Parashat Shemini

Shabbat Shalom! This week's Torah portion is Parashat Shemini, a portion which I feel deeply connected to yet also continuously troubled by. It tells the stories of the sacrifices in the Mishkan. Aaron and his sons being freshly ordained, Moses walks them through the first official sacrifices, one of each sort described in Parashat Vayikra. After Aaron officiates all the correct korbanot, then two of his sons bring forth a “strange fire” and make an offering that was not commanded to the Lord. A different fire comes forth from the Lord and kills them.

Some years I feel very sympathetic toward Nadav and Avihu. The Haftarah especially draws the emotion toward sympathy for the characters. The haftarah comes from II Samuel and it tells us of Uzzah, son of Avinadav (I don't think the similarities in the names is a coincidence), who reaches out and grasps the Ark of the Covenant to steady it as it the wobbly oxen transport it to King David's tower in the newly established capital of Jerusalem. Uzzah too is killed instantly by God for disobeying the commandment forbidding contact with the Ark, but if he hadn't the Ark would have fallen and the tablets may have been broken again. His death seems cruel and unfair, and so the deaths in the connecting Torah portion also seem extreme.

However, in light of recent events, this year I am reading Nadav and Avihu as the extremists. Bringing an offering of unprescribed incense may not sound all that extremist, but the fact that they took it upon themselves to bring a gift for the Lord that was not asked for, instead of offering any of the number of sacrifices that were explicitly asked for, points toward zealotry. The jump from zealotry and presumptive over-enthusiasm in worship to religious extremism is not a far leap. In fact, 13th century French rabbi Chizkuni comments on Leviticus 10:1 that not only was this strange fire not asked for, God specifically commanded them not to bring it. Yet in their arrogance, they presumed to know the secret desire of God and brought this forbidden fire anyway.

This calls to mind those who kill in the name of religion. If they kill because they believe their idea of God and faith to be the correct one, does that not violate one of the 10 commandments, “Thou shalt not murder”? If they kill because they believe those whom they target are members of a violent and dangerous religion, does that not violate laws of logic and country? These terrorists too act only out of their own arrogance, a presumption of knowing some deeper truth than the one that tells us we are all made in the Divine image and have an equal right to live with dignity and to worship freely without fear.

I don’t wish death upon anyone else. But I hope that akin to the fire of the Lord that went forth and struck down Nadav and Avihu in their tracks, a Divine spark might strike people inclined to extremism such that they might awaken to the harmful reality of their rhetoric and actions and turn them from their paths before more they incite more violence.  As human stewards of this earth, we can aid in this by spreading our own messages of peace and solidarity. May we stand together against hate and bigotry, and usher in a new world of acceptance and love. Amen and Shabbat Shalom.

Parashat Tzav & Purim

Shabbat Shalom and Chag Purim Sameach! Though tonight we are continuing the festive celebrations of the wonderful holiday of Purim, let’s not lose track of our Parashat HaShavua, which this week is Tzav. In this Torah portion, the priests’ duties, rights, and clothing are explained in great detail. It culminates with Aaron and his sons camping out in the Mishkan compound for a week for their ordination process.

Among the directions in this parasha is, “There is an eternal flame on the altar. Do not let it go out.” Of course, this is a literal direction for the priests. The physical fire must be kept burning for their sacrifices. However, the metaphor of keeping the fire burning inside your soul resonates for me with my favorite line in all of the Megillat Esther, when Mordecai says to Esther, “Do not imagine that you of all Jews will escape with your life by being in the king’s palace. On the contrary, if you keep silent in this crisis, relief and deliverance will come from another place, and your name will be forgotten. And who know, perhaps you have come to be in the position of royalty for exactly such a time as this.”

Each of us has our moment to shine, the opening at which we find our gifts, talents, privileges, power positions, connections, etc. are exactly what is needed to help people we care about, save a situation from disaster, boost up an issue we are concerned about. We must keep the fires of our passions burning so that we have the momentum, the awareness, of that moment when it is our turn to swoop in and save the day. May each of your find yourself with the burning fire of holy purpose to offer the sacrifice of your time and help those in need at just such a time as this. Amen, Shabbat Shalom, and Chag Purim Sameach.

Parashat Vayikra - Guatemala

Shabbat Shalom. This week’s Torah portion is Parashat Vayikra, the first in the Book of Leviticus. It is pretty much all about animal sacrifices, and you’re going to hear a lot about that tomorrow from our wonderful B’nai Mitzvah twins. Tonight, I would like to tell you a little about the incredibly busy and fulfilling week I had.

I spent considerable time Monday-Wednesday with colleagues from American Jewish World Service (AJWS). I was a Global Justice Fellow with them in 2014-2015, travelled to El Salvador and Nicaragua with them in January 2015, and attended a policy summit with them the following May, but this is the first time I’ve really gotten involved with them again since then. AJWS is primarily a grant giving organization that works with grassroots organizers all over the world in three main categories: civil rights and political freedom, land rights and food access, and healthcare rights, though sometimes there is overlap between those issues in the same community. Their main driving force is to identify the MOST marginalized in any given community and empower change makers from within the afflicted communities so that true equality and the dignity of human life might be achieved in even the darkest corners of a world full of troubles. 

Many of my colleagues who attended this convening with me are current Global Justice Fellows who have just returned from a trip to Guatemala. They shared their experiences with us in the space of the rabbinic convening, as well as with members of Congress and employees of the state department when we visited offices on Tuesday and Wednesday. As you may know, much of Central America is facing similar issues of destabilization and is still reeling with the echoes of the various civil wars and horrifying political violence from that spanned about 30 years in ripples across the region. Some countries, like Guatemala, have been on track in recent years to recover from that period of history but are now seeing fairly sudden backtracking of progress and justice. My colleagues’ trip to Guatemala was very much focused on AJWS's civil rights portfolio and how rule of law is deteriorating in Guatemala, while my trip to Nicaragua and El Salvador 4 years ago focused more on health for women, girls and LGBTI folks. I learned a lot from my colleagues, and I also noticed how much overlap there was in our experiences with our visits to these Central American communities, and how pressing these concerns still are now as we take them to Congress to ask for US support for human rights around the world.

For example, there is a bill currently on the floor in Congress to impose sanctions under the Global Magnitsky Human Rights Accountability Act to uphold and support the International Commission against Impunity in Guatemala, which the Guatemalan government is currently trying to undermine. The International Commission against Impunity in Guatemala, or CICIG, exists to serve as a third party impartial judicial body to work with the Guatemalan Judicial system to ensure corruption is kept out of legal proceedings so that justice and human rights prevails. This is the body that has allowed for the prosecution of many perpetrators of the genocide against the indigenous populations of Guatemala that occurred for much of the second half of the 20th century. Through these justice measures, CICIG has assisted in the democratic progress in the country as well. The current regime now wants to dismantle CICIG and pass an amnesty law that would set free the genocidaires, and put a great many people at renewed risk. As Jews, a people who have survived attempts at genocide and state-sponsored violence sometimes disguised as political necessity, we have a stake in genocide wherever it occurs. We have responsibility in ending it, investment in the justice and rebuilding that happens after, and interest in helping to prevent it wherever it seems likely to pop up again. Luckily, the Guatemalan Congress did not have a quorum to vote on their amnesty bill on Wednesday, so we have some time to take a breath and urge our Congress to pass our Guatemala bills currently in both the House and the Senate, and hopefully stay ahead of the possibility of coming atrocities in our neighboring nations.

Aside from talking a lot about Guatemala (as well as Burma, and the Global Gag Rule), in preparation for and inside of our meetings with U.S. government employees, this convening of rabbis also, obviously, talked about Torah. One colleague shared a Midrash on the word Vayikra that opens our parasha. The aleph at the end of the word is written in tiny lettering in every scroll of Torah that has ever been written to our knowledge, but the reason why is not evident. One explanation is that Moses originally wrote “Vayikar”, to communicate that Moses simply happened upon God at the Tent of Meeting, as though neither Moses nor God had any great intention of continuing their talks from on the Mountain in the Mishkan. But God wanted Moses to come chat, wanted Moses to know that he was called upon, and wanted anyone else who should read these words to know that Moses was called. So the aleph was written in as a correction, and that scribal transmission has been passed down through the millennia.  On the first afternoon of the convening, we were invited to turn to our neighbors and discuss what calls us to the work of social justice. Rabbi Jonah Pesner, director of the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism told his story of taking the train from his apartment in lower Manhattan up to the Bronx for his high school, and seeing the devastation along the way, and feeling called to help communities in New York, and that was the beginning of his lifetime of community organizing and social justice leadership. He asked us what our story is, why we are AJWS rabbis. I couldn’t think of anything. If you ask me about my call to the rabbinate, I could give you some clear moments and pinpoint the origin of that call. But for me, the call to empathy is so innate, I couldn’t think of a story. I thought about the moments of re-awakening that brought me back into activism in 2015. I thought about the time I received a “Feed the Children” donation card in the mail, to my name, and I cried because I was about 8 years old and didn’t actually have any money of my own to feed the children, and I felt terribly guilty in my comfortable home with enough food to eat that I still couldn’t help others despite my own privilege. But neither of those experiences really felt like the origin story Rabbi Pesner was asking for. I thought, maybe I just happened into this. My parents are very generous and compassionate people. My grandmother wrote anti-racist poetry in the 1960’s. My great-grandparents escaped the Pale of Settlement when facing potential banishment to Siberia for actively working to take down the czar. Maybe this was just the camp I was born into. But two fairly long days later, hearing the midrash on the word Vayikra, I thought, maybe I can’t pin down an exact moment of awakening, but I was called into working for human rights and equality as assuredly as I was called to the rabbinate, and both are equally holy occupations.

You may not be a rabbi, and you may not be an activist. But as a Jew, you too are called to Tikkun Olam, to repair the world, and as an American, you too have the right and privilege to use your moral imperative to sway our legislatures in matters of life and death for our fellow humans around the world. I urge you to use that call and that voice to make the world a better, safer place for everyone. May you find yourself called into Divine presence through holy work of peacemaking and justice. Amen and Shabbat Shalom.

Parashat Pekudei

    Shabbat Shalom. If you are like me, and have many friends who are spiritual members of the LGBTQ community, you may have seen as many responses as I have in the last week to the recent decision of the United Methodist Church to keep its ban on same-sex marriage and the ordaining of openly LGBTQ clergy. Other denominations before them have also had to deal with this issue, in some case approving amendments to their doctrines to allow greater inclusivity, in some cases not. In some cases it has led to denominational splits, although such a dramatic measure does not seem to be on the immediate horizon for the UMC. Many of my friends engaged on the issue have only become more committed to ensuring their Christian spaces are open and affirming to LGBTQ people.

          We're fortunate that this is not as much an issue for us as a Reform synagogue. Most Jewish movements now embrace LGBTQ members, most rabbinical schools accept and ordain Queer students and rabbis, and most non-Orthodox rabbis perform same-sex weddings. The first openly gay rabbi in the US was, unsurprisingly, a Reform rabbi, and though the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College beat Hebrew Union College by about 6 years in officially adapting its admissions rules to accept gay and lesbian students, HUC was the first to ordain openly trans rabbis. Ner Shalom is proud to follow the party line on this issue and embrace members of all sexualities and gender identities, and see members of the LGBTQ community in positions of leadership in our synagogue.

          That certainly doesn't mean that we are perfect or that our synagogue and Movement can't be doing more to be inclusive of LGBTQ folks and to center experiences that have previously been marginalized. But it at least shows we understand what it means to be in sacred relationship, and that there are many ways to express the sanctity of love beyond the love that is limited to  “marriage between a man and a woman.”

    In fact, the Jewish relationship to God is often throughout our texts referred to as a marriage. Yet God is not a person and Am Yisrael are many people, and there aren't really discernible genders to be ascribed to the Divine or to a nation. So we know from the most basic view of our Scripture that gender cannot be the sole defining factor in legitimizing relationships.

          In the BimBam video for this week's Torah portion, Parashat Pekudei, the narrator suggests that the Mishkan, the building of which is finally finished in this parasha, is the starter home for the newly weds God and the Israelites. The revelation on Sinai was the wedding, the Torah is the Ketubah, and now they are ready to settle in to a shared living space and marital bliss. He also comments on the Torah's reiteration of all the fine materials used to make the Mishkan, saying, wouldn't you want your marital home to be well-decorated, furnished with fine things that represent both personalities. It's a grown up couples’ home, not a bachelor pad, after all! But what truly makes the Mishkan or a newlywed couple's home beautiful isn't simply that it is beautifully decorated, perhaps with gold angels and silver crowns and fine fabrics of bright colors. It's that it is full of love: the love of a new family, the love between Israel and God, a holy space for a community to get closer to each other and to the Divine.

         So too, what makes our synagogue, and all houses of worship beautiful, should be the love of the community and the devotion to a higher purpose. Denying the humanity and equality of some subsets of our communities does not allow for the optimum level of love to fill the space. It limits the sanctification of the space by keeping out some of those who might otherwise serve and enrich our worship, our efforts toward tikkun olam, or our fellowship as a community. This is at least one reason why Ner Shalom will always be a safe space and a welcoming community to those who have felt marginalized in other houses of worship. Our hearts go out to our Queer Christian friends and family this Sabbath, and we reaffirm our commitment to seeing the full humanity in all worshippers, all loving couples, and all potential spiritual leaders.

         May we build our own Mishkan of love and holiness that honors sacred relationships of all formulations, and may our Tent of Meeting be big enough to welcome in all who seek communion with the Divine. Amen and Shabbat Shalom.

Parashat Vayek'hel

            Shabbat Shalom! This week’s Torah portion is Parashat Vayak’hel, in which the building of the Mishkan really starts. The Israelites have been given some instructions about this a few times already, but then the incident of the Golden Calf appears to get in the way. The people get nervous about Moses being gone so long, and they give up all their precious materials that should go to the Mishkan to the Calf instead, and rather than build a spiritual home for them all to worship the Ineffable One, they build an idol. But in this week’s parasha, they are back on course, and they seem to have more precious materials on hand, and they give from their hearts to allow the building of the Mishkan.

            The Torah tells us in Parashat Ki Tisa that Moses ground down the Calf and burnt it and mixed it with some waters and made the Israelites drink it, and a commonly held Midrash teaches that the Israelite women withheld their own gold from the endeavor to build the Calf, so all facts point to the idea that the materials that went into the Mishkan had to have been different sources, at least for the gold, and that it’s totally plausible there was still plenty of precious metals hidden in the women’s tents to contribute to the new project.

However, as I was reading this week’s parasha and some commentary, I couldn’t help but think about a BimBam (formerly known as G-dcast) video wherein I thought the narrator asserted that the same materials were reused. I relistened to that video this week, and indeed the narrator is a bit vague. He does say the “same materials” of great value are used in making both the Golden Calf and the Mishkan, but he doesn’t specify that the Calf’s gold itself is redistributed, so it could mean same as in of equal value and aesthetic, rather than physically reusing the literal same materials.

Yet, that concept still stuck with me, and I’m not convinced we should rule out the possibility either. How can Moses “burn” gold? It melts when hot! And while it is possible to grind it, and plausible someone could ingest small amounts of gold dust and survive, it doesn’t seem healthy and if it was indeed molten in the burning process it would more likely kill the one ingesting it. I mean, that used to be a form of torturous execution, which isn’t to say that Moses didn’t do that, because he does also tell the Levites to slay some sinners in Parashat Ki Tisa, but I think if that was the intent or outcome, the Torah might mention that as well, since it bothers to tell us of the 3,000 that die at the hands of the Levites. So, let’s say Moses grinds up some of it, and “burns,” or rather melts, a different part of it. He makes some of the sinners drink the non-molten gold dust, and uses the molten bits to put away as the Israelites’ down-payment on the Mishkan. Then in this week’s parasha, those who are still alive and able to move, what with that gold surely bloating their bellies, take the other gold they have left, as well as their stores of wood and fabrics and dolphin/unicorn skins.

Betzalel and Ohaliav take inventory of all that has been deposited into the Moses Building and Loan, and without regard to what came from who, what was recently donated and what might have been leftover from that Calf fiasco, they start building and crafting and weaving together all the materials. Those that have been used before for a nefarious purpose are now repurposed for good and added in seamlessly with those that have are fresh for this use, and no one will ever now which curve of gold was which.

Reb Nachman of Breslav is quoted as having said, “If you believe you can destroy, believe you can repair.” The Israelites’ gold was, perhaps, used to cause a great rift in their relationship with God, but then the same gold was, perhaps, used to create a home for God to dwell among them. The rift is healed and a beautiful thing is constructed, both physically and metaphysically. The same can be true for you in a great many situations. Your words can hurt or heal. Your money can be a tool of greed or a tool of tzedakah. Your love can smother or nourish. It’s not simply a matter of choosing to do good, because inevitably we all misstep sometimes. It’s a matter of knowing how to repair the mistake, how to rearrange the materials to make something anew after misuse of them. May you find ways to take the golden calves of your past and turn them into tabernacles for your future, repairing and reconstructing something uplifting and sanctifying for your lives and souls. Amen and Shabbat Shalom.