This week’s Torah portion is Vayikra, which means, and He called. God calls to Moses in this first portion in the book of Leviticus, a book mostly dedicated to instructions for the priests. God tells Moses how sacrifices should be offered and introduces five different categories of sacrifice: Elevation or burnt offerings which were voluntary offerings to allow a person to draw closer to God; Mincha or meal offerings composed of unleavened cakes or fine flour; the offerings of well being, for good fortune and blessings received, also known as feast peace offerings, and the sin and guilt offerings, for unintentional transgressions of a person or the nation. For people who were used to bringing sacrifices, this system provided a way to maintain and extend one’s relationship with God. It also provided a means of atonement; of cleansing oneself of sin and guilt. The possibility of atonement is a central principle of Judaism. As presented here, in the first two portions of Vayikra, it seems quaint, outdated, barbaric, and unnecessary; and it is easy to distance ourselves from the need to perform these rituals. But we all know and accept that we are far from perfect. We know w make mistakes. The question is: do we really need to atone for the mistakes we make? At the end of this weeks reading it says that if a person sins unintentionally, that person shall make restitution and add a fifth to it. This statement is rather amazing, in that it does not speak of an intentional sin, but of a mistake: something the person was not aware of at the time. Now for something like this we would think that we would need to put matters right: to make some kind of settlement or restitution and then things would be fine. After all, it was something we didn’t mean to do. Having made up for it, it should be over and done with. We would try to forgive ourselves and move on. But in this passage, God is trying to tell us that this is not so. In fact, the Torah is trying to make us aware that we do far more damage than we know, even when our sins or mistakes are unintentional. When they are intentional, it is even worse. Atonement is something that we should be seeking every day, and in the weekday Amidah, it is there, in two of the Eighteen Benedictions, the Shemonah Esrei, which few of us do each day, as our orthodox ancestors used to do. These two prayers, one for Repentance, and one for Forgiveness, are not said on Shabbat. They ask God to help us to return, to draw us near and to help us to repent. The second prayer asks God to forgive us as we acknowledge our sins and mistakes. In Midrash Rabba, “R. Akiba taught in the name of R. Simeon b. Azzai: Go two or three seats lower and take your seat, until they say to you, Come up, rather than that you should go up and they should say to you, ' Go down. Better that people say to you ‘come up, come up, ' and not say to you, ' go down, go down; and so used Hillel to say: ' My self-abasement is my exaltation, my self-exaltation is my abasement.”
If we didn’t need atonement, we would already be close to God. The sages teach that it is our sin, or human imperfections, that keep us distanced from the Divine Presence. We actively prevent ourselves from having a closer relationship with God by creating divisions between ourselves and others. That is the sad truth of human imperfection: that we have tremendous power to divide and we use it to keep ourselves away from the joy of living that we could be experiencing. That is the bad news. The good news is that we have the power to choose differently; that we have more power to influence our lives much more than we know. At the time when sacrifice was practiced, the blessings that we did not receive were symbolized by the animals we raised, fed, and cared for, but that we did not get to eat. The blessings were wasted and literally went up in smoke. All that we worked for we could not enjoy. And life still works that way. The mechanism of atonement, also read as at-one-ment, has been given to us as a gift; a gift that we should be using more than we do. Making mistakes is inevitable. It’s how we humans learn best: we fall down and pick ourselves up and try to do better Eventually after falling numerous times, hopefully, we learn how not to make that same error. If we can make fewer errors our lives can be better. But what of the commandment of the added fifth? This is what I call active repair: doing extra. Going above and beyond what is asked of us, so that we don’t allow the damage we cause to remain in the world. What might active repair look like? It might be working for social justice, to relieve the pain of others. And it could also be an attempt to be like God for people: having the God-like perspective of acceptance, forgiveness, giving, and being there by putting the needs of others first and our own needs second. This way of being can unite earth and heaven. The Zohar writes about this as well: “When a person rectifies their actions by means of the offering, all is firmly established and knit together in complete unity, as it is written, when a person brings near, that is, unites what should be.” (Section 3:5b) We can be cleansed only as we cleanse. We can be loved only as we love. We become clear before God by the sincerity of our intention to do no harm and to promote harmony. King Solomon said in the book of Proverbs (4:18) “The path of the righteous is like shining sunlight, continuously growing brighter like the midday sun.” Let us be like the righteous, rather than creating darkness, let us strive to be of those who give light. It is a destination that is ultimately part of our destiny, and atonement can take us there.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Witnessing of the Indwelling
This week’s Torah portions are Vayakhel, which means and assembled, and refers to Moses assembling the people, and Pekudei, which means reckonings. These portions repeat the instructions for building the Tabernacle, only this time, the actual work takes place. Moses calls for the freewill contributions to be brought, a chief architect, Bezalel, and his assistant, Oholiab, are appointed, and the labor commences. More than enough contributions come in; and Moses gives the word to the people to stop donating. In Pekudei, Moses gives an accounting of the value of what was brought. The vestments of the Priests are sewn and all the work is completed. Moses inspects it, approves it, and blesses all the people. God gives the instructions for Moses to set up, sanctify, and anoint the Tabernacle on the day of the New Moon, and then Moses erects it. The priests are dressed in their vestments and also sanctified and anointed.
When all was complete, the Holy Presence, represented by the Cloud of Glory, covered the Tent of Meeting, and filed the Tabernacle. The people had done everything right. They had followed directions and God showed them approval by a tangible manifestation of the Divine Presence, the Shechinah. At the beginning of Pekudei, the structure that was being erected is called Mishkan Ha-Edut, the Tabernacle of the Testimony, or the Tabernacle of the Pact. Pact comes from the word, EYD, witness. Therefore, these two words can also be translated as the Tabernacle of Witnessing. The word, Tabernacle, as we have said in previous weeks, comes from a word that means to dwell, so it can also mean indwelling. This structure, the Indwelling of Witnessing or Witnessing of Indwelling, serves to make tangible our witnessing of the Revelation, our witnessing of receiving the Torah, our witnessing of the reality of our relationship with God. God had said to Moses, “Make me a sanctuary, a Holy structure, that I may dwell among them.” The Israelites made it, and were witnesses to a daily manifestation of God’s concern and care. Eventually, after 40 years, when Moses had passed away and the Israelites were in their land, the people stopped using the Tabernacle. They built the great Temple, which, according to our tradition, stood for about 375 years. We are told that God’s Presence manifested there too, a tradition of witnessing that lasted for over 500 years. The great Temple too, was eventually swept away. A Second Temple was built; although we are told that the Holy Ark containing the Tablets was never placed in the Second Temple, and that the Shechinah, the Holy Presence, was never manifest on that structure. The Second Temple was destroyed in the year 70 CE by the Romans. The structures are gone. The symbols have been taken away, but what of the relationship? The Indwelling of Witnessing or Tabernacle of Testimony was a real structure that symbolized a truth: an aspect of reality that, until God spoke to Abraham, had been hidden: that there is an intelligence that is active in existence, or as Judaism understands it, a mind that directs and a heart that cares and loves. Just because there is no Tabernacle does not mean there is no God. A baby is enchanted by the game of Peek-a-Boo at about the age of 6 months, extending to one year and even beyond. This is because the child feels safe when the parent is there, and is filled with fear when the parent disappears. The game is a way of reassuring the child that, even though the parent can’t be seen, the parent still exists. Our problem with the Mishkan is very similar. The Chassidic Masters teach that all life, and especially we humans, are attached to God at what they call the root – that though our attachment can’t be seen, it is there, or we would not have any existence at all: we would not be alive. The question then becomes, if the Tabernacle is taken away, if we can’t se it, is it logical that God ceases to exist?
The S’fat Emet writes, “The point is that the love and attachment to God that Israel received at Mt. Sinai remain alive in them forever, even when sin prevents them from bringing this hidden love out into the open.” The Mishkan, the Tabernacle, or the Witnessing of the Indwelling, were merely symbols, even when they had what we would describe as an objective reality. The structure was wood and cloth. The Divine Presence merely a cloud. The Apter Rebbe has said, “God’s love needs vessels” but “ although the Torah describes the Shechinah as dwelling in the Mishkan, still the main resting place for the Shechinah is in the human being; and therefore, although the Torah speaks of the Mishkan, we must understand it as if it is speaking about we humans ourselves.” At the time of the Tabernacle, it was our labor and donations, our love and devotion that brought us to be able to witness God’s Presence. And that is still the case today. The symbols are gone, but we remain rooted to God, witnesses to that deeper reality than one that can be seen: a mind and a heart that responds to our love and devotion, to our deeds of kindness, our charity, our labor, and our willingness to open our hearts. A Divine Presence that gives us life and waits to dwell among us.
When all was complete, the Holy Presence, represented by the Cloud of Glory, covered the Tent of Meeting, and filed the Tabernacle. The people had done everything right. They had followed directions and God showed them approval by a tangible manifestation of the Divine Presence, the Shechinah. At the beginning of Pekudei, the structure that was being erected is called Mishkan Ha-Edut, the Tabernacle of the Testimony, or the Tabernacle of the Pact. Pact comes from the word, EYD, witness. Therefore, these two words can also be translated as the Tabernacle of Witnessing. The word, Tabernacle, as we have said in previous weeks, comes from a word that means to dwell, so it can also mean indwelling. This structure, the Indwelling of Witnessing or Witnessing of Indwelling, serves to make tangible our witnessing of the Revelation, our witnessing of receiving the Torah, our witnessing of the reality of our relationship with God. God had said to Moses, “Make me a sanctuary, a Holy structure, that I may dwell among them.” The Israelites made it, and were witnesses to a daily manifestation of God’s concern and care. Eventually, after 40 years, when Moses had passed away and the Israelites were in their land, the people stopped using the Tabernacle. They built the great Temple, which, according to our tradition, stood for about 375 years. We are told that God’s Presence manifested there too, a tradition of witnessing that lasted for over 500 years. The great Temple too, was eventually swept away. A Second Temple was built; although we are told that the Holy Ark containing the Tablets was never placed in the Second Temple, and that the Shechinah, the Holy Presence, was never manifest on that structure. The Second Temple was destroyed in the year 70 CE by the Romans. The structures are gone. The symbols have been taken away, but what of the relationship? The Indwelling of Witnessing or Tabernacle of Testimony was a real structure that symbolized a truth: an aspect of reality that, until God spoke to Abraham, had been hidden: that there is an intelligence that is active in existence, or as Judaism understands it, a mind that directs and a heart that cares and loves. Just because there is no Tabernacle does not mean there is no God. A baby is enchanted by the game of Peek-a-Boo at about the age of 6 months, extending to one year and even beyond. This is because the child feels safe when the parent is there, and is filled with fear when the parent disappears. The game is a way of reassuring the child that, even though the parent can’t be seen, the parent still exists. Our problem with the Mishkan is very similar. The Chassidic Masters teach that all life, and especially we humans, are attached to God at what they call the root – that though our attachment can’t be seen, it is there, or we would not have any existence at all: we would not be alive. The question then becomes, if the Tabernacle is taken away, if we can’t se it, is it logical that God ceases to exist?
The S’fat Emet writes, “The point is that the love and attachment to God that Israel received at Mt. Sinai remain alive in them forever, even when sin prevents them from bringing this hidden love out into the open.” The Mishkan, the Tabernacle, or the Witnessing of the Indwelling, were merely symbols, even when they had what we would describe as an objective reality. The structure was wood and cloth. The Divine Presence merely a cloud. The Apter Rebbe has said, “God’s love needs vessels” but “ although the Torah describes the Shechinah as dwelling in the Mishkan, still the main resting place for the Shechinah is in the human being; and therefore, although the Torah speaks of the Mishkan, we must understand it as if it is speaking about we humans ourselves.” At the time of the Tabernacle, it was our labor and donations, our love and devotion that brought us to be able to witness God’s Presence. And that is still the case today. The symbols are gone, but we remain rooted to God, witnesses to that deeper reality than one that can be seen: a mind and a heart that responds to our love and devotion, to our deeds of kindness, our charity, our labor, and our willingness to open our hearts. A Divine Presence that gives us life and waits to dwell among us.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Royalty on the Inside
This week’s Torah portion is Tetzaveh, which means, “You shall command. God tells Moses to obtain pure olive oil for the Ner Tamid, the continual light, that burned in the seven branched Menorah, from evening until morning, in the Tabernacle. Most of the rest of this portion is about the design of the special vestments made for Aaron, the Kohen Gadol, in his role as High Priest. There were eight vestments: a tunic, a robe, an apron, short pants, a sash, a breastplate, a turban, and a head plate. The richness of their materials and construction created a grand impression. The tunic was a long shirt made of fine linen, in a box-like knit. The robe was made from turquoise wool, open on the sides like a long poncho; on its hem were tiny golden bells that made a noise, alternating with embroidered red pomegranates. Over the robe was worn the Ephod: an apron like affair with shoulder straps, made of costly yarns twisted together: fine linen, turquoise, purple, scarlet, and real gold thread. On each shoulder strap was an onyx stone with the names of six of the tribes engraved on it, so that Aaron bore the weight of the tribes at all times. There was also an embroidered sash. The turban, a sign of royalty, was made of fine linen. A gold plate went across the front of it that said, “Holy to God.” The High Priest also wore an embroidered breastplate bearing 12 precious stones, each stone engraved with the name of one tribe, and set in gold. The breastplate was folded, up in back, creating a pouch, for the mysterious urim and tumim the divining tools for asking questions of God that mean light and completeness. They are a mystery to this day.
It was a grand costume, as the Torah says, “for glory and for splendor.” It is interesting that the Priests had vestments but Moses didn’t. There is no costume or symbol of kingship for Moses at all. Perhaps there is a key to understanding this in the commandment for wearing tzitzit, a tallit, which tells us that the fringes and the thread of blue are to remind us not to sin. Perhaps the priest’s costumes were to remind them not to sin. Moses, it seems, needed no reminders. It is also interesting that the Priests vestments were made of mixed fibers: wool and linen, that are specifically prohibited to us in the portion of the Book of Leviticus we call Kedoshim, the Holiness code. The commandment is colloquially known as Shatnes, mixtures. Why is Aaron commanded to wear mixed fibers while we are prohibited from doing so? This question leads into interesting territory. Aaron was commanded to look grand and we, as individuals are asked not to try to look like a priest, to look royal. Moses was humble, we are told, the most humble person on earth. His royalty was inner, not outer. We are asked to emulate Moses, not the priests in this matter. We are urged to cultivate humility as a value in Judaism, and not to appear to be too wealthy, royal, or grand. When I hear about someone who has a huge multi-million dollar weekend home in the Hamptons, or a very fancy car, wears only designer clothes, or makes a show of their watch or jewelry; when I hear about athletes or actors, or rock musicians who buy a lavish lifestyle for themselves, I often feel sorry for them. That’s royalty on the outside. Anyone who needs royalty on the outside needs it to compensate for a lack of royalty on the inside. True outer royalty is always collective, not personal. Royalty comes from conferring authority upon someone to represent the nation or the tribe. When not serving the people, the priests were to take off their vestments. Aaron was a regular guy when he was not at work. No one can be outwardly royal alone. Royalty is always about the group. But inwardly royal, oh yes. We can and should be royal on the inside, individually. Inner value is true and lasting value. Outer royalty is fleeting at best, and usually elusive. It is comparative and subjective and has no objective reality. It is a costume we put on and take off, because none of us is really royal on the outside. Remember the adage, no one is a hero to his valet? The trappings of wealth and power are even seen, by the rabbis of the Talmud, as a hindrance to spiritual progress. Rather than admiring the outer, the Torah teaches us to focus on the inner: that which provides lasting satisfaction, happiness, harmony, and love. We are all royal on the inside, if only we could see that our divine truth comes from the Divine truth of God. The full beauty of a human soul is too dazzling for us ever to comprehend. We are already royalty, descendants from the Eternal Holy Presence. We truly need no outer emblems of self worth. Our task is to convince ourselves of the greatness within, by cultivating that nobility in Godly attributes: of taking care of others and honing our best qualities; letting the less good attributes in our personalities fall away. The less we need to prove our worth and status to the world, the happier we can become, letting our inner royalty shine forth. Inner royalty, inner radiance is magnetic. We respond to true inner nobility in another person because we admire and feel a kinship with God’s attributes of mercy, graciousness, kindness, integrity, and generosity. Inner goodness shines forth of its own accord. It needs no trappings. May we find the royalty we seek inside, needing less and less of the outer symbols our society seems to value. May inner holiness be the royalty we seek, and may we find it, with God’s great blessing.
It was a grand costume, as the Torah says, “for glory and for splendor.” It is interesting that the Priests had vestments but Moses didn’t. There is no costume or symbol of kingship for Moses at all. Perhaps there is a key to understanding this in the commandment for wearing tzitzit, a tallit, which tells us that the fringes and the thread of blue are to remind us not to sin. Perhaps the priest’s costumes were to remind them not to sin. Moses, it seems, needed no reminders. It is also interesting that the Priests vestments were made of mixed fibers: wool and linen, that are specifically prohibited to us in the portion of the Book of Leviticus we call Kedoshim, the Holiness code. The commandment is colloquially known as Shatnes, mixtures. Why is Aaron commanded to wear mixed fibers while we are prohibited from doing so? This question leads into interesting territory. Aaron was commanded to look grand and we, as individuals are asked not to try to look like a priest, to look royal. Moses was humble, we are told, the most humble person on earth. His royalty was inner, not outer. We are asked to emulate Moses, not the priests in this matter. We are urged to cultivate humility as a value in Judaism, and not to appear to be too wealthy, royal, or grand. When I hear about someone who has a huge multi-million dollar weekend home in the Hamptons, or a very fancy car, wears only designer clothes, or makes a show of their watch or jewelry; when I hear about athletes or actors, or rock musicians who buy a lavish lifestyle for themselves, I often feel sorry for them. That’s royalty on the outside. Anyone who needs royalty on the outside needs it to compensate for a lack of royalty on the inside. True outer royalty is always collective, not personal. Royalty comes from conferring authority upon someone to represent the nation or the tribe. When not serving the people, the priests were to take off their vestments. Aaron was a regular guy when he was not at work. No one can be outwardly royal alone. Royalty is always about the group. But inwardly royal, oh yes. We can and should be royal on the inside, individually. Inner value is true and lasting value. Outer royalty is fleeting at best, and usually elusive. It is comparative and subjective and has no objective reality. It is a costume we put on and take off, because none of us is really royal on the outside. Remember the adage, no one is a hero to his valet? The trappings of wealth and power are even seen, by the rabbis of the Talmud, as a hindrance to spiritual progress. Rather than admiring the outer, the Torah teaches us to focus on the inner: that which provides lasting satisfaction, happiness, harmony, and love. We are all royal on the inside, if only we could see that our divine truth comes from the Divine truth of God. The full beauty of a human soul is too dazzling for us ever to comprehend. We are already royalty, descendants from the Eternal Holy Presence. We truly need no outer emblems of self worth. Our task is to convince ourselves of the greatness within, by cultivating that nobility in Godly attributes: of taking care of others and honing our best qualities; letting the less good attributes in our personalities fall away. The less we need to prove our worth and status to the world, the happier we can become, letting our inner royalty shine forth. Inner royalty, inner radiance is magnetic. We respond to true inner nobility in another person because we admire and feel a kinship with God’s attributes of mercy, graciousness, kindness, integrity, and generosity. Inner goodness shines forth of its own accord. It needs no trappings. May we find the royalty we seek inside, needing less and less of the outer symbols our society seems to value. May inner holiness be the royalty we seek, and may we find it, with God’s great blessing.
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