Parshat Emor: Self-Denial on Yom Kippur

A quick thought for this week:

This week’s Torah portion contains the Jewish holidays, including Yom Kippur – the day of “affliction” or “self-denial.”  While most holidays include bringing offerings to the Temple and abstaining from work in joyous celebration, the holiest day of the year (called “the Sabbath of all Sabbaths”) is a solemn day.  On this day, a sacrificial offering is brought and yet no one eats of it.  Rabbi Meir Don Plotzki, in his book Kli Chemdah, notes that this is an exception to the rule that all sacrifices must be consumed.  On Yom Kippur, even the Kohanim do not partake; the priests too must afflict themselves through fasting.  Today, in stark contrast between the other holidays where we feast in order to enhance the day and enjoy the company of family and friends, Yom Kippur is not an occasion for gathering and is spent largely in prayer. 

One reason for the self-afflicted fasting is to cleanse ourselves physically (parallel to the spiritual cleansing through prayer).  But perhaps also, in contract to the other holidays, we are taught the importance of restraint in the proper time and situation.  We indulge ourselves on Passover, Shavuot, Sukkot, and Shabbat and, given it is for the honor of the occasion, the indulgence is a positive one.  Indulgence is more intrinsic in people than is restraint.  The desire for more of something good, whether it be food or a discussion or money, is inherent.  Therefore it must merely be directed to the right end.  But knowing when and where to restrain from excess is much harder.  On Yom Kippur the importance, and the benefits, of self-denial is emphasized.  Through self-denial comes that ability to transform ourselves – to rid ourselves of the gunk in our lives, to rid ourselves of improper speech or un-kosher food, to rid ourselves of inappropriate behavior towards others or the hindering one’s own self. 

Parshat Acharei Mot-Kedoshim: “Bury This Hate, Build it With Love”

This week, we read the double parsha of Acharei Mot and Kedoshim.  The two parshiyot together are full of mitzvoth; and while all mitzvoth have a moral aspect and most have a rational explanation as well, a great many of the mitzvoth we read of this week are clearly and directly designed to make us better people and live in a better society.  What stood out to me is a short two verses:

You shall not hate your kinsfolk in your heart.  Reprove your kinsman but incur no guilt because of him.  You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your countrymen.  Love your fellow as yourself: I am the Lord. (Vayikra 19:17-18)

The last part is well-known as the Golden Rule: to love your neighbor as yourself.  But what intrigued me is that there is not a commandment just to love your neighbor, but first is a commandment to avoid hatred.  The progression from one to the other, according to Sefer HaChinnuch, encompasses six distinct commandments:

1. The prohibition against hating one’s fellow
2. The religious duty to rebuke a fellow-Jew for improper behavior
3. The prohibition against shaming another (“incur no guilt…”)
4. The prohibition against taking revenge
5. The prohibition against bearing a grudge
6. The precept of love for one’s kinsman

Rather than lumping these together into one over-arching commandment of how to behave towards another, the Torah makes a very important distinguishment between the different levels of how to treat others, and how each element is interrelated.  Avoiding hatred (“the worst and most utterly despicable quality in the eyes of every intelligent human being”) is not enough.  We must remove that quality from us, but we must also take it upon ourselves to rebuke others that do wrong.  We do not live a detached existence, only concerned with our self, but are tightly connected with and impacted by so many others that it is also our responsibility to correct others who behave improperly.  But we must not do so in a negative way, but “with soft language and gentle words, so that the other may not be ashamed” (Sefer HaChinnuch).  We are forbidden to embarrass another; we must not just rebuke another but must rebuke them in the right way (“It is better for a man to throw himself into a fiery furnace rather than shame his fellow-man in public.”).  Furthermore, someone who is rebuked (or who does the rebuking) must not take revenge on the other, either for a physical or a non-physical matter.  As Midrash Shifra asks and answers: How far does the force of vengeance reach?  If one asked another, “Lend me your sickle,” and the other did not lend it to him, then the next day the other asked him, “Lend me your pickaxe,” whereupon he told him, “I will not lend it to you, in the same way you did not lend me your sickle…”About this it is said, “You shall not take revenge.” And not only must we refrain from revenge, but must remove the desire to do so from our hearts.  “Even if we should resolve not to repay him in kind for his deeds [i.e. to take vengeance], the mere remembrance of his sin in the heart [is] forbidden us.”  We must not bear a grudge. 

To aid in accomplishing these lofty commandments, we may try, in all instances, to remember that the people we encounter are not mere dust and ashes but a human being imbued with a divine spark.  I recently watched one of TED’s talks and the speaker spoke of her desire to connect with people on a deeper level than words and body; to feel their presence.  She wanted to experience their presence, to share their story, to feel their spirit (“When I meet you I am no longer a part of your future.  I quickly start becoming a part of your past.  But in that instance I get to share your present.  And you, you get to share mine, and that is the greatest present of all.”).  Everyone we encounter is someone we can be impacted by and there are so many who we come across and only have one chance.  This is what should leave a lasting impact: not what you do, but who you are.  This is a Jewish idea: to see a person’s neshama (soul) before you see anything else about them.    To not judge them because you have never and will never stand in their exact shoes.  To relate to them as a person with emotions and needs, even if different than yours.

When we are able to do all of these things – to make ourselves incapable of hate, to give and accept rebuke in the correct manner, to guard someone else’s shame as your own, to live without need for revenge and without bearing a grudge…then we can come to love our neighbors as ourselves.  And this, says Rabbi Akiva, “is the great principle of the Torah.” 

Or, if you prefer, as Our Lady Peace sings, “Bury this hate, build it with Love.” (The song has nothing to do with this parsha, but they were one of my favorite bands in high school and this verse – out of context – is quite relevantJ)

Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Tazria-Metzora: Lashon Hara and Tzara’at

A quick thought on this week’s parsha.  Much of the parsha deals with tzara’at, the physical manifestation of a spiritual disease.  The sages say (at least some of them, perhaps not all) that this was a disease that only affected righteous individuals; it was not a common disease inflicted by God unto the common man.  It was reserved for people that, due to their job, position in society, background, etc., should have known better than to commit the sin they committed.  One of the most common sins to cause tzara’at was lashon hara, speaking maliciously (even if truthfully) about others or God (literal translation is “evil tongue”).  The main biblical example of this is when Miriam spoke ill of her brother, Moshe.  Although well-intentioned she said something regrettable and was punished with tzara’at. 

One who is afflicted with tzara’at is quarantined outside of the city they live in for a minimum period of seven days.  One reason for this is to take someone out of the environment in which they committed their sin, such as lashon hara.  By taking a righteous person away from people it gives them time to focus on what they did wrong, while at the same time taking away the possibility that they commit the same sin before they have had adequate time to do teshuva, to transform themselves into a better person that would not commit the same sin again.  For most of us, we just get our mouth washed out with soap by our parents when we say bad words growing up.  But the fact that lashon hara is cause for quarantining someone emphasizes how important our speech really is.  When we speak lashon hara, the consequences last much longer than the taste of soap in our mouths.   

We humans, unlike every other animal, have the ability to speak.  Through our speech we can collaborate and impact the world in ways that no other animals can, we can make people smile or make them cry, we can comfort someone or we can embarrass them, we can praise someone’s good deed or we can disparage someone’s misstep.  Our speech is a powerful tool and can be used in so many ways for tremendous good or tremendous evil.  Growing up, our mom’s told us to ignore other kids that slandered us, but the real world rarely allows for people to do so.  We are all affected by what people around us say and we all affect others with our own words.  So with the power of speech we’ve been given, let’s use it for good. 

Shabbat Shalom.

Pesach 2013

On Pesach we celebrate our Exodus from Egypt.  Not just the Jewish people’s Exodus, but our personal Exodus.  In all aspects of life, Judaism calls upon us to put ourselves in the situation of our ancestors, our predecessors, our friends and family.  We try to empathize with others and respond to them with a feeling of as if we too stood in their shoes. But particularly on Pesach, the quest to place oneself in the shoes of one of Judaism’s earliest generations seems especially great.  The four sons we read of in the Pesach Haggadah all ask a question – to the last three, we respond in the first person: It is for the sake of this that Hashem did for me when I left Egypt….with a strong hand Hashem took me out of Egypt…and again, It is for the sake of this that Hashem did for me when I left Egypt (the response to the second and third questions is the same).  Not the Israelites in Egypt, not my ancestors…me.  I was the one God took out “with a strong hand and an outstretched hand.”
 

Towards the beginning of the Torah, God selects Avraham for a unique mission, saying:

“Go for yourself from your land, from your relatives, and from your father’s house to the land that I will show you.  And I will make of you a great nation, and make your name great, and you shall be a blessing.  I will bless those who bless you, and him who curses you I will curse; and all the families of the earth shall bless themselves by you.”  - Bereishit 12:1-5

God made this call directly to Avraham, but the Israelites in Egypt harkened to this same call during the Exodus.  The Jewish people were formed at Mt Sinai as a result of the story revealed in the Haggadah; Israel became a nation, the Jewish people began to reshape the history of mankind for the better, and like Avraham, to become a great name and to be a blessing. 

At the end of the Torah, Moses calls upon the Jewish people:

“I call heaven and earth to bear witness against you; I have placed life and death before you, blessing and curse.  And you shall choose life, so that you will live, you and your offspring.” – Devarim 30:19

Avraham had the choice of life and death, blessing and curse.  Would he live the life of his father, a life of idolatry and anger and lack of compassion?  Or would he leave that life to follow God and do chesed to everyone he encountered, to teach us to respect everyone and open our homes to the needy and the weary?  Avraham chose a life of blessing.  In Egypt, the Jewish slaves were given the choice of life and death, blessing and curse.  Would they remain enslaved and less-than-human, unable to have children and raise families?  Or would they follow God, raise the next generation, cross the Red Sea, stand at Mt Sinai and become the Jewish people?  The Jewish people, led by Moses and Miriam and Aaron, chose a life of blessing.  

In our own lives we have the same choice: life and death, blessing and curse, are placed before us all.  Will I become angry at an annoying question or rude person, or will I be patient and composed?  Will I gossip about my co-workers or will I remain silent?  Will I welcome the new neighbor or will I ignore their presence?  Will I spare some change for the poor man on the street or will I walk by him and ignore his existence?  Since I began wearing a kippah, I have been approached by many non-Jews who have told me stories of their interactions with other observant Jews; they felt a sense of fondness for me without even knowing me because of the positive imprint on their lives made by a fellow religious Jew.  This is what it means to be a light unto the nations.  This is what it means to choose life, to choose blessing.  We all have this choice every day, with every interaction.  

On the Seder night we view ourselves as slaves being led out of Egypt by God’s right hand.  Tomorrow, we will interact with a co-worker, or a neighbor, or a friend, or a stranger, and need to view ourselves in their shoes.  The choice of life and death, blessing and curse is a constant one.  It is not easy to always choose the correct option, it is easy to rationalize or let oneself slip at times.  But the Seder night is a good time to begin to choose a life of blessing. And so the Seder begins…

Chag Pesach Sameach!

Parshat Vayakhel-Pekudei: Some Thoughts

Although I try to avoid this, I am writing on “this week’s” parsha after the Shabbat on which we read it.  I spent Shabbat visiting a friend in Detroit and will share a couple quick thoughts on this week’s parsha based on conversations and speeches that took place over Shabbos:

The Torah and the Tablets

During his morning drasha, the Rabbi of the Young Israel explained the connection between the Aron Kodesh in our synagogues and the Mishkan that is being built during this week’s parsha.  After expounding upon the similarities, he came to the center of each: the focus of the Mishkan is the luchot, the two tablets with the Ten Commandments inscribed on them; and the focus of the Aron is the Torah.  If one is to be equated to the other, he asked, then why are the luchot in the Mishkan laid down while the Torah scroll stands upright in the Aron? 

The Radbaz, a well-known Torah commentator that I believe lived in the 16-17^th century, answers by explaining the purpose of our synagogues.  Our synagogues are beitei tefillot, houses of prayer, where we stand (literally for the Amidah) in front of God and speak to Him.  We stand for tefillah in front of the Aron, in front of the Torah.  And in return the Torah stands for us.  The Torah stands to show it’s accessibility to us.  It is God’s gift to the Jewish people – a book that guides our lives.  And it is not something the lies down and “takes a break.”  It is always accessible to us in any and every situation.  We stand for tefillah in front of the Torah, and the Torah stands for us. 

What does Shabbat have to do with the Mishkan?

The Torah narrative has a seemingly odd flow.  In “parsha musing,” which my friend asked over Shabbat lunch, they asked why the Torah needed to mention Shabbat (and that we don’t work on it) prior to explaining the construction of the Mishkan.  It seems like an odd insert that doesn’t completely fit in.  The answer is psychological: the Torah does not want us to think, even for the briefest of time, that constructing the Mishkan is a permitted Shabbos activity.  Therefore the construction is prefaced by establishing the rules of Shabbat – which includes refraining from work done in building the Mishkan.  If we were to first learn about how to build it, we may think it permissible to build it even on Shabbat.  Even if we later learn that this is not the case, the impression may be lasting.

This seemed an odd explanation to me at first, but it bears a lot of truth.  For example, let’s say one learns (mistakenly) that eating product X is kosher and later learns product X is in fact not kosher.  When that person finds themselves in a situation where they cannot remember if it is kosher or not, they are more likely to believe it is kosher because that was their first impression.  The same goes for Shabbat…when someone is raised to use electricity on Shabbat it is hard to stop.  Or if one hears that Rabbi so-and-so said something is forbidden, but later learns that it was merely a rumor, the impression lingers and they are prone to repeat the false rumor.  First impressions matter; they predispose us towards a certain way of thinking or feeling.  Therefore the Torah is careful to assert the primacy of Shabbat prior to the building of the Mishkan. 

The Mishkan and Creation

Judaism views the building of the Mishkan as a parallel to God’s creation of the universe (how so is not relevant to this post).  God created the universe in six days and on the seventh, He declared Shabbat – a day of rest.  During the building of the Mishkan the Jews would rest on Shabbat, not doing any work related to the construction.  My friend asked: why was it necessary to build something that resembles God’s creation of the universe?  My answer was (and is) that by being asked to emulate God’s act of creation in a way that is more tangible to us, it gives us the means to relate to God’s blessing of Shabbat (“and God blessed the seventh day, and hallowed it; because that in it He rested from all His work which God in creating had made.” – Bereishit 2:2).  We can better appreciate the beauty of Shabbat by experiencing it in the way that God created it; by putting our all into a creation for six days, and then having the ability and luxury of abstaining from it on the seventh day.  Today we do not have the Mishkan, but our Shabbat tables are equated to our personable altars to God.  We are constantly busy throughout the week – work, errands, technology, stress.  But Shabbat, we bless and make holy. 

Creativity in the Torah

The construction of the Beit HaMikdash is very rigid – precise colors, measurements, and numbers are given in the Torah and more detail is in the Oral law.  There seems to be no room for creativity in creating the Temple.  But what particularly strikes me is not the precision of the Temple, as I realize this is a necessity just as any architectural structure must be exactly laid out.  What somewhat bothers me is Betzalel, who was chosen as the chief “artist” of the Temple due to his skills and was imparted with divine wisdom to boot.  Yet his “skill” was in following a pattern that was already created.  We tend to think of artists as not only skilled, but also creative (i.e., saying an artists is skilled implies creativity as well). 

During Shabbat dinner this week, I ate at a recently married couple’s home.  The girl, a ba’alat teshuva, was raised very involved in the musical world.  She played the French horn from childhood and was hoping to play in a symphony orchestra prior to becoming religious.  But, she explained, the lifestyle of an orchestra performer is one she is glad she won’t be living.  It doesn’t allow for creativity.  You play classical pieces of music over and over again, year after year.  Even pieces that a player loves, often becomes just another piece of music.  As she was describing the life and career of an orchestra player (which I honestly found fascinating), I found it to be related to the life that Betzalel and the other artisans in the Mishkan must have led.  But I have realized this is not the case.  While on the surface many similarities exist, the comparison isn’t altogether appropriate.

The work of Betzalel was for the central focus of the Jewish people – the Mishkan.  It was being done for a higher calling, so to speak.  The Torah provides structure in many areas, one of them being the construction of the Temple.  Because of this it may seem when reading it, that Judaism is a very strict religion that shuns creativity.  But of course the Torah is the law book of the Jewish people.  What lies outside of the laws is creativity – the laws in the Torah are inherently meant to place borders around us.  Creativity is up to the individual.  In our tefillot, we have structured prayer as well as the ability for personal spontaneous prayer.  In our life, we choose our career and our hobbies; we do this activity or that.  Creativity cannot be mandated by the Torah because creativity inherently cannot be commanded.  But the Torah gives us necessary borders.  Societies often ask: what are our boundaries?  Where do we draw the line, what laws should we impose and which should be removed?  This can lead to dangerous consequences.  A friend recently told me of two mute brothers who reached middle age and learned they were going blind.  They couldn’t bear the thought of living without sight so they went to Belgium (or somewhere in Europe) where assisted euthanasia for such issues is allowed.  The Belgian society has drawn their boundary on this issue differently than we have in American society.  But for a Jew, the Torah is our boundary.  No matter where we are, the Torah guides us.  Our creativity must be within the Torah’s boundaries or we run the risk of blurring lines that should never be blurred.  

Parshat Ki Tisa: Betzalel, Shabbat, and the Golden Calf

“See, I have called by name, Betzalel son of Uri, son of Hur, of the tribe of Yehuda.  I have filled him with ruach Elohim (Godly spirit), with chachma, tevuna, da’at, u’b’chol-melacha (wisdom, insight, and knowledge, and with every craft) to weave designs, to work with gold, silver, and copper, stone-cutting, and wood-carving – to perform every craft.”

-          Shemot 31:3-4

In this week’s parsha, God designated Betzalel as the head artist and craftsman in the Temple.  It is his job to build the Tent of Meeting, the Art of the Covenant, tables and altars, utensils, garments, clothing of the Kohanim, and more.  Immediately following this appointment God seems to switch to an unrelated topic, commanding Israel to “observe My Sabbaths, for it is a sign between Me and you for your generations, to know that I am Hashem, Who makes you holy.  You shall observe the Sabbath, for it is holy to you” (12-13).  And then the Torah returns to Moshe on Mt. Sinai receiving the Torah form God, and we learn of the sin of the golden calf. 

Why this sequence?  What do we learn from the Torah’s juxtaposition of the Sabbath with Betzalel, of the Golden Calf with the Sabbath? 

I think that, surprisingly enough, we can find a two-fold answer by looking at the words of (1) Senator Joe Liberman and (2) Rabbi Heschel.  The senator, in the Kabbalat Shabbat section of his book The Gift of Rest, writes of how Shabbat gives us the chance to recognize that we are not the center of the universe.  We, the majority of people, tend to get caught up in our own in-dispensability.  We feel as if our job cannot be put on hold, sports cannot wait, our friends cannot survive without us…we are so important that a 25 hour break from any of our activities is just not possible.  But in truth, that is exactly what we need.  The Sabbath gives us this break, this opportunity to step back and realize that, no, we are not the center of the world; and yes, there is something greater out there.  There are more important things then whatever we have going on during the week: there is our soul.  We begin a day where we focus on this spiritual side of ourselves with the beginning of the Kabbalat Shabbat service on Friday nights.  Through this day we become holy. 

In line with this thought, Rabbi Heschel writes: “What would be the value of proving that...keeping the Sabbath is conducive to happiness?  It is not utility that we seek in religion but eternity.”  Our focus on Shabbat is beyond ourselves.  Yes, we my think at a base level that we indulge ourselves by eating big meals and resting.  But our focus is on what is beyond us.  Our focus, the reason behind Shabbat, is on our Creator and our desire to become closer to Him and fulfill His will. 

And this is why our parsha has placed Betzalel, Shabbat, and the Golden Calf together.  With Betzalel, we are told of the Godly gifts that God has endowed Betzalel with.  This particular gift is specific to one man, but every person is endowed with their own gifts, every person is their own world (Pirkei Avot).  No matter what our gift, we must recognize that we are blessed with this gift by God.  We must take time out of our week – take a break from utilizing our gift – to observe the Sabbath and develop a relationship with our God.  We must not fall prey to our own ego and deny God in the use of our gift.  We must not commit the Sin of the Golden Calf, the sin of denying the origin of our talents.  Through this week’s parsha we see the destruction that can result from misuse of our gifts.  We are given our gifts, but we are also given a framework of mitzvoth in which to use them.  The framework is not a box that contains us, but a blueprint for making the most of both our gift and our relationship with God. When we step outside of that framework, we are susceptible to losing a part of ourselves and weakening our relationship with God, as happened to our ancestors when they built the Golden Calf. 

Parshat Tetzaveh

While reading this week’s parsha, Tetzaveh, and many related parshiyot that dictate the precise measurements of the Temple (and details of the ornaments and garments and sacrifices), something inside me feels restricted.  I am not the most creative person, but I do have a deep appreciation for the arts and expressive capabilities they provide.  And there seems to be no room for creativity or expression in the building of the Temple or the Temple service.  Yet I also recognize the need for structure and boundaries – without boundaries there would be chaos. 

A Midrash pointed out by Rabbi Michael Gold on this week’s parsha helps provide somewhat of an answer – if indirect – to my feeling.  Rabbi Gold notes that this is the only Torah portion after Genesis that does not mention Moses’ name.  And the Midrash comments:

“Who are the brothers the Psalmist referred to when it said, `Here is what is good and what is pleasant, for brothers to dwell together.’ (Psalms 133:1)  Moses and Aaron honored one another, Moses took the kingship and Aaron the priesthood, and they did not hate one another.  Rather each was proud of the greatness of the other.”   (Tanhuma Shemot)

Moses and Aaron each had their role in leading the Jewish people and each thrived in that role, while not becoming jealous towards the other’s position or bearing a grudge.  This week’s parsha, which focuses on Aaron, the Kohanim, and specific service in the Temple, recognizes the unique role of different people.  When all put together, they form a unified whole.  So too each of us are born with a specific purpose, something unique to us. Yet we cannot survive on an island, without support from others.  We each have a unique role, but like Moses and Aaron, we must rely on others to fill the areas that we are lacking as we must fill in for others where they may be lacking.