Reb Jeff
  • Blog
  • About
  • Favorites
  • Resources
  • Wedding Officiation
  • Stay in Touch
  • Contact Me
  • Temple Sinai

Mas'ei: The Torah of Now

7/26/2011

 
Picture
I have not posted much on the blog this week because I am in the midst of physically moving my home. As I write this, I am surrounded by boxes that contain ... well, you could say, they contain the artifacts of my life. 

In what used to be my home, there are boxes containing the clothes I wore at my wedding, boxes of  toys that my children will not give up, boxes holding the dishes I use at special occasions, boxes of photographs of relatives living and gone, and (many, many) boxes of books. Tomorrow morning, the truck will come to take all the boxes and move my life 1,366 miles, south by southwest.

It is at this moment—on this threshold that separates yesterday from tomorrow—that I can't help but think about how I got to this moment in life and where I am heading. I think of those corrugated cardboard boxes as telling a story about my life ... as if it were knowable.

It's easy to think that life can be reduced to an accumulation of stuff that can be separated, sorted, categorized and explained. We tend to forget, though, that, in day-to-day experience, the story of our lives is invisible to us. There are no sharp, defining corners. There are no neat bundles that can be carried one at a time. Our lives, as they are lived, are more complex than we can describe, with origins we do not understand, and a destination we cannot perceive.

There is a nice commentary on this week's Torah portion (Mas'ei) that points to this truth. The portion describes how the daughters of Zelophechad, whom we met two weeks ago in Parashat Pinchas, were required to marry within their tribe because they had inherited land from their father when he died without a male heir. The land must remain within their father's tribe, so the daughters are required to marry men of the same tribe. This becomes a law for all women in the identical situation. 

However, many commentators have noticed that this law does not prevent some, or even most, of the situations in which a woman might inherit land. If a woman is already married to a man from another tribe when her father dies without a male heir, according to the law, she will inherit the land and the land eventually will pass out of her father's tribe. Why isn't there something in the law to prevent that situation?

The Ramban (also known as Nachmanides) says of this seeming inconsistency that, "The Torah does not want to concern itself with things to come in the future." That is, the Torah does not wish to prevent women from marrying outside of their tribe because of the mere possibility that they might someday inherit land.  The Torah is about life in the now. We cannot live properly in the present if we are forever shadowed by what might be in the future.  

To strengthen his point, Ramban quotes the book of Ecclesiastes, which asks, "Who can straighten what God has twisted?” (Ecclesiastes 7:13).

Life is filled with a seemingly endless series of false starts, plot twists, and surprise endings. Nobody knows exactly what possibile turns of fate have led us to the moment we now inhabit. None of us can say where the future might take us. The Torah is not concerned with where we might end up in a year—or five, or ten, or a thousand—from now. The Torah can only speak to the situation we are in right now, at this moment.

At this moment, the boxes surround me. At this moment, I cannot be sure about how I got here, or where this collection of memories may accompany me in the future. The only thing that matters is now.  God is going to keep twisting my life around me, whether I like it or not. The only thing I can do is appreciate the journey, wherever it takes me, and enjoy the blessing of now.

Matot: Sacred Speech

7/21/2011

 
"I swear to God, I promise that I will pay you back every last penny." 

Have you ever noticed how common it is for people to swear in God's name? Also, have you noticed that, in our society, making a promise in God's name does not make much of a difference in how well the promise is kept?

This week's Torah portion, Matot, begins with laws regarding vows—promises made in God's name. It is clear that the Hebrew Bible takes these promises very seriously. The second verse of the parashah states:

"When people make a vow to Adonai or take an oath imposing an obligation on themselves, they shall not break their pledge; they must carry out all that has crossed their lips" (Numbers 30:3).

Now, it seems that keeping promises was very important in the ancient world. In a society where there were few legal courts to enforce the terms of agreements—in a culture where people really had to depend upon one another for their survival—there must have been tremendous social pressure for people to keep their word. 

That is part of the social background of this Torah passage and it does help us to understand why the Torah puts such emphasis on keeping promises. However, the Torah is about more than social conventions. The importance of keeping a vow, as stated in the Torah, is not just to keep society together, it also is to keep faith with God. Breaking a promise is an offense against God, not just an offense against the person to whom the promise was made. Why should that be?

In his classical commentary on Pirkei Avot, Yonah Gerondi states that we should regard our mouths as being like the sacred vessels used in the Temple. Like the sacred vessels, our mouths were created to praise God.  Also, like those vessels, anything placed within our mouths becomes holy. Our everyday words are holy and keeping a promise, therefore, is a sacred duty.

How would that awareness change the way that you think about your words? How would your life be transformed by thinking about the words you speak to your friends, to your spouse, and to your children as being sacred? 

We, too, in the 21st century have many social conventions about how we are supposed to use words. From an early age, we teach our children to use words like "please" and "thank you." We all understand the sometimes subtle differences between speaking respectfully and speaking hurtfully. People in many professions (including rabbis) are trained to keep some words confidential. However, we don't usually think of the rules of being polite, being respectful and keeping confidences as being sacred. But, maybe we should.

The choices we make when we use words are about more than just following society's rules. They are about our connection to something beyond ourselves. When I maintain an awareness of the sacred obligation to use words wisely, I feel that have submitted myself to a truth that is deeper than my own interests, and wider than the interests of my community. When I regard my words as forming a sacred trust, I feel that I have entered into an agreement with eternity. 

So, the next time you say, "I swear to God…," mean it. The next time you talk to a friend about your day, do so with reverence for the bond between you. The next time you tell your children to say, "Please," think about how you are engaged in an act of holiness.

Pinchas: Five Sisters Who Turned the Key to Unlock the Torah

7/15/2011

 
Picture
This week's Torah portion, Pinchas, includes the story of five sisters who came before Moses to challenge a law. The story interests us from a feminist perspective because the sisters triumphed in the end and changed the law to their benefit and the benefit of all women. However, the story also is a great example of how Jewish tradition understands the need for Torah to change.

At some point, just about everyone who begins the serious study of Torah asks themselves this question: How did the rabbis get away with making up so many laws that have so little basis in the text of the Torah? To name just one example, the Torah says absolutely nothing about the fate of a woman whose husband divorces her, but the rabbis developed a complex marriage contract—the ketubah—to protect women from cruel poverty after divorce. Where did the rabbis get the right to alter the Torah to this extent?

The answer, of course, is that they got the right to change the Torah from the Torah itself.

The ancient rabbis knew that they went far afield in their interpretations. They admit it in the Mishnah, where they talk about the many laws they pronounced based on just a few scant verses. The sages say, "The laws concerning Shabbat, the festival offerings, and the transfer of sacred items for secular use are all mountains suspended by a hair! Scripture teaches little about them but the laws we derive are many!" (M. Chagigah 1:8).

In fact, rabbinic Judaism is based on exactly this kind of far-reaching interpretation. In the time of the rabbis, the survival of the Torah depended upon it.

The Torah is the product of an agricultural civilization built around a powerful king and a  Temple where priests oversaw sacrifices to earn God's protection for the nation. That civilization quickly was becoming irrelevant by the first century c.e. when the rabbis took center stage. The rabbis recognized that in order to maintain the core values of the Torah, they had to show that the Torah was really a guide that taught spiritual lessons hidden in the rules about herding cattle and offering sacrifices.

The rabbis had to adapt the Torah to the needs of an age that was predominantly urban, that had lost the sovereignty of its king, that was influenced by the universal ideals of Greek philosophy, and that was increasingly skeptical of the inherited authority of priests. The rabbis used interpretation to transform the Torah into a teaching fit for philosophers and ethicists, instead of for farmers, priests and kings.

But, how did they unlock the Torah to make such transforming interpretations? The key was there in the lock itself, only waiting for someone's hand to turn it.

In the story of the daughters of Zelophechad, the five sisters came before Moses to present a grievance. The law had stated that land could be inherited only by males. Since their recently deceased father had no male heirs, his inheritance would be scattered to the other men of the tribe. Their father's name would be lost to history and his land would permanently enter into the possession of other families. 

Machlah, Noah, Choglah, Milkah and Tirzah went to Moses and said, "Why should our father’s name be lost to his family just because he had no son! Give us land to possess along with the rest of our father’s kin!" (Numbers 27:4). Moses heard their protest and could say nothing until he "brought the case before Adonai" (verse 5). 

God instructed Moses that the daughters of Zelophechad were correct. When a man dies without leaving a male heir, God said, the daughters would be given possession of the land as the equals of their father's kinsmen. The previously pronounced law was challenged and changed through a new act of interpretation in order to meet an unforeseen need.  

That is the power of the Torah—and the power of interpreting the Torah, which is first exemplified by the Torah itself! The Torah contains within itself the flexibility to change and to be rediscovered and reinterpreted.

In our own times, when so much has changed in the way we view the dignity of human beings—regardless of gender, race and sexual orientation—we can view this story as a reminder that keeping the Torah does not mean refusing to change. The Torah itself asks that we look at moral implications to adapt the law to meet the needs of the times. Not only does that keep Torah relevant, it draws Torah out of stagnation and into the realm of the joy of the human spirit.

That is the way of ensuring that the Torah's central teachings survive and thrive in a changing world.

God of the Natural or the Supernatural?

7/10/2011

 
Picture
This last week I drove from my old home in Massachusetts to my new home in Florida. I didn't have time for much sightseeing along the way, but I could not resist the chance to visit Natural Bridge in Virginia again. I had not been there since a trip with my grandparents back in 1976—thirty-five years ago, to the month.

On one level, the bridge is just a big rock that happens to have a hole eroded through it by the persistance of a small creek trickling under it for hundreds of millions of years. It is the result of a quirky accident of circumstances, you might say, and no more. 

However, that does not begin to explain the emotional impact that this 215-foot-high arch has on the human imagination. The sight of thousands of tons of rock suspended in the air is dizzying. Contemplating the forces that shaped it over eons is humbling and awe-inspiring. Even more, the hugeness of the bridge makes me think about all of the other wonders of creation—large and small—that go unnoticed in our everyday world.  The bridge is like a postcard from God that says, "Just in case you weren't noticing, I thought I'd give you humans a miracle that is too big even for you to ignore. Enjoy."

Natural Bridge is a reminder of God's presence in the world—a presence that announces itself in the wonders of a universe that is too big, too complex, too subtle and too overwhelming for us to completely understand. For me, God is revealed in nature. 

Certainly, there is much in Jewish tradition and practice that encourages us to seek God's presence in nature.  We follow the natural cycles of the seasons and the moon, and we make blessings to appreciate natural phenomena like thunder, mountains and earthquakes.  There also is much in Judaism that asks us to respect the natural world. We are commanded not to waste the earth’s resources and to treat animals with compassion and respect. 

Yet, Jewish tradition also holds that God cannot be equated with nature.  God is often depicted in Jewish tradition as transforming and transcending the natural world. The God who can part the waters of the Red Sea or cause the sun to stand still is a God who stands apart from and above the natural order. God is depicted in Jewish tradition, literally, as supernatural, above nature.

In Jewish law, many things that are "natural" to do, are forbidden. Eating various types of foods, working on Shabbat, even the restrictions on sexual behavior, can be seen as curbing our natural instincts and desires. On the other hand, many of Judaism’s positive commandments tell us to do things that have no basis in nature. Fasting on Yom Kippur, praying daily, and—perhaps most “unnatural” of all—the ritual of circumcision, are all acts that declare that we human beings, too, need to go beyond that which is  natural and reach for something higher than physical and material reality. Jewish tradition is clear that when we are in our natural state, we are not yet at our ideal state. 

In that sense, too, Virginia's Natural Bridge speaks to me as an object lesson about what truly is natural and supernatural. It declares that, despite conventional perceptions, stone can hover in the air. Trickles of water can carve monuments grander than anything made by human hands. Wonders and miracles are hidden in every grain of sand. 

When I wrap my mind around these ideas, I realize that the things I am tempted to call "supernatural," really are natural after all. That which usually seems "natural" is actually beyond my understanding.

Balak: How Good are Your Tents!

7/6/2011

 
"How good are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places, O Israel!"
-Numbers 24:5

The words of the non-Israelite prophet, Balaam, are the first words read by the congregation at every morning service: "Mah tovu ohalecha Ya'akov; mishkenotecha Yisrael!"  The words, which begin the piyyut (liturgical poem) are followed by words from the book of Psalms:

I, through Your great love, enter into Your House. I prostrate myself before Your holy Temple in reverence to You. (Psalms 5:7)
Adonai, how I love the refuge of Your House, the place of the dwelling of Your glory! (Psalms 26:8)
I prostrate and bow; I offer blessing before Adonai my maker! (Psalms 95:6)
I offer prayer to You, Adonai, at the time when it is accepted; God, in Your great love, answer me faithfully with Your redemption! (Psalms 69:14)

Together, these verses form a poem about being in sacred space. We begin the morning service by reminding ourselves what it means to stand on the sacred ground of God's House in worship.

But, why should that be necessary? If we are in the synagogue, the sacred gathering place of the Jewish people, why should we need to declare ourselves to be standing in sacred space? Aren't we there already?

The answer, of course, is that, from a Jewish perspective, holiness is a matter of intention, kavanah. Without the right kavanah, a synagogue is nothing more than a fancy building with a closet at one end to store some old scrolls. The building does not become a synagogue until we enter the space with the intention to be in a synagogue.

In a very real sense, we recite the verses of Mah Tovu in order to sanctify the space in which we stand. Every morning, as we begin the service with the words of Balaam, we turn a building into a synagogue and create sacred space all around us.

This is the secret of Mah Tovu. With a turn of the heart, we place ourselves in sacred space. We discover that we can spend our entire lives living in holiness just by having the intention to be aware of God's presence.

The Torah and the Constitution

7/3/2011

 
Tomorrow is Independence Day, the day on which we Americans celebrate our independence from Great Britain and the freedoms guaranteed by the Constitution. It is a day that American Jews embrace and celebrate with joy. 

America—called the "Golden Medina" by a prior generation of Jewish immigrants—is the country that gave Jews freedom of religion when Europe offered pogroms and antisemitism. The Fourth of July, the holy day of American freedom, can be seen as the secular Passover. Barbecues and parades take the place of gefilte fish and seders for American Jews who remember the escape from persecution and entrance into a new promised land.

American Jews often talk  about how the values of American democracy parallel the ideals of Judaism. Respect for the integrity of the individual, concern for the welfare of the downtrodden, and belief in people's ability to choose their own destiny are all values common to American and Jewish aspirations. Yet, it is worth remembering that the belief systems of American freedom are not always consonant with those of Torah.

The building blocks of American freedom are rights. American freedom is equated with the right to free speech, the right to practice ones religion, the right to bear arms, the right to privacy, the right to a fair trial, among all the rights guaranteed in the Constitution's Bill of Rights. We are so steeped in the language of rights that it sometimes comes as a surprise to realize that "rights" are completely absent from the Torah.

The language of freedom in the Torah is expressed as obligations, not as rights. Where the U.S. Constitution protects the rights to life, liberty and property, the Torah speaks of the obligations not to kill, not to oppress the stranger, and not to steal. The distinction may seem like a mere matter of rhetoric. If everyone is required to pursue justice, for example, then the right to justice is guaranteed, isn't it? But notice how the language of rights is intrinsically different from the language of obligation.

A right is something that affirms what others owe to you. An obligations affirms what you owe to others. The Constitution protects the individual from the abuses of the many. The Torah requires the individual to serve the needs of the many. The Constitution promotes a focus on the self. The Torah promotes a focus on others. 

This does not mean that we should say that the Constitution is morally inferior to the Torah. In truth, they serve different purposes. The Constitution defines the relationships between the people and the government. The Torah defines the relationship between the people and God. Both are needed. 

On this Independence Day, take some time to be grateful for the blessings of liberty that we enjoy as Americans. No other government in history has stood so strongly for the rights of human beings to speak what they wish to say, or to worship as they choose. But, we should also remember that the rights guaranteed by the Constitution are not an end in themselves. They are merely the foundation that makes it possible for us to choose to serve others and, by so doing, to serve God.

    Welcome

    This blog is about living a joyful Jewish life and bringing joy to synagogues and the Jewish community. Join the conversation by commenting on posts and sharing your experiences. For more on the topic, read the First Post.
    "Like" Reb Jeff on FB

    RSS Feed

    Enter your email address to subscribe to Reb Jeff posts by email

    Follow Reb Jeff's Tweets

    Recent Posts

    Purim & COVID-19
    ​The Honor of Heaven
    Chasing Our Own Tails
    Drilling Under Your Seat
    Change the World
    Self-Righteousness
    Where We Came From
    What We Must Believe
    ​Is Passover 7 or 8 Days?Origin Story
    Va'eira: Leadership​

    Jeff's Favorites

    • First Post
    • Searching for How the Bible Defines Marriage 
    • The Difference between God and Religion
    • In the Beginning of What?
    • Rape, Abortion and Judaism
    • Ten Thoughts about Being a Rabbi
    • Temple Dues and Don'ts
    • A Pesach Lesson from Yoga
    • The Purpose of the Torah

    Torah Portions

    Genesis
    Bereshit
    Noach
    Lech Lecha
    Vayera
    Chayei Sarah
    Toledot
    Vayetze
    Vayishlach
    Vayeshev
    Miketz
    Vayigash
    Vayechi

    Exodus
    Shemot
    Va'eira
    Bo
    Beshalach
    Yitro
    Mishpatim
    Terumah
    Tetzaveh
    Ki Tisa
    Vayakhel
    Pekudei

    Leviticus
    Vayikra
    Tzav
    Shemini
    Tazria
    Metzora
    Acharei Mot
    Kedoshim
    Emor
    Behar
    Bechukotai

    Numbers
    Bamidbar
    Naso
    Beha'alotecha
    Shelach
    Korach
    Chukat
    Balak
    Pinchas
    Matot
    Masei

    Deuteronomy
    Devarim
    Va'etchanan
    Ekev
    Re'eh
    Shoftim
    Ki Tetze
    Ki Tavo
    Nitzavim
    Vayelech
    Ha'azinu
    Vezot Haberachah

    Holidays
    Shabbat
    Rosh Chodesh
    Pesach/Passover
    Omer Period
    Yom HaShoah
    Yom HaZikaron
    Yom Ha'atzma'ut
    Pesach Sheini
    Lag B'Omer
    Yom Yerushalayim
    Shavuot
    Fast of Tammuz
    Tisha B'Av
    Tu B'Av
    Rosh Hashanah
    Days of Awe
    Yom Kippur
    Sukkot
    Hoshanah Rabbah
    Shmini Atzeret/
    Simchat Torah
    Chanukah
    Tu BiShvat
    Adar (Joy Increases!)
    Purim

    Archives

    September 2020
    August 2020
    May 2020
    March 2020
    October 2019
    September 2019
    July 2019
    May 2019
    April 2019
    January 2019
    November 2018
    October 2018
    September 2018
    March 2018
    January 2018
    December 2017
    March 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    October 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014
    April 2014
    March 2014
    February 2014
    January 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    October 2013
    September 2013
    August 2013
    July 2013
    June 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    October 2012
    September 2012
    August 2012
    July 2012
    June 2012
    May 2012
    April 2012
    March 2012
    February 2012
    January 2012
    December 2011
    November 2011
    October 2011
    September 2011
    August 2011
    July 2011
    June 2011
    May 2011
    April 2011
    March 2011
    February 2011

    Loading
    Jewish Bloggers
    Powered By Ringsurf
    Picture