There are so many many interesting aspects to this week’s parsha such as the meaning and interpretation of the deaths of Nadav and Avihu, Aarons sons who got too close to the inner chamber of the sanctuary or why we are not to eat the blood of animals or who we are not to sleep with out of respect for our personal relationships. Of course core Torah topics are covered such as Shabbat, idolatry as well as providing honor and respect to one’s parents as well as the sacredness of life. Far too many topics for a 3 minute D’var though I bet Bill Sutker could figure out how to apply all of these to a famous tune!

There is one area of this parsha that everyone is familiar with – yep it’s the often quoted “love thy neighbor..”.

Love thy neighbor as thy self, as a few early sages like Maimonides, Rabbi Akiva and Rashi  have weighed in on, is an appropriate way for all of us to live our lives. Hillel is said to have stated that (para-phrasing) Love they neighbor as thy-self is “the Torah and the rest is commentary”.

Some have written that first-before considering ‘loving your neighbor’ (or anyone else for that matter-) that we look at ourselves.  For the sake and sanctity of safety and public health these days perhaps now is a great time to explore how we can all do this better. It seems like most of us have ample time to practice.

How do we love ourselves before we go out and attempt to do so with others?  Why is this so important?

Well without loving ourselves first – it’s tough to love someone else (unless of course you’re a ‘professional narcissist’).

It can be frustrating, anxiety provoking and certainly less than ideal for a loving relationship when one is not familiar with the personal development of ‘self-love’ for improving relationships with others.  Authentic love of and with any important relationships — child, significant other, family – really anyone is difficult to achieve and sustain.  On the other hand, some may consider that those of us quarantined with family, room-mates or others are fortunate while perhaps by end of May those of us still with housemates who have opted for sticking out the ‘rush and excitement of quarantine’ may wish we were captive in solitude.

Since our format is abbreviated for Friday night let’s jump right into this first idea which is our personal health because (as my mother has often reminded me) “without it you’ve got nothing”.  So upon self reflection consider how regularly/often you sleep, eat, exercise or perhaps (CORRECTLY) wear a face mask and gloves when you go to the store. Other ideas may include how you work to naturally reduce anxiety and stress throughout your daily routine.  These may be good places to start.

What about showing gratitude in our lives?  Self-love and gratitude are closely tied together.  When we are grateful for the things we have such as the people and relationships in our lives we can appreciate and find the good in others as well as ourselves.  Sometimes it’s not having what you want, it’s wanting what you’ve got.

What about forgiving ourselves – yep another aspect on the road to loving ourselves.  Sometimes we have to give ourselves a break and realize that believe it or not – we are not ‘perfect’.  How we love ourselves is tied to how we forgive ourselves (and sometimes others) and move on.  As Seth Godin has written in his blog:

“Forgive yourself for not being the richest, the thinnest, the tallest, the one with the best hair. Forgive yourself for not being the most successful, the cutest or the one with the fastest time. Forgive yourself for not winning every round. Forgive yourself for being afraid. But don’t let yourself off the hook, never forgive yourself, for not caring or not trying.”

When writing this D’var I found an interesting article from Kathy Paterson: 55 Teaching Dilemmas: Ten Powerful Solutions to Almost Any Classroom Challenge.  I would propose that if some of these solutions can work for teachers they certainly could benefit all of us during these times of shelter in place.

For other ideas on developing self-love check out Sharon Martin’s blog: Live Well with Sharon Martin and How to Love Yourself- she has 22 great ideas to help one become better at “Loving Thy Neighbor as Thy Self”.  Good Shabbos!

When I first looked at this week’s parshah, I saw it was about leprosy and I thought to myself as an infectious diseases doctor,” Finally, something I can understand.” We learn about the metzora, a person suffering from a skin affliction named tzara’at, which is inaccurately translated as leprosy and has nothing in common with the infectious disease I learned about.   If a person was declared a leper by the priests, the public health needs of the community were made paramount and the person was placed outside the community until fully healed. This may be one of the first examples of social distancing. The person was considered ritually impure and in danger of contaminating the camp both physically and spiritually.  The sages identify tzara’at not as an illness but as a punishment for the specific sin of lashon hara which is evil speech. There is no direct commandment against evil speech in the Torah but there is a prohibition against gossip:” Do not go around as a gossiper among your people.”  Gossip is one example of evil speech. The sages go to remarkable lengths to emphasize the seriousness of evil speech. It is, they say, as bad as all three cardinal sins together – idol worship, bloodshed, and forbidden sexual relations.

The word metzora is interpreted by the rabbis as an acronym for motzi shem ra, the one who brings forth an evil name. In other words, one who slanders or gossips is punished with this affliction. As mentioned, Jewish tradition takes gossip very seriously. The Talmud teaches that to slander or embarrass someone in public is like shedding a person’s blood. So, the rabbis believed that slander and gossip deserved a severe punishment that included not only the skin affliction, but the subsequent separation from the community.  The public castigation that the metzora suffers is a powerful warning for us to” guard our tongues.” It was with words that God created the world, and our words have the potential to build, create, sustain life and human dignity, or be a source of pain and destruction.

Tzara’at might not operate in the same way as the infectious diseases which we are familiar with today, but remember part of the treatment for tzara’at was isolation from the community. While this precaution may have arisen from the desire to prevent the spread of a contagious disease, it undoubtedly left the metzora feeling emotionally, as well as physically, alone. Being separated from the community and from God enables the one who gossips to think about the effects of his/her actions and to work on changing.  This separation is a punishment that eventually brings about healing and purification

When cured of his illness, the metzora is then permitted to rejoin the community, but the period of isolation may have left him angry and withdrawn.

We now know what it feels like to be separated from our community. We are sheltering in place thanks to the corona virus. However, unlike our ancestors, we have our spouses, TV, computers, home delivery services, and Zoom conferencing. But despite this, we still feel isolated, with many feeling anxious, depressed and angry, similar to the metzora.  We are also experiencing fear: fear for our health and a fear of the unknown.  Perhaps we could use this time to reflect on how we might better ourselves.

Very few people would spread an infectious disease on purpose. Infections can spread naturally in the course of human interaction, often before the disease carrier shows any symptoms of being sick, again like the Corona virus. On the other hand, gossip and evil speech are the result of people consciously and frequently enthusiastically sharing information with others.

Gossip plays a very significant role in human society. Information spreads throughout the human grapevine at an amazing speed, often reaching almost everyone in a community. Or worse, one click on a computer can send the message to hundreds or even thousands of people instantaneously. Moreover, rumor tends to be extremely stubborn: once spread, it is nearly impossible to erase it.

It is interesting to me that Rabbi Yisrael Meir HaKohen (1838-1932) wrote about gossip as a chronic infectious disease.  “Those who listen to slanderous gossip are just as guilty as the tale bearers. Repeated use of the evil talk is like a silk thread made strong by hundreds of strands. The foul sin of talebearing often results in a chain of transgressions. Leprosy was regarded as a punishment for slander, because the two resemble each other: they are both slightly noticeable at the outset, and then develop into a chronic, infectious disease. Furthermore, the slanderer separates husband from wife, brother from brother, a friend from friend; he is, therefore, afflicted with the disease which separates him from society. One sinful Jew can do harm to all his people, who are like a single body sensitive to the pain felt by any of its parts.”

The experience of being removed and separated from the community motivated men to cease acting selfishly and begin to put the needs of the community had of their own. While selfishness leads to a kind of isolation, acts of sharing and generosity cultivate a sense of belonging and inclusion.

Metzora contains a cautionary tale – a reminder of the power of language. Language allows us to communicate with others and share with them our fears, hopes, loves, feelings, and intentions. Speech allows us to convey our inwardness to others. It is a very heart of the human body.

When we speak disparagingly of others, we diminish them, we diminish ourselves, and we damage our community.

May we free ourselves from gossip and hurtful speech and continue to support each other and our community.  I look forward to the day when we end our isolation and I can see all of you in person.

Hello friends. Today I would like to share with you something I learned this Pesach and then add some parting thoughts. Before I do this, I would like to acknowledge the distinguished Rabbi of Shaare Tefilla in Dallas, Rabbi Rackovsky, who taught me a Passover lesson and who inspired this paper. Also, I would like to thank my son David for sending me Rabbi Rackovsky’s Sermon Digest which contained all of the sermon’s he would have presented to his congregation throughout Pesach had they been able to gather together.

Rabbi Rackovsky’s sermon for Second day Pesach opens by recalling the Solidarity Movement which was dedicated to convincing Russia to allow Soviet Jews to emigrate to Israel. The opening intrigued me and made me want to read further. After all, a few weeks after I married my beloved wife Terry in 1971, we attended a Solidarity Rally in Chicago. Many prominent Rabbis were involved in the movement including Rabbi Lookstein of Congregation Kehilath Yeshurun in Manhattan. Rabbi Lookstein told the story of a refusenik he befriended whose lifetime ambition was to get out of Russia and make Aliyah. Finally, his dream came true after the Soviet Union eased its position on emigration. This was in large part due to the efforts of the Solidarity Movement. Soon after the emigration, Rabbi Lookstein met up with his friend in Israel. He asked how things were going in Israel. The refusenik responded: “Terrible. I miss Russia. The food in Israel is awful. Cultural life is practically non-existent. Above all, I miss skiing in Russia.”

Rabbi Rackovsky astutely pointed out that the refusenik sounded like our ancestors who left Egypt in the Exodus. They complained: “Why did you take us out of Egypt. So that we may die in the wilderness?” Much like the refusenik, they complained about food: In Egypt we ate fish.” They also complained about Moses and some of them actually tried to overthrow him. I wonder, if it is human nature to constantly complain?  The B’nai Yisroel consistently complained despite witnessing one miracle after another. Despite having G-d to protect and sustain them. Despite Mount Sinai.

I  never understood Afikomen until it was explained to me by Rabbi Rackovsky in his fantastic Second Day Pesach sermon.

When the B’nai Yisroel left Egypt, they carried with them two items of food. The first item was a piece of matzah. We all undoubtedly recall that our ancestors fled Egypt quickly in their pursuit of freedom. There was no time to bake bread, so they quickly produced unleavened bread; matzah. They wanted to remember their flight to freedom and they wanted future generations to remember it. So, they each carried a little piece of matzah in their knapsacks as a reminder to themselves and their progeny of their road to freedom. But this still doesn’t explain Afikomen. Why is it such a prominent part of the Pesach Seder?

The Seder, you will please note, is divided into twelve orders. Order number eleven is Tzafon, when we eat the Afikomen. It is connected to order number four, Yachatz, when we split the middle matzah into two pieces and set aside one piece for the Afikomen. Why only eat a piece of matzah for the Afikomen rather than a whole matzah? The answer to this question and the question raised in the preceding paragraph lies in the matzah carried out of Egypt by our forbearers. Our Rabbis wanted Afikomen to be a symbol of freedom. How could one better symbolize this than by having a little piece of matzah become such a significant part of the Passover Seder.

But what about the other food item carried by the B’nai Yisroel when they fled Egypt? The second food item was a morsel of Maror.  Maror itself certainly plays a major role in the Pesach Seder. It is placed on the Seder plate. It is the eighth order of the Passover Seder. Rabban Gamliel declares it to be one of the three pillars of the Seder. But why don’t we set aside a little piece of maror and make it a separate order of the Seder like Afikomen?

As you are probably already aware, maror symbolizes the bitterness of slavery. To remember their bitter existence as slaves, the B’nai Yisroel set aside a morsel of maror in their knapsacks as they fled Egypt.  Like the matzah fragment that they carried, they carried the bit of maror as a reminder to themselves and their progeny of the bitterness they experienced during slavery. Unfortunately, the bitterness was not left in Egypt.  As previously alluded to, the B’nai Yisroel maintained a negative attitude throughout their journey to freedom. Our Rabbis, in their infinite wisdom, wanted to accentuate the positive. Hence, the Afikomen, a little piece of matzah, is used to symbolize the journey to freedom. They did not, however, want to glorify negativity. Thus, we forego making a remnant of maror a separate part of the Seder.

Our parents and/or grandparents are remembered as being part of the Great Generation for the sacrifices they made at home and abroad to further the war effort during World War Two. How do we wish to be remembered? As the generation that incessantly complained about the pandemic? Or as the generation which courageously carried on in the face of adversity?

Not long ago, we sat in shul and read in great detail about the construction of the tabernacle. We read how different types of wood and different lengths of the wood were to be used, so that it would be done just right.  And if we were to get it just right, the glory of Gd would shine upon us. Of course, a major iteration of this followed with the destruction of the Temple, the diaspora and with the advent of rabbinic Judaism. There would no longer be A temple.

Things became a bit less exact over the course of many centuries. And now, here we all are, on erev Shabbat, with computers in hand or on a table, with a discreet camera mounted within, beaming, or at least reflecting, Gd’s presence among us, as we prepare to welcome Shabbat.

Just a few weeks ago, the sanctuary that we have come to call our spiritual home, became temporarily obsolete. But worry not! As I reviewed my emails from just this week, I find numerous messages from American Jewish University, the Jewish Theological Seminary, Congregation Shearith Israel, Hillel at Boston University and Tufts University, the Jewish Regional Children’s Service, Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, the American Jewish World Service and, of course, from many of you – enough to actually compete in number with the recent profusion of medically-related emails from the CDC, the Baylor Heart Hospital, the American College of Cardiology, the AMA, etc, etc. I have been inundated!!

In an impressive feat of the American Jewish community, overnight, it seems, Jewish educators, rabbis and lay leaders alike have become technologically savvy, using Zoom, YouTube, FaceTime and other social media vehicles, to connect with large numbers of interested Jews. Courses sprung up. Services are now widely being streamed. Curricula have been reimagined and reconstituted. Synagogues, camps and schools have had concerts, comedians and educators, who have lectured or performed for many hundreds.

Virtual minyamin have been constituted, enabling those in mourning to say kaddish. A couple of weeks ago, the CJLS, the Conservative movement’s law committee, sanctioned the recitation of the Mourner’s Kaddish without the physical presence of a minyan—a decision that fundamentally changed one the most ancient ritual standards we have.  Undoubtedly, other life cycle events have been held in similar ways. But bending the rules in the wake of our societal issue allows family and friends to be of comfort.

Jewish institutions – local and beyond – have responded to this crisis in ways that have made our Jewish community and even many of our rituals relevant and uplifting.

On a personal note, I have reached out to people that I only infrequently am in touch with. A rebirth in relationships has resulted from calls and emails to friends in Boston, Florida, Austin, Missouri, Kansas and London.  Every night after dinner, I ask Nancy who we should get in touch with. Our cousin initiated a Zoom call before Pesach with family in many cities. In normal times, we would have had sedars separately anyway, but this virus-enforced isolation prompted all of us to get together virtually. It was wonderful!

So we sit here in our homes not spiritually depleted, not missing the presence of Gd, but full of Gd’s presence, knowing that even if the physical sanctuary we have built is not accessible, the virtual sanctuary we have erected is serving us quite well for the time being.

And while our sanctuary matters – a lot – our current situation makes us realize that earthly materials, no matter how precious, are not, in the end, sacred by themselves. They can only become sacred when they facilitate the baring of our souls, and when we in turn show love we hold in our hearts for each other, for the Jewish people, and for God.

These past couple of weeks have been difficult on many fronts. We have seen the number of cases of coronavirus rise sharply in our country and throughout the world, and we have also seen the terrible consequences it brings. We may not have even reached the peak of this pandemic, nor do we know whether that peak will be the only one, or just the first in a series. We do not know when we will all be able to return to all of our normal activities or when we will be able to visit and hug loved ones far away.

But what we do know, and what we have demonstrated, is that when Jews put their hearts and minds together, creating sacred time and activities that keep us together in faith, in relationship with each other and with God, a beautiful and meaningful design can and does emerge.

In Parshat Tzav, we continue learning about the laws of sacrifice and there are distinctions drawn between the different types of offerings – sin offerings, burnt offerings, and homage offerings. In this parsha, God also commands the priests to make a special offering (the offering of ordination) which solidifies them in their roles.

There is much discussion about how do laws of sacrifices find meaning in today’s world. I’ve decided to leave that theme alone. Instead a couple of themes to explore are the ideas of 1) keeping the fires burning, and 2) isolation.

God instructs Moses to tell Aaron and his sons

And the fire on the altar shall burn on it; it shall not go out…
The kohen shall kindle wood upon it every morning

The fire on the altar must be kept burning at all times and each different type of offering is brought before the fire. Where do you have fire in your lives today?

Well, we have literal fires which keep us warm or cook our foods and we have shabbat candles. A fire in the fireplace or in a backyard firepit draws us near; we are warmed by it and we can be mesmerized by it, So, too, the Shabbat candles draw us in but the warmth is more of a spiritual kind – maybe reminding us of times with our families – and a way to help separate the mundane work week from the holiness of Shabbat. Think even about keeping your oven warm over Shabbat – it is reminiscent of keeping the fire on the sacrificial altar kindled at all times.

But we also can think of these fires as internal encouragement, excitement, passion and spiritual enthusiasm.  Rabbi Jeremy Kalmanofsky wrote, in the Tzav chapter of ‘Text Messages – A Torah Commentary for Teens’

On a more poetic level, the commandment to keep the ‘constant fire’ burning symbolizes how we should nurture our own inner spirits, our passion and enthusiasm. After all, where does the fire burn? Not on the altar, but within – within the heart of the person who brings the offering.

We each balance our daily life with caring for others and finding beauty in our world. Those are examples of the warmth and empathy within each of us. Additionally, we often strive to create – music, art, new recipes, clothing (and recently masks). These are outward examples of the fires which burn inside each of us to add beauty to our world, to help others, and to find personal pleasure. Each time we do a good deed, we are feeding the fire. And each time we come together as a Kehilla, we are stoking the fire which is our commitment to each other, and our community.

God commands Moses to instruct Aaron and his sons

You shall not go outside the entrance of the Tent of Meeting for seven days, until the day that your period of ordination is completed…You shall remain at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting day and night for seven days, keeping God’s charge

And so, a period of isolation begins for Aaron and his sons. The reason – To ensure that they do not contact anything or anyone who is impure. Well, that sounds kind of familiar. But why seven days? This aligns with seven days of creation.

Seven days doesn’t seem so bad… but it’s interesting that, as I was researching for this dvar, I found an article that describes how Nadav and Avihu, 2 of Aaron’s four sons, (in the parsha Shemini) did not handle this period of isolation so well. The story of Nadav and Avihu describes how the brothers decided they would prepare an ‘extra’ offering to God and because it was not commanded, the brothers were punished by death.

This story suggests that, in isolation, some people get carried away, and may lose sight of their connection to the community. The reminder should be that a period of isolation is a means to accomplishing a goal… it is not meant to become a permanent condition.

This is exactly why it is important to remain connected to each other. To check in, and to use our technology to gather virtually and turn on our webcams so that we can truly connect by looking at each other. No judgement. Only the enthusiasm to join together and share the light of Shabbat through smiles and songs.

Shabbat Shalom

Inspirations

Text Messages – A Torah Commentary for Teens

Etz Hayim

https://www.chabad.org/parshah/default_cdo/aid/15575/jewish/Tzav.htm

https://www.myjewishlearning.com/torah-portions/parashat-tzav/

https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/challenging-isolation/

Today we will explore the mysteries of Parshat Vayikra. First, why the name? Please open up your Chumash to the Parsha. “Vayikra el Moshe” (and G-d spoke to Moses). Hence, the name Vayikra. Right? No, wrong! That would make seem to make sense, but upon careful examination it is clear that this explanation will not suffice.  G-d frequently spoke to Moses. Moses do this. Moses tell Pharaoh. Moses speak to the Children of Israel. Moreover, Vayikra is the name of the third Book of Moses in which this Pasha resides. There must be a better explanation for this apparent redundancy.

Look again at your Chumash. You will please note an anomaly at the end of the word “Vayikra”. Do you See the small aleph at the end of the word?  Perhaps this is the key to our solution. Or perhaps the key lies in examining the main theme of the parsha.  Parshat Vayikra is laden with a detailed description of the sacrifices that people were to make to G-d for their misdeeds and the purpose underlying each sacrifice during Mishkan and Temple times. I am neither interested in debating with you the appropriateness or inappropriateness of animal sacrifice, nor I am I inclined to try to justify its usage during those times. I am eager, however, to continue exploring this mysterious parsha. But first, a little story.

Midrash Rabbah is a collection of ten books that provide narrative stories and parables on the Five Books of Moses and the Five Megillot. Vayikra Rabbah, in discussing our parsha, tells a story about a king. The king commanded his royal architect to construct a magnificent palace. An extraordinarily well-designed and beautiful palace was built and lavishly furnished and decorated. The king’s name and royal emblem were engraved on all pillars and vessels throughout the palace. The king was overwhelmed with joy at the sight of his palace and engravings. As he sat in his palace embracing the splendor of his surroundings, he suddenly felt pangs of guilt. How can I sit in my palace, he thought, while my royal architect sits alone outside in the courtyard?  The king summoned the architect to be brought into the palace to sit with him.

When Moses constructed the Mishkan in accordance with G-d’s instructions, he did so precisely and elegantly. G-d’s name was marked on every part of the Mishkan and on all its vessels. But when G-d’s Holy Presence entered the Mishkan, the humble Moses remained outside. G-d immediately called for Moses to enter the Mishkan. Not to order him to do anything. Not to order him to speak to anyone. He called to Moses for the sole purpose of joining Him in the MIshkan.  Indeed, most unusual. Don’t you agree that the name given to the Parsha is perfect?

But wait! This still doesn’t explain the small aleph at the end of the word “Vayikra” or how the theme of sacrifice relates to the name of the parsha. Could it be that the name of the parsha conveys some lesson? Precisely! Parshat Vayikra teaches us the attribute of humility. Even though Moses was allowed to engage in direct communications with G-d, he nevertheless remained the humblest of men. The small aleph at the end of the word “Vayikra” stands for “ani”.  “Ani” means “I”. If I make myself small. If I humble myself. I too can become elevated in the eyes of others. Also, I can become better equipped to avoid sin. Now that I am able to avoid sin, there will be no need for me to bring sacrificial offerings.

Good Shabbos and thank you for joining me on this mysterious journey.

I wanted to be with you this Shabbat.

I wanted to stand shoulder to shoulder with you in prayer.

I wanted to stand before you and look each of you in the eye while I teach.

But I am on immuno-suppressants, which puts me in a high-risk category for infection with COVID 19. So, my doctor told me to stay at home.

But it feels wrong.

Though I’m not, officially, your rabbi, you are still my congregation.

And it doesn’t feel right to set myself apart from my congregation at a time like this.

And it’s not only because I’m a rabbi that it doesn’t feel right to set myself apart from you.

It’s also because I’m Jewish. And Jewish tradition teaches us to do exactly the opposite.

Jewish tradition teaches us:

אל תפרוש מן הציבור.—Al tifrosh min ha’tzibbur.

“Do not set yourself apart from the community.”     (Pirke Avot 2:4)

It teaches us:

כל ישראל ערבים זה בזה.—Kol Yisrael arevim zeh ba-zeh.

“All Jews are connected to one another.”                     (Sanhedrin 27b)

Jewish tradition teaches us to come together in times of trouble—not to stay apart.

But it’s not only because I’m Jewish, that it doesn’t feel right to set myself apart.

It’s also because I’m a human being.

And millions of years of evolution have hard-wired us to feel safer in groups.

We hunt better in groups.

We can gather more food in groups.

We are better able to defend ourselves in groups.

When we band together, we can accomplish things that would be impossible on our own.

And, maybe it also feels wrong because I’m an American. And because I’m now a Texan.

Because Americans are supposed to be tough and independent and free.

We’re a democracy. We choose our behavior. Nobody dictates it to us.

And nobody messes with Texas. Nobody. Certainly not some virus.

So, it goes against nearly every instinct I have as a Jew, as a human being, as an American, and as a Texan to draw myself apart and practice the kind of “social distancing” my doctor and other medical experts say that all of us—not just those of us in the high-risk category—must practice right now. Doing so, they tell us, is the only way to slow the spread of this virus down enough so that our health care system can handle the thousands of people who are likely to get sick—whether they are in the high-risk group or not.

This is the challenge before us as a world community and this is the challenge before us as Jews. So, I would like to offer you—from a distance—some insights from this week’s parasha that may give impetus to our efforts fight our instincts and to set ourselves apart in the days and weeks to come.

In this week’s parasha, Ki Tisa, our ancestors are repeatedly presented with a strange choice:

Holiness or death?

The first instance of this choice comes in the form of a census. Moses is told to count all Israelite men, ages of 20 and above, by collecting half a shekel from each, which will be used in the service of the Mishkan—the Tabernacle. Moses is not to count the men themselves, rather he is to count their donations. These donations, God informs him, will act as a “kofer”—as an atonement for each Israelite’s soul.  Doing this, God explains to Moses, will ensure that no plague will come among the Israelites as they are counted. The implication of this, of course, is that if the Israelites don’t give these 1/2 shekels, there will be a plague among them.

They are offered a choice:

Donate to the Mishkan—holiness.
Or plague—death.

The 2nd such choice is presented specifically to Aaron and his sons, the priests chosen to serve God in the Ohel Mo-ed—the Tent of Meeting. In Shemot chapter 30, verses 19-21, we read:

“Aaron and his sons will wash their hands and feet when they approach the Tent of Meeting. They will wash with water and they will not die. Or, when they approach the altar to serve, to make an offering to God, they will wash their hands and feet and they will not die. This will be an eternal statute for them and for their children.”

And so, Aaron and his sons are also offered the choice:

Wash your hands and feet with water before approaching God—holiness.

Or don’t—death.

We see the 3rd such choice just a few verses later, when God gives Moses two proprietary recipes to be used in the service of the Tabernacle.

• The first recipe is for the anointing oil that will be used to sanctify the Tabernacle and its vessels as well as the priests who will serve there.
• The second recipe is for the incense that will be burned just outside the Tent of Meeting.

These recipes, Moses is told are “kodesh kodashim” the most sanctified of all holy things, because their power renders other things holy. Nobody is to use them for personal purposes: as a body lotion, for example, or to make their tent smell good. Anyone who does so will suffer from “karet.” His or her soul will be cut off from the rest of the nation—a fate which some rabbis claimed was worse than death. For, while death kills the body, it doesn’t harm the soul. In contrast, having one’s soul cut off from the nation might leave one’s body intact, but it denies one’s soul a place in the olam haba—in the world to come—which means that one’s soul loses the chance to unite with God for eternity after one’s body expires. (Rambam, Hilchot Teshuvah 8:1)

So, again, we see the people being presented with the same choice:

Use these sacred recipes for their intended purpose—holiness.

Or use them for personal use—death.

The 4th and final choice placed before the people is Shabbat. In chapter 31, verse 12, after describing all of the sacred vessels that are to be created for use in the Tabernacle, God tells Moses:

“But you shall speak to the children of Israel, saying to them: Nevertheless you will keep my Shabbat, for it is a sign between myself and you for all the generations, so that you will know that I am Adonai who sanctifies you. And you will guard my Shabbat for it is holy to you. Anyone who desecrates it will die. Anyone who engages in creative activity will find his or her soul cut off from the nation.”

That strange use of that word “nevertheless,” means that it wasn’t enough for the people of Israel to set apart the Tabernacle, its vessels, its priests, its oil, and its incense as holy. They also had to set aside the Shabbat. In doing so, God explains to Moses, the Israelites would also be setting themselves apart as a holy people. Doing otherwise would have drastic consequences. And so, the choice is presented a 4^th time:

Observe Shabbat—holiness.

Don’t observe Shabbat—suffer not just death and not just karet, but both.

Why were these choices presented in such stark terms? Why is the flip side of holiness—of connecting with divinity—the absence of life itself? Why not present the people with some level of choice between these two extremes?

Because the reality is that sometimes there isn’t a level between the two.

When the power one is facing is the power of creation, sometimes that power leaves no middle ground.

Sometimes the absence of creation begets destruction. Other times the opposite occurs.

Other times, it is the very existence of creation which begets destruction.

Such is the power of creation. Such is the power of the holy.

And that is the power we face right now.

This new Coronavirus that we face is a brand-new creation. As a new creation it has a level of holiness and power that presents a danger to the unprotected. As such, the restrictions that will be placed upon us as we deal with it are going to need to be especially stringent. Just look at our parasha if you doubt me.

The divine restrictions described in our parasha this week weren’t put into place to protect the holy items of the Tabernacle so that the Israelites wouldn’t profane them with everyday use. They were put into place to protect the Israelites from the immensity of their power.

And the observance of Shabbat wasn’t just a nice idea to make the Israelites special. It was protection for the Israelites so they wouldn’t be physically or spiritually destroyed by the power of God’s attention. Likewise, God’s instruction to the priests regarding washing with water before serving in the Tabernacle—a practice that our medical professionals have told us is crucial to preventing the spread of this virus—though, obviously, we should also use soap.

A teacher of mine at the Jewish Theological Seminary, Dr. Dov Zlotnick, once posed the following question to us: “What makes something holy?” he asked.

His answer: “The level of restrictions placed around it.”

When I saw that a notice had come out from my M.S. clinic saying that the time had come for the immuno-compromised to stay home, I was ready to dismiss their recommendation in favor of going to shul.

I was ready to take the risk to myself, which I judged to be fairly low.

But the notice went on to ask that we patients consider the risk not only to ourselves but to those whose care could be compromised by our choices. Since those of us in the high-risk group already know we are likely to need hospital care if we are infected, choosing to take a risk may mean we are choosing that someone else who needs care might not get it.

The notice asked us to consider the possibility that, just as we have seen in happen in Asia and Europe, our hospitals, urgent care clinics, and doctors’ offices may soon be overwhelmed by the numbers of the sick and the dying.

The notice informed us that the resources needed to treat severe infections of COVID 19 are too scarce for the numbers of patients they are expecting and urged us to understand that the best, and most effective way for us to help out in this time of crisis is to stay home and stay healthy.

And so, I stayed home from shul today. Because if choosing to risk myself means that I may be choosing also to let someone else die, then following my clinic’s recommended restrictions is the holiest choice I can make right now. It is the mitzvah of pikuach nefesh—saving a life.

And this isn’t just true for me because I’m in a high-risk group. It’s true for all of us.

• Because a lot of us are going to get infected with this virus, even though most of us won’t die from it.
• And a lot of those who become infected are going to get very sick—high-risk group or not—even though many of us won’t.

And the best and most effective way for all of us to help those who are going to get sick, and those of us who are going to be caring for those who get sick, is to do everything in our power to stay well and to try to slow the rate of infection down, so that when we or our loved ones do get sick, our health care system has the resources and the capacity to help us.

So, I urge you to embrace these new restrictions to our lives right now as holy—just as holy as the decision to give tzedakah, to keep Shabbat or to keep kosher.

Because today, a new creation in this world has placed a choice before us:

Between risk and safety; between holiness and death.

Between the blessing of healing or the curse of turning the sick away.

And so, I urge you, today, to choose holiness and life—for you, for your family, for your neighbors and your friends, and for the people whom you’ve never met whom your choice might save. Choose life so that we all may live.

Shabbat Shalom

As we know from last week’s D’var, G-d ultimately wants to dwell among the community of Israel so the Tabernacle continues it’s construction – it supposedly took about two years. Today’s parasha is about Kohein-clothing amongst a few other topics.

Clothing is very personal. We identify ourselves with it. Just ask my 2-1/2 year old ‘roommate’ who has experienced many a morning melt-down over the clothing choice of the day. The most recent experience was as a pre-school Purim princess costume which was supposed to have accompanying undergarment pants and shirt – nevertheless…..

From homeless to shul congregants, to work colleagues (be they public servants, teachers, physicians, or politicians), men, women and children, we all identify ourselves and or others in some-way by the clothing worn.

When people dress in specific ways to express and promote their ideological status or values or beliefs during a march/protest or an entertainment event like an awards ceremony many rush in to label the clothing, hair, head-dress, make-up and so on worn by others as fashion. So in preparing this D’var I asked myself “is this fashion thing a trend that started way back in the time of Parasha Tetzaveh?”

Sometimes garments from designers are referred to as prototypes. A prototype (Greek for “first impression”) is about how something can look, work, feel and how one can appreciate it. So if a picture is worth a thousand words, a prototype might be worth a thousand pictures. In the fashion industry, prototyping is about what happens at the top of the clothing/designer ‘pyramid’. Fashion designers are specialized in sketching, observing and in handcrafting and materializing ideas. In the case of our Parsha – G-d is the designer and Moses assures skilled crafts people will create the garments to be worn by the Kohein, specifically Aaron and his sons.

There are very few places in Torah where garments or clothing are actually mentioned.  Examples include Adam & Eve who use the fig leaf for cover after eating from the forbidden tree, Joseph and his coat which his brothers use to deceive their father into believing that Joseph is dead and let us remember the timely Purim story where King Ahasuerus endorses Haman’s plan to parade Mordecai through the city square on a horse in a royal robe and the passage, “So Haman took the robe and the horse, arrayed Mordecai, and paraded him through the city square, crying out before him, “This is what is done for the man whom the king is delighted to honor!”

So what about specifics from G-d to Moses to assure his brother Aaron and the Koheins are dressed appropriately and they follow a process for their priestly duties? While Moses is absent in this Parsha, some have said because he declined G-ds initial request on several occasions to lead the Israelites to freedom, he is commanded to assure Aaron is ‘decked-out’ appropriately. So Moses, along with others in the Israelite community comply.

Studying the specifics described in this parsha there are notable descriptions and details of what goes where on the high priest and how one is to approach the Tent of Meeting/tabernacle, the colors and descriptive stones and colors with of course the meaning behind each of the materials left open to interpretation.

SPOILER ALERT -fashion is not at all the topic of today’s parsha. It’s not about shoes, shadels, robes, tunics, stones or breast plates. There is obviously something bigger going on here so let’s step back and take a look.

One answer may be elevating the spiritual significance of G-D and the tabernacle.

Obviously we should respect the Torah’s direction for the Kohein’s requirement to dress in a specific manner outlined in this parsha. Today we often emulate this by wearing clothing that demonstrates honor and respect for holidays and the ritual spiritual practice of Judaism.

The parsha is really about self-respect and the practice of Jewish tradition.  It’s about, as Bill mentioned last week in his d’var, about substance rather than image.  The clothes we wear when we pray should show our respect for the process and ceremony of prayer, G-d and Judiaism.  It’s our belief about and for which we pray.

Substance over image.  This theme continues to work throughout today’s parasha in distinguishing world cultures. The Israelite culture of the day was different, for example, from Greek, Egyptian and Mesopatamian cultures that valued the image and style in say architecture and art (sculptures/idols?). Perhaps this is another reason why G-d’s instruction to Moses about the construction of the Tabernacle and the clothing Aaron and his son’s wore was so specific. So distinct.

As noted last week, the detailed construction of the Tabernacle may have had much to do with setting the Israelite culture and architecture apart from other cultures that valued a belief in ‘false’ G-d’s & idols essentially eviscerating the holy and substantive from the topical and touchy feely of alternate evolving cultures that would ultimately disappear entirely. The building of the Tabernacle and practice of honoring G-d with the clothing of Aaron and his son’s would frame a new set of standards, beliefs, practices and in particular, traditions, that would evolve and be embraced for many Jewish generations to come.

While some believe that the building of the tabernacle and high priests clothing was a means of creating a separation of cultures, the clothing also bifurcated the Israelite community with distinct roles that were set apart from one another particularly when it came to spiritual practices. Different of course than the task of building or hunting or gathering. It was as if ‘G-d’s plan’ had the specific purpose to create how daily prayer was to be executed to honor one G-d.

It is said that the sacred priestly garments were regal and symbolic regarding the holiest of holies and the parsha goes into much detail about them. Yet the Torah does not paint the priests clothing as a veneer of beauty nor is beauty a value embraced by Torah at all. For example the matriarchs (Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah), Queen Esther and others are described in various places throughout the Torah as physically beautiful yet beauty is not a personal value or commandment that we embrace. As aishes chayil points out, “physical beauty is false and a woman who fears G-d is to be lauded.”

What lessons can we take away from today’s parsha to embrace a life of substance?

Bud Harris in his 2015 book entitled Sacred Selfishness describes ideas for creating a life of substance such as:

• Self-love and self-forgiveness
• How we value love ourselves and live meaningful lives
• Authenticity and how we give back to those around us
• Loving others without losing ourselves
• Resolving unhappy relationships, a stagnating career, overcoming financial issues or weight problems

Finally – this quote from Julia Cameron (Teacher, Author, Poet, Film Maker & Martin Scorsese’s former spouse)

“Love is the substance of all life. Everything is connected in love, absolutely everything.”

Good Shabbos.

In parshah Terumah, God says to Moses,” They shall make for me a sanctuary, and I shall dwell amongst them.” On the summit of Mount Sinai, Moses is given detailed instructions on how to construct this dwelling for God so that it could be readily dismantled, transported and reassembled as the people journeyed the desert.

In fact, a sizable portion of the book of Exodus is devoted to the construction of the sanctuary built by the children of Israel in the desert. The Torah, which usually is so sparing with words that many of its laws are contained within a single word or letter, is uncharacteristically elaborate. All in all, 13 chapters are devoted to describing how fifteen materials, representing a cross-section of animal, vegetable and mineral resources of the earth, were fashioned into this edifice dedicated to the service of God and the training of the Kohanim who were to officiate there. It is said that the Israelites took some of the materials they used in building the golden calf to now build the Mishkan.

The building of the Mishkan is the Israelites first great constructive and collaborative act after crossing the Red Sea, leaving the domain of Egypt and entering their new domain as the people of God. The tabernacle, small and fragile though it was, was an event of huge significance. It brought the divine presence down from heaven to earth.

Some have suggested that the creation of the tabernacle by the Israelites is the counterpart of the creation of the universe by God. Both were acts of self- renunciation, whereby one made space for the other.

The building of the Mishkan will force the Israelites to work together in order to fulfill a common goal and prepare for a common future. The people’s participation in the making of the tabernacle will unify the nation in a different way. It will elevate the seemingly mundane work of construction into a sacred vocation, dedicated to the service of the one God who freed them from Egypt. These former slaves are no strangers to building monuments and cities. The backbreaking labor of the Israelites in Egypt glorified the Pharaoh and the Egyptian gods; but that certainly was not a sacred endeavor. In contrast, constructing the tabernacle and all its finery will be holy work that aims to create sacred space and sacred instruments of worship.  This Mishkan became the model and prototype for all subsequent homes for God constructed on Earth.

According to parshah, the Israelite women and men together provided not only the labor, but also the raw materials for the Mishkan. Their gifts, brought as voluntary offerings, were gathered and transformed into a place for God to reside in their midst. These former slaves now became both the builders of a nation and builders of a dwelling place for the divine. It is the ark and its contents, the symbol of the covenant between God and Israel, that gives meaning to the tabernacle.

God came close to the Israelites through the building of this sanctuary. It wasn’t the quality of the wood and metals and drapes. It wasn’t the glitter of jewels on breastplate of the high priest. It wasn’t the beauty of the architecture. It was the fact that it was built out of the gifts of” everyone whose heart prompts them to give”. Where people give voluntarily to one another and to holy causes, that is where the divine presence rests.

Thus, the special word that gives its name to this week’s parshah:  Terumah. It can be translated as a contribution, but it actually has a subtly different meaning for which there is no simple English equivalent. It means” something you lift up” by dedicating to a sacred cause. You lift it up, then it lifts you up. One of the best ways of elevating our spiritual heights is simply to give in gratitude for the fact that things have been given to us.

Divine presence was not in a building but in its builders, not in a physical place but in the human heart. The sanctuary was not a place in which the objective existence of God was somehow more concentrated than elsewhere. Rather, it was a place whose holiness had the effect of opening hearts to the ones who worshiped there. God exists everywhere, but not everywhere do we feel the presence of God in the same way. The essence of” the holy” is that it is a place where we set aside all human devices and desires and enter a domain entirely set aside for God. If the concept of the tabernacle is that God lives in the human heart whenever it opens itself unreservedly to heaven, then its physical location is irrelevant. Rabbi Menachem Mendel has said:” God is only where you let God in.”

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks had an interesting take on the building of the Mishkan.  He  wrote about the behavioral economist Dan Ariely who did a series of experiments on what is known as the IKEA effect or” why we overvalue what we make.” The name comes, of course, from the store that sells self- assembly furniture. We may go there to save money on furniture.  However, after we construct something, even if the item is amateurish, we tend to feel a certain pride in it. We can say,” I made this,” even if someone else designed, produced the pieces, and wrote the instructions.  Ariely’s conclusions of his studies were: the effort that we put into something does not change the object. It changes us in the way we evaluate the object. The greater the labor, the greater the love for what we have made. This is part of what is happening in the long sequence about the building of the sanctuary that begins in our parshah. There is certainly no comparison between the Mishkan and something as secular as a piece of self-assembly furniture. But at a human level, there are psychological parallels. The Mishkan was the first thing the Israelites made in the wilderness, and it marks a turning point in the Exodus. Until now, God has done all the work. He took the people out of Egypt to freedom. He gave them food. However, the people did not appreciate it. They were ungrateful. They complained.

Now God instructed Moses to take the people through a role reversal. Instead of God doing things for them, he commanded them to make something for Him. This was not about God. This was about humans and their dignity, their self-respect.

God gave the Israelites a chance to make something with her own hands, something they would value because, collectively, they made it. Everyone who was willing could contribute, from whatever they had. Everyone had the opportunity to take part: women as well as men, the people as a whole, not just the elite.

For the first time, God was asking them not just to follow him or obey his laws but to the active; to become builders and creators. And because it involved their work, energy and time, they invested something of themselves, individually and collectively, in it. To repeat Ariely’s point: we value what we create. The effort we put into something does not change the object, it changes us. God was giving the Israelites the dignity of being able to say:” I helped build a house for God.” The creator of the universe was giving his people the chance to also become creators – not just of something physical and secular, but of something profoundly spiritual and sacred.

This is a life-changing idea. One of the greatest gifts we can give people is to give them a chance to create. This is the one gift that turns a recipient into a giver. It gives them dignity. It shows that we trust them, have faith in them, and believe they are capable of great things.

As Melissa discussed two weeks ago, when you delegate thoughtfully, you turn delegates into partners, not just employees. By sharing the burden and allowing others to take on parts of the job that is their own, they become invested in the outcome. When you delegate correctly, bearing in mind each person’s talents, strengths and personality, you create a stronger team and company. Your goal is to build partners who care about and can contribute to the company’s well-being. Give your employees enough information for them to understand the vision and allow for their input and creativity. Allowing others to share in responsibility and vision includes them as partners.

Remember that God instructed Moses:” tell the Israelites people to bring me gifts; you shall accept gifts for me from every person whose heart is so moved.” This kind of giving, a free will offering, does not come through guilt, coercion, or competition, but from the deepest recesses of the soul.

One who gives receives something in return – the sense of being generous in making a worthy undertaking possible, the sense of sharing with others in an important venture, the sense of self-worth that comes from knowing that we can give away something of value without feeling diminished.

Today, it is important for all of us to continue to make free will offerings to institutions that unify the Jewish people. Our Torah portion teaches us that the terumah gift is an offering that comes from the deep recesses of the heart.  May we all be lifted up; but, more importantly, may we lift up others.

And these are the rules that you shall set before them. When you acquire a Hebrew slave, he shall serve six years; in the seventh year he shall go free, without payment. If he came single, he shall leave single; if he had a wife, his wife shall leave with him. If his master gave him a wife, and she has borne him children, the wife and her children shall belong to the master, and he shall leave alone. But if the slave declares, “I love my master, and my wife and children: I do not wish to go free,” his master shall take him before G-d. He shall be brought to the door or the doorpost, and his master shall pierce his ear with an awl; and he shall then remain his slave for life.

The above is the opening six verses of parasha Mishpatim which means rules. Welcome to the initial body of laws, known as The Book of the Covenant, which were transferred by Moses to the Israelites.  Just last week we listened to Becca beautifully lain the ten commandments from paraha Yitro which are the foundation of our value system we still live by today. And this week we read about the laws of slavery and many other areas. Today, the focus will be on the laws governing slavery.

I have to admit, that I had to scratch my head on this one. We have the Israelites that just left 210 years of enslavement in Egypt. G-d brought out of Egypt with his mighty hand by invoking the ten plagues on the Egyptians until our people were free. Some argue that these laws more appropriately define an indentured servant by placing limitations on slavery.

The most important word of the introduction of the mishpatim is the first word, “VE-aleh (ואלה)” – and these. The “veh’s” translation is “and” which sets up a continuation from the ten commandments to the laws. It is interesting that the Etz Chaim Humash leaves the “and” out of its translation of the Hebrew text. We go from the core foundation of the commandments to a more detailed explanation of how we are to conduct ourselves according to rules of law. For more on the Ten Commandments, make sure and attend Larry’s monthly class. Rashi makes the claim that the structure set up in the Torah by the Mishpatim or rules set forth and conveyed to the people of Israel by Moses is a deliberate attempt in the structure of the Torah to place these laws as a central point of the revelation.

The very first commandment, as we studied last week, begins with, “I am the Lord your G-d who brought you out of the land of Egypt”.  Here G-d makes the exclamation that I brought you out of slavery in Egypt, and now sets forth rules to govern slavery. On the surface this is a major contradiction – I remove you from slavery, but here is how to treat your slaves.

To try to reason and understand this dilemma, I had to separate myself from my personal values based on the history of slavery in the US and other modern-day countries and try to have a mindset of life 2,500 years ago.  Slavery was an expectation of the times across all cultures. The Israelites that crossed the Red Sea did not know any other way of life but slavery.

Who is a Hebrew slave in these times, why would one Jew consider the purchase of another Jew as a slave, and why would a Jew choose to sell himself as a slave? RASHI rationalizes this dilemma by explaining that the slave is either a person that cannot support themselves and/or meet their debts, or the courts have sold a person that has stolen from another and is unable to pay back their debts.

The laws set up a structure for this slave or servant to pay back their master through servitude and then to be set free after seven years. And then there is the case where a slave may want the security of not having to support themselves by electing to stay with their master at which time the master will pierce their ear at the doorposts of the house making them his slave forever.  A parallel is made to the smearing of lamb’s blood upon the doorpost during the tenth plague, the slaying of the first born. Is this act meant to imply the slave is now the master’s animal forever? We have a person who prefers a life without the need to make decisions or the worries of how to care for themselves.

I still have some difficulty rationalizing the acceptance of these laws based on what I consider to be unethical behavior. But is it fair of me to pass judgment on a code of laws from 2,500 years ago which are based on societal norms of the time? Should these laws be accepted simply because they are in the Torah. It is the norm of many modern-day Jews to make exceptions to the original mitzvot dictated in the Torah to handle the necessities of modern times. There is another mishpatim to not work on the Sabbath, but we invent concepts like an eruv to rationalize carrying, people use a Shabbat elevator to avoid climbing steps, and we use electricity on Shabbat for comfort and convenience.

Perhaps the Torah is teaching us that there is a more humane way to treat the downtrodden and the oppressed. Current estimations are there are somewhere between 20 and 40 million people enslaved in some manner around the world.  And what about the severe homeless problem we have in this country and in most others. Another way to rationalize this issue is to understand there are various levels of slavery. There are still people forced into slavery today from generation to generation such as the Jews in Egypt were and the Africans captured and brought to this country were. Rabbi Jonathan Saks explains it well in his commentary about the Mishpatim, “These laws…they turn slavery from an existential fate to a temporary condition. Slavery is not what you are or how you were born, but some thing that has happened to you for a while and from which you will one day be liberated.” I do believe there is a difference in the slavery of oppression and the slavery mandated in the Torah.

Like always seems to be the case, maybe the Torah was forward looking and not hypocritical with the establishment of these laws of slavery.  I am still scratching my head on this one because I don’t have the answer. And what better way to end a Torah discussion than with a question.  I will leave it to you to form your own conclusion. Do the laws of slavery established in the Torah allow people to work themselves back to a position of strength eventually allowing them to live free after their indentured servitude, or is it better to have people lose all dignity by sleeping on the sidewalk, digging through the trash for food and begging for spare change?

Shabbat Shalom