Thursday, September 1, 2016

Parashat Re'eh and Rosh Hodesh Elul



            Shabbat Shalom. In this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Re’eh, Moses continues his long speech to the Israel people recapping all that has transpired and reiterating all the messages he has already delivered from God. There are some changes from where they are written in the earlier parts of the Torah, when they were happening in real time, but much of Deuteronomy continues to be reinforcing language. In Parashat Re’eh, Moses tells the people that they have choices in life. They can choose to follow the commandments, or they can choose to not follow the commandments. They are about to enter the Holy Land, and the entire generation of slaves that left Egypt has died in the wilderness, Moses being the last one. So they will not be forced to do anything they do not want to do anymore. God, via Moses as mouthpiece, simply wants to make sure the Israelites understand that if they don’t follow the commandments, they will be cursed, and if they do follow them, they will be blessed. Moses then goes on to reiterate what some of those commandments are, regarding Kosher laws, proper sacrifices in the Temple in Jerusalem, particularly at the three main festivals of Sukkot, Shavuot, and Passover. He also includes in this parasha the commandment to look out for those who need help in society; that all landed Israelites are commanded to give shelter and food to their Levite brothers when needed, since the Levites were not given a land inheritance in the Holy Land, and to give to charity so that the orphan, the widow, and the stranger in your midst may eat and be sheltered in safety and with dignity.
            This weekend we will have Rosh Hodesh Elul, the beginning of the month preceding the High Holy Days. Elul is often a time for reflection and preparing for the Days of Awe to come. During this Hebrew month we will have S’lichot, the last Shabbat and Havdallah of Elul, and the first step in the High Holy days (it is often the last Shabbat before Rosh HaShana, but it must fall a full week before the New Year, and since Rosh HaShana begins on a Sunday evening this year, it isn’t quite true to say that this year). During Elul, we might start to make a list of those we must apologize to and that which we must make amends for before we can honestly toss away those sins of last year at Tashlich or make Teshuvah on Yom Kippur. During Elul, we might start to think about why we made the choices we made in the past year that led us to sin and hurt those we care about. We might start to think about what choices we can make in the coming year instead to bring more goodness into our lives and the world.
            The great Medieval scholar Maimonides commented on the beginning of this parasha by saying, “Freedom of choice has been granted to every man: if he desires to turn toward a good path and be righteous, the ability to do so is in his hands; and if he desires to turn toward an evil path and be wicked, the ability to do so is in his hands. This concept is a fundamental principle and a pillar of the Torah and its commandments. As it is written [Deuteronomy 11:26]: See, I set before you today [a blessing and a curse]. For were G‑d to decree that a person be righteous or wicked, or if there were to exist something in the very essence of a person’s nature which would compel him toward a specific path, a specific conviction, a specific character trait or a specific deed, how could G‑d command us through the prophets, “Do this” and “do not do this”? What place would the entire Torah have? And by what measure of justice would G‑d punish the wicked and reward the righteous?” Thus, RaMBaM reminds us as we read this portion and enter into Elul, we must think about our choices, our free will as humans, and choose holiness. We must actively work toward righteousness and to uphold Torah in our lives.
When we get to the High Holy Days, we will say, “On Rosh HaShana it is written, on Yom Kippur it is sealed: who will live and who will die. But Teshuvah, Tefillah, and Tzedakah annul the severe decree.” Though I used the word charity earlier, translating tzedakah as charity isn’t quite right. Charity is something you give out of the kindness of your heart, and maybe even out of pity for the one to whom you are giving charity. But tzedakah is commanded to us, as we see in this parasha. The word tzedek means justice and a tzadik is a just and righteous person. Tzedekah may mean donating money, but it’s deeper than charity. It’s an act of righteousness, and a required one at that if we are to choose righteousness and holiness, to use our free will to uphold Torah, to hope to stave off Divine curses. Maimonides also comments on this, “Never, ever have we seen or heard about a Jewish community that does not have a tzedakah fund.”
As we enter into the month of Elul, let us begin to turn our minds to the season of teshuvah around the corner. Let us think about what it means to truly make teshuvah, which is not only a word we use for making amends with neighbors and God, but is a word that literally means “return.” To what do we need to return? What wrong turns have we made this year, and what choices can we make now to fix them? How can we better choose to uphold Torah, to follow mitzvot and walk in ways of holiness this year? Where, how, when, and why, can we give tzedakah so that it truly embodies righteousness and is not mere “charity?” May we continue to ponder these and related questions this month, that we may begin the New Year with honest and forward thinking goals for better practices of teshuvah, tefillah, and tzedakah in our everyday lives. Amen and Shabbat Shalom.
           

Thursday, August 25, 2016

Parashat Eikev (my first drash at my new synagogue)



            Shabbat Shalom, and thank you for welcoming me in to your lovely community. If we haven’t had a chance to meet yet, I’m Rabbi Lizz, and if we have met already but I introduce myself again, please excuse me. I’m still settling in and committing names and faces to memory, but I promise I’ll get there.
            This week’s Torah portion is Parashat Eikev. The word “eikev” in this context means “because,” but the word “akeiv” has the same Hebrew spelling (different vowels/pronunciations) and means “heel”. Many of the important Jewish commentators spent significant time determining why this somewhat unusual word was used for “because” and what the connections might be to this word for “heel.” The Lubavitcher Rebbe said that it means our commitment and connections to Torah should permeate our lives so thoroughly that we feel it throughout our whole bodies, down to our heels, “the lowest and least sensitive part of the person.” Our Jewish identities and obligations toward holiness are not confined to this room, but rather should influence how you live your everyday life and inform your daily decision making.
            This parasha also holds a paragraph that is traditionally included as part of the Shema/v’ahavta prayer. It has been taken out of the Reform prayer book because part of it is too full of Divine punishment and direct cause and effect of human actions and God reaction to fit into Reform ideology. The other part of this paragraph is repetitious with the words from Numbers that we do say in our V’ahavta: You shall love God and observe mitzvot. Teach them to your children. Bind them as a sign upon your hands and let them be frontlets before your eyes. Think about them when you go out of your gates and when you are sitting in your home, when you lie down at night and when you rise up in the morning. In doing so, you will embody the Divine holiness so thoroughly that you will feel it in your heels. The great medieval commentator Rashi summarizes the long speech Moses gives to the people on behalf of God in this portion as “If you do all that is incumbent on you [following the mitzvot], then God will do that which is incumbent on God [taking care of humans and the Earth].”
            As I begin my commitment to this community as rabbi, I want to make clear that I have every intention of doing that which is incumbent on me. I feel the pull to walk in the ways of holiness down to my heels: to think about mitzvot and tikun olam at each stage of my day, to teach Jewish values and laws and history to all who seek to learn, to be patient and compassionate, to be present, all as God and Torah command. In return, I hope you will do that which is incumbent on you: to let Judaism infuse your daily life, to be willing to form relationships with those around you, to be patient as I learn names and the particulars of this community, to represent the Jewish community righteously, and to walk in the ways of holiness with your whole self, down to your heels. And may we all walk together in peace. Amen and Shabbat shalom.

Friday, June 10, 2016

Parashat Bamidbar, and packing up my own Tabernacle

Shabbat Shalom. This week’s Parasha is Parashat Bamidbar, mainly containing the census. The tribes are each counted, but the tribe of Levi is left out of the census. Instead of being counted as among the potential warriors of Israel (as only the men over 20 of each other tribe are counted - “everyone who goes out to the army”), the Levites are instead appointed to tending to the tabernacle. When the Israelites are about to move on, it is the job of the Levites to break down the Tabernacle. When the Israelites settle at a new campsite, the Levites set the Tabernacle back up. Rashi comments that this appointment also carries over to the job of carrying the Tabernacle while the Israelites are actively in transit.
There is something ritualistic to the way the Levites are the facilitators and logistics team for this important and holy necessity of the nomadic Children of Israel. They need the Tabernacle to be the visual representation of God’s presence among them, and they need it to be able to come with them every time they move. They need someone among their mixed multitudes to be responsible for ensuring the Tabernacle makes it safely from place to place. It seems practical that the safest way to carry it around would be to dismantle and reassemble it at each place, but it also seems that that require a lot of extra manpower, again requiring that those responsible should be dedicated, appointed, authoritative. Who better, then, than the tribe from which Moses and Aaron and all the kohanim descend?
I am staring down the barrel of my own move and contemplating what is necessary to take with me, what is holy and needs to be transported carefully. Though I can pay movers and ask family for help, it's not really the same as having Levites who are intimately familiar with my most valued personal belongings, and specifically appointed by God to help me. I have been encamped here at Temple Beth Emeth for the majority of my time here in New York, and now I am preparing to leave. In August, I will be moving to Virginia to serve as the part-time rabbi of a small Reform congregation, and I'll be using my surplus time to explore unserved Jewish communities in the DC area. Although I'm remaining in the city for the summer, I'm already starting to pack up my own Tabernacle, mostly metaphorically so far, but soon I will have to literally start packing. I'm breaking down pieces in a holy and ritualistic way, trying to ensure that all the most important things make it to the next encampment.
It has been a wonderful experience working here these past years. Thank you all for being a part of my life and my journey toward my dream rabbinate. If you ever find yourself wandering bamidbar, in the wilderness, of the Manassas or Arlington areas of Virginia, please blow a shofar to me and come visit my encampment. You will enrich my Tabernacle there, too. Shabbat shalom.


Wednesday, May 18, 2016

Parashat Emor

            Shabbat Shalom! This week’s Torah portion is Parashat Emor, and it is mostly a list of rules for the priests to follow, though it also includes an explanation of holidays for all the Israelites to observe, and ends with story about a blasphemer that sets a strong tone for justice in the Israelite camp. In the last parasha, the Torah tells us multiple times, “You shall be holy,” but in this week’s parasha, as the Torah tells us of the extra responsibilities of the priests, that “They shall be holy” (Leviticus 21:6). Rashi comments on this use of the third person that it means they should be holy, even if against their will. A Midrash called the Torat Kohanim explains that this is to teach us that though the kohanim have extra responsibilities and carry a heavier burden of holiness, this extra load is not theirs alone. It is up to the community to continue to do their own work toward holiness and support the priests in their work. It is up to the community to hold the priests accountable for their actions and to see to it that the priests are indeed being holy.
            Later in the parasha, God commands that there should be one law for all in the camp, whether native Israelite or proselyte. This follows the story of the blasphemer, who was the son of an Israelite woman and an Egyptian man, and whose status was questionable. Nonetheless, God declares that the man’s cursing is on par with the cursing of an Israelite, and thus he should be shut out of the camp and stoned. When the Torah says that we should have one law for all, it is explicitly talking about those who are considered in-group and those who are considered resident aliens. However, I think it could also be interpreted that when the Torah teaches that we should have one law for everyone, in the same parasha that teaches that the community is responsible for the holiness of the priests, it is telling us that we must also apply law equally across tiers of structural hierarchies. Those in higher positions of power must still be beholden to those whom they serve, and the civilians below must take up their civic duties to ensure holiness is enacted at every level of the community.

            I’m sure this didn’t always happen in practicality in the Israelite camp. It certainly doesn’t always happen now. People in power often get away with corruption and the civilians below often allow it because they feel too disconnected from their civic duties to properly enforce them. Different treatments for in-groups, strangers, and leadership, are all unfortunately common practice. However, with the Torah reminding us of our responsibilities to each other, our duties to ensure each other’s holiness as well as our own, and the importance of equality and fair law enforcement for all people, we can hopefully continue to work toward bettering these systems and ousting the corruption in leadership. May we remember to see the holiness in others, may we encourage the holiness in others, and may we strive toward doing our own best in sharing the responsibilities of our communities. Amen and Shabbat Shalom. 

Friday, May 6, 2016

Parashat Acharei-Mot II

Shabbat Shalom! This week’s Torah portion is Parashat Acharei-Mot. In Leviticus 18, God command us not to do that which the Egyptians or Canaanites do, and rather to follow that which God tells us to do. These days, it is hard to hear the commands of God. Not all of the laws in the Torah make sense to us anymore, and some are not even possible for us to follow. So how do we know what it is God wants of us and what are the rules of other people that we aren't supposed to follow?

One of our earliest rabbis, Hillel, would say, “That which is hateful to you, do not do unto others. That is the whole Torah. The rest is commentary, go and learn.” The Divine Spark in each of us drives us. We have our conscience and our innate passions and quirks. I believe these inner voices are the commands of God now. And so, being true to ourselves, being honest about our needs and giving freely of ourselves, is how we can live out that which God wants of us.

We don't live among oppressive Egyptians and Canaanites anymore. Instead, we live in a beautifully diverse nation where sharing cultural differences is a positive. In the Torah, it's likely God is talking about separating from the people around the Israelites and condemning those who don't follow the same God. But today, the lesson from this Parasha instead, may be for us to be sure to follow our conscience and do that which we know in our hearts is right, even if it's not what those around us are doing.

Often in our lives we face peer pressure to do something we know we shouldn't or to ignore something that we know we really should do. Contrary to most public service announcements, this peer pressure is rarely explicit. It's more often a subtle process of socialization. It's seeing everyone around you doing something and assuming you should do it too. It's people slowly and subtly ostracizing those that are different, all the while with a polite smile on their faces. I think this quiet form of peer pressure is actually worse than the harsh demands the PSAs depict. When someone puts an ultimatum to you: “Do drugs or you can't be my friend”, you know they aren't really your friend. It's not actually that hard to walk away from that. When they're nice and encouraging about something and make it seem normal and innocuous, it can be harder to even realize when you're making the wrong choices or that you're choosing certain styles for the wrong reasons.

That is why it is so important to take the time to listen to your heart. To follow your conscience. To do that which God drives you to do and ignore that which those around you are doing. May we all find ourselves, our Divine Spark. May we find the courage to be true to ourselves and follow through on that which the Holy One expects of us. Amen and Shabbat Shalom.

Friday, April 29, 2016

Parashat Acharet-Mot/Passover/Yom HaShoa

 Shabbat Shalom. Tonight marks the conclusion of Passover for those of us in the Reform world and for many in the State of Israel. For the last week we have celebrated our liberation from Egypt, and hopefully we have enjoyed time with family, in song, with festive meals and wine. But in so many ways, liberation is not just a noun or something that happened to our ancestors in Egypt. It is also an act in motion, a constant state of being, something to be actively worked on in every generation. We say at our Passover tables, “B'-chol dor va-dor, cha-yav a-dam lir-ot, lir-ot et atz-mo k'-i-lu hu, ya-tza mi-mitz-ra-yim; In every generation, each person must regard himself or herself as if he or she had come out of Egypt,” but for many this is figurative. And when it is, we must remind ourselves that it is our duty as Jews to be a part of the liberation of others who still struggle to escape Mitzrayim. The narrow places of narrow minds, the oppression of laws that restrict movements and identities and loves and societies that discriminate against those that are different. We work for freedom and equality and justice for the sake of our Jewish brothers and sisters who are also queer or trans or black or homeless and who also fear racism and homophobia and transphobia and classism in addition to antisemitism and who still feel the weight of Pharaoh's slavery today. And we do this for the sake of our non-Jewish neighbors who also deserve liberation because we were slaves and now we are free, because we know the bitterness of oppression and we know that we would not wish it on anybody.
This coming week is Yom HaShoa, the Jewish day of memorial for the 6 million lost in the Holocaust. As you may know, I studied genocide and terrorism in college. The Holocaust was a watershed moment in history. Before it, we had no international laws to safeguard against such actions. The word “genocide” and the legal concept of “crimes against humanity” stem from this atrocity our people faced. But in sociological terms, the Holocaust is not unique. We know as Jews, that it was certainly not the first time our people were nearly wiped out. Our tradition is full of stories that may or may not be true: the Pharaoh in Egypt, Haman in Shushan, Antiochus in the Hellenistic-controlled land of Israel. Nearly every holiday we joke, “This story is the same as all the others: they tried to kill us, we won, let's eat.” But our history, documented and very real, also tells these stories. Pogroms and expulsions, forced conversions, the Inquisition, and ethnic cleansings that remained smaller than the Holocaust only because the governments carrying them out didn't bother to occupy other countries first to ensure their ethnic cleansings would be coordinated.
And of course, it hasn't just been the Jews either. Before the Holocaust, the Turks carried out genocide against the Armenians, who still have not received official acknowledgment or reparations. Every inch of our country is soaked in the blood of the Native Americans. In my lifetime, I've witnessed from afar the genocides of Bosnians, Albanian Kosovars, and Rwandans, and learned about the dirty wars of Central and South America, where people were simply disappeared by their governments. And there are countless more such stories from nearly every culture around the world. Next week is Yom HaShoa, a day of commemoration for Jews, but back in January we also had International Holocaust Remembrance Day, where the world mourned with us. Do you know the day that the Bosnians commemorate the seige of Sarajevo? That the Rwandans celebrate the end to their quick and bloody conflict? Any of the dates that the Kosovars have tried to declare independence from Serbia? I don't even know those dates off the top of my head, and I have actively studied those dates. We don't have an International End Genocide Day, and we as a Jewish community often don't do enough to stand in solidarity with those whose pain we know so well or work alongside them for their liberation.
This week's Torah portion, Acherei Mot, contains the description of the ritual for atonement, which becomes the Yom Kippur ritual in the time of the Temple. In the ritual, the High Priest “effects atonement onto it,” which Rashi explains means the priest confesses upon the goat, and then the goat is sent off into the wilderness to carry away the sins of the people, and die away from the camp. This is the origin of the “scapegoat,” a term well known by those who have studied political violence, and understood by any who have experienced it. It manifests in different ways, but the outcome is the same. In the story of the Passover, the Pharaoh was worried about losing control of his Kingdom, so rather than confront his insecurities as a ruler or contemplate different modes of governance that might incorporate the growing Hebrew population, he scapegoated them and attempted to halve their population through infanticide and attempted to break their spirits with slavery (which, by the way, is not unlike the tactics of the cultural genocide the Chinese impose on Tibet, for example). Hitler want to rise in power and saw the scapegoat of the Jews an easy way to direct the fear and angry the poor German population was feeling in the aftermath of World War I in order to gain their trust and support. Milosevic felt his people were entitled to more land after the break up of Yugoslavia, so he scapegoated the Bosnians for being the first to secede. And the Hebrews, and the Jews of Europe, and the Bosnians, and so many others, were trapped like goats, forced out of their camps, forced to carry burdens that were not rightly theirs, forced to their deaths. Like goats shoved off carrying the sins of others, but not like sheep to the slaughter, a metaphor that was once often repeated about Holocaust victims, erasing the memories of the Resistance movement, and the Partisan fighters, and the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. I don't know of all the similar stories of resistance from the other scapegoated cultures, but I am certain they exist.

Over the course of the next year, we will all find ourselves faced with opportunities to help others achieve their liberation. We will hear about injustices around the world or in our backyards. We will learn about the scapegoating of a new population and the unfair rules meant to police their identities, a policing that is almost always tied to a body count, even if those death tolls are in suicides and hate crimes rather than purposeful government sponsored terrorism. I implore you, and Jews all over, to be a part of the solution. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel said, “In a world where terrible crimes are committed, some are guilty, but all are responsible.” If the Egyptians had refused to act as slave-masters, how might our story have turned out? If more righteous gentiles had stepped forward and spoken out against the early signs of the Nazi regime, what might our population be today? If the UN had allowed their Peacekeeping troops to actually interfere in Rwanda, how different might April 1994 have been for the million Tutsis whose stories we will never know now? Let us refuse to buy into scapegoating, let us stand in solidarity with those whose pain we understand too well, let us work toward a liberated world for all people. And may we find next year a world a little closer to the messianic age. Amen and Shabbat Shalom.