As we celebrate 63 years of Israel’s existence, it’s important to ask ourselves about the meaning of Israel: why we are there: What it means to us; and also to think about what it might mean to God. We know that Israel is precious to us – to our sense of dignity as Jews in the world, that we have our own country back at last, after 2,000 years of exile. It is also a safe haven to those who are persecuted: all Jews, but also, many people of other cultures and nations who are at political risk – risk of death and torture in their countries. The U.N. notes that Israel is a safe haven for refugees. The film, Strangers No More, that won the Oscar for documentary short at the 83rd Academy Awards this February, is about an Israeli School that educates Christian, Muslim, Jewish children from 48 countries.
But for what purpose have we been returned to this very tiny spot on the earth? Is it to demonstrate that a modern, democratic society can flourish in the Mideast? Is it to make peace with our Arab Neighbors and begin to bring about the messianic era? Possibly both of these. The Torah, (Deut 7:7) adds this reason: “Not because you were more numerous than all the peoples did God desire you and choose you; for you are the fewest of all peoples; Rather because of God’s love for you, and because God keeps the oath sworn to your ancestors, has God brought you out with a mighty hand, and redeemed you from the house of slavery, from the hand of Pharaoh king of Egypt. You must know that the Eternal your God, is God, the faithful God, who safeguards the covenant and kindness with those who love God and observe the commandments to a thousand generations;… You shall keep the commandments, the statutes, and the ordinances, which I command you this day, to do them.”
Perhaps one of the reasons we are there is linked the Aleinu prayer: that of giving us a unique mission – of bearing witness to the blessings that flow from the pursuit of holiness in the world. In this week’s Torah portion, Emor, we are given many commandments that, taken together, help us to develop an inner fineness of feeling for each other and for God. We must not be limited by the temporal politics of our time, although they are important. As Jews and as supporters of Israel, we must always keep our wits about us, and have one foot firmly planted on earth while we have the other foot in heaven. We will never be only a temporal society, for if we ever do, we will supersede the very important reason for our existence: to bear witness to the connection between the spiritual and the temporal, to bear witness to righteousness, to preserve Torah, and to be bearers of light, of caring, and of goodness in the world. As we worry about our Arab neighbors, may we pray for them and send them our love, that their peace and prosperity be our peace and prosperity: that their freedom will be turned to goodness and our freedom always be used for goodness and blessing.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Removing the Barriers
This week’s Torah portion is Acharei Mot, which means, after the deaths. Aaron’s two sons have died and he is told he can only enter the holiest place once a year, on Yom Kippur. This portion gives instructions for the Yom Kippur service, the ritual of the two goats, one an offering and one to carry the sins of the people away. There is a law here that all food animals should be presented as offerings before being cooked and eaten, and there is a concluding section about forbidden marriages.
I’d like to begin with a question; What separates us from God? The Torah’s answer in this portion is that our own impurity separates us. This is illustrated by a passage from the Zohar, “A river went forth from Eden (Gen. II:10).. in the book of Rab Hamnuna the Elder it is called Life, because life issues thence to the world. … the great and mighty Tree in which is food for all is called the Tree of Life, because its roots are in that Life…the river sends forth deep streams with the oil of plenitude to water the Garden and feed the trees and the shoots.…When The Shechinah and the time of righteousness are joined, all worlds have gladness and blessing, and there is peace among upper and lower beings. But when through the sins of this world there are no blessings from these streams, and the “time” sucks from the “other side”, then judgment impends over the world and there is no peace. (III 58a)This passage tells us that we would be fully joined to God but for our own thoughts, words, and deeds. The Zohar continues with Rabbi Simeon credited as saying: “I am amazed to see how little people pay heed to the will of their Master, and how they allow themselves to be wrapped in sleep until the day comes which will cover them with darkness, and when their Master will demand reckoning from them. The Torah calls aloud to them, but none inclines his ear. Mark now that in future generations the Torah will be forgotten… (III, 58a)” This passage indicates that our wrongs, transgressions, and sins are a kind of willful forgetting of what we should be doing. The Torah makes clear that the high priest, the holiest person in the nation, with the exception of Moses, must confess his sins and seek forgiveness numerous times: once for himself, once again for his entire household, and a third time for all the Israelites, in accordance with a selection from Talmud (Yoma 36b) which says that atonement can be with words and with actions, which for him was the sacrificial service.
If our imperfections separate us, us there a way to remove that barrier? The Torah does provide a way to begin to remove the separation. We can initially look at the priest and learn something from his situation. The priest presided over many people bringing sacrifices. He saw people confessing to their actions and errors of judgment. Perhaps this had a good effect on the priest, who may have learned from the people he was meant to teach and minister to. Perhaps he would feel that if those he helped were big enough and wise enough to confess, that he would be encouraged to confess. Also the priest might gradually become more aware of his own shortcomings, come to a fuller realization of his mistakes and want to confess.
We can be sure that if we are not aware of our many shortcomings, God will help us to recognize areas in which we should grow. Just as with the high priest, atonement and repentance provide a way to repair our behavior. They do this by reopening the channels of our love that we have closed off. By engaging in repentance, we signal that we are ready to be forgiven, that we are ready to receive love, because we are ready to give it again. Since our negative behavior prevents us from connecting with God and each other, admitting our less worthy actions is a ritual that begins the cleansing process. However, there is a further step we can take to remove the separation between us and God. One of my favorite teachings from Exodus is that any labor we perform that is not dedicated to a holy purpose goes to waste. We can work and work but it is wasted. This is taught by the offering of a food animal in substitution for a firstborn work animal, like a donkey, which cannot be eaten. Since all firstborn male animals belong to God, if we don’t offer a food animal in its place, the law is that it must be killed, that is, wasted. We never get to benefit from our labor. So dedication: dedicating our work and our efforts to helping: helping each other and helping God – helping the Universe – can bring us closer in our relationship with the Divine Presence. The Chassidic sages also offer some advice. Rabbi Schneur Zalman stresses service. The Baal Shem Tov and R. Dovid Talener say, come before God without arrogance, with humility. And another teaching was suggested as we were studying the prophet Haggai in our Wednesday night study session. We read that when the people returned to Jerusalem from their exile in Babylon, Haggai urged them to rebuild the Temple. He said: “Is this a time for you yourselves to sit in your paneled houses? Set your heart to consider your ways. You have sown much but bring in little.” In other words, think about why you are here. This is also a teaching for us. Why are we here? Is it only to eat and drink and enjoy life and then to pass away? Being human means that we have been given a precious gift: that we are here to dedicate ourselves to a higher purpose. As human beings we can refine ourselves and be of help and of service. We are meant to engage in the work of removing the barriers between us and God, seeking forgiveness, purifying ourselves, so that we can improve ourselves and the world and become more of a blessing. We can wake up and remember that we are part of the refining process that will ultimately lead to the Messianic era. May this season of Pesach usher in a new resolve: a rebirth of our capacity to rededicate ourselves to a holy purpose for which we were created and redeemed.
I’d like to begin with a question; What separates us from God? The Torah’s answer in this portion is that our own impurity separates us. This is illustrated by a passage from the Zohar, “A river went forth from Eden (Gen. II:10).. in the book of Rab Hamnuna the Elder it is called Life, because life issues thence to the world. … the great and mighty Tree in which is food for all is called the Tree of Life, because its roots are in that Life…the river sends forth deep streams with the oil of plenitude to water the Garden and feed the trees and the shoots.…When The Shechinah and the time of righteousness are joined, all worlds have gladness and blessing, and there is peace among upper and lower beings. But when through the sins of this world there are no blessings from these streams, and the “time” sucks from the “other side”, then judgment impends over the world and there is no peace. (III 58a)This passage tells us that we would be fully joined to God but for our own thoughts, words, and deeds. The Zohar continues with Rabbi Simeon credited as saying: “I am amazed to see how little people pay heed to the will of their Master, and how they allow themselves to be wrapped in sleep until the day comes which will cover them with darkness, and when their Master will demand reckoning from them. The Torah calls aloud to them, but none inclines his ear. Mark now that in future generations the Torah will be forgotten… (III, 58a)” This passage indicates that our wrongs, transgressions, and sins are a kind of willful forgetting of what we should be doing. The Torah makes clear that the high priest, the holiest person in the nation, with the exception of Moses, must confess his sins and seek forgiveness numerous times: once for himself, once again for his entire household, and a third time for all the Israelites, in accordance with a selection from Talmud (Yoma 36b) which says that atonement can be with words and with actions, which for him was the sacrificial service.
If our imperfections separate us, us there a way to remove that barrier? The Torah does provide a way to begin to remove the separation. We can initially look at the priest and learn something from his situation. The priest presided over many people bringing sacrifices. He saw people confessing to their actions and errors of judgment. Perhaps this had a good effect on the priest, who may have learned from the people he was meant to teach and minister to. Perhaps he would feel that if those he helped were big enough and wise enough to confess, that he would be encouraged to confess. Also the priest might gradually become more aware of his own shortcomings, come to a fuller realization of his mistakes and want to confess.
We can be sure that if we are not aware of our many shortcomings, God will help us to recognize areas in which we should grow. Just as with the high priest, atonement and repentance provide a way to repair our behavior. They do this by reopening the channels of our love that we have closed off. By engaging in repentance, we signal that we are ready to be forgiven, that we are ready to receive love, because we are ready to give it again. Since our negative behavior prevents us from connecting with God and each other, admitting our less worthy actions is a ritual that begins the cleansing process. However, there is a further step we can take to remove the separation between us and God. One of my favorite teachings from Exodus is that any labor we perform that is not dedicated to a holy purpose goes to waste. We can work and work but it is wasted. This is taught by the offering of a food animal in substitution for a firstborn work animal, like a donkey, which cannot be eaten. Since all firstborn male animals belong to God, if we don’t offer a food animal in its place, the law is that it must be killed, that is, wasted. We never get to benefit from our labor. So dedication: dedicating our work and our efforts to helping: helping each other and helping God – helping the Universe – can bring us closer in our relationship with the Divine Presence. The Chassidic sages also offer some advice. Rabbi Schneur Zalman stresses service. The Baal Shem Tov and R. Dovid Talener say, come before God without arrogance, with humility. And another teaching was suggested as we were studying the prophet Haggai in our Wednesday night study session. We read that when the people returned to Jerusalem from their exile in Babylon, Haggai urged them to rebuild the Temple. He said: “Is this a time for you yourselves to sit in your paneled houses? Set your heart to consider your ways. You have sown much but bring in little.” In other words, think about why you are here. This is also a teaching for us. Why are we here? Is it only to eat and drink and enjoy life and then to pass away? Being human means that we have been given a precious gift: that we are here to dedicate ourselves to a higher purpose. As human beings we can refine ourselves and be of help and of service. We are meant to engage in the work of removing the barriers between us and God, seeking forgiveness, purifying ourselves, so that we can improve ourselves and the world and become more of a blessing. We can wake up and remember that we are part of the refining process that will ultimately lead to the Messianic era. May this season of Pesach usher in a new resolve: a rebirth of our capacity to rededicate ourselves to a holy purpose for which we were created and redeemed.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Inside and Outside
This week’s Torah portion is Metzora, which means one who has Tzaraat, a contagious skin disease. This portion describes the ritual of purification for one who has had such a skin disease. It also speaks about ways that people can become ritually contaminated through discharges of body fluid, and it gives instructions for what to do about mold in houses. The imagery of the purification ritual is somewhat strange. Two birds were brought by the person seeking atonement. That person also brought a piece of cedar wood, a length of red wool, folded into a few strands, and a branch of hyssop, a spongy-leafed shrub. One bird was killed over a basin of water. Then the live bird, the wood, and the red wool were dipped in the blood of the bird that was killed. The blood was also sprinkled on the person seeking purification. Then the live bird was set free. Seven days later the person was to shave and immerse clothing and body. On the next day, the eighth day, the person brought a second offering: animals if they could afford it, flour for a meal offering, and oil. These were sin and guilt offerings. The blood of the offerings and some of the oil was put on the person’s big right toe, right thumb, and right ear.
What can this imagery possibly say to us? The two birds are reminiscent of the scapegoat ritual of Yom Kippur, in which two identical goats where brought before the priest. The priest laid hands on the goats to confess the sins of the community over them. One goat became a Yom Kippur offering of atonement and the other symbolically carried the people’s sins away. In the bird purification ritual, one bird flies away, taking the person’s sins and contamination away. But what does the imagery of the blood mean? Perhaps one thing that is being suggested is that our sins and impurities are far more serious than we think – literally matters of life and death.
In addition there is a second and equally valid suggestion. The Torah says about humans, at the end of B’reisheet, “every product of the thoughts of their heart was but evil always.” And in the next portion, in Noah, it says, “…since the imagery of man’s heart is evil from his youth.” We know that blood is supposed to stay inside a person. Impurity: body fluids, bacteria, anything icky, are all supposed to be on the inside. These things that are meant to be inside of us perhaps correspond to our thoughts and feelings. When they come out and can be seen by other people, as deeds or hurtful words, they cause problems. In the Torah, skin diseases, like the one Miriam contracted through speech and gossip, are associated with arrogance, hurtful speech and unnecessary gossip. When skin diseases and other things that should be on the inside appear on the outside, then we are called to recognize that more is being expected of us and we need to confess, atone, and be forgiven. We know that the Torah’s negative statements about us are not, by any means, the whole picture. We are made in God’s image and we also yearn for love, goodness, wholeness, and a chance to serve and be of help. The purification ritual allows us to realize that we can bring ourselves closer to God and remove the barrier between us and the Divine Presence that we ourselves have put there. The means to do this has been given to us. Our desire to become cleansed cleanses us; and we can then bring forth into the open what we seldom let out from inside: what is finest in us: our desire and longing for holiness, reverence, goodness and Divinity. May we purify our thought, speech, and deeds, so that we can bring forth what is highest and finest.
What can this imagery possibly say to us? The two birds are reminiscent of the scapegoat ritual of Yom Kippur, in which two identical goats where brought before the priest. The priest laid hands on the goats to confess the sins of the community over them. One goat became a Yom Kippur offering of atonement and the other symbolically carried the people’s sins away. In the bird purification ritual, one bird flies away, taking the person’s sins and contamination away. But what does the imagery of the blood mean? Perhaps one thing that is being suggested is that our sins and impurities are far more serious than we think – literally matters of life and death.
In addition there is a second and equally valid suggestion. The Torah says about humans, at the end of B’reisheet, “every product of the thoughts of their heart was but evil always.” And in the next portion, in Noah, it says, “…since the imagery of man’s heart is evil from his youth.” We know that blood is supposed to stay inside a person. Impurity: body fluids, bacteria, anything icky, are all supposed to be on the inside. These things that are meant to be inside of us perhaps correspond to our thoughts and feelings. When they come out and can be seen by other people, as deeds or hurtful words, they cause problems. In the Torah, skin diseases, like the one Miriam contracted through speech and gossip, are associated with arrogance, hurtful speech and unnecessary gossip. When skin diseases and other things that should be on the inside appear on the outside, then we are called to recognize that more is being expected of us and we need to confess, atone, and be forgiven. We know that the Torah’s negative statements about us are not, by any means, the whole picture. We are made in God’s image and we also yearn for love, goodness, wholeness, and a chance to serve and be of help. The purification ritual allows us to realize that we can bring ourselves closer to God and remove the barrier between us and the Divine Presence that we ourselves have put there. The means to do this has been given to us. Our desire to become cleansed cleanses us; and we can then bring forth into the open what we seldom let out from inside: what is finest in us: our desire and longing for holiness, reverence, goodness and Divinity. May we purify our thought, speech, and deeds, so that we can bring forth what is highest and finest.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
The Messages of Illness and Healing
This week’s Torah portion is Tazria, which means, conceives. It speaks about how human beings can be contaminated for ritual purposes, that is, when wanting to bring sacrifices, and how they can be purified. Childbirth, which begins this portion, and the flow of bodily fluids such as blood and sexual emissions, and certain illnesses, such as skin diseases, confer impurity. For childbirth there is a period of days before a person can be purified by washing and bringing offerings, but for illnesses, especially those which might be contagious, the one who is ill is instructed to go to the priest. This tradition was a part of so many human cultures whose shamans: priests and healers combined, knew how to bring people to the gates of the spiritual world. In the Torah, the priest was the authority when it came to illness: and was to look at sores and skin conditions, even mold on houses and garments, to determine whether the person or articles should be quarantined, whether the condition might be worsening or abating, and when it was time for that person to be allowed once again to be reintegrated into the community. We might ask, why does the Torah insist that the priest be the one to make these decisions? Why not a person trained or gifted in diagnosing illnesses: a doctor or back then an herbalist or midwife? We know that in the past, the mind body connection was stronger that it is for us today. When someone had an illness it was presumed that the illness was not occurring as an isolated event, but was connected to the whole person, mind, body, soul, and spirit; and further, that every illness has a spiritual component.
This understanding is reinforced by a quotation from the book of Exodus (15:26): God says to Moses, “if you listen diligently to the voice of God your God and do what is just in God’s sight, listen to the commandments and observe God’s decrees, then any of the diseases I placed in Egypt I will not bring upon you, for I am God, your healer.” This brings us back to the teaching that the moral and physical universes are one, and that we are being guided to greater spiritual and moral attainment. While studying the book of Jeremiah, we also learned that the wound is the cure: that illness, war, and disaster can occur to remedy something that may be out of balance in a person or in the society. The Kotzker Rebbe, quoted in the Soul of the Torah, said, “Where purity is removed, impurity replaces it.”
Religion’s goal is to include and not isolate, as noted in the Etz Chayim commentary. It can help a person to develop another perspective on their illness. Perhaps, then, it is wise that a person with an illness goes to the priest. The priest had to evaluate the illness several times, encouraging a real relationship with the patient; maybe to allow and facilitate the patient confiding in the priest, who could then serve as a conduit to spiritual wisdom and healing. Not that we should ever blame the patient, but that a patient may welcome the support of a sympathetic caring person who would be there for counseling if the person wished it. Also, people may impart different information to a priest than to a doctor. The midrash quotes David’s Psalm 139:5: Backward and forward you have hedged me in, You laid your hand upon me. Perhaps this means that illness serves as a message: a teaching, just as does healing. It can serve as a sign that God expects more of us, or that we have been on one spiritual plateau long enough and are being urged forward. We are meant to pay attention to the dis – ease we feel and to ruminate on our inner condition, allowing us to attain a deeper understanding of ourselves and the world. Perhaps a disease also serves, in our scientific time, as a pathway for circling back to our more primitive understanding and reconnecting ourselves to the spiritual mind-body connection our ancestors knew, but on a higher level, integrating our scientific knowledge with our spiritual knowledge. Our sages, like the Apter Rebbe, taught that humans were created last so that we could effect the repair of the entire universe. Tazria teaches that it will be more than enough to repair and improve ourselves, and perhaps, by so doing, bring ultimate repair about. By the pathway of self-improvement, we can reestablish the spiritual balance that results in harmony and good health. The priest, as a denizen of both the practical and spiritual worlds serves as an example to us. May we take the opportunity to look deeply within ourselves and allow the events we experience to speak to us, showing us a pathway of growth and blessing. May we know that we are being led to greater wholeness, kindness, and compassion, in illness as in healing, and may we strive to inhabit both the spiritual and the practical worlds every day of our lives.
This understanding is reinforced by a quotation from the book of Exodus (15:26): God says to Moses, “if you listen diligently to the voice of God your God and do what is just in God’s sight, listen to the commandments and observe God’s decrees, then any of the diseases I placed in Egypt I will not bring upon you, for I am God, your healer.” This brings us back to the teaching that the moral and physical universes are one, and that we are being guided to greater spiritual and moral attainment. While studying the book of Jeremiah, we also learned that the wound is the cure: that illness, war, and disaster can occur to remedy something that may be out of balance in a person or in the society. The Kotzker Rebbe, quoted in the Soul of the Torah, said, “Where purity is removed, impurity replaces it.”
Religion’s goal is to include and not isolate, as noted in the Etz Chayim commentary. It can help a person to develop another perspective on their illness. Perhaps, then, it is wise that a person with an illness goes to the priest. The priest had to evaluate the illness several times, encouraging a real relationship with the patient; maybe to allow and facilitate the patient confiding in the priest, who could then serve as a conduit to spiritual wisdom and healing. Not that we should ever blame the patient, but that a patient may welcome the support of a sympathetic caring person who would be there for counseling if the person wished it. Also, people may impart different information to a priest than to a doctor. The midrash quotes David’s Psalm 139:5: Backward and forward you have hedged me in, You laid your hand upon me. Perhaps this means that illness serves as a message: a teaching, just as does healing. It can serve as a sign that God expects more of us, or that we have been on one spiritual plateau long enough and are being urged forward. We are meant to pay attention to the dis – ease we feel and to ruminate on our inner condition, allowing us to attain a deeper understanding of ourselves and the world. Perhaps a disease also serves, in our scientific time, as a pathway for circling back to our more primitive understanding and reconnecting ourselves to the spiritual mind-body connection our ancestors knew, but on a higher level, integrating our scientific knowledge with our spiritual knowledge. Our sages, like the Apter Rebbe, taught that humans were created last so that we could effect the repair of the entire universe. Tazria teaches that it will be more than enough to repair and improve ourselves, and perhaps, by so doing, bring ultimate repair about. By the pathway of self-improvement, we can reestablish the spiritual balance that results in harmony and good health. The priest, as a denizen of both the practical and spiritual worlds serves as an example to us. May we take the opportunity to look deeply within ourselves and allow the events we experience to speak to us, showing us a pathway of growth and blessing. May we know that we are being led to greater wholeness, kindness, and compassion, in illness as in healing, and may we strive to inhabit both the spiritual and the practical worlds every day of our lives.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Thinking For Ourselves
This week’s Torah portion is Shemini, which means, eighth. On the eighth day after Moses set up the Tabernacle, the sacrificial service was to begin. The priests – Aaron and his four sons - had been sanctifying themselves for seven days. It was the first time the people had gathered to see sacrifice performed on their behalf. Moses had told them that God’s Presence would appear to them and it was a joyous and solemn holiday, full of expectation and devotion. Every sacrifice was offered as commanded and God sent heavenly fire to consume the offerings, manifesting the Divine Presence. But just at that time of celebration, two of Aaron’s sons brought an incense offering that was not commanded and they died tragically, in the sight of everyone. Moses tells Aaron not to leave or to show signs of obvious mourning, lest another tragedy occur. Then there is a controversy about whether Aaron and his remaining sons should eat the sin offering. Moses becomes angry that the commandment to eat it was not followed, but Aaron said, “Now that such things befell me, were I to eat this day’s sin offering, would God approve?” The Torah continues, “Moses heard and he approved.” At the end of this section the dietary laws are given.
Shemini is perhaps the most contradictory portion in the Torah. It teaches a number of important things, so it is interesting to try to untangle its contradictions and draw some conclusions. The first message we get is that when we follow the commandments exactly, God is pleased. This idea is reinforced by the deaths of Aaron’s two sons. They brought “an alien fire that God had not commanded.” But just after that comes the two middle words of the Torah, “darosh darosh: Moses insistently inquired about the sin offering.” Our sages say that the Torah revolves around insistent in inquiry. This teaching is in turn reinforced by Aaron’s exchange with Moses. Aaron feels that he must have sinned, or his sons must have sinned, for his son’s lives to be taken, publicly, by God. He feels that he is not worthy to eat the people’s sin offering and he disobeys God’s direct commandment. When Moses hears Aaron’s reasoning, Moses agrees with him. This teaches the importance of motivation. It shows us that our intention is more important than obeying the letter of the Law. In effect, we are being told by this portion to think and not to think. In Buddhism, a koan is a statement that makes no logical sense, but is given to a student to meditate on, sometimes for years, until the inner meaning is revealed. This portion is a kind of Jewish koan: use your intelligence and emotions to make your own decisions while obeying the commandments exactly. What are we to do? A Catholic priest I know, Henry Fehrenbacher, who is a scholar and intellectual once said, “God gave us brains and God is insulted if we don’t use them.” In agreement with this, the Stone Chumash quotes Rabbi Tzaddok HaKohen who said, “This is the first place in the Torah of the exercise of Oral law, in which reasoning is used to define the parameters of the law.” I would go even further. Our sages taught that there were two categories of Torah: written and oral. But I have begun to teach a third category: Newly Created Torah that arises in our hearts and minds, moment by moment, through which God sends us suggestions, feelings, and convictions about what we should do. One Actors’ Temple congregant calls it “God Guts.” Now this can be dangerous, if we do whatever we want to do. The commandment to wear fringes tries to guard against that and reminds us to do what God asks us to do. We are very good at rationalizing our behavior to convince ourselves that we are doing the right thing when we are not. So perhaps we need some guidelines for the decision making process. Rabbi Gelberman used to ask: “Is it good today and will it be good tomorrow?” And I think we all would ask, “Would it hurt anyone?” I would also add: does it exclude anyone, which certainly comes up in the way we keep or don’t keep the dietary laws. Another guideline might be, “Is this in the spirit of what God asks of me? Shemini teaches that it is as detrimental to follow the commandments blindly and unthinkingly as it is not to follow them. Rabbi Eleazar said in the Talmud, A person should always be pliable as the reed and never unyielding or rigid as the cedar. For this reason the reed merited that of it should be made a pen for the writing of the Law (Taanit 20a). Judaism can only live, the Torah can only live when we make decisions using our intelligence and our ability to make fine distinctions and fuse these abilities with giving, loving, unselfish hearts. Maimonides said that all of the commandments only exist to lead us to holiness. They are a means to an end and not an end in themselves. I personally find life to be a moral quagmire, which is constantly presenting me with difficult and challenging decisions; and I am always trying to keep my mind and my heart open when I make them. Shemini clearly teaches that the written commandments do not cover all circumstances. It is up to us to decide how and when to apply them. It is also incumbent upon us to be totally honest and truthful with ourselves about our motivations, which may often be mixed.
May we use our intelligence, love of others, our compassion, and our sense of justice to decide the way we should go. May our desire to elevate ourselves, to join with and help others guide our decisions, and may we cleave to Goodness, using our intelligence, doing what is right, doing what is asked of us, with love and caring.
Shemini is perhaps the most contradictory portion in the Torah. It teaches a number of important things, so it is interesting to try to untangle its contradictions and draw some conclusions. The first message we get is that when we follow the commandments exactly, God is pleased. This idea is reinforced by the deaths of Aaron’s two sons. They brought “an alien fire that God had not commanded.” But just after that comes the two middle words of the Torah, “darosh darosh: Moses insistently inquired about the sin offering.” Our sages say that the Torah revolves around insistent in inquiry. This teaching is in turn reinforced by Aaron’s exchange with Moses. Aaron feels that he must have sinned, or his sons must have sinned, for his son’s lives to be taken, publicly, by God. He feels that he is not worthy to eat the people’s sin offering and he disobeys God’s direct commandment. When Moses hears Aaron’s reasoning, Moses agrees with him. This teaches the importance of motivation. It shows us that our intention is more important than obeying the letter of the Law. In effect, we are being told by this portion to think and not to think. In Buddhism, a koan is a statement that makes no logical sense, but is given to a student to meditate on, sometimes for years, until the inner meaning is revealed. This portion is a kind of Jewish koan: use your intelligence and emotions to make your own decisions while obeying the commandments exactly. What are we to do? A Catholic priest I know, Henry Fehrenbacher, who is a scholar and intellectual once said, “God gave us brains and God is insulted if we don’t use them.” In agreement with this, the Stone Chumash quotes Rabbi Tzaddok HaKohen who said, “This is the first place in the Torah of the exercise of Oral law, in which reasoning is used to define the parameters of the law.” I would go even further. Our sages taught that there were two categories of Torah: written and oral. But I have begun to teach a third category: Newly Created Torah that arises in our hearts and minds, moment by moment, through which God sends us suggestions, feelings, and convictions about what we should do. One Actors’ Temple congregant calls it “God Guts.” Now this can be dangerous, if we do whatever we want to do. The commandment to wear fringes tries to guard against that and reminds us to do what God asks us to do. We are very good at rationalizing our behavior to convince ourselves that we are doing the right thing when we are not. So perhaps we need some guidelines for the decision making process. Rabbi Gelberman used to ask: “Is it good today and will it be good tomorrow?” And I think we all would ask, “Would it hurt anyone?” I would also add: does it exclude anyone, which certainly comes up in the way we keep or don’t keep the dietary laws. Another guideline might be, “Is this in the spirit of what God asks of me? Shemini teaches that it is as detrimental to follow the commandments blindly and unthinkingly as it is not to follow them. Rabbi Eleazar said in the Talmud, A person should always be pliable as the reed and never unyielding or rigid as the cedar. For this reason the reed merited that of it should be made a pen for the writing of the Law (Taanit 20a). Judaism can only live, the Torah can only live when we make decisions using our intelligence and our ability to make fine distinctions and fuse these abilities with giving, loving, unselfish hearts. Maimonides said that all of the commandments only exist to lead us to holiness. They are a means to an end and not an end in themselves. I personally find life to be a moral quagmire, which is constantly presenting me with difficult and challenging decisions; and I am always trying to keep my mind and my heart open when I make them. Shemini clearly teaches that the written commandments do not cover all circumstances. It is up to us to decide how and when to apply them. It is also incumbent upon us to be totally honest and truthful with ourselves about our motivations, which may often be mixed.
May we use our intelligence, love of others, our compassion, and our sense of justice to decide the way we should go. May our desire to elevate ourselves, to join with and help others guide our decisions, and may we cleave to Goodness, using our intelligence, doing what is right, doing what is asked of us, with love and caring.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Setting Our Sights on Eternity
This week’s Torah portion is Tzav, which means, command. It continues the rules given to the priests concerning the five categories of sacrifices: elevation, grain or meal, feast-peace, sin, and guilt offering. The portion describes how the sacrifices should be offered and who may eat them; then the portion ends with a description of the priests seven day inauguration process.
This portion is really all about process, and it can be read on a metaphoric level as a kind of guide for self improvement and becoming closer to God. The Torah says, “This is the instruction of the elevation offering; It is the elevation offering, that stays on the flame upon the altar all night until the morning, and the fire of the altar should remain aflame on it. The priest ….shall separate the ashes which the fire consumed of the elevation offering on the altar, and he shall put them beside the altar, and carry the ashes outside the camp to a pure place. The fire on the altar shall remain burning on it; it shall not be extinguished; and the priest shall kindle wood on it every morning, and prepare the elevation offering on it; and he cause the fat of the peace offerings to go up in smoke on it. The fire shall be burning always upon the altar; it shall not go out.” The elevation offering is olah in Hebrew. It’s the word for up, the same word as aliyah, to be called up. Our yearning is to become elevated, and this is what makes us most human. In his great work called, the Tanya, Rabbi Schneur Zalman writes about the animal soul and the human soul. This is what B’reisheet, the first Torah portion, speaks about. Once Adam and Eve eat of the fruit and attain human consciousness, the human soul, they are afraid that God will find out what they have done, and they hide. Of course God already knows what they did and where they are, but God makes a big show about their actions, when God pretends to find out. Eve is given the punishment that her pain in childbearing will be increased. This simply happens through fear coming into the world. Fear is not a punishment, then, because just by having left the animal state, they already feel fear. This is evidenced by the fact that they hid after eating the fruit and before receiving the so-called punishment. Fear is about imagining the future, about having calendars and blackberry’s; and it is precisely our ability to think about the future that leads us to want to improve ourselves; living happier and more fulfilled lives. The great gift of fear is that we can set our sights on eternity and visualize what it would be like to be joyous and whole. The Torah speaks about the offering that stays on the flame all night until morning. If night is a metaphor that describes our suffering, then our desire for re-union with the Divine persists through our nights of difficulty, until the joy of the fulfillment comes in the morning. We are instructed to keep our desires burning through the nights, even to add fresh wood to the fire that burns in our souls, which the Talmud calls the service of the heart. The ashes that remain may be that part of ourselves that we know we need to purify. Rabbi Elimelech quotes the Talmud which says, “Great is repentance, since it transforms willful sins into merits” How is this portrayed in the portion? The ashes were taken to a pure place, meaning perhaps that even our less worthy parts can be put in service to holiness. This is reassuring, because it tells us that we don’t need to get rid of the less noble parts of ourselves; we only have to put them to a higher purpose. This is such an important distinction. Many of us in our upbringing were given the message that only some parts of ourselves were loved and accepted or even acceptable. But we are not manufactured in parts; we are whole beings. Carl Jung writes about personality integration; and that is our task: to use more and more of ourselves to serve what is highest and best in us. The Torah speaks about this also as raising the ashes. How can we raise the ashes? In the process of seeking improvement, the person bringing a sacrifice nourished others. The priests, the relatives and friends, the poor, as well as the person bringing the sacrifice: all ate from it; and when we improve ourselves we benefit ourselves as well as others. This portion repeatedly stresses that our fire: our burning desire to love and be loved must not be extinguished. We must nourish our soul’s impulse to perfect ourselves and in so doing to find the joy in life and the fulfillment of spiritual elevation. This is the pinnacle of being human: a quest to leave the animal state even further behind and rise, becoming truly, as the S’fat Emet says, (P. 157) “half above and half below,” half spiritual soul-beings and half matter. May we seize this commandment to continually elevate ourselves; and turn our thoughts, actions, and desires toward Heaven. May we purify ourselves and in so doing, bring nourishment and goodness to all those whose lives we touch.
This portion is really all about process, and it can be read on a metaphoric level as a kind of guide for self improvement and becoming closer to God. The Torah says, “This is the instruction of the elevation offering; It is the elevation offering, that stays on the flame upon the altar all night until the morning, and the fire of the altar should remain aflame on it. The priest ….shall separate the ashes which the fire consumed of the elevation offering on the altar, and he shall put them beside the altar, and carry the ashes outside the camp to a pure place. The fire on the altar shall remain burning on it; it shall not be extinguished; and the priest shall kindle wood on it every morning, and prepare the elevation offering on it; and he cause the fat of the peace offerings to go up in smoke on it. The fire shall be burning always upon the altar; it shall not go out.” The elevation offering is olah in Hebrew. It’s the word for up, the same word as aliyah, to be called up. Our yearning is to become elevated, and this is what makes us most human. In his great work called, the Tanya, Rabbi Schneur Zalman writes about the animal soul and the human soul. This is what B’reisheet, the first Torah portion, speaks about. Once Adam and Eve eat of the fruit and attain human consciousness, the human soul, they are afraid that God will find out what they have done, and they hide. Of course God already knows what they did and where they are, but God makes a big show about their actions, when God pretends to find out. Eve is given the punishment that her pain in childbearing will be increased. This simply happens through fear coming into the world. Fear is not a punishment, then, because just by having left the animal state, they already feel fear. This is evidenced by the fact that they hid after eating the fruit and before receiving the so-called punishment. Fear is about imagining the future, about having calendars and blackberry’s; and it is precisely our ability to think about the future that leads us to want to improve ourselves; living happier and more fulfilled lives. The great gift of fear is that we can set our sights on eternity and visualize what it would be like to be joyous and whole. The Torah speaks about the offering that stays on the flame all night until morning. If night is a metaphor that describes our suffering, then our desire for re-union with the Divine persists through our nights of difficulty, until the joy of the fulfillment comes in the morning. We are instructed to keep our desires burning through the nights, even to add fresh wood to the fire that burns in our souls, which the Talmud calls the service of the heart. The ashes that remain may be that part of ourselves that we know we need to purify. Rabbi Elimelech quotes the Talmud which says, “Great is repentance, since it transforms willful sins into merits” How is this portrayed in the portion? The ashes were taken to a pure place, meaning perhaps that even our less worthy parts can be put in service to holiness. This is reassuring, because it tells us that we don’t need to get rid of the less noble parts of ourselves; we only have to put them to a higher purpose. This is such an important distinction. Many of us in our upbringing were given the message that only some parts of ourselves were loved and accepted or even acceptable. But we are not manufactured in parts; we are whole beings. Carl Jung writes about personality integration; and that is our task: to use more and more of ourselves to serve what is highest and best in us. The Torah speaks about this also as raising the ashes. How can we raise the ashes? In the process of seeking improvement, the person bringing a sacrifice nourished others. The priests, the relatives and friends, the poor, as well as the person bringing the sacrifice: all ate from it; and when we improve ourselves we benefit ourselves as well as others. This portion repeatedly stresses that our fire: our burning desire to love and be loved must not be extinguished. We must nourish our soul’s impulse to perfect ourselves and in so doing to find the joy in life and the fulfillment of spiritual elevation. This is the pinnacle of being human: a quest to leave the animal state even further behind and rise, becoming truly, as the S’fat Emet says, (P. 157) “half above and half below,” half spiritual soul-beings and half matter. May we seize this commandment to continually elevate ourselves; and turn our thoughts, actions, and desires toward Heaven. May we purify ourselves and in so doing, bring nourishment and goodness to all those whose lives we touch.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Union with God, a Parable of Marriage
This week we begin the Book of Leviticus, the third book of the Torah. The first portion, Vayikra, by which the book is known in Hebrew, means: “and called.” God calls to Moses to instruct him about how the priests, the Kohanim, will offer sacrifice. Four categories of sacrifice are outlined: the elevation offering, or olah, the feast peace offering, or zevach shelamim, the sin offering, chatat, and the guilt offering, asham. All of these are voluntary offerings; and the sin and guilt offerings are for unintentional sins and guilt.
Since we don’t practice sacrifice any more, much of what we now discuss in the Book of Leviticus is of a metaphoric nature. But though our practice is so different from what our ancestors did, we, ourselves, are not so fundamentally different; and we can find meaning in the intent of these ancient rituals. Toward the beginning of the portion, the Torah says, “When a person among you will bring an offering to God, from the cattle and from the flocks, you shall bring your offering.” It is noteworthy that there is a word that appears four times in this short excerpt. The word, offering, and the word, bring, in the English, do not really supply the meaning of the Hebrew. The Hebrew words yakriv and karban are from the word karov, meaning: near, soon, close. The sentence could be translated, when you draw near to become close, or when you approach God to offer yourselves. And this puts us in touch with our own yearnings to re-experience the union with God that we lost in the Garden of Eden, when we left the animal state and became conscious.
The prophet, Hosea, makes this yearning for union explicit, describing God as the bridegroom and Israel as the bride, in these famous words that observant Jews recite when putting on tefillin: “I will betroth you unto me forever; I will betroth you unto me in righteousness and justice, in kindness and compassion; I will betroth you unto me in faithfulness; and you shall know God (2:21).” In a certain sense, sacrifice can be understood in light of this metaphor of the wedding between us and God. The Tabernacle is an enclosure like the chuppah, where we come to undergo a ceremony of uniting, and then partake in a wedding feast; and most of the sacrifices were indeed eaten, either by the person bringing herself or himself near, or by the priests, the poor, the relatives and friends of the one bringing the offering, or all of the above. In Hebrew, marriage is referred to as Kiddushin: holiness, and the sacrificial service was an awe inspiring and holy ritual uniting not only us and God but life and death. There are more similarities: just as God’s instructions to Moses in this portion spell out the details of sacrifice, the ketuba or marriage contract at a wedding specifies what each person shall contribute to the union. The Priest carried out the sacred rituals of sacrifice just as a modern rabbi provides a context of holiness for a wedding ceremony. And there is a Jewish custom which is observed by the Orthodox: that Bride and Groom confess and then fast before their wedding, which is analogous to the requirement that the person presenting a sacrifice lean his hands on the sacrifice and confess before the sacrifice is presented, and then cooked on the altar. We bring the best of ourselves to a marriage, as we are commanded to bring that which is unblemished, whole, complete, and the choicest parts as an offering. The act of consummation has its counterpart in sacrifice as well. Rabbi Dvorah Weisberg in The Women’s Torah Commentary, quotes Midrash Tanchuma, which says, “God chose to leave the high heavens and descend to the earth to the Tent of Meeting for the love of Israel.” She says, “God chose concealment over openness. This is a sign of Divine modesty, since what is private is seen by God as more precious.” It is the possibility of experiencing sacredness that unites our contemporary worship and ancient sacrifice. We speak to God in the intimacy of our hearts to attempt to feel the awe and bliss of being attached to our Creator. Our approach, offering, and drawing near is a rededication of ourselves to the best that is in us – the holiness that we can call forth in ourselves if we approach with open hearts, and willing minds. Our aim is to become worthy of what Abraham Joshua Heschl called being noticed by God. We can seek to unite what is separate through our own sincerity of worship, right action, and loving thoughts. We can recreate the awe of life and death that our ancestors experienced in sacrifice and that King Solomon described in The Song of Songs: (8:6, 7) “Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death; jealousy is harsh as the grave; its flashes are flashes of fire, a Divine flame. Many waters cannot quench love, nor can rivers drown it…” The need to draw close to God still exists within us: the need to confess, make right, be cleansed, rejoice, apologize, repent, and elevate ourselves. Though our mechanisms may be different: meditation, ritual, synagogue worship, deeds of loving kindness, charity, and love, our intention to seek out contentment, and our need to feel whole are the same. May we approach our worship and service with the attitudes of awe and the intimacy of lovers, as did our ancient ancestors, and may our drawing near make us whole and be a source of great blessing.
Since we don’t practice sacrifice any more, much of what we now discuss in the Book of Leviticus is of a metaphoric nature. But though our practice is so different from what our ancestors did, we, ourselves, are not so fundamentally different; and we can find meaning in the intent of these ancient rituals. Toward the beginning of the portion, the Torah says, “When a person among you will bring an offering to God, from the cattle and from the flocks, you shall bring your offering.” It is noteworthy that there is a word that appears four times in this short excerpt. The word, offering, and the word, bring, in the English, do not really supply the meaning of the Hebrew. The Hebrew words yakriv and karban are from the word karov, meaning: near, soon, close. The sentence could be translated, when you draw near to become close, or when you approach God to offer yourselves. And this puts us in touch with our own yearnings to re-experience the union with God that we lost in the Garden of Eden, when we left the animal state and became conscious.
The prophet, Hosea, makes this yearning for union explicit, describing God as the bridegroom and Israel as the bride, in these famous words that observant Jews recite when putting on tefillin: “I will betroth you unto me forever; I will betroth you unto me in righteousness and justice, in kindness and compassion; I will betroth you unto me in faithfulness; and you shall know God (2:21).” In a certain sense, sacrifice can be understood in light of this metaphor of the wedding between us and God. The Tabernacle is an enclosure like the chuppah, where we come to undergo a ceremony of uniting, and then partake in a wedding feast; and most of the sacrifices were indeed eaten, either by the person bringing herself or himself near, or by the priests, the poor, the relatives and friends of the one bringing the offering, or all of the above. In Hebrew, marriage is referred to as Kiddushin: holiness, and the sacrificial service was an awe inspiring and holy ritual uniting not only us and God but life and death. There are more similarities: just as God’s instructions to Moses in this portion spell out the details of sacrifice, the ketuba or marriage contract at a wedding specifies what each person shall contribute to the union. The Priest carried out the sacred rituals of sacrifice just as a modern rabbi provides a context of holiness for a wedding ceremony. And there is a Jewish custom which is observed by the Orthodox: that Bride and Groom confess and then fast before their wedding, which is analogous to the requirement that the person presenting a sacrifice lean his hands on the sacrifice and confess before the sacrifice is presented, and then cooked on the altar. We bring the best of ourselves to a marriage, as we are commanded to bring that which is unblemished, whole, complete, and the choicest parts as an offering. The act of consummation has its counterpart in sacrifice as well. Rabbi Dvorah Weisberg in The Women’s Torah Commentary, quotes Midrash Tanchuma, which says, “God chose to leave the high heavens and descend to the earth to the Tent of Meeting for the love of Israel.” She says, “God chose concealment over openness. This is a sign of Divine modesty, since what is private is seen by God as more precious.” It is the possibility of experiencing sacredness that unites our contemporary worship and ancient sacrifice. We speak to God in the intimacy of our hearts to attempt to feel the awe and bliss of being attached to our Creator. Our approach, offering, and drawing near is a rededication of ourselves to the best that is in us – the holiness that we can call forth in ourselves if we approach with open hearts, and willing minds. Our aim is to become worthy of what Abraham Joshua Heschl called being noticed by God. We can seek to unite what is separate through our own sincerity of worship, right action, and loving thoughts. We can recreate the awe of life and death that our ancestors experienced in sacrifice and that King Solomon described in The Song of Songs: (8:6, 7) “Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death; jealousy is harsh as the grave; its flashes are flashes of fire, a Divine flame. Many waters cannot quench love, nor can rivers drown it…” The need to draw close to God still exists within us: the need to confess, make right, be cleansed, rejoice, apologize, repent, and elevate ourselves. Though our mechanisms may be different: meditation, ritual, synagogue worship, deeds of loving kindness, charity, and love, our intention to seek out contentment, and our need to feel whole are the same. May we approach our worship and service with the attitudes of awe and the intimacy of lovers, as did our ancient ancestors, and may our drawing near make us whole and be a source of great blessing.
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