As we welcome Shabbat, this past week we remember the six million lost in the Shoah on Yom HaShoah. Our prayers are with them, they are not forgotten. To those who survived, to those on the March of the Living (including my wife Naomi), to all of us irrevocably changed, may this Shabbat bring healing and peace.
Kol Zimrah sings Cantor Leon Sher’s, Please Heal us now, El nah refanah lah, taken from Moses’ appeal to God (Numbers 12:13) to heal his sister Miriam.
Shabbat Shalom
Reconciling the strange message of death
Acharei Mot opens with an instruction from God about Yom Kippur prefaced by a bizarre phrase: “After the death of the two sons of Aaron who died when they drew too close to the presence of the Lord.” Is this a warning to Aaron that he has a job to do, so get to it, but do it right or you will end up like your kids? That seems like the unnecessarily harsh treatment of Aaron. Why would God start off in this way? Perhaps it is to guide us toward a deeper idea surrounding the urgency of atonement.
Kippur is translated as Atonement, broken down to mean becoming “at one” with God. We atone when we harmonize ourselves with God. In this Parashah’s connection with the Yom Kippur ritual, the High Priest is responsible for creating this harmony between God and the people. Aaron is given elaborate instructions in this Parashah to prepare himself and to also prepare the Holy of Holies so that all will emerge pure and in line with God. Later we learn of how the people are involved in the Yom Kippur rituals. Our later writings further elaborate that only asking forgiveness of God is insufficient. But the opening of Acharei Mot challenges us more than with the importance of doing the rituals right. There was a need for action and T’shuva demonstrating a cleansed and pure heart.
Leading with the seemingly incomprehensible deaths of Nadav and Abihu creates a powerful message intended to shock us into action. We understand that forgiveness of one another is important; before we can reconcile with God, we must reconcile with each other. However, full presence is necessary to the process and time is of the essence. T’shuva and forgiveness are critically important and must not be put off. In the normal course of relationships, such as between parent and child, we hope that parent and child reconcile before the parent is gone. Often we still wait, postponing such conversations until we see parents in their decline. But in Acharei Mot, the stark tragedy of Aaron’s two sons being struck down before his eyes makes the urgent message of atonement even more jarring. The gift of life is precious and tenuous; the estrangements that we may feel need to be repaired before it is too late to repair them at all. The unexpected deaths of Aaron’s sons, command our attention to acting immediately. But it must be with full intention and presence.
Aaron is warned not to come inside the Holy of Holies at will lest he dies. He must be thoroughly prepared. The High Priest’s preparation and cleansing of the sanctuary are symbolic of the cleansing that needs to occur within each of us. Like the careful removal of all impurity in the holy sanctuary we too need to be cleansed and prepared, so we can approach another with an open heart both asking and giving forgiveness. When we search deep inside ourselves, we often find the hurts we have caused and the wounds we have suffered should not keep us estranged from each other. Our Relationships are precious. We have too little time before it is over, people die and relationships fade into memories.
Acharei Mot assertively and starkly makes us confront the significance of forgiveness set against the backdrop of our mortality. We risk a lifetime of regret and guilt about things we might have done but did not. The Parashah metaphorically challenges us to find the way back into relationships and again become “at one” with another. Acharei Mot gives perspective to us, showing the overriding need to reconcile with and forgive those we should care about while we are still blessed with the time to share.
Welcoming Shabbat with Shlomo Carlebach’s L’Cha Dodi
Shabbat Shalom
Wishing everyone a zissen (sweet) Pesach holiday. A time of celebration and gratitude for who we are and all that we have. Let all who are hungry come and eat! Open up your tables and your hearts.
It is Spring, Pesach and time again to launch another season of “Ask the Rabbi.”
The hardest part about this “Ask the Rabbi” experience was actually mustering up the courage to go and sit down with my little sign announcing my presence. Once I got over my own fears, I did it. I took up residence in my space. I sat down, pulled out my sign and waited for an opportunity. A shaded table, a smile and a sincere hello are the key ingredients to this recipe.
A person might ask “Why do I do this?” (go ahead, I’ll wait) Simply, it seems like a good idea. I am out in my community trying to be friendly, to connect to people where they are. There are no expectations. It’s just me and another empty chair inviting people to join me. Reactions run the gamut from ignoring me to embracing me. But here I am.
I am here because I met a friend and colleague for coffee not too long ago and we spent much of our time together saying hello to people we knew and introducing each other and engaging in pleasant conversation. It got me to thinking about what this might look like to purposefully be present. Interestingly, other colleagues particularly my fellow friends in Rabbis Without Borders were thinking along similar lines. Most notably Rabbi Michael and Rabbi Ari have posted their experiences. (and special kudos to Rabbi Michael for getting the TV publicity and raising awareness of his work.)
We are going to where the people are instead of waiting for them to come through our doors, open as they may be. And it sends a message that we are out and present in the day-to-day encounters, not solely the ritual events, meetings and conferences we attend, or our institutions. We are just out here saying hello, sharing some time and welcoming another’s presence, starting a conversation and perhaps a journey together.
So, Come! Ask the Rabbi!
This song, Shiru Ladonai, Psalm 96, is sung by the incomparable Chazzan Harold Messinger of Temple Beth Am Israel in Penn Valley, PA. This is part our welcoming Shabbat, Kabbalat Shabbat, every Friday evening. Click on the image above and enjoy!
Shabbat Shalom
April 15 will be the final day in the life of Temple Beth El in Spring Valley. That was my home growing up. She has merged with another and is now part of the new Reform Temple of Rockland County. Her time has passed, but it is so difficult to say goodbye to a place that is so much a part of me. I learned so much there, developed friendships that still endure, knowledge of my heritage that connects me, a lens through which to look at life and understand it, giving me the foundation upon which to build a meaningful life. It was in this place that I learned about things greater than myself, what it meant to be Jewish, what it meant to be a mensch. My rabbi, Rabbi Frishman z”l, and my cantor, Cantor Weinflash z”l, were towering figures then and still serve as guides along my path. Saying goodbye to this special place is very hard.
The building was much more than a structure; in many ways it was as much home to me as the place I went to lay my head at night. Temple was a place of extraordinary and wonderful experiences. I learned in the classrooms and to teach there as well, to sing in the choir box, to pray in the pews, to engage in the community, to champion important values and causes, to learn about culture and art, to develop a love of Israel and the Jewish people, to ponder great questions and explore the answers, to find meaning under the watchful care of those who loved and nurtured me.
At Temple I became Bar Mitzvah and was married. At Temple I said goodbye to my parents. Our family names adorn the honor wall and Yahrzeit plaques, my dad’s name on the panel of presidents, pictures of me and my brother and sister standing on the bima as part of our confirmation classes, art contributed by my parents, and on and on and on. Words alone are inadequate to express the depth of my emotional attachment this place represents. Almost every corner of the building has a memory of my time there growing up. I am truly blessed to have been there and been a part of it.
On April 15, we will gather one last time in the Sanctuary of Temple to welcome Shabbat and celebrate a place so many of us called home. Temple Beth El lives on in the people who received the gifts from being involved there. Times change and once useful buildings can outlive their purpose, but the relationships and the beauty created in this special place will endure. This is the blessing of Temple bestowed upon us.
Nachamu, Nachamu Ami. The words of Isaiah 40:1,2 form the basis for this song sung by the Maccabeats.
Comfort, Comfort my people says your God.
A beautiful thought to bring us into Shabbat.
Shabbat Shalom
Something bad happens a strange infirmity of the body called Tzaraat appears. Some say it is leprosy, others claim it to be the heartbreak of psoriasis. But it appears on clothing too. Either way, the priest confirms the affliction and the family is moved out of community. The priest tends to the affected individuals watching to confirm that the disease has passed so they can rejoin the population. Something else might be going on here however.
I was planning a Shiva Minyan teaching the other day and I saw the words of this parshah speaking to us about the grief-stricken family.
Something calamitous happens when a loved one dies. The loss shakes the family to their core and, as our tradition suggests in our rituals surrounding death, the shock and grief is overwhelming and incapacitating. The seven days of Shiva are marked by an abnegation of needs; the mourners sit on low stools, do not attend to basic items such as grooming, clothes are rent.
We in the community are tasked to keep a caring eye on the mourner. We check in with them regularly. We bring the Kehillah, or sacred community, to the mourner so they may engage in prayer even though they are unable to come to the synagogue. We bring them food to eat because they are unable to care for themselves. We offer love and support and succor. We watch over them until it is time for them to start the process of re-joining the community. We welcome them with caring embrace when they come back to the synagogue to say Kaddish. Like the priest helping the ailing, we are responsibility to the mourners through the period of Shiva through the time they can return. Shiva is like the exile of old from the community. It is imposed for reasons over which the person has no control but is rendered impure, or in this interpretation separated because of the trauma of loss.
Tazria shows us that although an ordeal separates the mourner from the community, the community has a responsibility to reach out and continue to support the grief-stricken, acknowledging the difficult place to which they are banished by loss, but caring for them providing protection and then a pathway back to home and life.
An inspiring and uplifting song from Rabbi Yitzi Hurwitz.
Wishing everyone a slightly early Shabbat of healing, peace and refuah shlemah.
Shabbat Shalom
