Category: Parashah

Torah for Jews Today – Parshat Matot

Matot offers a climax to one of the troubling stories in the formation of our people.

 

On the verge of entering the Promised Land, the children of Israel must fight the Midianite people first. Although Moses instructs his warriors, according to God’s directive, to slay all the Midianites, Moses is angered when the army spares the women and children and reiterates the command to kill.

Were the Israelite people freed so they would unquestioningly carry out God’s dirty work? Or was this a test to see if we were worthy of freedom and the responsibilities such freedom carries? Were we ready to serve God as a righteous light to the nations? The army commanders understood the implications of this barbaric act and refused to follow the order. Moses overruled them, demanding harsh vengeance.

This kind of retaliation is appalling by our standards, and it was unacceptable for the Israelites, too. The phrase “Just following orders” sends shudders down the spine. But, even where legitimate grievance exists, morality trumps brutal vengeance. Matot is a warning for us and our interaction in an often inhospitable, antisemitic world.

However, the past cannot be the only lens we use to see the future. There was legitimate grievance against the Midianites. They attempted to undermine the nascent Israelite nation, and war appeared to be the way forward. But following orders is insufficient reason to commit atrocities. God’s vengeance is best left for God to transact (the flood, Sodom and the Korach Rebellion, to name three).

When individuals assume that responsibility and act on behalf of God, it is dangerous. A humane approach offers compassion instead of annihilation and a path toward peace. This alternative does not dismiss the history but does not make us slaves to the past, repeating and perpetuating tribalistic hate. Our tradition repeatedly admonishes us to act with benevolence and, in the words of Pirkei Avot, “Even in a place where there are no menschen, strive to be a mensch.”

Against this backdrop, we might look again at the lessons of this part of the parsha and see how we can apply them in many current world affairs and, in particular, to the situation with the Russian war’s effects on Ukrainians and Poles. We cannot be indifferent to human suffering; it goes against everything our tradition demands.

Jewish history in Ukraine and Poland is fraught. Persecution and antisemitism characterize much of the Jewish experience. Periods of welcome, such as King Casimir III inviting Jews to Poland as other countries expelled them, are countered by the infamous Khmelnytskyi and pogroms, which accounted for the slaughter and terror of the Jewish population of the region. It is little wonder that approximately 2 million-plus Jews emigrated to America at the turn of the 20th century when the opportunity to leave that place presented itself.

Furthermore, we understand that deeply rooted antisemitism enabled the Holocaust. These are substantial reasons for the Jewish psyche to be wary. But if we are limited to only that, practicing hatred in response to hate, we deprive ourselves of the very humanity our tradition teaches.

We Jews are duty-bound to see and respond to the Ukrainian people’s human suffering and the Poles’ heroic efforts. We know that the support by the Poles is something no one offered us as the Shoah unfolded. And knowing this, we can nonetheless be instruments in alleviating anguish and perhaps elevating ourselves in the process.

We can serve as Or l’goyim, a light to the nations, deeply rooted in our belief that we can be agents of change; partners in the ongoing act of creation; that we hear of the suffering and do not stand idly by as another’s blood is shed. Our values compel us to be part of the solution to the problem rather than remain mired in a history where we were seen as the problem needing to be solved.

Of course, we do not deny the past or naively presume the days of Jew-hatred are over. But we can take steps to help the world become a better place. This is a lesson I learned from Parsha Matot.

Show your support for the victims of war with your donation.  For each donation of $54, we will send you the Ukrainian Sunflower to wear proudly and keep us aware you stand against the suffering.  Proceeds are going to the JCC Krakow, a leader in helping Ukrainian refugees.

 

Shabbat Shalom

It’s National Be Nice to In-Laws weekend!

There is a wonderful commercial on the airways.  The “Good Hands” insurance folks have Tina Fey driving with her mother-in-law, aka Mayhem, portrayed by Dean Winters. It is a caricature of the tensions intrinsic in this relationship.  But it is not always so, as we see in this week’s Parsha, Yitro.  This week we see how the wisdom of the elder father can be shared with the son.  Yitro is transferring knowledge borne from the experience of leading others, he is a Midianite priest after all, to Moses, a relative “newbie” to this challenge.

The wise should share their wisdom.  That is straightforward enough.  But it is in the transferring that things can often be complicated.  If I try to impose my wisdom, it likely won’t be heard, shunted aside instead of embraced.  I must find a way to communicate successfully, requiring understanding and sensitivity.  And on the other side of this relationship, the one benefitting from wisdom needs to be ready for the learning.  Jethro had to listen and find a way to connect with his son-in-law, and Moses needed to be overwhelmed enough to realize he was in over his head and was in a desperate place.  Only then could that wisdom be shared.

Both sides of the relationship are challenged to set aside ego and power so that they can find a place to work together for a common purpose.  How timely a message for all of us.

Shabbat Shalom!

(I have been away for a few weeks traveling in Israel and Rome.  I bring home many new experiences I look forward to sharing soon.)

 

Vayera – What did Abraham hear when God spoke?

I, like so many others, have struggled with Abraham’s responses to God in the stories of Vayera.  Why was our Patriarch eager to confront God and bargain to save Sodom and Gomorrah and then be so passively accepting of God’s command to kill Isaac?  Abraham responds to what he heard, a message filtered by his own biases and his perception of God, the other in this relationship.

In the Akedah, God instructs Abraham in painful detail, “Take your son, your only son, the one that you love, Isaac, go to Moriah and offer him as a burnt offering.”  God is carefully staking out Abraham’s test of faithfulness.  There is no room for a conversation. The Akedah is so intense; it is almost impossible for Abraham to catch his breath, let alone say something in response.   Although there is no conversation, the ensuing language makes it clear that the next three days, Abraham is thoroughly deliberate traveling to Mt. Moriah.  Abraham cannot deliberate with God, but it is clear he is consumed in his mind by what is to come.

Sodom and Gomorrah were decidedly different.  God deliberates about telling Abraham His plan, which included assessing the situation on the ground, framing an invitation to a conversation. Abraham joins in, and God encourages it by continuing to engage  Despite the trepidation of arguing with the God of Justice about acting justly, Abraham bargains to lower the number of righteous needed to spare the city until he reaches what he perceives as the best he can do, 10-  a minyan.  The negotiating ends with the best deal Abraham believes he can achieve.

How we hear and understand something sets the table for how we respond to it.  Why Abraham feels he has license to argue in one case and not in the other remains one of the mysteries of our text.  But it is all too familiar territory for all of us.  Each of us responds to what we think we have heard, rendering very different responses, even to the same person, based on the facts and our emotional and situation, among other factors.

What do we hear when another speaks?  Have they spoken undeniable truth, or is it an invitation to engage to achieve a better understanding of each other? Knowing when to speak and when to be silent is among the more difficult decisions we make.  Grappling with this issue is as hard for us as it was for Abraham.  Our tradition encourages us to confront it.

The practice of Mussar works hard at getting us to understand the virtues, or middot, that drive both the person with whom we are in relationship and us.  We learn that the successful relationship requires that we appreciate the middot are working on both of us so that it can be complicated.  We often do not get it right, but we stand a better chance of engaging in meaningful dialogue when we try. Abraham’s inconsistent reactions to God is a lesson with a timeless message, certainly one that is pertinent to today.  Torah is a profound understanding of the human condition.  The issues Abraham and all the characters of our tradition confront are genuinely human issues, as relevant today as they were when first written down.  Let’s try harder to listen better to understand each other.

Shabbat Shalom

 

The Priestly Blessing- A message of hope deliberately placed

 

Naso by Yoram Raanan

The Priestly Blessing is a message of hope in a troubled world.  We have long wondered about the Priestly Blessing being placed in Parshat Naso.  Many have posited it was out of place, belonging instead in Leviticus (9:22) when Aaron is told to bless the people.  But I believe it is placed here purposefully as a message of assurance,  to make sure we understand how important we are to each other and to the Almighty.

Naso contains a census of the Tribe of Gershon, the extraordinary stories of the Sotah, a test for the unfaithful wife, and the issues surrounding the intense vows of becoming a Nazirite. And only then do we read the Priestly Blessing;  The three-line expansive blessing upon each of us that God protects us, is kind to us, and grants peace to us.  It is actually the perfect response to the perplexing and difficult issues that preceded.

We are told we count. That was central in the previous Parsha, BeMidbar, and reiterated as the census to count the Gershonites.   But then we are confronted with the Sotah and the Nazirite, as if to ask are there times when we do not count.  We all struggle with life.  We seek God’s blessings, we seek meaning, we seek good things, namely peace and a good life.  But we find ourselves going off the rails.  When this happens are we cut off from God’s blessing?

The Sotah is about accusations of infidelity.  But in the absence of anything but circumstantial evidence, the magical test is administered by the Priest.  The gravitas of this must be overwhelming.  But even if a woman survived the test, would her husband fully welcome her home, without harboring some suspicions.  Would trust ever be restored fully?  Would others in the community maintain lingering doubts, rumors, and stories placing an indelible stain on the woman’s reputation?

Someone taking the vow of a Nazirite  may do it for lofty purpose, but based on our understanding of the things that motivate such action, we see the wisdom of Gersonides’ analysis that, A person takes such a vow to silence the unhealthy turmoil inside a person arising from a physical desire that might lead one to sin.  Does the person who needed to take the Nazirite vow feel rejuvenated or reborn when the vow is complete?  Does the thing that required such focus continue to linger in their souls?  Such impulses can extend beyond lust to other impulses that can plague us emotionally or spiritually.

The Priestly Blessing is deliberately and thoughtfully placed here to say we struggle and we continue to struggle.  It comes at us from all angles.  It is part of being human in a world that is often fraught and difficult.  Each of us has a struggle, a demon, a bad action, a feeling of inadequacy.  It is part of who we are as human beings.

The Priestly Blessing is a wish for wholeness, a wish for Peace in an unpeaceful world.  The Priestly Blessing is a wish for Peace; it is our yearning that these struggles do not mire us in a life that feels dark or hopeless.  It is the profound hope that God is there to love and protect us even when we feel we have strayed so far away that we are beyond the reach of even the Almighty’s loving protective wings of peace.

Hope remains.  God is there.  We are not alone.

May the Almighty Bless you and Protect you.

May the Almighty deal kindly and graciously with you.

May the Almighty bestow Divine favor upon you, granting you wholeness and peace.

Shabbat Shalom.

 

 

Rabbi David Levin is a second career rabbi.  Trained at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, Rabbi Levin’s rabbinate focuses on outreach to seekers of meaning, bringing Jewish Wisdom to their life journey.  Rabbi Levin’s work is trans-denominational, embracing and drawing knowledge from all aspects of Judaism. He is a member of the CCAR (Reform Rabbinical Association), OHALA (Renewal Rabbinical Association), NAJC (Neshama, Association of Jewish Chaplains), a Fellow of Rabbis Without Borders, serves on the regional board of NIF (New Israel Fund), and is a volunteer on the Disaster Spiritual Care Team of the American Red Cross.

Rabbi Levin currently teaches The Ethical Will Re-Imagined, as well as Mussar at the Jack M. Barrack Hebrew Academy, Introduction to Judaism for the URJ, “Kavod v’Nichum, Understanding Jewish end-of-life rituals”, and the acclaimed series “L’Chaim, Jewish Wisdom for the End of Life Journey” with two esteemed rabbinic colleagues. Rabbi Levin officiates in complex lifecycle events including non-traditional burial and work with interfaith couples.   Rabbi David leads interfaith trips to Israel through the CLAL Stand and See project.  Rabbi Levin is the organizer of Death Café of Greater Philadelphia

 

BaMidbar-In the Desert and Everywhere, Everyone counts

As social beings we seek relationships as a way of making meaning. We need to connect to other people’s lives, believing we have something to contribute, and through this validating our own self. We want to count. Each of us is busy, absorbed in our own world with scarce time to think of others. We often find ourselves shunted aside, neglected or forgotten, not because of anything malicious, but because each of us become so focused on the day to day challenges, we forget to reach out and are often left feeling alone. This can be discouraging and even make us doubt our own value. This week’s Torah portion BaMidbar reminds us however, that indeed we are important.

This first chapter of the book of Numbers has the Israelites out wandering in the desert, in the Midbar. But translating the word as desert is deceptive. We picture a desert as a vast place, devoid of life, empty, and forbidding. But the desert is actually a place teeming with life, a place of overwhelming beauty, and an awesome night sky filled with countless stars. It is the place where the children descended from Israel/Jacob become the People/nation of Israel. The Children of Israel are forged in this harsh climate, and preparing to enter the Promised Land. It is a time of growing where everyone is needed to build the nation. Everyone counts.

The idea that everyone counts is so important that God instructs Moses to conduct a census. God appoints leaders of each clan to do help in this important work of accounting for everyone so the greater task of building the nation can occur. As it says in Numbers 1:19, “As the Lord commanded Moses, so did he count them in the Sinai desert.” The desert is a place of accounting, revelation and building, and revealing that each of us has a critical role to play. At this time, nothing is of greater importance.

Even the word BaMidbar speaks to our significance and meaning. The word shares the same letters as the word for speaking or speaker, Midaber. The word BaMidbar that we translate as “in the desert,” could be, “ in the speaking”, or “in the speaker.” Each person has an important contribution to make to the whole. It was true in the Sinai, also it is also true now. The desert is far more than what it might seem on the surface. The Torah portion shares that the Midbar is an extraordinary place of discovery- finding our place, finding our purpose, and finding our connection to things greater than ourselves, our family and our people. BaMidbar teaches that I am worthy of being counted- that I do count!

Each of us counts. Each of us has something worthwhile to say and something important to give. Our life experiences have created a wealth of knowledge and wisdom. We are teachers and caregivers, learning, practicing, educating, and demonstrating what it means to be human, what it means to make meaning in the lives of others and in our own lives as well. That makes each of us significant.

Each of us counts.

How will you look back on your life?

As we begin the last book of the Torah, Moses confronts this question in Parshat Devarim.

Even the title begs the question.  Devarim, what are the words and things?   What is the story we will tell to those we hope will carry it in their hearts after we are gone?

For most of us, this requires us to project forward in order to look back.  But it cannot be make-believe; our legacy will be based on the life we live.  The things we do will be the basis for the memories our loved ones will recall.  How we touch their lives will define whether they can celebrate having had us in their lives.  Our legacy will not have the great accomplishments of Moses, of course as our tradition tells us, there has never been another like Moses. Our legacy will be the impact and influence we have had on our loved ones.  But will we be the best version of ourselves?

The story is told of Reb Zusya, the Chasidic Master, who struggled at the end of his life.  He awoke panicked from a dream about the prospect of entering Heaven.  His students tried to support their beloved teacher claiming he was indeed great like Moses and Abraham.  Zusya replied that he knew that God would not compare him to Moses and Abraham but instead, God would ask why Zusya wasn’t more like Zusya?

If we do not live up to all that we can be, we do not realize our full potential.  And importantly, we let ourselves and our loved ones down.  Only we can write our story by living our lives as best and as fully as we can.  Then we will truly leave a worthy inheritance, a life of merit and honor, of love and accomplishment that will touch the hearts of those we care about.

 

 

Your Legacy and Your Loved Ones

Your loved ones are your legacy.  That is an important message I learned from last week’s Torah Portion Pinchas. We must consciously remember those closest to us, especially even when our work, our mission, or our very essence might have us focus on everyone else.

Pinchas’ legacy is established in the aftermath of his zealotry.  The legacy of Zelophehad is also set; his daughters ensuring their father’s name is not lost and they can be rightful inheritors of his property.  Moses passes the mantle of leadership to Joshua as part of his legacy. However, two people are glaringly missing: Gershom and Eliezer, the two children of Moses. What happened to them?

We can only imagine the ambivalence of these two sons watching their father in all his greatness.  They see him lead with the most profound wisdom and love for both his people and God, yet he loses sight of his own children. It is a sad state of affairs for these two children to be ignored. The text screams out in its complete silence; for there is no mention of them at all. It is a modern-day message to all of us.

How often do we neglect our own?  For many of us in the “caring” professions, the demanding hours prioritize others over family. For those of us in the clergy, the RKs (Rabbi’s Kids) often complain they are neglected because their parent is so busy actively involved in the lives of the congregants they serve.  And those of us dedicated to building a career, we find long hours away from our children the price we pay for success.

For us to leave a truly worthy legacy, even the greatest among us need to make time for those closest to us.  We all have shortcomings and with the benefit of hindsight, we all know where we could have done better.  But more importantly, we need to know in our hearts that we do the very best we can and what we do is for the benefit of our family. For if we do that, then our children will know that they were loved. And that is the most beautiful blessing and legacy of all.