the beginning, to remind us that we are not going to succeed in our dreams of perfection. Everything is at least a little bit broken, and only half-glimpsed at best; Aaron will continue trying the best he can to fulfill the role he has been given, and sometimes he’ll make mistakes.

The Torah teaches us in this way that sacrificing the idea – or ideal – of perfection is the only way we humans can persevere in our struggle to be good, and do good, in the world. Sometimes we will make mistakes, yes, even you and me, as near perfect as we try to be.

When that happens, remember the teaching of our ancestors: since the Temple altar was destroyed, the altar that matters most is the one we build in our hearts. We keep the small and steady flame of that fire burning not with impossible visions of perfection, but by daily sacrificing them so that we can look past that ego-driven obstacle to where our compassion is needed in the world, in the service of good that can be attained.

אֵ֗שׁ תָּמִ֛יד תּוּקַ֥ד עַל־הַמִּזְבֵּ֖חַ לֹ֥א תִכְבֶּֽה

A perpetual fire shall be kept burning on the altar, not to go out. (Lev. 6.6)

Shabbat Ki Tisa: The Taste of Idolatry

וַיִּקַּ֞ח אֶת־הָעֵ֨גֶל אֲשֶׁ֤ר עָשׂוּ֙ וַיִּשְׂרֹ֣ף בָּאֵ֔שׁ וַיִּטְחַ֖ן עַ֣ד אֲשֶׁר־דָּ֑ק וַיִּ֙זֶר֙ עַל־פְּנֵ֣י הַמַּ֔יִם וַיַּ֖שְׁקְ אֶת־בְּנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃

He took the calf that they had made and burned it with fire and ground it up until it was thin-powder, and strewed it on the surface of the water and made the Children of Israel drink it. Exodus 32.20 (Translation Everett Fox)

What is going on in the U. S. Jewish community?

Why do the secular Jews of the U.S. continue to support the occupation, excusing it and engaging in victim-blaming to an absurd degree that they would never tolerate in language anywhere else?

Why do so many secular U.S. Jews seem willing to ignore the ongoing suffering of Palestinians, when they are first in line to help any other suffering people?

Why are so many so willing to do what Jewish youth call “leave your Jewish ethics at the door when it comes to Israel”? Why are so many Jewish youth calling themselves anti-Zionist?

The war began with Hamas’ attack on Jewish communities in the area near Gaza, on a Shabbat morning. There is a huge symbolic difference between the U.S. Jews who chose to ignore Shabbat in order to begin rallying the community, and those who respected Shabbat. It has to do with what each group is actually worshipping.

Ever since, I’ve been thinking about the profound difference between Jews who seek out a shul when they are in pain, and Jews who do not. And I’ve been musing on the severity of the feelings aroused in many secular Jews whose Jewish identity is deeply linked to the State of Israel. They are using words like “pogrom” and “Babiy Yar” to express their sense of what happened.

But there is one big difference. The State of Israel was founded at least partially because pogroms happen to Jews who are defenseless in Diaspora. As my Israeli cousins and their friends already know, this was a failure of the state. As such for them it is a time very like the 9/11 experience in the U.S. Failures of intelligence and political negligence are a part of both events, and too many innocent people continue to die horrible deaths as a result of both.

In 1934 my great aunt Rina traveled with her family from Germany to Palestine, and Rina became part of the faithful Zionist fabric of the new state of Israel. She and her growing family went to war, participated joyfully in rationing and cooperated in a kind of social compact that truly seemed miraculous the first time I experienced it as a U.S. Jewish teenager. Shortly before her death we recalled an avocado tree she had planted, which now towers over several houses in her moshav. I asked her how she felt about the state she’d help to build for so many years. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” she replied. The second Lebanon war was then in progress, and Israeli military law enforced on the lives of of Palestinians was entering its second generation.

For any U.S. secular Jew for whom the State of Israel has been a very satisfying religion for 75 years, it’s getting harder to bat away the dismay. As of today, that which secular Jews have placed on top of the Holy Ark instead of HaShem has shown something worse than the “growing pains” or invoking “a harsh neighborhood” we offer as excuse when explaining the political corruption or stalled peace process, or the continuing misery of an occupation of other human beings which Israeli generals already warned in 1967 was going to be a powder keg.

Unthinkable as it may be, the State of Israel failed its citizens. And it is failing all of us who wanted to look toward it as a beacon of all that makes being Jewish meaningful and special to us. It is not acting as a Jewish state, not upholding Jewish values, not a haven for Jews – and not fulfilling the promise of its own Declaration of Independence. Every Israeli young adult who does their army service in the Occupied Territories is victimized; every Diaspora Jew who wants to support Israel with all their heart is devastated.

While we do not know what will come next, and I for one pray for peace with all my broken heart, the secular god of so many Jews will never again be what it was for so many of us: a safe Jewish place, where we could trust that the welfare of all Jews came first and foremost for its elected leaders, no matter what else was there to cause dismay.

When a god dies, as we know from ancient Middle Eastern theology, a people disappears. The grounding of the identity of secular Jews has been attacked in a way no enemy could manage. Their response leaves no room for nuance, no room for kindness, and no room for Torah. For those of us who do look to Torah for glimpses of deeper truth, this parasha of Ki Tisa, the story of the Golden Calf, is haunting.

וַיַּ֤רְא מֹשֶׁה֙ אֶת־הָעָ֔ם כִּ֥י פָרֻ֖עַ ה֑וּא כִּֽי־פְרָעֹ֣ה אַהֲרֹ֔ן לְשִׁמְצָ֖ה בְּקָמֵיהֶֽם׃

Moses saw that the people were out of control—since Aaron [i.e. their leadership] had let them get out of control—so that they were a menace to any who might oppose them. (Exodus 32.25)

We who are made terrified too often become dangerous, and incapable of discerning just action. So it is with traumatized Israelis, and so it is with traumatized Palestinians.

וַיֹּ֣אמֶר לָהֶ֗ם כֹּֽה־אָמַ֤ר יְהֹוָה֙ אֱלֹהֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל שִׂ֥ימוּ אִישׁ־חַרְבּ֖וֹ עַל־יְרֵכ֑וֹ עִבְר֨וּ וָשׁ֜וּבוּ מִשַּׁ֤עַר לָשַׁ֙עַר֙ בַּֽמַּחֲנֶ֔ה וְהִרְג֧וּ אִֽישׁ־אֶת־אָחִ֛יו וְאִ֥ישׁ אֶת־רֵעֵ֖הוּ וְאִ֥ישׁ אֶת־קְרֹבֽוֹ׃

He said to them, “Thus says יהוה, the God of Israel: Each of you put sword on thigh, go back and forth from gate to gate throughout the camp, and slay sibling, neighbor, and kin.”

וַיַּֽעֲשׂ֥וּ בְנֵֽי־לֵוִ֖י כִּדְבַ֣ר מֹשֶׁ֑ה וַיִּפֹּ֤ל מִן־הָעָם֙ בַּיּ֣וֹם הַה֔וּא כִּשְׁלֹ֥שֶׁת אַלְפֵ֖י אִֽישׁ׃

The men of Levi did as Moses had bidden; and some three thousand of the people fell that day. (Exodus 32.27-28)

And so from that place of fear and recoil, of the absence of human feeling, crowded out as it is by the hardening of our hearts, we become people who can justify the killing of people; who can take sides when the only side a Jew should take is l’hayim, the side of life. Note that this is not HaShem’s command, not that we see in the Torah; it is the command of Moshe, an angry, terrified, traumatized human being who in that state can no longer hear the voice of HaShem – or believes that the command to murder, which in fact originates in his own brain, was something that he actually heard from HaShem.

The golden calf idol was ground to dust that day and the people who survived were forced to drink it, consuming the own poison they themselves had allowed to grow in the name of security. As the peace activists – the scouts – of Israel and Palestine are bravely saying as they raise their voices together even now, when the fever of war has poisoned so many against them, is that there is no security without safety, and that there is no safety without peace.

In Jewish theology, idolatry is anything that keeps our hearts from seeing HaShem. We cannot see HaShem through the fog of fear, much less the place without mitzvot where fear leads us. By focusing our need for certainty and safety upon something less than HaShem, we seal our own doom as well as that of anyone who depends upon our acts.

If Israel is an idol, we are told from antiquity that HaShem will tear it down. For some of us, Israel has always meant safety in our homeland in a world that reliably hates Jews, but if we worship that state of Israel and, has v’halilah, insist that it inform our spirituality, we have fallen into deepest idolatry. It will not hold us up.

Shabbat Tetzaveh 5784

A year of Adar I and Purim Katan

וְהַיָּמִ֣ים הָ֠אֵ֠לֶּה נִזְכָּרִ֨ים וְנַעֲשִׂ֜ים בְּכׇל־דּ֣וֹר וָד֗וֹר מִשְׁפָּחָה֙ וּמִשְׁפָּחָ֔ה מְדִינָ֥ה וּמְדִינָ֖ה וְעִ֣יר וָעִ֑יר וִימֵ֞י הַפּוּרִ֣ים הָאֵ֗לֶּה לֹ֤א יַֽעַבְרוּ֙ מִתּ֣וֹךְ הַיְּהוּדִ֔ים וְזִכְרָ֖ם לֹא־יָס֥וּף מִזַּרְעָֽם

Consequently, these days are recalled and observed in every generation: by every family, every province, and every city. And these days of Purim shall never cease among the Jews, and the memory of them shall never perish among their descendants – Megillat Ester 9.28

Once upon a time in the pre-modern world, a custom was widely practiced that had to do with the precarious existence of Jewish communities that lived as small minorities within non-Jewish societies. It was called Purim sheni, “second Purim.” In places where Jews had survived a near disaster brought about by antisemitism, they commemorated the date yearly just as Esther and Mordecai created the first such commemoration in ancient Persia.

There’s a special Purim that was celebrated by the community for generations in Ancona, in Cairo, in Florence and in Fuoco; there’s one known to the Jews of Narbonne, Rhodes, Saragossa and Shiraz. There’s even one that was observed by the Jews of Tiberias.

In each case – and more than this – our people recognized their contemporary experience as resonant with our ancestors’ and found shared meaning in what was otherwise simply brute suffering and trauma. A close call became an opportunity for yearly rehearsal and celebration, rather than simply stocking up jangled nerves and the development of maladaptations to future dangers.

How? by insisting on hope as an essential Jewish ethic. Lurianic mystical teachings from 15th century Sefat offer the image of little sparks hidden in larger “shells” that obscure them, shells of evil and suffering within which there always can be found a spark of hope, of holiness, of meaning. One such spark appears in our Jewish calendar today.

Today, 14 Adar I 5784, is Purim Katan, “little Purim,” a small intimation of what we celebrate one month from now. Every time the Jewish calendar adds the leap month of Adar II, seven times in a 19 year cycle, Purim is put off until the second month of Adar, and Adar I becomes a time of anticipation, and the deferred gratification of all that spring promises. We have to wait another month to celebrate the beginning of spring hopes, but on the date that would have been Purim in a non-leap year, we hint at it: add a bit of festivity to the day, the meal, the otherwise perhaps cloudy, dark and wet final days of winter.

Purim Katan, with its anticipation of the possibility of joy, is not the same as Purim Sheni, with its overwhelming relief at escape from certain catastrophe. Yet for all of us, it is what life these days is about; the bittersweet knowledge that with every joy comes certain fears (we’ll have security outside for our Purim celebration) and, at the same time, the longing in the midst of our anxieties for the release of a moment of happiness. Both of these states of being exist and they both cry out for expression.

And in the end, one of them is not meant to define us; it’s the dance that embraces them both. A close escape is not just something to seek sympathy for. It’s cause for celebration. Let Purim Katan be the beginning of a practice of seeing daily moments of joy, not sorrow, so that when Purim itself comes along in another month, we’ll be able to fulfill the sunlit words of the end of the Megillah we’ll hear together, G*d willing:

לַיְּהוּדִ֕ים הָֽיְתָ֥ה אוֹרָ֖ה וְשִׂמְחָ֑ה וְשָׂשֹׂ֖ן וִיקָֽר׃

The Jews enjoyed light and gladness, happiness and honor. (Megillat Ester 8.16)

Shabbat Mishpatim: From Egypt to…Purim?

מִמִּצְרָ֑יִם וְלֹא־יֵרָא֥וּ פָנַ֖י רֵיקָֽם

From Egypt none shall appear before Me empty-handed (Ex 23.15)

The initial letters of Mimitzrayim Velo Yera’u Panai Rekam, “from Egypt none shall appear before Me empty-handed” spell פורים – Purim.

Today is Rosh Hodesh Adar I, the first day of Adar I, so called because this is a leap year, in which the calendar which our ancestors devised adds an extra month (yes!) to our lunar- counted year. In this way we have always kept our harvest holy days, which of course are responsive to sun, in sync with actual Levantine harvest times.

Of all the months of the year that we could add, the Jews added a second month of Adar, the month of late winter in which we are taught that משנכנס אדר מרבים שמחה, mishenikhnas Adar marbim simkha, “from the beginning of Adar, joy increases.” In a regular year, Purim occurs at mid month; in a year with two Adars, we celebrate Purim in Adar II – which gives you a bit more time to work on your Purim costume.

The Rabbis of the Talmud speculated that when all the other holy days will fall into abeyance at the end of days, Purim will still be celebrated. Clearly there’s more to the day than what it seems on the surface: it is, after all, related to all those ancient rituals that seek the evoking of spring through human effort to connect to its energy, the energy of rebirth, which seems dead and buried all winter.

Who has the energy to be joyful? How in the name of all that’s holy are we to conjure up joy, on the 126th day of the holding of Israeli hostages by Hamas, and nearly three months of the bombardment of Gaza? Not to mention all that stresses us closer to home…

And yet! “True salvation,” teaches Rabbi Nahman of Bratislav, “actually begins with Purim.” Before we can come together as a community and harvest our resources together, something else has to happen first – something, perhaps, that can lead us toward the simkha that is meant to appear at this time in our Jewish year.

Rebbe Nahman sees the answer in this verse from our parashah for this week, parashat Shoftim. This parashah is full of halakhot of a particular kind, adding up to the regulation of society. What kind of rules epitomize ancient Israelite – and modern Jewish – society? Beyond the expected take care of each other sort of law, such as don’t steal, don’t murder, don’t lie, we have laws that push our sense of who is included in this society:

וְגֵ֥ר לֹא־תוֹנֶ֖ה וְלֹ֣א תִלְחָצֶ֑נּוּ כִּֽי־גֵרִ֥ים הֱיִיתֶ֖ם בְּאֶ֥רֶץ מִצְרָֽיִם׃

Now a sojourner you are not to maltreat, you are not to oppress him, for sojourners were you in the land of Egypt. (Ex. 22.20)

כִּ֣י תִפְגַּ֞ע שׁ֧וֹר אֹֽיִבְךָ֛ א֥וֹ חֲמֹר֖וֹ תֹּעֶ֑ה הָשֵׁ֥ב תְּשִׁיבֶ֖נּוּ לֽוֹ׃

When you encounter your enemy’s ox or his donkey straying, return it, return it to him. (Ex. 23.4)

Our society includes not only those who are our friends and family, but also those who are visitors, and even those who we would name enemy. The word in Hebrew is אויב, oyev. The term is classically used to indicate a foe, but can also refer in mystical terms to the yetzer hara’, that which is our personal inner enemy as we struggle to become more whole, more our best selves.

Purim is about the overcoming of Amalek, not only an external Enemy of the Jews (which certainly does exist) but also the internal obstacles to our ability to fulfill mitzvot, such as the obligation to experience joy. Joy is as real as pain, and it too exists if we look for it and give it space.

When we appear before HaShem we are not to show up empty-handed. Where leaving Egypt may seem to be leaving everything behind in order to become, we do not have to arrive at a harvest in order to be able to fill our hands with the offering most needed at this time. Joy is not some disconnected state apart from our day to day; perhaps: perhaps, it is more like the step by step, mitzvah by mitzvah awareness that something worthwhile is happening in every moment of our lives, and that we can rise to meet it.

On this Shabbat, consider your Amalek, whether it be another person, or a situation, or a feeling that is entirely your inner reality. Can you discover another approach to that obstacle? And can that movement help you start to feel the way your hands, and heart, can begin to fill with joy, yes, even you, yes – even now?

Shabbat Yitro: Who’s There?

וַיּוֹצֵ֨א מֹשֶׁ֧ה אֶת־הָעָ֛ם לִקְרַ֥את הָֽאֱלֹהִ֖ים מִן־הַֽמַּחֲנֶ֑ה וַיִּֽתְיַצְּב֖וּ בְּתַחְתִּ֥ית הָהָֽר׃

Moshe brought the people out toward God, from the camp, and they stationed themselves beneath the mountain. (Exodus 19.17)

Shabbat Yitro records our ancestors’ story of the ultimate moment of revelation between the Jewish people and HaShem. This moment is so overwhelmingly interesting to theologians that most of the commentaries focus on the experience of the “numinous”as Rudolf Otto defines it.

[Otto] calls this experience “numinous,” and says it has three components. These are often designated with a Latin phrase: mysterium tremendum et fascinans. As mysterium, the numinous is “wholly other”– entirely different from anything we experience in ordinary life. It evokes a reaction of silence. But the numinous is also a mysterium tremendum. It provokes terror because it presents itself as overwhelming power. Finally, the numinous presents itself as fascinans, as merciful and gracious.

But, as Emanuel Levinas, another philosopher of religion, reminds us, Jewish spiritual experience is based upon the moment of communication – of meeting, and that Jewish ethics can be defined as our response to that moment. This means that the moment at Sinai is not only about HaShem being revealed in some mysterious and fascinating way; Sinai is also about who is doing the meeting, and how?

Who is that, at the foot of the mountain? In the Torah, this group is referred to as they come out of Egypt as an erev rav, a motley and diverse group: some descendants of Jacob, some not. Ancient Egyptians slaves were Nubians, Canaanites, Libyans, and of course surviving losers on any Egyptian battlefield – all those were possibly along with us for the ride – even Egyptians.

Yet after this moment, whatever its content, we are one people. The word in Hebrew used to define the group that stood at the mountain is עם am, which has a wide range of uses in Hebrew:

Nation, people, folk, community, tribe.

Populace, inhabitants, natives.

Crowd, multitude, mob.

Common, ignorant, boorish people.

Common uses of this term in Jewish culture include HaShem calling us by the frustrated label am kashe oref, a “stiff-necked people,” and the intimate term amkha, which literally means “your people”.

Who are these people, this am sharing in this holy moment of meeting? And since we are bidden to consider this moment of revelation as constantly a present moment of our own experience, who, it must be asked, are we?

The Jewish people is learning over the past few months that we are a community that needs each other, and where we seek safety to ask our questions and feel big feelings. An unscientific poll reveals many different shades of meaning for that belonging. On this Shabbat, I invite you to consider these different definitions and to imagine yourself, a Jew, among this diverse, yet one, am. One people whose experience of life’s meaning stems from one moment, standing together in the face of something beyond us, something that offers us belonging, in all our diversity, in an endless mystery of becoming.

The difference between unity and harmony

Being there; showing up

Friendship

Something beyond choice

“Who you’re stuck with”

Bonding through blood and reciprocity

Family; chosen family

Trust that allows you to come as you are

Closeness and camaraderie

Similar values and rituals

People you want to be with

Lifeline: who I do life with

Helping me get out of my own way

Belonging

Where I don’t have to code switch

Reciprocity

Something more than just a group

An improbable existence

Trust; safety; reliability

Born into; placed into; chosen

Takes work

You are standing here, with us, all together. Where do you stand?