Parashat Naso - Moderation

            Judaism teaches about moderation. While many other traditions suggest you steer clear of worldly pleasures, and some others may allow complete gluttony, Judaism wants us to walk in the middle. This week’s Torah portion teaches the laws of the nazirite, someone who chooses to abstain from drinking wine, who does not cut their hair, and who has taken upon themselves to seek higher spirituality and holiness. Although the Torah does not give a suggested length of time for the nazirite to observe this state of heightened holiness, it does mention “the length of their naziriteship,” and gives the protocol for officially concluding that period, implying that even the Jews that do observe asceticism should only do so for short periods of time. In our Haftarah this week, the birth of Samson, a life-long nazirite, is foretold. By living in relative austerity for his whole life he was granted a special relationship with G-d and importance for the Jewish people, but it also opened him up to a much greater downfall when his nazirite hair is so unceremoniously chopped off.

            The Torah portion and much its commentary speaks specifically of wine, its potential to lead to harmfulness and reasoning for the nazirite swearing off it, as well as acknowledging that it is a part of the great world that G-d has given us and suggesting the nazirite’s abstinence is a sign of ingratitude. A Chasidic story from Reshimat Devarim illustrates the double nature of wine: “Once, in the early days of Chassidism, a learned Jew happened upon a Chassidic gathering. Taking in the sight of half-empty vodka bottles on the table, of Jews singing and dancing instead of studying Torah, he cried: "Jews! The Holy Temple is in ruins, Israel is in exile, and you dance and drink?!" Present at the party was Rabbi Dovid Ferkus, a senior disciple of the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Chasidism. "I have a question for you," said Rabbi Dovid to the visitor. "In one place, Rashi writes that a nazir's vow to abstain from wine is an appropriate reaction for one who witnesses human weakness to give in to bad habits. But only a few verses later, Rashi quotes the Talmudic opinion which regards the nazir's abstinence as a sin. Which is it? Is drinking wine a positive or a negative thing to do? I’ll tell you the difference between the two cases," continued Rabbi Dovid. "The first statement by Rashi is addressed to one who 'sees an adulteress’s ruin.' A person who is capable of seeing the negative in a fellow Jew, had better not drink wine. Wine will agitate his heart, and he'll probably be roused to discover more failings and deficiencies in his fellows. But someone who is blessed with the ability to see only the good in his fellow, for him to avoid getting together with other Jews for a lechaim! is sinful. An infusion of wine into his heart will stimulate it to uncover the hidden good in the hearts of his fellows."”

            The same goes for other worldly pleasures and their purposes. To never watch TV or movies or play games and to spend all your free time only in academic pursuits, may cause you to burn yourself out. A little time to zone out and just be passively entertained is OK. But of course, to watch too much TV and play too many video games will rot your brains. The more studious and hardworking you are, the more you may have earned your down time, just as the Chassidic man with only joy and love for his fellow in his heart is more inclined to handle his wine better. If you are not naturally inclined to study or work hard, you might need more limits on the things that will further distract you, just as the negative man should steer clear of wine. A healthy, productive life is all about the balance of these things, and each of us has to find our own sense of balance. Despite all being equal and made in the image of G-d, we are each made with our own individual needs and inclinations and must work to find the balance that works for each of us. May you each find your own balance, a healthy, productive life, filled with the appropriate limits to fun and relaxation! Amen and Shabbat Shalom!

            

Parashat Bemidbar – My Bat Mitzvah2

                Today I am a man. Wait a minute that’s not right. Today I am a woman in the Jewish community, a Bat Mitzvah doubled. On June 3^rd, 2000, I became a Bat Mitzvah, and earned my right of passage by chanting these very words I have just chanted for you today – Parashat Bemidbar. In it, a census is taken, and the tribes of Israel start to take on their own identities. They are not slaves any more, and they are not just a muddled mass of Israelites. The age at which men will take up arms in a defense military is determined, so that those of proper age are prepared to defend the tabernacle in case of bandits, and a census taker is assigned from each tribe, to count the tribes, and G-d assigns a side to for the tribes to camp on to always keep the Tabernacle safe in the center of the mass of Israelites as they travel across the desert toward the holy land.

            Only one tribe is not counted in the same way. The tribe of Levi, the priestly tribe. They are not considered a part of the census and they are not given a side to camp on, as they will remain in the center with the tabernacle. G-d declared that all first born Israelite sons be consecrated in exchange for the 10^th plague in Egypt but then says that the Levites will serve in place of the first born. All Levites will be consecrated to serve G-d in the Tabernacle, and later, the Temple. The other tribes are told to stand on the east, west, north, or south side of the Tabernacle, but the Levites get a whole host of demands. They go from being as much a part of the muddled mass of Israelites as the other tribes to being the pillars of the community. From zero to hero, if you will. The other tribes, on the other hand, seem to be going through a sort of adolescent phase of identity development. They’ve only really gone from zero to human, from slave to West Side Camper. The rest of their identities remain to be seen.

            Being told who you are and what to be might not be fun if you don’t agree with the assessment given you. Maybe you think you’re someone else and you want to do something totally different. But it also can cut down on a lot of confusion and angst if you’re not yet sure who you are or what you want to be. In the year 2000, I don’t think I knew yet who I was or what I wanted to be. Although I was able to dig out my old cassette tapes with my Hebrew school tutor chanting the Torah and Haftarah portions and blessings for my Bat Mitzvah, it seems my folder with my speech and other such papers is long gone. Being adolescent, I probably didn’t have the courage to say, “I don’t know who I am or what I want to be,” and I know I didn’t yet have any thoughts that I, like the Levites, would serve G-d and the Jewish community. So I have no idea what I might have written then. But it’s a great Bat Mitzvah portion, because it is so easy to project those early teenage feelings onto the newly counted tribes of Israel who do not yet have their own identities. I was unusual to have found such a sincere calling to the rabbinate only a few years after my Bat Mitzvah, and now, 13 years later, find myself very much entrenched in fulfilling a longstanding dream. Most people struggle much longer to find a passion and an identity like that. I’m not saying it was never a struggle for me, or that I haven’t ever had to ask myself since I was 16, “Who am I and what do I want to do?” But I think I have to recognize how lucky I am to have found a passion at 16 that I am still passionate about at 25 and a dream I will likely see realized by 30.

            For the rest of you still looking for that, it’s important to not feel alone or discouraged. An old Chassidic saying points out the great paradox to be learned and appreciated from the census of this week’s parasha: “On the one hand, it implies that each individual is significant. On the other hand, a head-count is the ultimate equalizer: each member of the community, from the greatest to the lowliest, counts for no less and no more than "one." G-d repeatedly commands Moses to count the Jewish people to emphasize both their individual worth--the fact that no single person's contribution is dispensable--as well as their inherent equality.” You are all unique, and you will find your passion, your identity, your calling, your proper service for G-d and your fellow man, and in the end, we are all simply B’nai Yisroel – that muddled mass of Israelites. May you find joy as you go on your life’s journey and peace when you find your own callings. Amen and Shabbat Shalom. 

Parashat Behar-Bechukotai: Shmittah Year and Rainbow Day

            Next week is Rainbow Day. I imagine most of you, like myself, did not know this was a thing. Rainbow Day is a time to celebrate the diversity of life on Earth, and to remember our role in God’s covenant. It is a time to remember that the first covenant was not with human beings but with all living things, a chance to reflect on the deep spiritual and religious meaning of diversity, creation, and our role as part of creation and partners with God. This is a special time in human civilization when we need to reflect on the rainbow covenant and our place in sustaining a world where “sowing and reaping, cold and hot, summer and winter will not cease,” except perhaps the sowing and reaping will cease every seventh year, as is commanded in this week’s Torah portion. Rainbow Day is always the 42nd day of the Omer, the day after Yom Yerushalayim. This year, Rainbow Day will begin Monday night and continue onto Tuesday until sunset. It commemorates when Noah, his family, and all the animals that were with them left the ark, on the 27^th day of the second month. Exactly one lunar year and ten days before—one complete solar year—the flood began on the 17th of the second month, the day before Lag B’Omer. When Noah and his entourage went out from the ark, God made a covenant, with the people and with all the animals, that there would never be again be a flood of water to destroy life on Earth.

            But just because God promised not to destroy life on Earth, doesn’t mean all humans are committed to the same thing. Both Rainbow Day and Parashat Bahar have a lot to teach us about environmental stability and how we can do our part to stop destruction of life on Earth as well. In this week’s Torah portion, the Israelites are commanded to let their lands lie fallow every seven years. Although they don’t have lands yet, as they are still wandering the desert at this point, G-d is reminding them that in the future, they will enter the land of Israel, claim plots, plant farms, and till their own soil. But every seven years, they must stop tilling. They don’t plant, tend, or harvest the farms. What continues to grow of its own accord must be allowed to grow wildly, and fruits will be allowed to fall to the ground. Elsewhere, the Torah commands that people leave the corners of their fields unharvested so that the poor can come and eat without having to ask for charity, which damages their pride. But here, the Torah commands that on the seventh year, everyone, poor and wealthy alike, will eat right off the field, from any part of the field. The landowners do not harvest and sell, and the poor may eat of the best fruits, not just what is left in the corners. Further, animals, both domestic and wild, are allowed to come and eat from the fields on these seven days. It is a Shabbat for farmlands, but it is also a prehistoric environmental practice. Overworking the fields dries out soil and makes it so nothing will grow. By leaving the land alone every seven years, the soil is able to refresh itself. By letting fruits fall right off the trees, vines, and bushes, the soil is getting all natural compost for itself.

            After seven times of these seven year cycles, the 49^th year, there is a big jubilee. Land that is rented reverts back to the owners, debts are forgiven, and servants are set free. Again, although the Torah presents this as a Shabbat of Shabbat, and a great rest and relief for everyone, it is also important to note its revolutionary social justice consequences. By instituting a reprieve every 49 years, it would be impossible for any family to fall too far into debt that it could never get out, or any family to gain such wealth off the misfortune of others. It ensures that nobody is ever enslaved for life, and that in the end, we are all equal, because after all, we are all children of God, and everything we have really belongs to God.

            However, we don’t currently hold such a practice. We live in a society where people do own land and work it continually, without stopping every seven years to rest it. There is not a reprieve every 49 years, and some people do amass ridiculous amounts of wealth, while others fall deeper and deeper into debt. Although servitude and slavery is not legal in our society in America, we do support other societies that allow it, as much of our stuff – iPhones and Nike shoes and many other products – are made at the hands of labor practices we would never allow in the US. But by buying such products, are we really disallowing it (and I admit that I myself would be probably lost without my own iPhone!)? And lastly, despite all our own strides toward social justice in the U.S., besides issues of wealth, not all families are treated equally here. Although Rainbow Day is about the rainbow in the story of Noah, and connected to environmental sustainability, I feel I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that in today’s society, to many people, the rainbow is also a symbol of gay pride. Can we talk about Rainbow Day and social and environmental justice without acknowledging that, while we live in a state with marriage equality, our federal government is still as backwards in its view of LGBT rights as it is in its ability to address the issues of class equality and food distribution?

            Living outside the land of Israel, we are not required to observe a Shmittah year – that seventh year of rest for the land – nor are we bound to the jubilee year. Those commandments are seen as specific to the Holy Land. However, as Jews, we are required to work toward a world where the Earth is treated well, where everyone has equal access to healthy fresh food, where financial imbalance is not allowed to get so out of control, and where all of humanity is seen and treated as equals. That’s a lot of work to be done, and as Rabbi Tarfon taught in Pirke Avot, “You are not required to finish the task, but neither are you free to withdraw from it.” May we all make steps toward repair the world, and perhaps even see pieces of the task finished in our own lifetimes. Amen, Shabbat Shalom, and happy Rainbow Day! 

Parashat Emor – Eternal Light

            “And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying, Command the children of Israel, and they shall take to you pure olive oil, crushed for lighting, to kindle the lamps continually. Outside the dividing curtain of the testimony in the Tent of Meeting, Aaron shall set it up before the Lord from evening to morning continually. [This shall be] an eternal statute for your generations.” (Lev. 24:2). From here we get the commandment to hang the Ner Tamid, Eternal Light, which still hangs over every ark in every house of Jewish prayer and learning. There is not a lot of commentary readily available on this commandment, which gives us the opportunity to interpret it at length according to our own understandings.

            The imagery of light offers great symbolism for the radiance that emits from a loving community. At Chanukah, the menorah we light represents the Ner Tamid of the Temple that miraculously burned for 8 days despite having only enough olive oil to kindle the lamp for one. But when we sing, “Don’t Let the Light Go Out,” it’s more than just a reminder that Chanukah candles, unlike birthday candles, should not be blown out. We’re reminding ourselves, each other, and the greater world community that we, as Jews, will not let the light of Judaism be extinguished.

            By being here every Saturday, you are all helping to keep the Eternal Light kindled here. The Eternal Light burns not only by olive oil or, in our case now, electricity, but also by continuing to keep the radiant essence of Judaism alive. It burns when we pray together, lighting up this room with our voices in song. It burns when we study together. Most importantly, it burns when we look out for each other and take care of each other, when we show our love for on another. May we never let the light go out. 

Parashat Acharei-Kedoshim – Boston Marathon Bombings

            Earlier this week, our country saw a terrible act of violence disrupting a great American tradition – the Boston Marathon bombings. Although suspects have not yet been apprehended and questioned, and we don't what their motive really was, this is a clear act of terrorism. Violence for the sake of violence, disrupting runners and spectators, attacking innocent people without a clear political agenda, these bombs seem to have been for the sole purpose of instilling fear and anger in the hearts of the American people. But they failed. What has amazed me most about the events of Monday was not just the absurdity of terrorism or how someone could be so cruel, but how immediately the rest of the city and country stepped up.

            The second portion of this week’s parasha, in Kedoshim (my favorite parasha), G-d tells Moses to speak to the people of Israel, saying “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your G-d am holy.” The outpouring of support for the people of Boston, those hurt, grieving, or traumatized, has shown the capacity for holiness that lies in each of us. The Torah says, “You shall not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor.” When the bombs went off, spectators who were far enough to be physically safe, jumped the race’s barriers, and ran toward the sound of the explosions to start helping the injured. Once the ambulances had been called volunteers, spectators, and runners that had already finished all banded together to tear away all the volunteer booths and roadblocks to let the emergency vehicles through. Runners behind the explosions heard what had happened, changed courses and ran all the way to the nearest hospitals to give blood to the injured.  Kodoshim says, “The stranger who sojourns with you shall be as a native from among you, and you shall love him as yourself; for you were strangers in the land of Egypt. I am the Lord, your G-d.” Families of the injured rushed to the hospital and others who were stranded without a way home or a place to stay in Boston after the explosion found themselves overwhelmed with options as many people in and around the city opened up their homes on an open google doc offering guest beds, cots, and couches to whoever needed them. There were no strangers in Boston that day, only houseguests the hosts hadn’t met yet, embraced and loved as a fellow Bostonian. And all those Boston Irish Catholics weren’t even slaves in the land of Egypt.

            To look at the bright side, to be inspired at the love and support that came immediately to those who needed it in the aftermath of the violence does not mean that we are not also sad that four people have died and many injured or that we are not angry at the terrorists responsible. In our anger, though, it is important to hone it to a positive end. To help the police and the FBI with any information we might come across, to continue to follow the story and help out in any way they still need. Only a handful people remain in critical care, but it is never too late to give blood to the Red Cross, and although the hospitals are not as flooded with the sudden influx of patients that they were Monday, they might still enjoy the pizza donations many have been sending to the hungry, exhausted, overwhelmed first responders this week via Random Acts of Pizza on Reddit. We should not use our anger to hold onto hate, fear, or hopes for vengeance in our hearts. This week’s parasha says, “You shall not hate your brother in your heart. You shall surely rebuke your fellow, but you shall not bear a sin on his account. You shall neither take revenge from nor bear a grudge against the members of your people.” We can and should hope those responsible are caught and put to justice, but that does not mean we call for anything extreme. Maimonides says in the Mishneh Torah that if we have the chance to rebuke our fellow who has sinned against us, and we don’t do it, we incur some of the guilt, for if he acts again, we could have prevented it. But if we hate him, and hold grudges, and turn to vigilante justice, than we bear the sin of violence against him just the same. The Torah says to love your neighbor as yourself, not just the neighbors who are easy to love, and Rabbi Akiva says this is the cardinal rule of Judaism. The Baal Shem Tov reminds that we must love the lowliest of humans as much as the greatest Torah scholar. The Jerusalem Talmud explains we can avoid acting or feeling vengeful by remembering that if one hand, while chopping vegetables for dinner, slips and cuts the finger of the hand holding down the vegetables that hand should not rise up and cut the finger of the first hand in retaliation. As each of our hands are a part of our whole person and we would not harm one part of our bodies to avenge the other, so too should we view each other as a part of our whole community under G-d, and we should not harm one who has harmed us just for the sake of revenge.   

            As we continue to heal and search for those culpable in the aftermath of the Boston Marathon Bombings, let us all focus on the love and support that has come out in reaction to the horror, and only use our sadness and anger toward a productive end in the pursuit of justice. May a speedy r’fuah sh’eima – a complete recovery – come to those who need it, and may we all find peace. Amen and Shabbat Shalom.

Parashat Tazria-Metzora – Gossip

            This week’s Torah portion is among the least favorites of most modern day Jews. I’ve heard of B’nai Mitzvah being rescheduled to avoid it, others who have had to use this portion for their b’nai mitzvah bemoaning the misfortune of their birth dates, and students excited to have an excuse to miss services today, so as not to hear it. It’s an icky portion. With talk of body fluids, ancient discomfort with natural body functions, and strange gross sounding skin diseases, parts of this parsha are, as G-dcast declared, downright PG-13 (for those who don’t know g-dcast.com is a great way for all ages to study Torah, with cartoon depictions of each parasha), and many in this room today are not yet 13. This makes it a difficult portion to talk about and really stay true to the text.

            Even the ancient rabbis felt this difficulty, and rather than talk at length about bodies and disease, much commentary on this Torah portion is about gossip. Later in the Torah, in the book of Numbers, Miriam is struck with the spots on her skin that are described at length in this week’s portion after bad-mouthing Moses’s wife. From this, the rabbis of ancient times decided that this disease must always be a punishment for gossip. Jewish tradition has a slew of sayings and stories condemning gossip, even calling it Lashon HaRa, the evil tongue or speech. But we all do it. Even if we try really hard to be conscious of what we say all the time, it is fairly impossible to never speak about other people sometimes. Judaism teaches that even talking about people in a positive way when they are not around is Lashon HaRa, because if you were to speak too highly of someone, others’ expectations of them might grow to a point where the real person could never actually live up to that, and still cause their embarrassment. And of course, it should go without saying to never speak ill of others, particularly if they are not around to defend themselves. Gossip hurts three people: the one who speaks the gossip, the one who hears the gossip, and the one who is being gossiped about. Although, obviously, we are not today struck with icky skin spots every time we gossip, it is still bad for the soul, and can cause damage to our friendships. Those we subject to listening to our gossip become complicit in the act, and thus we are damaging their relationships as well. And of course, when we spread information, whether truth or rumors, about others, we are potentially damaging their reputations, embarrassing them, or setting them up for future embarrassment, and none of that is any good for anyone.

            In this week’s Torah portion, the purification process to get rid of the disease and repent for the supposed gossip is to leave the Israelite camp and spend some time alone. Alone, it is not possible to gossip. Alone, one can considered the damage done, feel guilty, repent to G-d, and find the right words to apologize to the others affect by his or her gossip once he or she returns to the community. However, there’s no promise that others will forgive the gossiper, and there is really no way to undo the gossip. One old Jewish story goes that a man spread a rumor about his neighbor and wanted to repent. So his rabbi told him to get a feather pillow at the store, and cut it, dropping feathers out of the pillow the whole way home. The next day, the man goes back to the rabbi to ask what happens now that he’s done the pillow thing and the rabbi tells him, go back and collect the feathers and put them back in the pillow. Of course, the man cannot do this, because feathers blow in the wind and it would be impossible to collect them all and make the pillow at all usable again. So, the rabbi explains, this is what happens when you gossip. The words leave you and you can never retrieve them. Hopefully, you can be forgiven by those you may have hurt in your gossip, but you can never really take back the things you say. May we all find the wisdom to know when to be quiet, and may we never hurt others with our words.            

Parashat Shemini – Self-Sacrifice

            For the last several weeks, we’ve been reading in the Torah about the preparations for the Tabernacle and the sacrifices that will be made there. We didn’t have regular services for the last three weeks, so in case you didn’t have a chance to study the weekly parashiyot on your own, let me catch you up: there are about five parshiyot talking about the building of the Mishkan and the priest’s clothing. When last I stood before you like this, in fact, I spoke about why the Torah needs to spend so much time talking about building the Mishkan (as opposed to how little time is spent talking about building the whole universe). Then, in the week we had our model seder, the book of Vayikra (or Leviticus) began the detailing of the sacrifices, now that the Tabernacle is finished and the priests are ready to start working. The last week’s parasha talks some more about who should sacrifice what kind of animal for what kind of sin and how the priests (that is, Aaron and his sons) should go about doing the actual sacrificing for the people who have brought their animals as gifts for G-d.

            Now, we begin this week’s Torah portion with the first official sacrifice on the altar of the Mishkan. Aaron, with the help of his sons, does exactly as G-d, through Moses, commanded. And a great fire bursts forth from G-d, and consumes the offerings. But then Aaron’s two oldest sons, Nadav and Avihu, take an incense offering of their own, which G-d has not told them to do, and bring it to the altar. Then the great first bursts forth from G-d and consumes them. Similarly, in this week’s Haftarah portion, a man by the name of Uzzah is struck dead by G-d for touching the Holy Ark, which unlike our ark on our bima was not meant to be touched. To me, it seems Nadav and Avihu just wanted to bring their own gifts to G-d and Uzzah just meant to steady the ark as it was being brought to the new capital of Jerusalem after King David’s crowning. 

            It’s hard to talk about sacrifices in general. We don’t do them anymore in the way the Torah prescribes. We don’t bring physical gifts for G-d, and we certainly don’t kill animals. But we all still do have to make sacrifices in life. A while back, we were short one snack in the class, but two classmates offered to share with each other. Rather than fight over the last snack, they were both willing to sacrifice half, to make sure everyone got some. When I suggested that everyone in the class contribute one fruit snack to the pair sharing, so that they would have more to share, everyone did. It wasn’t a big sacrifice, but it made a difference to the two that had been sharing. Whenever you are charitable, it is a sacrifice, because you are giving up something of your own, even if it is a small something. In doing so, you are helping out another person. That makes the community grow closer, which can help everyone get closer to G-d, which was the point of the original sacrifices made on the alters of the Tabernacle and Temple.

            However, Nadav, Avihu, and Uzzah made the ultimate sacrifice: their lives. This is not something Judaism encourages. Judaism teaches to embrace life and to try to live by the ways of the land, to obey rules that are set for your own health and safety. The ancient rabbis speculated that Nadav and Avihu were drunk, arrogant, did not consult with each other or their teachers before acting, or even, according to the Moroccan Kabbalist rabbi Ohr HaChaim, that perhaps they knew this would be their consequence and were willing to sacrifice themselves for the “divine kiss.” It’s ok to feel excited about getting close to G-d and wanting to go above and beyond to show love sometimes, but please, remember: check yourself before you wreck yourself.

            As we go through life, it is important to walk a path of moderation. Get excited and show love and devotion to the people and things you care about, but follow the rules. If you don’t like a rule, investigate why it is the way it is and work to change it; don’t just break it. It is better to ask for permission, because sometimes you may not be able to ask for forgiveness. May we all find ways to get closer to G-d that are safe, healthy, and rule-abiding. Amen and Shabbat Shalom.