Among the more horrific scenes was a parking lot of about 200 cars.
As we approached, three teams from Zaka were leaving, those charged with collecting as much of the human remains as possible for burial.
The cars were burnt-out shells. Little was left but burned metal and ash. Zaka had its work cut out for it. But as we looked more closely, they tended to their sacred task. Cars were tagged, and each tag represented a victim they found. Some cars had one, two, or more tags. And some did not have enough to be identified. But it was presumed that there were at least two people in each vehicle who died violently and painfully.
We gazed into a sea of death. And as we waded into the lot, we were told there was a second larger lot.
It seems an unavoidable conclusion to reach- we are okay with slaughter by people using guns; it is the price we pay for our rights as we see them.
If this sentiment makes you cringe, there is only one thing to do: vote out of office for anyone who does not support responsible gun legislation; and do not vote for anyone unwilling to pledge support of responsible gun legislation. This litmus test is for local, state, and national figures as this issue transcends these boundaries. Then, of course, we can continue to argue over politics or other policy issues. Still, this binary choice is what we need to make any meaningful changes.
Murderers use assault weapons to mow down masses at a time with regularity; Others use handguns to slay individuals daily. This state of affairs cannot stand. Yet, lamenting the loss is an empty gesture if that is all we do. Our commitment to creating a safer society must confront and coexist with the issues of personal freedoms. Only our vote will make change possible.
If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you…(If, by Rudyard Kipling)
Sophie Mili, illustrated If by Rudyard Kipling
How do I handle competing demands? What do I require for myself, and what do my obligations to others require? This delicate balancing act requires profound self-knowledge based on the preparation that helps us reconcile the sometimes competing if not outright conflicting, needs. Aaron demonstrates how to navigate these tricky waters in Parshat Shemini.
We encounter this repeatedly in our life journey; the competing demands of work and family are familiar to all of us, and we often find we can do only one at the expense of the other. Which takes priority? Can they weave together? This is our dilemma.
The answer is grounded in self-understanding.
The Talmud often weaves its machloket (discussions) around understanding competing values, holding two things in tension, and understanding the core values under different circumstances. We study and learn about who we are, what grounds us, and what motivates us, sometimes creating a hierarchy placing specific values above others. Contemplating the question, “Who am I?” even in troubling circumstances, we maintain ourselves and do not get consumed by the events but move through them, as complicated as the test may be. That is Shemini.
The Eighth Day, Shemini, is momentous; Aaron is to be initiated as High Priest. But by singling out the eighth day, the Torah shows us that the seven days preceding it are also significant–they constitute the formative period that brings us to a critical moment and beyond.
Aaron and his sons underwent thorough planning to assume the priesthood. Moses remained High Priest until he was assured that the training was complete and Aaron and his sons were fully ready. And then, catastrophe.
Nadav and Abihu approached God with “alien fire” and were themselves consumed. We ask ourselves why, and we wrestle trying to understand. If the crime was drunkenness, as our texts and commentators suggest, the punishment of death seems extreme. Perhaps we are trying to explain the unexplainable.
The deaths of Nadav and Abihu may have been just that; a catastrophic event that seems capricious and arbitrary. Such things happen all the time. Therefore, the question is not why this happened but how we respond when disaster comes.
We cannot imagine the overwhelming shock and pain Aaron experienced, but we can conjure ideas of how we might respond. Break down in overwhelming grief, rail against God, fall on his face and rend his clothes, publicly grieve the loss of his sons, go off to be with them and bury them, and turn his back on the priesthood. The list goes on. But that is not what Aaron did.
Aaron remained silent, although shaken to his core at the brutal death of his two sons. The commentators struggle with this silence. As a father, his initial instinct would be to mourn his two sons’ loss immediately. Nachmanides, the 13th C. Sephardic commentator, suggests the silence came after he stopped crying. Rashbam, the 12th C. commentator from Northern France and Rashi’s grandson, explains that Moses intercedes, reminding Aaron he must continue the sacred service already underway, as Aaron was just invested as High Priest and charged with the well-being of the entire people.
Wisdom is usually considered the province of the elder. The hoary head of age is a badge indicating a lived life and the experiences of that life. But experiences are merely knowledge. Once we acquire knowledge, we must embrace it as a life lesson and part of our value system and then judiciously offer it to circumstances in the future; only then can we claim to possess wisdom. Aaron arguably attains wisdom. It is borne from a horrific experience and will guide him throughout the rest of his journey.
Our commentators focus on the verse that explains drunkenness. Rashi sees this as God speaking directly to Aaron, a reward for maintaining his comportment. I suggest it is Aaron comprehending the wisdom of priesthood and the particular responsibilities of that responsibility. This wisdom is for him and the others of the priestly class and as a model for the rest of us.
The people look to Aaron as an exemplar and intercessor with God. This unique stature required Aaron to maintain his composure and dignity, continuing his work in the face of this loss. However, Aaron does not participate in the offering and, in this separation, remains connected to his sons as a mourner.
We have all encountered the moment of decision. There are two paths forward, forcing us to choose the most critical. Although many of us could not comprehend how Aaron could continue his priestly duties, many of us understand there was no other way forward for him. Regardless, we must understand ourselves well enough to determine what we would do when faced with such a test.
Only through preparation or self-awareness can we know how to respond to crises, calamities, or even the everyday things that require tradeoffs. These are not the choices of good versus evil. They are the more nuanced choices, often of good versus good, that are more complex and difficult. How do we maintain who we are and uphold the values we hold dear if we have yet to explore either concept? Only through knowing one’s self can one authentically move forward.
Ironically, the verse from Deuteronomy (30.19) resonates in such complex space, “I call heaven and earth as witnesses today against you, I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing; therefore, choose life, that both you and your descendants may live.” Therefore, we need to understand the meaning of choosing life. Indeed, even the unspeakable horror of losing a child still requires us to find a way forward in our lives and for others.
This is dynamic and constantly changing, yet, we continue to live and grow broadly from our experiences on this journey. Our self-understanding evolves, and wisdom permits us the opportunity to navigate a path forward.
The Ark in the Noah story is a craft beholden to wind, rain, and sea currents. It bobs on the water until it finally hits land. A sailboat, on the other hand, is different. Although it, too, is subject to the currents and constantly being pushed off course, it has rudder, keel, and sails. With these tools, the skilled and prepared pilot keeps the ship following the stars toward the intended destination. So too, can we as we grow older and wiser. We’ve prepared for the journey and its eventualities and can respond with that wisdom. This is the message of Shemini.
Shabbat closes a painful week both here and abroad.
El Na Refa Na La- the prayer for healing is our prayer that healing of the broken may be. May this Shabbat bring you peace and wholeness, and may we find ways to reach out to you.
Tyre Nichols is buried today. So many of us grieve and shake our heads in disbelief, wondering how this could happen.
Several people are identified as directly responsible for the brutality leading to Tyre Nichols’s death, including police and EMTs. Ironically, those charged with protecting us are accused of the murder of someone when they betrayed their sacred oaths. But we cannot stop here, assuaging our sense of moral outrage by prosecuting bad actors. Something more insidious is going on, and we must do much more.
Some of us remember the political cartoon Pogo by Walt Kelly. One iconic image is Pogo contemplating the situation saying, we have met the enemy, and he is us. Set initially as an environmental statement in 1971, this understanding of the situation applies to us today.
We may not be directly guilty of the barbarism that took Mr. Nichols’s life, but we have allowed it to exist. We have turned a blind eye to a systemic problem, and Mr. Nichols and many others have paid the price.
Law enforcement ostensibly is tasked with protecting the people from those criminals who prey upon us. It is a tough job and often a thankless one. It is hard and often very unpleasant, so many of us prefer to turn away and let them do what they need to do. But we cannot turn a blind eye any longer.
In a free society, some are guilty all are responsible. These words were written in 1972 by Abraham Joshua Heschel. And they remain true today. We are responsible. Only when we engage in the difficult conversations and hard choices involving what policing looks like and what are the responsibilities of those tasked with protecting all of us; do we give them the resources they require, including the best personnel, the best training, and the tools, a social security apparatus that supports those whose needs are best met by other professionals and the active, meaningful oversight by responsible civilians and the courts will we achieve the justice we seek, the justice denied Mr. Nichols.
As we lay Tyre Nichols to rest, let us finally commit ourselves to fix a broken system so that America can be America for all Americans.
Set at the Shoes along the Danube Bank, the Hungarian Sabbathsong Klezmer Band shares “Sh’ma Yisrael.”
Shabbat Shalom
When the heart cries, only God hears it
The pain rips from my soul
A sigh breaks the silence
And you fall on your knees while you pray
R: Hear, O Israel, O Lord Almighty
I thank you for my life, I thank you for everything
The mouth moves silently, but my spirit cries out
My heart cries silently, and I pray for you
Hear, O Israel, O Lord, do not let me fear now
(Behold) the guardian of Israel does not slumber, he does not sleep
The pain is great, but I can’t run away
Because I don’t even have the strength to speak, now I need a miracle.
This Shabbat, George Harrison’s epic song, While My Guitar Gently Weeps, played by legends, friends, and his son during the Concert for George, resonated with me after another difficult day.
God’s Miracle is not in the thunder and lightning but in people sheltering others from the storm. ~The Radmal
Our recent Hineini Mission to help Ukrainian refugees in Poland gave me a new perspective on Parshah Acharei Mot, teaching me how to help people move forward in the wake of catastrophe. Acharei Mot opens with God telling Moses to instruct his brother. Moses serves as the compassionate human connection so that Aaron can serve as the High Priest of the community, the children of Israel. For those of us watching the Ukraine tragedy unfold, we play the part of Moses, and the refugees are in the role of Aaron. We are like the loving brother who carries the message of moving forward and offering caring support. Helping the mothers and the children is our role.
The Parshah opens with God directing Moses, after the death of Aaron’s two sons, to tell Aaron to abide by the detailed instructions to follow. Moses shares what Aaron must do to fulfill his responsibilities as the High Priest. Many interpret this as a way to get Aaron’s full attention lest he suffers the same fate as his sons. But there is more here than that. Moses brings humanity to the otherwise stark directives and comforts his brother by serving as the carrier of the message. As a result, Aaron can begin to focus on how to move forward with his life so brutally and irreversibly changed by the death of his sons.
Aaron’s loss is a harrowing event. We witness similar excruciating anguish in the war on Ukraine. The brutality of the country’s destruction; the torture and murder of its civilians, including the elderly, babies, and children; the depravity of routinized rape and torture practiced by the Russian invaders are staggering. In our time in Krakow and at the border, we witnessed women and children coming to Poland to escape the horrors of this war, seeking asylum and leaving everything behind, including their men left to defend the homeland, knowing they too might be slaughtered. Such is the Ukrainian reality. These women and children refugees are like Aaron.
Aaron receives specific instructions on doing his job as the High Priest. These continued instructions coming after the deaths of Nadav and Abihu tell Aaron, and us too, that life must continue even after a catastrophe. Responsibilities to the children do not cease because of personal loss, even the most challenging kind. Our work and our lives remain in front of us. We must move forward. But it is almost impossible to do that alone.
Moving forward is complicated and often overwhelming. Moreover, the loss brings a sense of isolation. Aloneness makes us feel cut off from the community, from life itself. But Moses’ presence informs Aaron that he is not alone. And the instructions Moses carries help Aaron move forward.
Moses informs Aaron that he may enter the Shrine only with a specific offering, and he must appear dressed appropriately. In other words, moving forward is deliberate, done with forethought and intention. It requires structure and resolution and others to help you through the fog of loss.
We support our brothers and sisters of Ukraine. In our rabbinic mission to help the Ukrainians, we brought needed supplies to heal the physical needs and our presence as rabbis to heal the emotional and spiritual needs. We did this sacred work with the support of our communities and congregations. But the task is barely begun. The people of Ukraine continue to need everything- food, shelter, clothing, and a place to make their forever changed lives. After death, life must continue, but only with the help of us, their loving brothers and sisters, will the victims find a path forward. May this be our continued mission.
God’s Miracle is not in the thunder and lightning but in people sheltering others from the storm. ~The Radmal
Rabbi David Levin focuses on bringing Jewish wisdom to seekers of meaning. He is the Founder and Director of Jewish Relationships Initiative, a 501(c)3 focused on human relationships, end-of-life challenges, and outreach. Rabbi Levin’s teachings include “The Ethical Legacy Will, Jewish Wisdom Reimagined“- a new approach to the Ethical Will, “Gleanings of a Wandering Jew,” the lessons of our history and personal travel, “Kavod v’Nichum, Understanding Jewish end-of-life rituals,” exploring the ‘why’ underlying our practice,” Resilience” a mash-up of Jewish Wisdom and Disaster Spiritual Care training.
Rabbi Levin is the co-editor of the acclaimed book Jewish End-of-Life Care in a Virtual Age: Our Traditions Reimagined.
In Judaism, it is pretty straightforward. We have a series of rituals and traditions that serve to guide us. But the answer is more nuanced depending in considerable measure on who you are and the relationship to the deceased.
Judaism compels us to “do the right thing.” It is one of our tradition’s great insights. Doing what we are supposed to do is affirming the bereaved’s humanity and sense of ethics. Even if the relationship was fraught, Judaism provides the ability to rise above circumstances instead of becoming a victim to circumstances.
In this week’s Torah portion, Chayei Sarah, we read that when Sarah died, Abraham wept (Genesis 23:2). But as is the case with Torah, there is more here than the words of the verse. The Torah has one of the letters of the Hebrew word for wept, livkotah, the kaf, printed physically smaller than the other letters. Our sages saw this as purposeful and concluded that this indicated that Abraham cried only a little. Why would Abraham not weep fully?
Perhaps he was overcome by guilt, bearing responsibility for her death. Midrashim tell of Sarah dying of a broken heart when she learns Abraham took their precious son Isaac and sacrificed to God on Mount Moriah. And to further compound things, Abraham knows in his heart that he would do the same thing again to prove his loyalty to God.
There are many reasons why we are unable to be fully present when we experience loss.
For example, Abraham negotiated for the burial cave and immediately focused on sending his servant to find a wife for Isaac. Most of us have experience with people focusing on funeral planning as a means of diversion from confronting the pain of loss. And many people experience complicated grief or ambivalence over the death of someone ostensibly close.
Our tradition offers us a roadmap of sorts when for the process of death and grief. My teacher Rabbi Dr. Michael Chernick wrote that we have obligations and responsibilities as the surviving loved one. Whether we loved them or even liked them, whether they were good to us or not, for our own sake, we need to do certain things on behalf of those who die. So we learned that despite Abraham’s weeping, or lack thereof, he purchased the cave at Machpelah and buried Sarah there.
As a rabbi, I am often asked how do I bury my loved one correctly? The fact that someone would ask means that, on some level, they already are. Together we can explore ways to help them.
But that is different from dictating what to do or how to feel. We have a framework. The task is to understand how our tradition can provide the honor of the deceased and comfort for the bereaved.
Recently, two adult children asked me to officiate the unveiling for their father. Then they changed their minds, cavalierly saying that as only a couple of prayers need to be spoken, they could do it without the expense of a rabbi in attendance. Besides, he (their father) never would have won father of the year.
As I listened, I knew that they would honor their father, but I also knew they were about to miss out on that crucial second piece of our tradition’s wisdom, finding their comfort. We spent some time talking as I was wearing my chaplain’s kippah. But I didn’t press. I hoped they might process the unveiling and the loss in a constructive way and bring them comfort and healing.
How do you process complicated grief? Abraham demonstrates that the question has been around for a long time. So may we find comfort in our memories of those deceased as we embrace the idea that they may be for us a blessing.
Among the more horrific scenes was a parking lot of about 200 cars.
