Last week the Torah, in Parshat Tzav, described the dedication ceremony for the Mishkan (Tabernacle) and the inauguration of Aaron and his sons as kohanim. This week’s parasha, Parashat Shemini, picks up on the eighth day as Aaron and his sons begin to officiate as kohanim. It happens to be one of those parahsa’s that have always troubled me. I know this D’Var might will leave you, as it does me, with more questions than insights.

Aaron’s two elder sons, Nadav and Avihu, offer a “strange fire before G‑d, which He commanded them not” and die. Aaron turns silent. Moses and Aaron disagree on a point of law regarding the offerings, for which Moses concedes that Aaron is in the right.

The laws of kashrut, identifying the animals permissible and forbidden for consumption. Land animals may be eaten only if they have split hooves and chew their cud; fish must have fins and scales; a list of non-kosher birds is given, and a list of kosher insects (four types of locusts).

And it concludes with some of the laws of ritual purity, including the purifying power of the mikvah (a pool of water meeting specified qualifications) and the wellspring. The people of Israel are enjoined to “differentiate between the impure and the pure.”

This is one of those parahsa’s that have always troubled me. It transitions quite fast away from the death of Aaron’s sons. What was to have been a celebration turns to tragedy. Aaron’s two sons die in front of him. Their bodies are carried from the Sanctuary to outside the camp.

Moses tells Aaron “Don’t show your mourning, lest God become angry with the entire community. But know well that your brethren, the entire House of Israel, shall bewail the burning that God has kindled. Do not leave this place in the Sanctuary, for God’s anointing oil is upon you.”

Then we learn that G-d directs Aaron “Drink no intoxicating wine when you or your sons enter the Tent of Appointed Meeting so that you may not die. This is a law for all time throughout your generations to distinguish between the sacred and the profane, the contaminated and the pure.”

No time is spent on the why behind Nadav and Avihu’s deaths. The commentaries differ widely; some say the two sons were driven by love of G-d; others put forth thoughts of jealousy and competition.

No time is spent on why Aaron went silent. Was it his choice? Did the words from Moses about not showing mourning stop the sound? Was he in shock? Was he angry? Was his silence due to grief or fear? Did memories of an earlier offering, the Golden Calf, come into play? The outcome then turned into a 40-year journey. A journey the people are closer to finishing at this point. Would a sound now from Aaron trigger G-d’s anger once again?

Aaron is a major figure in the people’s lives. He is a leader and teacher. He is a model to observe and learn from. What is conveyed here from his silence has always puzzled me.

I’ll leave you with my unanswered questions plus a prompt for thought – Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks said in his commentary on Shemini that “The power to be silent at certain moments of life and of history is an important strength.

“Turn! Turn! Turn! (To Everything There Is a Season)” was written by Pete Seeger in the late 1950s and first recorded in 1959. The lyrics – except for the title, which is repeated throughout the song, and the final two lines – consist of the first eight verses of the third chapter of the Book of Ecclesiastes.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, a time to reap that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to gain that which is to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time of love, and a time of hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

These lines are open to myriad interpretations, but Seeger’s song presents them as a plea for world peace because of the closing line: “a time for peace, I swear it’s not too late.”

Tomorrow we’re going to read Parshat Ha’azinu. It is the next to the last chapter of the Torah, we read it most years on the first Shabbat following Rosh Hashanah like we are this very year.

As endings merge with new beginnings, Ha’Azinu focuses on the fact that Moses is about to pass away. It is his time / his turn to die. The Parshah concludes with G‑d’s instruction to Moses to ascend the summit of Mount Nebo, from which he will behold the Promised Land before dying on the mountain. “For you shall see the land opposite you; but you shall not go there, into the land which I give to the children of Israel.”

Ha’Azinu is described as ‘listen in’.

Moses uses a song to deliver his final message. Why a song? Music connects to the spirit, the heart, and the mind in a ways plain words often miss.

Moses begins dramatically but gently, calling heaven and earth to witness what he is about to say. He speaks to a theme that has been there from the beginning. It is one we’ve heard before: God, creator of the universe, made a world that is fundamentally good. It is humans, granted freewill as God’s image and likeness, who introduce evil into the world, and then suffer its consequences. Moses insists that when trouble and tragedy appear, we should search for the cause within and not blame God. God is upright and just. The change, the turn, should be found in us.

Why this song? Is it the right or wrong message for the occasion?

Haazinu is always read in the month of the holidays, in the month that contains both the days of awe, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, as well as the days of joy, Sukkot and Simchat Torah. In the beginning of the month we face the pain. We think about the sins of the past year, we think about the pain of separation caused by sin, the pain of separation from those (G-d and/or people) we sinned against. In the days of awe, we overcome the pain, we return, we reconnect. We often realize that no matter how much pain we caused, no matter how far we tried to run, most are —waiting for us to return, waiting to accept us, waiting to embrace us.

We rediscover joy with Sukkot and Simchat Torah. We discover that all parts of the journey are parts of the same song.

No matter where we are in life remember that we are in the middle of our own song. If we keep singing, keep playing the notes, we will discover the music, we will discover the words.

As we prepare for Yom Kippur and continue to reflect on our lives and actions – let’s recall there is a time for every season – a time for every purpose – a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time of love, and a time of hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

May you and your loved ones be signed in the book of life for a wonderful year.

Songs were common and always heard in the Holy Temple. Every day besides Shabbat, while the priests would offer the daily offerings, the Levites would accompany the service with music and songs of praise from King David’s book of Psalms. All of the songs sung were joyous, and were meant to imbue the service with a spirit of joy.

On Shabbat, as the priests offered the Musaf offering, the additional offering for the Shabbat, the Levites offered up the Song of Haazinu. They would sing one section per week, completing the song every six weeks.

This parsha shares another complex but quite timely story. It deals with themes of equality, diversity, protests, and conflict resolution. It also deals with themes of holiness and personal ambition. These resonate with our current climate.

To help put context around all of this let me revisit a few points

• The people left Egypt as slaves. For as far back as they could remember their families had been slaves. They weren’t responsible for thinking. They were expected to do as told and others either took care of them for good and for bad.
• The culture they came from venerated multiple gods that were given personas and worshipped as idols. It was a very foreign concept for the Israelites to trust in the unseen. For that reason Hashem directed many acts of ‘magic’ through Moses and Aaron over the years to build their belief.
• The people needed to learn to come together as a community, to manage the freedom they’d gained, and carry out the responsibilities required to function as a free society. This placed new demands on them.
• Moses and Aaron were the designated leaders. Leaders that lead them out of slavery and into freedom. But like all of the leaders the people had while in Egypt – ones to be wary of.
• They were still on the path from an undesirable but stable existence to that of a self-governing/self-managing society when this parsha begins.

Korach is one of the people. He is from the tribe of Levi. He appears to be somewhat skilled as a politician. He has a sense for what motivates people.

Moses has always been a reluctant leader. His strength while in Egypt was in the prophecies he foretold. These impacted the Pharaoh and his advisors. The prophecies and subsequent outcomes fit into their system of belief. Once free Moses position of leader was repeatedly questioned. Hashem’s interactions, miracles, and more supported his position.

The parsha tells us Korach starts a dispute over leadership (both secular and religious).

Korach, Dathan, Abiram, and 250 others came as a group to oppose Moses and Aaron. The dispute starts out by questioning why is Moses their leader. Is he the only candidate? If all are eligible / created equal / kadosh enough, why isn’t there a chance for someone else?

Korach’s challenge is more of a challenge to God than that of Moses himself. As mentioned before Hashem has appointed and supported Moses in the role of leader since the beginning of the people’s journey to freedom. His challenge stems from personal ambition, recognition, and desire to control. Is he the antithesis of Moses?

Moses reacts not with anger but in a much humbler way. He has been the messenger through which Hashem’s vision for the Israelites has become visible throughout the years. He grew from a young man quick to anger and with low self-confidence to become their leader – overcoming his own ego in order to serve the greater cause. He grew from someone reluctant to stand out front to one that is always in the limelight.

What happens the course of the next few days settles the dispute and determine the course of their future.

Korach’s band gather in from of the Ohel Moed (Tabernacle) with their fire pans. Hashem appears as a cloud overhead. Moses tells the people – if these men were to die of natural causes then he, Moses, is not be the chosen leader; however is Hashem causes the earth to swallow them up then that is a sign designating Moses as leader. That’s exactly what happened plus the band holding their fire pans burned up as well.

The people are quite shaken. They rail against Moses and Aaron while being fearful for their lives. Moses once again has to intervene with Hashem who is ready to annihilate all. Aaron is set to collect a staff from a chieftain of each of the 12 tribes; inscribe the man’s name on it; inscribe Levi on Aaron’s staff; place all of them in Tent of Meeting.

The next morning they find Aaron staff has sprouted, blossomed, and borne almonds; no change to the others. Hashem affirms that Aaron and his descendants would be responsible for the Tent of Meeting, be the priesthood, and accountable for what happened in/related to the performance of their duties. The Levites are assigned to aid the Kohanim.

Both the dispute and unrest have been addressed. Leadership is settled.  What can we take away from all of this?

• While all are created equal it doesn’t mean we’re able to do the same things.
• Take time to reflect before answering challenges especially when anger is in the picture.
• Don’t expect miracles to help resolve differences.

We’re in the 5^th and last book of the Torah. This book represents the speeches of Moses in the last month of his life. He addresses the next generation, those who will – as he will not – be destined to cross the Jordan and enter the Promised Land.

Parashat D’varim consists mostly of Moses’ historical review of events from the end of the Revelation at Sinai through most of the Israelites’ journey in the desert. Having just reached the end of our 40 years of wandering, we begin it again through words.

The concept of retelling and reliving through words is core to our Jewish tradition.  Last week we were reminded of oral tradition and oral law in the D’Var Torah from Michael Carr. We are a people of words. Words and retelling can be both vital and futile. Here (h –e –r –e) is where hearing and listening come into play.

Moses spends a month – 30 days – speaking to the people. For a guy who described himself to God at the Burning Bush as “slow of speech and slow of tongue” (Exodus 4:10), he has become someone that now has an awful lot to say.

Hearing requires our ears while listening requires our mind.

Both involve the use of our ears, but the results are often different.  Hearing is one of our five senses; it is a sense that helps you receive sound waves and noise by ears. It is the ability to perceive sounds.

Listening happens when you understand the sounds your ear heard. It is the ability to receive and interpret the message transferred by those sounds – those words. It requires a conscious action the part of a person; listening happens by paying attention to the words and sentences of the speaker.

• Hearing is physical; listening is psychological.
• Hearing in an inborn ability; listening is a learned skill.
• Hearing involves the use of one sense. Listening often involves all five.

Words are the principal instrument with which we construct reality. We experience everything through the filter of words: words we tell ourselves, words we tell each other, and especially, words we tell our children.

The Torah accords to words the power of creation (“God said: ‘Let there be light,’” Gen. 1:3). With such awesome power comes a responsibility to take care with our words. We do that by repeating some words and minimizing others. Not all words are equal.

Parashat D’varim begins by emphasizing: Eileh had’varim, “These are the words” (Deut. 1:1). That is, these words specifically, words Moshe Rabbeinu employed when he “undertook to expound this teaching,” (Deut. 1:5). With these words; these and not other ones, Moses made clear the meaning of this Torah; this one, and not another one.

The text implies a tension between “these words,” and “this Torah;” since if “this Torah” was received at Sinai already, why do we need “these words” of repetition and clarification to construct a sacred reality? This tension sparked a debate between the medieval Torah commentaries of Nachmanides (1194-1270) and Abarbanel (1437-1508). Nachmanides insists that Deuteronomy contains a new teaching, a second Revelation for the generation born in the wilderness, and that “these are the words” means “the new words” that had not yet been revealed. Abarbanel, on the other hand, focuses on the elucidation of “this Torah” and claims that Deuteronomy is not the giving of a new set of laws or revelations, but the construction of a commentary on those already implied in the earlier Revelation at Sinai.

In his 30-days of teaching in the land of Moab, across the Jordan, Moses uses his words to construct a new reality for our people on the verge of returning to their land, reclaiming their freedom from slavery and idolatry, and for the first time, building the Jewish civilization organized around the Torah and mitzvot.

Moses wants to wake up their senses. His words are designed to strengthen the ability to adapt to new realities and to reinforce the need to share the stories and experiences with every successive generation. It requires all to remember and uphold that which guided us through the past.

I’m reminded of my own experiences as a parent. There are so many things I wanted to impart to my children – lessons, stories, experiences, and more. I used words – sometimes sparingly and at other times with great abandon. There were words of love and comfort. There were reminders and warnings.

For Moses – time is against him. He knows he is not going to be with this generation much longer. It is no wonder he wants to cover every important idea, bit of knowledge and advice while he still has the chance.

Thank you for hearing me out today. If there was cause for you to listen – may your thoughts and reflections be meaningful ones.

Shabbat Shalom.

Before the start of 2019 Alan asked a number of us if we’d volunteer to develop and present a D’var Torah. Little did I know that the date I agreed to, February 23^rd – today, would bring us Parashat Ki Tissa.  We’ve been here before. I had the distinct pleasure to learn and speak about this parasha in 2017. It’s been quite a while and yet it seems as if I haven’t moved very far.

Then I learned that this parasha is considered the longest of the weekly Torah portions found in the book of Exodus (although not the longest in the Torah). It is a popular piece read a number of times throughout the year.

• It is read it on the 21st Sabbat after Simchat Torah, in the month of Adar (in leap years – this is during Adar 1)
• The first part of the parasha, Exodus 30:11–16,regarding the half-shekel head tax, is the maftir Torah reading on the ‘Shabbat Shekalim’ (this year on March 2^nd)
• Those portions of the parasha addressing the intercession of Mosesand G-d’s mercy are read on the fast days of Tevet, the Fast of Esther, the Seventeenth of Tammuz, Tzom Gedaliah, and for Mincha on Tisha B’Av.
• Another part, the one that addresses the Shalosh Regalim (Sukkot, Pesach, and Shavuot), is read as the initial Torah reading on the third day (Chol HaMoed) of Pesach.
• Lastly we read a large selection from this parasha as the initial Torah reading on the Sabbath that falls an intermediate day of Passover or Sukkot.

Ki Tissa is a deceptive parasha. It begins quietly and then brings up one of the most gripping stories in the Torah. The parasha opens with the taking of a census and the collection of a head tax to fund the creation of objects for the Cohanim and the Tabernacle.

Next the drama begins to build. Hashem reveals himself to all at Mount Sinai and instructs the people in the 10 commandments. Moses, their leader since before the exodus from Egypt, leaves them to ascend the mountain to study and receive two tablets engraved with the 10 commandments. He tells the people he will be gone for a period of 40 days.

It is surmised that during this doubt, restlessness, and fear began to creep into people’s thoughts. Remember that a bare 6 weeks earlier they were slaves in under the rule of Pharaoh. Unrest takes over the camp and the actions that follow have long range consequences for those that came out of Egypt.

The people, confused and panicking without the leadership of Moses, in a moment of high drama make a Golden Calf and dance before it. They idolize it.

Hashem threatens to destroy them and Moses must intercede.

Coming down the mountain and facing the people, Moses smashes the tablets, the symbol of the covenant. He grinds the calf to dust, mixes it with water, and makes the Israelites drink it. He tells the Levites to punish the wrongdoers.

Moses prays for mercy for the people. He climbs the mountain once again and tries to re-establish the shattered relationship between God and the people. God accepts Moses’ request and tells him to carve two new tablets of stone.

The people were afraid. Had he died? Where was he? Without Moses they felt bereft. He was their point of contact with God. He performed the miracles, divided the Sea, gave them water to drink and food to eat. They didn’t know what to believe and they didn’t know who to trust. They lacked faith.

Now the ideas of belief, faith, and trust were ones that spoke to me as I re-read Ki Tissa.

Here as from the very beginning of our history as a people – belief and trust in the unseen and unknown forms the center of our religion and our lives. It asks us to accept the idea that someone / something larger than us cares about us.

Belief is simple acceptance that a proposition is true, without regard to reason(s) – any reasons could be good, faulty or completely non-existent. Trust is acceptance of a proposition primarily for a social/moral reason rather than an epistemological (evidence-based) reason.

Belief is a product of the mind, while faith is not.

Faith is a product of the spirit.

To have faith in the worst of times will no doubt require us to silence, or at least quiet, the mind.

Trust is inherently different than faith, because trust is something that you build day after day. Faith, on the contrary, is something which is meant to materialize out of thin air; with the only requirement being that you are a little too optimistic / naive

Faith is something we possess. Trust is something we do.

Ki Tissa tells us that Moses with Hashem is hard at work grappling with very long and precise directives, but the Israelites have no idea what’s going on. Instead, they are down in the desert with no leader, no permanent home, and no sense of what they should be doing or of what’s next.

As humans we are built to seek tangible connections. The tabernacle, the tablets, and the rituals were designed to be their anchors.

We crave regular and real reminders of abstract ideas — hopefully inspiring ones.