Friday, February 23, 2018

Parashat Tetzaveh and Shabbat Zachor

    Shabbat Shalom! This week’s Torah portion of Parashat Tetzaveh continues with the rules of how the Israelites should construct the Mishkan. This parasha even gets into the nitty gritty of exactly how the priests should dress when serving in the Mishkan, and how those garments should be made. The parasha opens, as I read, with the instructions for the Ner Tamid.
As I was reading Rabbi Shai Held’s chapter on this parasha from his book, Heart of Torah, earlier this week, I realized something I never really had before. I had always understood the Ner Tamid to be the “eternal lamp,” like our ever-burning bulb above the bima. But it turns out, this tradition that has been passed down through generations and become such a key part to our Jewish structures throughout the world and across eras, is based on a commentary on the Book of Numbers from sometime around the 5th century. The Midrash Sifrei on Parashat Beha’alotcha suggests that “tamid,” “eternal,” means that the Western Light was to burn all the time, and from that lamp, all the other lamps in the Mishkan or the Temple were lit each night. This speculation inspired the Ner Tamid that came to be in every synagogue for the last several hundred years.
However, as Rabbi Held pointed out in his drash on Parashat Tetzaveh, the second sentence of the parasha actually says really explicitly, “Aaron and his sons shall set them up in the Tent of Meeting … to burn from evening until morning before the Lord.” I suppose I used to read that to mean that at evening and morning they would have to refill the oil to keep the lamp eternally burning, but perhaps it means exactly as it says: the Ner Tamid needed to be lit every night. That’s it’s eternal aspect, every night for every generation. But what if it only actually burned through the night? What does that come to teach us? Rabbi Yehoyada Amir, a contemporary Reform rabbi, shifts the attention from how long the lamp stays lit for, to the act of lighting it, saying, “This is a light that we are commanded to kindle before God in order to express our presence before God, our standing ready to serve as partners in the work of holiness and the work of creation.”
Whether the Ner Tamid burned eternal and from it, all the other lamps were lit nightly, or whether it also had to be lit nightly, it is the physical act of bringing light into darkness, of igniting for ourselves the presence of God in our midst. Remember that elsewhere in the Torah it describes how God led the people of Israel through the wilderness as a pillar of smoke by day and a pillar of flame by night. Despite the instruction to let the flames burn before the Lord, God does not need additional lights for the Divine Dwelling place on Earth. Humans need to do the lighting. Judaism is a religion of action. Our rituals are tactile. More than saying the correct prayers from the prayer book and knowing the Hebrew or using the oldest tunes, we have elements like our kippot, our tallitot, maybe even tefillin for some, our candle lighting every Shabbat and on the eve of every holiday. We are commanded in tikkun olam and constant study. It is never enough to just say words, we must act to bring God into our hearts and homes.
This Shabbat is also Shabbat Zachor, the Sabbath of Remembrance. This is the Shabbat just before Purim, and many synagogues will read a part of Deuteronomy in addition to the Torah portion from Exodus that falls chronologically this week. Deuteronomy 27:17-19 tells us to defeat the Amalekites and to remember to blot out their names from memory. It is read on this Shabbat because it is claimed that Haman, the villain of the Purim story, was descended from Amalek. Just as we remember to blot out the names of the Amalekites, we retell the story of Haman every year, but boo and hiss and shake groggers over his name. It is not enough merely to forget about their existence. We must take actions to continuously blot out their names, as the candle that must be snuffed out. We’ll talk more about Haman and Esther and tell the whole story of the Megillah next week, but I want to mention one more thing - that Esther’s name means “I will hide” or “I will secret away,” and hers is only one of two books in the Tanakh that does not mention God.
The structure of the Mishkan and later the Temple allows for separations, which we see more of as the descriptions of its formation go on. From the Holy of Holies that no one is allowed in other than the High Priest once a year, to the Tent of Meeting that only priests are allowed to enter, to the courtyard where the people may bring their sacrifices, these separations remind us that though God is radically present, God is also mysterious and transcendent. We can approach, but we can never reach God totally. We can light the candles to shed light on some of the mysteries, but we can never see it all. This is why we must act out in our faith and perform radical acts of lovingkindness to bring about Divine miracles. Why we must find the courage of Esther, be each other’s role models and supports like Moses and Aaron. Sometimes Truth feels hidden from us, and the reality is, it is hidden from us. Even when God is radically present in a pillar of flame above the Mishkan, the Israelites still light the lamps around the the Mishkan to feel that connection to the flame, to unveil a little more of the mystery, to try to close a little more of the separation. And even when God speaks to no prophets and makes no promise to save the Jewish people of Persia, they are yet still miraculously saved. May we find God’s work in our own hands, and may we find our hands blessed to do God’s work in the world. Amen and Shabbat Shalom.

Thursday, February 15, 2018

Parashat Terumah

Shabbat Shalom! A hearty yasher koach to our visiting performers tonight (that means, awesome job). As we see from their performance, literally ANY dwelling place can be a place to find God and God hears our prayers from anywhere we call out for Divine Presence.
Despite knowing that any place can be a dwelling place for the Divine Presence among us, in this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Terumah, God starts telling the Israelites the very specific blueprints for how they should build the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, the Divine dwelling place on Earth. I had a teacher once who pointed out that throughout the ancient world, other than the Israelites, most other cultures were pantheistic, they had many gods. And different locales would have different patron gods. So even if a visitor primarily served another god, and even if they were to bring their personal idols with them on their visit, they would still make an offering to the patron god of the locality they were visiting. So when the Israelites were figuring out this whole monotheistic thing, they needed a patron God that was not only at every locality, but moved about with them, someplace they could make their offerings wherever they stopped to rest, as others would have made their offerings at the local altars.
In today’s world, as we no longer make physical offerings to God, and most people around us don’t make physical offerings to the Divine power they worship either, this model isn’t necessary anymore. These blueprints were used in constructing the Mishkan and First and Second Temple, but are likely to never be used again for any practical purpose. So for me, the instruction that really lingers is one that God gives about a quarter of the way into the parasha: “And let them make Me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them”.
Now, whether that sanctuary is a movable Tabernacle, a grand and Holy Temple, a modern day synagogue or church, or the belly of a giant fish, God is asking that we make space in our lives for the Divine Presence to dwell among us. That might mean making to pray, in a house of worship or in nature, together with others or alone. That might mean building more houses of worship or planting more forests to create the physical places that we can commune with God. It could mean reaching out to each other and finding the Holiness of community and friendship. Early 20th century Jewish philosopher Martin Buber says that when two people connect to one another authentically, God is the electrical charge that surges between them. In that moment, that conversation is the Mishkan.
We can each create or even be the Divine dwelling place on Earth. All that means is to make some space for something other than ourselves. To connect with God or with other people or with nature or with some combination of the three, to appreciate this world and the abundance we have been graced with. In doing so, we create greater peace within ourselves and our communities, and enhance our care for the environment, and that peace is the Divine presence settling down among our earthly lives.
May we make ourselves a sanctuary, that we may find holiness dwelling among us. Amen, and Shabbat Shalom.

Friday, February 9, 2018

Parashat Mishpatim

Shabbat Shalom! This week’s Torah portion is Parashat Mishpatim, in which we receive the directive, “You shall do no harm to the stranger in your midst, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt, and you shall not harm the widow or the orphan.” Countless times throughout Torah (well, I’m sure someone has counted them at some point, but it’s a lot and I’m not good with keeping track of numbers), God reminds us to care for the stranger, the widow, and the orphan. Sometimes it’s a reminder, as with this first occurrence, to simply not harm them. Sometimes God tells us to actively look out for them or to even love them. Sometimes the Torah reminds us to treat them equally, to have one law for all Israelites and our resident non-Jews among us. Many very smart rabbis before me have commented on this repetition to say that the Torah wouldn’t bother giving and re-giving this instruction if A) it wasn’t super important and B) if it wasn’t also a little bit hard.
If this weren’t important, God wouldn’t mention it. Or maybe it would be given once, among many other warnings about things that help give us structure to our Jewish lives and remind us to do the other more important things. Like the commandment to leave the sides of our heads or the corners of our clothing unshorn, which maybe by itself isn’t important, but it’s a ritual reminder to leave the corners of our fields unharvested so that the hungry may come and eat with dignity. Today, so many of us don’t grow payos or wear tzitzit on a regular basis, but as long we as remember to give to the hungry and honor the humanity in those less fortunate than ourselves, we are upholding the spirit of these laws. But commandment to care for the stranger, the orphan and the widow, is repeated so many times because it is in itself so very important to shaping our own humanity as righteous Jews as well. These categories are named specifically because of their vulnerability to exploitation. These are people who are considered outsiders to the mainstream culture, and/or who have lost their access to financial stability and their voice in the community. These are people who have lost their normal structures of support, whether familial or communal, through accident or through political strife and refugee status. In order to regain safety and health, they need a new community who will step up and help resettle them or their household affairs. They need support that is emotional, social, and physical. They need the same care that all of us need, but have fewer options from which to receive that care, and so the Torah reminds us again and again that it is incumbent on each of us to share their burdens, to build a welcoming community that has some resources to share, to look out for those who are vulnerable, to treat everyone who seeks to join our community equally, regardless of our perceived differences.
However, if this were an easy instruction to follow, we’d already be doing it, and doing it well at that. The Israelites would have been already demonstrating to God that they knew how to do it with the mixed multitudes that left Egypt for them. Neither the ancient Israelites nor we would need the constant reminders and different phrasing if God thought we could be trusted to follow the rule the first time it was given. Humans clearly have an entrenched problem with xenophobia that all communities have their own troubles overcoming, and modern Jews have serious security concerns of their own that sometimes lead to community gatekeeping. We can recognize these safety concerns and acknowledge the real roots of our fears and exclusivity, but we have to be willing to navigate them in a way that doesn’t hurt others.
Because if we do cause harm to others, especially to strangers in our communities, to widows, or to orphans God reminds us, God will hear their cries. The language in this threat is a reminder again to the reasoning: “For you were strangers in the land of Egypt and you know the feelings of the oppressed.” In Parashat Shemot, it tells us that God heard the cries of the Israelites and moves to help them. So too, now, if the stranger, the widow, or orphan, cry out to God, God will move to help them as well, and the result may not be as good for those who have done the oppressing. Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., is quoted as saying “Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor. It must be demanded by the oppressed.” Although the Rev. Dr.’s movement was one of non-violence, some who feel they must demand their freedom with all their might have turned to violence. Imagine what a world we might live in, if they didn’t have to make those demands at all. If there was no oppression to begin with, or if those with privilege moved to cease such harm as soon as they realized they were contributing to it.
Later, in Deuteronomy, when this demand is repeating yet again, the Torah will tell us that caring for these vulnerable and exploited classes is “walking in God’s way.” The Prophet Micah tells us to act justly, love goodness, and walk with God.  May we find this path of justice, goodness, and holiness. May we act with compassion to those in need and open our doors and our arms to all who seek to be a part of our community. And May we walk with God all the days of our lives. Amen and Shabbat Shalom.