It is wonderful that our Kehillah has taken the step toward Shabbat morning normalcy by returning to an in-person minyan. Today marks the sixth service in a row we have had an in-person minyan. Thank-you to the core group, Becca, Joel, Mike, Rachelle, Bill, Barry, and Daniel, who continued to show up each week to make sure our Kehillah survived the pandemic. Thank you also to those that tuned in on Zoom each week. I made the decision to not attend in person or on Zoom unless there was an in-person minyan. Thank you to all for understanding. Our Kehillah has been built on the acceptance and support of individual beliefs.

I have a confession. During my absence from the weekly minyan, I did not miss praying. I could not find that personal connection to G-d that prayer brings. I tried individual Shabbat morning prayer, but the connection was not there. I did, however, enjoy staying in my sweats, eating a leisurely breakfast, and relaxing while reading the morning paper and a book. I thought it would be difficult to change my twenty plus year Shabbat morning routine, but I must admit I enjoyed my new Saturday morning ritual.

So what does this have to do with parahah Emor? Being of Kohanim descent, this is the perfect parahsah to allow me to reflect on the laws for the rituals and obligations of the Kohanim. The commentary in the Etz Chaim reads, “As the Israelites are to represent the G-d oriented lifestyle to the nations of the world, the Kohanim are to represent a maximal level of devotion to G-d for their fellow Israelites.” The commentary goes on to quote Jacob Issac of Lublin, “Tell the Kohanim to be sons of Aaron indeed and not only in descent…”. Wow. Had I read this commentary pre-Covid would I have made different decisions about my absence from attending Shabbat morning services?

In Emor, we learn about the restrictions placed on the Kohanim to maintain ritual purity in society. Chapter 21, verses 18-22, states that nobody that has a defect, a deformity or any handicap may offer the ritual sacrifice to G-d. And likewise, no animal with a blemish or deformity may be offered up as part of this sacrifice. There is obviously no concern here about being politically correct. The Sefer Ha-Chinnuch ( ספר החינוך), a rabbinic text detailing the 613 mitzvot published in the thirteenth century, explains the reasoning of this requirement for perfection is to increase one’s focus on the value of striving for perfection. Am I to interpret this commentary to mean that if an item or a person is not perfect, their value is diminished?

How does this relate to us today in a time when the Kohanim are not necessarily our spiritual leaders, and we no longer offer animal sacrifices to G-d? We replace these rituals with offerings of our time, our financial resources, our support of tzedakah and our presence in person or in shul to offer our prayers. Our acts and our lives may not be perfect, but they do shape those in our family, in our community and the Jewish people. If we only accept that which is perfect, we have nothing to strive for. Here in our Kehillah, we have learned that Torah reading by new lainers may not be perfect, davening by those who may have never davened before may not be perfect, d’vrei Torot such as this one certainly have their blemishes, but we all learn and grow from these personal offerings. We learn and grow by coming together as a community to support each other to increase our personal spirituality. Perhaps not seen as ideal or perfect by some, but hopefully accepted by all.

Not until March 20, when I returned to the first in-person minyan with our community, with the familiar and uplifting voices of song and prayer, did I realize how much I missed praying. May we all continue to be together, to pray together, and grow together for many years to come.

Everyone is born with a powerful weapon which can be used both for good and evil. This weapon is your tongue. Your tongue is used to create thousands of words every day, and each word has the power to harm or to heal, to hurt or to help. In this week’s Torah portion, we learn about the power of words. The ancient sages believed that leprosy was a punishment for slander and spreading malicious gossip. By gossiping, you hurt someone’s reputation and make them appear poorly in public. In return, you are punished with a skin disease that causes you to appear poorly before others.

The affliction of tzaraat, which was incorrectly translated as leprosy, was a punishment for transgressions of speaking lashon hara, which translated literally means the evil tongue or evil speech and includes slander, gossip, rumors and other things.  The sages teach that gossip is like leprosy because it is highly contagious. One infected person can spread a malicious rumor to many others.The person who does the evil speaking which leads to the punishment of tzaraat is the Metzorah.

The Torah views the appearance of the white spots as a signal for an individual who suffers from tzaraat to examine his or her deeds and repent.

The entire phenomenon of tzaraat was God’s way of making the transgression public and stigmatized.

Both the onset and termination of the state of tzaraat are affected by the proclamation of a Kohen. The Kohen was both the religious and the medical authority. Only the Kohanim were able to declare someone ritually impure. It is easy to understand why: if neighbors were allowed to declare each other impure, there could be all kinds of panic and nasty accusations, and people might use this as a weapon for personal gain or revenge. It is hard to be objective about someone’s problems if your life is bound up in theirs.

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 Kohen also had the job to reintegrate the person into the community as soon as possible.

To quote the Orchot Tzadikim:  ” Before you speak, you are the master of your words. After you speak, your words master you.”

The sages go to remarkable lengths to emphasize the seriousness of lashon hara. It is, they say, as bad as all three cardinal sins together-idol worship, bloodshed, and illicit sexual relations. It kills three people: the one who speaks it, the one of whom it is spoken, and the one who receives it. Why are your words treated with such seriousness in Judaism?

What made Judaism different from other religions is that it is a religion of holy words. God communicated to the Israelites through words. In Judaism, language itself is holy. That is why lashon hara, the use of language to harm, is not merely a minor offense. It involves taking something that is holy and using it for purposes that are unholy. It is a kind desecration.

Speaking negatively about others inevitably causes friendships to break apart and people to distance themselves from each other.

Gossiping is evil and has no defense. You could be saying the unvarnished, absolute truth, but it is still a sin. The metzorah is sent to solitary confinement not just wait for his tzaraat to cure, but to reflect on the lack of judgment that caused the sickness in the first place.

The process that the metzorah must go through is intended to demonstrate the destructiveness of his sin and teach him how to improve himself in the future so that he avoids sinning such a way again.

I think we can see that the Torah disagrees with the last part of the old saying that ” sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never harm me.”

Speaking and thinking ill of another person, construing their actions in the worst possible way, gossiping and spreading rumors which harm the reputation of another person-these activities are so widespread among our contemporaries that they no longer attract notice at all. Those practices provoke a cynical disregard of human decency; they cultivate our suspicions of each other and our assumption that others are speaking ill of us behind our backs just as we are of them.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks has written about the entire issue of speech and its impact on people, which has become massively amplified by the spread of smart phones and social media and their impact, especially on young people and on the entire tone of the public conversation. Online abuse is a plague of our age. Just last week I saw the following headline:” NY teen dies by suicide after cyberbully used pictures to blackmail him.” It has happened because of the ease and impersonal nature of communication. It gives rise to what has been called the disinhibition effect: people feel freer to be cruel and crude online than they would be in a face-to-face situation.  When you are not face-to-face with another person it is easier to allow all the meanness within you to leak out, with sometimes devastating effects. The number of teenage suicides and attempted suicides has doubled in the past 10 years, and most attribute the rise to the effect of social media. Rarely have the laws of lashon hara been more timely and more necessary.

Rabbi Sacks also said:” I believe we need the laws of lashon hara now more than almost ever before. Social media is awash with hate. The language of politics has become slanderous and vile.  We seem to have forgotten what the Torah portion is here to remind us: that evil speech is a plague. It destroys relationships, rides roughshod over people’s feelings, debases the public square, turns politics into a jousting match between competing egos and defiles all that is sacred about life. It need not be like this.”

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 the very heart of our relationships..

In an age of corrosive mistrust, a lack of confidence in our public leaders, and an alienating sense of loneliness and isolation, there is little hope of establishing real community until we learn to speak a new language – one of responsibility, kindness and compassion. Rather than speaking about other people, we can speak to them. By learning to channel and control our speech, we will transform our world from one of isolation and cynicism to one of community and trust.

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.

Do you believe in miracles? Two things come to my mind when I think of miracles: Parsha Beshalach and Jacob Lefkovitz. This week’s Parsha is Beshalach. It mentions a number of purported miracles that occurred. The sea split to allow the Israelites to safely pass through and avoid the onslaught of the pursuing Egyptians. The people promptly complained that they were thirsty and hungry. Water suddenly appeared in the desert, but the people complained it was bitter. Moses was instructed by G-d to place a certain branch in the water and the water became sweet.  The people wanted more water. Moses struck a rock and water came forth. This act ultimately cost Moses his right to enter the promised land. The people continued to complain. What about food? Manna rained down from the heavens in the morning. Hey, how about some meat? Quails suddenly appeared. It’s time to fight the Amalekites, but they are too powerful. Moses raised his arms, at first by himself and later with help. Whenever his arms were raised the Israelites were victorious. Whenever they were lowered the Amalekites were victorious. Were these miracles? Did they really happen?

It’s time to switch over to Jacob Lefkovitz. Jacob was a third grader at a Jewish Day School. The custom of the Lefkovitz family was to discuss the weekly Parsha over Friday night Shabbat dinner. Let’s listen in on their discussion.

Parent: “Jacob, what did you learn this week in school?

Jacob: “I learned about Parsha Beshalach.”

Parent: “Tell us some of the things you learned.”

Jacob: “Well, the Jewish people were slaves in Egypt. They were able to convince the King of Egypt to let them go. But the King later changed his mind and sent his army to destroy the Jewish people. The Jews fought back and shelled the Egyptians with heavy artillery. Then they sent their air force to finish off the job with precision bombing. The Jews won the battle and were able to proceed to freedom.”

Parent (somewhat astonished): “Did you really learn this in school?”

Jacob: “Well, if I told you what I really learned you’d never believe it!”

Yes folks. A problem with miracles is that they are hard to believe. Do miracles really exist? Did they really happen? Do they still happen? These are questions you will have to answer for yourselves. Perhaps you might keep two thoughts in mind when formulating your opinion: (1) miracles are hard to accept, especially when you don’t actually see them and (2) belief in miracles may actually facilitate their occurrence. In other words, when it comes to miracles seeing is believing —and believing is seeing.

May you never need miracles. But if you ever do need them, may they come your way.

Good Shabbos

This week’s Torah portion is Tsav. It is the 6^th word and means command.  G-d tells Moses to describe the ritual of the burnt offerings to Aaron, which the priests are to perform. Then the priests undergo the process of ordination.

G-d commands Moses to command Aaron and his sons to do rituals of burnt offerings which must remain burning upon the altar all night and each morning the priests would give more wood to the offering on the altar. They burn the fat which turns into smoke.  This keeps the altar burning all night. These animal offerings must not be eaten.

Aaron and his sons remain in the Sanctuary compound 7 days during which Moses initiates them into the priesthood.

What are modern day offerings of sacrifice? Some say it is the prayers we do morning, afternoon and evening, some say it is the fear of G-d. Or perhaps it is the sacrifices we do in our lives for each other, giving a different meaning to the word.

Maimonides said G-d didn’t want the Israelites to perform burnt offerings of animals but the ancients were accustom to making these offering to their gods. Therefore the Israelites did offerings, but to one G-d, it was something familiar in those days. He goes on to add that G-d could have created another ritual for our ancestors, but ancients were used to these rituals so they continued with a slight variation of offering to only one G-d. G-d wanted them to only do the sacrifices in the Temple and only to be performed by the priestly class which indicates G-d wanted these sacrifices restricted, not as widespread as among the other ancients.

Rabbi Dorff has some comments also. He is with the Zeigler School of Rabbinic Studies of the American Jewish University and also teaches law at UCLA.  In 1945 when the Conservative movement created the Prayerbook for Sabbath and Festivals, some of us grew up using, they changed Musaf. It went from being a prayer to G-d to restore the Temple and animal sacrifice to a recalling of the devotion that our ancestors had when they worshipped. Musaf was about the restoration of a homeland for the Jewish people, implying sacrifice is essential to fulfill human ideals, but not to restore animal sacrifice.  That was the decision made, instead of eliminating Musaf, to change it. Then the most recent Conservative prayer book, the High Holiday Mahzor Lev Shalom, restored some optional words, indicated by parenthesis. It is each congregation’s option, to include the words in the third to last blessing of the Amidah “and the fire offering of Israel”.   But a note on the page indicates we are not praying to restore animal sacrifice but to add an intensity for religious fervor. Once more giving a different meaning to the word “fire” as in being “fired up” in praying.

So, as we approach Passover and reflect back on the lives of the Israelites leaving Egypt, it is also a time to think about how we can incorporate modern day ways in our daily lives to perform the biblical ancient rituals.

The latest of my forays into my future post-career life is teaching ESL – English as a second language – to a group of adults. While I’m still working, my 70th birthday looms. Time waits for no one. So as I prepare for what comes next in my life, I’ve ventured into several activities as I answer what I perceive as a calling to help make a difference in the lives of people, and in turn, to make the world better. A text message from a woman named Yicel, one of my students. She had been a bit under the weather and I sent her a get-well message. Yicel’s text said in part, “Thank you Mr. Joel for teach me.” Her grammar showed the need for me to, indeed, teach her. This, then, is one of my callings.

The title of today’s parashah – Vayikra – has proven to be the quintessential grounds for arguments in the Torah and has been the basis for D’vrei Torah for generations. If you look at that first word of the parashah, it is Vayikra – a calling. Or at least that’s what it means when the aleph is put at the end of the word. But as you will notice if you have a chumash, the aleph at the end of the word is written in a much smaller font, almost as though it is either optional, or maybe to draw attention to what the word would mean without the aleph. Without it, the word becomes vayikar, meaning to come upon, such as an encounter that happens by chance or perhaps a conclusion that a person might reach on her own. To come upon, rather than being specifically directed to. Vayikar vs. vayikra.

Well, as you can imagine, rabbis and scholars have had a field day with this! And of course, lucky for me, it presented the opportunity to develop a D’var from it. As I mentioned, the way it is written in chumashim, with the aleph, translates to, “And G-d called.” So why, then, is the aleph written in the smaller size?

As prominently as Moses is mentioned in the Torah, he doesn’t often seem to draw conclusions and give instructions based on what he decided by himself. Relatively little seems to be left to his judgement. We seldom if ever read about Moses thinking to himself, “on one hand . . . on the other hand.” That would have been more in keeping with “vayikar” – without the aleph – “he came upon” or perhaps, “he concluded.”

Instead, he is often called directly by Gd, and is given very explicit instructions. This is more in keeping with “Vayikra” – with the aleph – the one that means he was called – summoned – and told, “This is how you’re going to do it.” In fact, each time Gd communicates with Moses, Gd calls him by name. The instructions are personal and direct. This entire parashah is in this form – Gd’s instructions to Moses.

Drawing on the teachings of Rashi and Maimonides, a bit of a consensus seems to have been reached over many years concerning this wayward aleph. If we regard our life’s events and activities as occurring mostly by chance, decided by circumstance, or decided in an ad hoc fashion, the implications will be fundamentally different than if we look upon ourselves as being called specifically by Gd, as though Gd is directing the events.

In the first instance, the implication may be that our individual and our collective fate is left to mere chance, circumstances, or certainly to others. As a small people, inconsequential in numbers, we would have had a very inconsequential history. And as we know, Jews have been anything but inconsequential throughout their history.

If, however, the people of Israel believe in Divine messages and Divine intervention, as though we have been specifically called by Gd, the implications are far different. It will not surprise you that theologically, I am not necessarily in this particular camp. But still, for me – one who doesn’t necessarily believe in Divine messages or Divine intervention the point of Jewish peoplehood is still the pursuit of a life of relevance and meaning, and is all about the search for something larger than the self. For many, this search is a calling. And for me, the nature of that calling is largely determined by the lessons and values our people have lived by for centuries.

So now, let’s circle back to the beginning of the parashah. The difference in Hebrew between heeding Gd’s call on one hand – vayikra – and acting without purpose or conviction – vayikar – is almost imperceptible. The words sound almost the same, with only the aleph making the difference.

The aleph’s presence in the title of the parashah is almost invisible. In a similar vein, as we’re well past the audio and visual pyrotechnics of the Exodus, Mt. Sinai and the thundering mountain, Gd’s call to us is inaudible and invisible unless we look and unless we listen. We as Jews hear that calling as a still, small voice.

We do not have to view ourselves as special because Gd sees us as being special and communicates directly with us. That’s not where I am theologically. Instead, we can become special by how we choose to interpret our Jewish teachings. When we see a wrong to be righted, a need to be met, we come as close as we can to hearing – vayikra – Gd’s call to us.

As committed Jews, we believe that what we do every minute of the day, and what we become is because we have heard a call. In his book, “To Heal a Fractured World,” Rabbi Jonathan Sacks gives us a guide for finding our calling – our summons. He said, “Where what we want to do meets with what needs to be done, that is where Gd wants us to be.” “Where what we want to do meets with what needs to be done, that is where Gd wants us to be.”

Shabbat Shalom

One of the arguments separating different contemporary communities of Jews is the contention about who (or Who) wrote the Torah.  Is the Torah the direct transcript of the words of God to Moses at Sinai, so that each and every word recorded in that book is the speech of God literally?  Or is the Torah a human book, remarkable perhaps, but human nonetheless?

In the first instance, if the Torah is the literal words of God, then everything in it must be obeyed precisely as it was in the past.  After all, only a fool would mess with the Creator of the heavens and the earth!  But if the Torah is the creation of other human beings, then it is subject to human judgment, ours no less than anyone else’s.  Consequently, when there is a clash between the Torah and personal will, everyone may legitimately do what they want — even if the Torah prohibits it.

While both of these viewpoints are advanced with great passion and energy, both represent deviations from traditional Jewish understandings of what the Torah really was, and is.  The answer to the question, “Is the source of the Torah human or divine?” is a resounding “Yes!”  The Torah is the meeting place of God and the Jews — our loving response, as well as God’s invitation of love.

In today’s Torah portion, Moses receives the two tablets of the Ten Commandments, which were “inscribed with the finger of God.”  Farther on, the Torah tells us that those tablets were “God’s work, and the writing was God’s writing.”  Understood literally, it would seem that the Torah asserts that these specific words are God’s, and that God has at least one finger!

Rashi explains that one could indeed understand it literally, but he then quotes the Midrash Tanhuma, which says that its meaning is “like the case of one person saying to a colleague, ‘all of the efforts of this  person are in that work,’ so all the delight of the Holy Blessed One is in the Torah.”

In other words, the Torah is using poetic language to tell us not about the literal reality of these particular words, but that the Ten Commandments do embody divine will.  Rambam got into it, and he was more emphatic. The purpose of these words is to tell us that the tablets were “real and not artificial.”  He points out that the use of a “finger” is just as problematic as saying that God “says” or “speaks,” as if God has a mouth and a tongue too!

Rather, all this language about God speaking or writing is to affirm that the Torah reflects God’s “will and volition.”  Countless other traditional commentators reflect this same understanding.  The biblical commentator, Rashbam, says that these words simply teach that “Moses didn’t inscribe them” and Ezra affirms that even according to the Mishnah, the tablets were created before the first Shabbat preceding Creation.

No one understood this phrase to be literal.  So what is all the fuss about?  If every word of the Torah is literally God’s speech, then Judaism does not change and all should be as it always was.  If none of the words in the Torah reflects Divine will, then Judaism can be anything any Jew wants it to be.

Traditional Judaism refutes both extremes, insisting instead that our Torah is an accurate reflection of Divine “will and volition” (quoting Rambam), without making claims about literal transmission of speech.  Just as much as there was (and is) a giving of Torah that is active and involves God, so too there was (and is) a receiving of Torah that is active and involves the children of Israel.

The Torah is at once fully human and fully Divine, charged with an electricity that can launch a people into eternity, while allowing Planet Earth the opportunity to enjoy a World of peace, tranquility, and happiness.

Shabbat Shalom

You don’t know what you have until it’s gone.  The case in point is our recent deep freeze, in which many of us lost electricity and water service.  Water and electricity are some of modern life’s daily essentials that we take for granted until a new reality confronts us as we huddle for warmth and struggle for lack of drinking water.  We dream of regaining the comfort of a hot shower and a cooked meal.  Yet at the same time we reflect on the blessings of life, love, family and community that are there to support us and get us through these difficult times.  This reality slaps us in the face to awaken and be grateful for normalcy.

So, how does this relate to our current Parsha?  Tetzaveh means to “command” as G-d is commanding Moshe with instructions for how the Israelites must crush olives for the oil to light the Eternal Flame of the sanctuary.  Then Moshe is commanded to follow intricate details for the creating the priestly garb and for the initiation ceremony for the Cohanim.  Finally, we are commanded in the supplemental reading for this week of Purim to remember the Evil of Amalek and to eradicate “the memory of Amalek from under the heavens.  Do not forget.”  The connection between Amalek and Purim being that Haman, the villain of Purim, is a descendant of Amalek.

Yet Tetzaveh also means to connect and to bond.  As B’nai Yisrael, we are all commanded, connected and bonded with one another and with Hashem and with Moshe as the prime example of this connection.  This connection is so often taken for granted by us in our normal day-to-day lives.  Only in moments of extreme adversity in which our normal lives are turned upside down are we so shaken to the core, that we realize our dependence on community and the G-d given comforts of our day-to-day world.

It is so important for us all to take pride and responsibility in our role of “crushing olives” to provide the oil for the Eternal Flame that illuminates our hearts and minds with G-d’s love and lessons for what it takes to have a sustainable, good-hearted and grateful community.  Maybe, just maybe, it is the symbolism found in the reverence of our rituals that can serve as a gentle and continuous reminder of what it takes to be a Holy community and a Nation of priests.  Hopefully, only once in a generation will we need such a natural disaster such as our recent deep freeze, to shake us so strongly to our core, so that we can recognize what we have each day and appreciate it… before we lose it.

And in this moment of gratitude and appreciation we are also commanded to “blot the memory of Amalek from under the heavens!”  How do we do this?  We do this with joy in our hearts, joy in our actions and by “crushing the olives” for the oil to light the Eternal Flame.  That is the flame which shines Hashem’s Light and Love onto the World so that Evil has no place to hide.  When we do the work, when we “crush the olives” for the oil to shine Hashem’s bright light onto the world, we blot the memory of Amalek from under the heavens.

Shabbat Shalom

In parshah Terumeh, the Israelites change from a people who always complained in order to get something to a people who had to work together to build the Mishkan. Here, God gave them something else entirely. It had nothing to do with physical needs and everything to do with psychological, moral, and spiritual needs. God gave them the opportunity to give.

As a result, our parshah deals with what could be called the first fundraising campaign in history. Moses initiated it in order to build the sanctuary in the wilderness as well as to acquire all the materials needed for the special utensils required for the sacred services

Convincing people to part with their hard-earned funds and possessions to support even a worthy institution is not easy. Imagine how much more difficult it would be to convince a group of people recently out of slavery to make contributions to build a house of worship for a God who was invisible to them.  Talk about a hard sell.

After Moses had given God’s instructions to the people and explained the opportunity that each had to make a contribution, he dismissed them. It is not until later, after the people had been dismissed, that the people began bringing their offerings for God. With all due respect to modern-day fundraisers, they would never think of dismissing a congregation until after they had made a commitment to give a particular sum. They would press the Israelites to make an on-the-spot commitment. They would have passed out pledge cards to sign, so that the enthusiasm of the moment was not lost.  But Moses dismissed the people, so they had time to themselves, apart from any outside pressure, to determine what they could and should contribute. This insured the fact that the gifts were, indeed, voluntarily donated, and not obtained under some kind of emotional or psychological duress or peer pressure. As a result, the gifts were given willfully and joyfully.

Giving for the Mishkan did not need to be mandatory because the motivation of the Israelites was extremely high. The tabernacle was the means for God to personally dwell among his people. This was a one-time need, for which the people had been amply enabled to contribute. This was an opportunity which would be of great personal benefit to the donor.

The gifts of the Israelites were abundantly given. While virtually everyone gave something for the Mishkan, each one gave in accordance with what he or she was able to give.  The text informs us that the gifts exceeded the need, so that Moses had to request that the people to stop giving.  That had to be first and probably last time people were asked to stop giving to a fund-raising campaign.

To help us appreciate the fact that the giving for the construction of the Mishkan required great sacrifice on the part of the Jews, the Torah uses the word Terumeh. Terumeh 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 to give in gratitude for the fact that things have been given to us.  A sense of self-worth comes from knowing that we can give away something of value without feeling diminished.

There is an unusual expression in God’s words to Moses in our parshah: v’yikchu li terumeh-you shall take for me a contribution.  Why take? Surely, give would be the more appropriate word. But because in giving we are also receiving, the word take is also appropriate.

When we think of charity, we think of Tzadekah. But Tzedakah literally means righteousness in Hebrew. In the Bible, tzedakah is used to refer to justice, kindness, and ethical behavior. It is in the post-biblical Hebrew that tzedakah refers to charity, giving to those in need. The words justice and charity have different meanings in English. How is it that in Hebrew, one word, tzedakah, has been translated to mean both justice and charity? This translation is consistent with Jewish thought as Judaism considers charity to be an act of justice.

Most Jewish homes have had a blue and white tin box, the pushke, for the deposit of tzedakah coins for charity. Jewish children learn the responsibility is to care for other Jews in need. Though the methods are now more complex, the motivation for tzedakah has endured through the centuries: to sustain the Jewish people, to enhance Jewish life and to strengthen the Jewish community for today and the future.

In Hebrew, the word meaning” to give” is Natan. In Hebrew and in English, the word is a palindrome which is read the same forward and backward. So, when we think about philanthropy and the idea of “to give,” it is also about” to receive.”

Tzedakah has two aspects: one with the hand and one with the heart. Judaism teaches the belief that donors benefit from tzedakah as much or more than the recipients and the belief remains a common theme in Jewish tradition.

There is a strange provision of Jewish law that embodies the idea of tzedakah.  ” Even a poor person who is dependent on tzedakah is obligated to give tzedakah to another person.” On the face of it, this makes no sense at all. Why should a person who depends on charity be obligated to give charity? The principle of tzedakah is surely that one who has more than they need should give to one who has less. The truth is, however, that tzedakah is not only directed to someone’s physical needs but also their psychological needs.  The law is telling us something very profound. Giving confers dignity. Receiving does not.

To repeat, the truth is that in giving, we actually receive more than we give. The very fact that we have done good, that which is right and noble, gives us a sense of satisfaction. Someone said that the takers of the world might eat better. But the givers of the world sleep better. What we truly have in this world is that which we give away.

So, whenever you think you’re a big deal because you did something for good cause, remember that you are receiving much more than you are giving.

Today, it is important for all of us to continue to make free will offerings to institutions that unify Jewish people. Our Torah portion teaches us that the terumeh 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.

I am fortunate to give this D’var since it is usually delivered by Joel who is on the Dallas Hebrew Free Loan Association board or Iris a former president of the Dallas Hebrew Free Loan Association. If there is time following the D’var -would Joel or Iris say a few words following the D’var about DHFLA?

How is a moral and just society built?  One can look to the commandments/laws outlined in this week’s parasha – Mishpatim.

Last week we received the 10 Commandments – this week we receive an additional 53 ‘Covenant Collection Laws’. Like the laws of lending money – there are many laws of course though let’s focus on lending.

In fact – Exodus 22:24 states:  ‘If (or really WHEN) one lends money to my people, to the poor among you,  do not act as a creditor and do not charge them interest.’

How many times have ‘WE’ been able to borrow money without interest to purchase a car, property or say  education?

Essentially, law and guidance from Torah about lending to THOSE IN NEED is that the loan is not to benefit the lender by receiving interest on the outstanding loan. The loan should benefit the indigent – the person in need.

However, what about when we or someone we know is in a compromised position (like no job or furloughed, lack of savings, living paycheck to paycheck).  How did that situation feel to you or to them? What action did this cause us to take or did it? Can any of us imagine what it would be like to not have a source of income and live under alternate circumstances?   If not, try volunteering at the Jewish Family Service Food Pantry or, The Bridge or other transition/homeless shelter. It is an experience that will raise your consciousness about this cause and surely will humble your soul.

Let’s be clear here -G-d did not say – hey – ignore the crying baby or throw obstacles in the way of the disabled/blind. Nope-it was more about showing compassion for those who do not have the resources to support a balanced life.

A person in financial need really can be anyone among us.  In fact it’s not about ‘THEM’ (the POOR) and ‘us’ because as the Torah points out we are us and we were made in “b’tzelem elokim” – the image of G-d.

So why might someone put ‘blinders on’ or ignore or disregard someone who is seeking help?

Essentially, we as Jews are to recognize those less fortunate than ourselves because we were once an oppressed and poor people.   People who need help are not separate from us – THEY ARE US.  For another real example – visit Parkland Hospital and speak with the medical personnel who work in the mental health extended observation unit or visit the County jail and tour the floors in the jail that literally ‘house-provide shelter’ for mentally ill individuals unable to post bond and essentially have no-where to go and usually no one that will have them except the Texas State Hospitals IF beds are available and IF these individuals ‘qualify’ for a bed.

Again- WE are not ‘better’ than the oppressed and poor because we were once oppressed and poor.  In fact this is pointed out twice in Mishpatim.  G-d wants us to REMEMBER WHERE WE CAME FROM.

In My Jewish Learning, Rabbi Jill Jacobs points out that those of us who do not live in dire poverty often protect ourselves from any sense of vulnerability by finding ways to differentiate ourselves from the poor: ‘THEY’ must be poor because ‘THEY’ don’t work hard, because ‘THEY’ drink or self medicate or take drugs to cope with ‘THEIR’ illness, or because ‘THEY’ come from dysfunctional families, or because ‘THEY’ live paycheck to paycheck and so forth. Seeing each poor person as our sibling cuts through any attempts to separate ourselves from him or her

Rabbi Jacobs also points out that like the concept of Achikha (or brotherhood), this demand forces us to see each poor person as an individual human being worthy of dignity and respect. Rather than the view of a poor person as an anonymous and undeserving vulnerable individual, we are asked to regard this person as a child of “Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.” Like us, this person, though imperfect, is deserving of what talmudic Rabbis call z’chut avot (the merit of the ancestors), the ancestral connection that guarantees God’s mercy.

Further – Rabbi Jacobs points out that perhaps we should consider the care of the poor as a means of building a stronger community as a whole. In the most utilitarian formulation of this idea, perhaps contributing to the education of the poor to help guarantee a better educated and therefore more productive society; that perhaps helping the poor to buy property increases the number of homeowners in a given place and therefore may raise the value of all housing stock; or that job training and small business loans for those who are less fortunate might increase the economic viability of an entire community.  By the way – some of these ideas have been funded by the Hebrew Free Loan Association.

Look I’m not saying we need to sacrifice everything for those in ‘dire straights’.  There are examples of people who have found themselves in less fortunate circumstances and have had or found the resources to come out better than they were – like people with Dyslexia such as Danny Glover, Nolan Ryan, Alyssa Milano, Pete Rose. Or those who have dropped out of school to take care of family before getting on solid ground like Benjamin Franklin (dropped out of school at age 10) or Jim Carey who dropped out of school at age 15 and lived in a car with his dad – an unemployed musician.

Back to our D’var and the idea of charging no interest to the poor. This also speaks to the larger idea of what one might refer to as the ‘Community of Humanity’ that we all are a part of – so ‘taking care of people in need’ is something everyone can do.  Examples of how we can make a difference to those in need might be like donating to the Dallas Hebrew Free Loan Association, or giving our time to Meals on Wheels through the Jewish Family Service when Melissa Steiner asks if anyone is available to fill in or if we get a call from the Jewish Federation to contribute our time or money or both for causes that are within or outside of our Jewish Community.

The Torah explains that helping others is a requirement – a necessary Mitzvot .  Let us all remember Exodus 23:9 (often annually on Passover if not daily) G-d stated:  “Do not oppress a stranger; you yourselves know how it feels to be a stranger