Rabbi Kline’s Weekly Torah Commentary
Rabbi Marc Kline’s thoughts and views on this week’s Parashah!
Shabbat Shalom with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah – B’har-B’chukotai
It was 25 years ago that I closed my law office in Little Rock, Arkansas. I was moving to Jerusalem for my first year as a Rabbinical Student, and everything was moving at a whirlwind pace. I had given away cases that were worth millions and cases that were strictly pro-bono, but it all happened so quickly, that many folks speculated all sorts of things about “Why I was running to Israel … seemingly without notice or warning.” I was not under indictment. I was not in any ethical or legal trouble. In fact, I was Vice-chair of the American Bar Association Committee on Corporate Counsel (young lawyers division). I had a blossoming practice. I was doing well and had a nice corner office in a tall mostly glass building. All seemed professionally good in my world, until the day I stopped to ask myself to assess my own priorities.
I had to spend a lot of time reflecting on why I made this life and career altering choice. Of course most people I meet ask the question, “What made me make the switch?” I have a few standard answers, all of which are true … but they were never really satisfying for me. I can blame “Whitewater;” the scandal involving the top brass of the Rose Law Firm, the most prestigious firm in Arkansas. I cannot say that I found God, for I am, to this day not sure how to begin defining an ineffable intangible being presumed to be the source of … everything. I did find faith, and I glibly tell folks that I am still practicing law, but for a higher class but lower paying client … God. I even remark that I am committed (to service) or should be committed (to an institution). Clearly, there is a piece of me still stuck in the practice of law, even while I spend my regular 182.7 hours of a work week with the most unorthodox frame of mind. I still affirm having left the practice, but I have not been as effective in figuring out the real reason I left. In reading this week’s portion, I may have solved a part of the conundrum.
This week, Torah admonishes us to observe the Sabbatical and Jubilee years. The Sabbatical (in Hebrew Sh’mitah) sees us letting the land grow fallow for a year. It is not to be worked so that it has an opportunity to renew. In the same vein, any indentured servants are to be freed and set up with resources such that they can sustain themselves. On the Jubilee year (Yovael – every 50th year), all debt is cancelled, all lands alienated from the tribal ownership are returned, and the financial world experiences the first concept of the “reset” or “reboot” in history. Of course, both the Sh’mitah and Yovael are predicated on the conceptualization of a Sabbath day established to renew and recharge the spiritual batteries every week. Essentially, the Rabbis teach us that we have to intentionally step back and assess what the world around us looks like. Where things are not in order, we have an obligation to put them in order. Every week, every seven years, and every “golden anniversary:” each provides an opportunity to start over. As I reflect on my career change, I realize that while I was certainly financially successful, I lacked spiritual fulfillment. Now, had I realized this back then I might have been able to do both, but I was so distracted by the ugliness associated with the practice of law in that city, at that time, that I could not see past the dread of each day.
I loved the work I did at Temple. Rabbi Gene Levy, my Rabbi, gave me lots of room to grow and learn … and serve. I realized that what I was doing there made a lot more sense than what I was doing in my law office. Oddly, if you include the time I worked at the firm where I started, it was as I began my seventh year of practice … the Sabbatical year, that I realized I needed a change. It is only now, as I look back, though, that I see the confluence of time and the decision. I needed more; my soul told me I needed more.
Ok, the idea of a Sabbatical begins with our need to renew our agriculture. At the same time, though, we acknowledge that Torah is the “Tree of Life.” The agricultural metaphor runs through our lives. Each of us farms and harvests relationships with ourselves and with each other. If we don’t take time to renew and rethink our relationships with things, people, and our life situations we all lose. I see so many people who are miserable in their careers and relationships. We get stuck, unable to renew, to seek change that will help heal the ache in our spirit. I am blessed that I had the support system to help me make room for this growth. In turn, I hope that I have been that support system for others. We really are all in this together. Let’s help each other grow and blossom. Shabbat Shalom.
Shabbat Shalom with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah – Emor
Perhaps the line that appears most often in the Torah reads, “God said to Moses, Speak to the people …” It was Moses’ job to teach people. To transmit the teaching from God to the people and back, and to create and foster meaningful relationships with the community … these are Moses’ tasks, whether or not he feels compelled to oblige.
We first meet Moses as he was adjuring the guards not to oppress the people. He takes Pharaoh to task (under God’s orders) for not freeing Israel. This week, he is instructed to … instruct the priests on how to maintain their purity so as not to desecrate God. These instructions did not include anything about the task of the priest, but only the admonition to not become impure. If I am in Aaron’s shoes, this is harsh and it stings a little. Now, Moses is a priest. He is a Levite, and the entire tribe of Levi are priests. His brother, however, gets to be the High Priest (Kohain), while the rest of Levi are second class priests (priest “wannabes”). So, we have a second class priest telling the first class priest how to be a first class priest.
I am accustomed to watching the second string Quarterback (football) instruct the first stringer on what he sees happening on the field. From the sidelines and form the booth upstairs, there are better vantage points from which to see the game play out. However, there is a whole lot more at stake with offerings at the altar than there is playing for a touchdown, but a take away from both is that one does not have to be out front to know the material well enough to run the show.
Still though, we default to wanting the person in charge to handle our problem, ignoring the reality that the support team often knows more than the person in charge. Moses was the teacher; we literally call him “Moshe Rabbaenu.” Second string quarterbacks make great coaches because they not only know what is happening all over the game, and because they are not the star, they have a healthy dose of humility.
So, I was speaking with a young man who was trying to tell all of his classmates that he was a better tennis player than each of them was. The bantering went back and forth until I took the young man aside and said that true greatness shows itself, but does not speak of itself. If he was that good, he would prove it with his racquet. Talking about how good he is serves only to drive people away.
I know the advice is true, but how often are we compelled to tell people what we can do, because we fear in our heart that no one is paying attention? We are insecure people, and even while we read the words of Torah that we are made in God’s image, too many of us fear that we are actually not living up to that seemingly unfair and high standard. At the same time, we read in the Mishnah, Pirke Avot, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me?” Some part of our tradition demands that we do stand up for ourselves. So insecurity is wrong … and so is uber-humility. Perhaps Torah is instructing us that truth lies somewhere in between, and that desecration comes when we fall on either side of righteous self awareness so that we speak too much or too little of ourselves.
Moses had to tell his older brother not to desecrate God. He had to walk a fine line to do this. Lording himself over his all-star priest brother would have yielded a disastrous relationship. Holding back, saying nothing would have risked desecration of God. God pushes him to speak to his brother, but in the same admonition, Moses is reminded by God to be careful of the way in which he does so.
We walk a fine line when we try to instruct each other, and the correct answer in how to help is never rooted in who really knows more or who is the one out front. God did not instruct Aaron; God had Moses do it. They were brothers and friends. They trusted each other and could have the difficult conversation between them. We cannot always find ourselves in this type of a relationship when called on to teach another, but we must know that being an effective teacher requires a lot of love and respect from the teacher to the student, to earn the trust of the student … especially when the student is larger in life than is the teacher.
Perhaps Socrates said it the best. He taught students by reflecting their answers back to them, relying on their own sense of right and wrong to guide them in hearing from the mouth of another, the words that they just said. The best way to teach is to trust our students enough to hold them and guide them as they continue growing, honoring them and gaining their trust along the way. AMEN! Let it be so! Shabbat Shalom.
Shabbat Shalom with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah – Acharei Mot-K’doshim
These days I find it challenging to open the Newsfeed applications on my computer. I hit the button and close my eyes, hoping that stories of blessings replace those of pain which I am expecting to read. While there are certainly amazing things happening in the world, we do not often get them on the front pages … if we get them at all. I chalk this up to several phenomena, not the least of which being the adage, “If it bleeds, it leads.”
There is more, though, and the reasons are not all bad. The truth is that we would have no way to help in times of crisis, if we were unaware of the crisis. Some of the stories that shock our conscience help because they … shock our conscience. Watching horrific stories play out in the news allows me the gut check for my own behavior. They help me learn how to prioritize my life work and force me to be appreciative and thankful for the many blessings that I too often take for granted.
I teach all of my students that we walk sightless among miracles and that it is impossible to live to the full expectation of joy if we remain blind to the miracles that swirl around us. Uniformly, they look at me, and their eyes pronounce, “You are crazy! Miracles are the things that interrupt nature that make you go ‘Wow!’”
It is inevitable that a large portion of students, young and old, respond that they don’t believe in miracles. I open our prayer book and refer them to the section of the morning liturgy entitled, “Nissim b’khol yom – Everyday miracles.” The list of prayers illustrates the “everyday” miracles that we take for granted. We pray words of both thanks and praise for the freeing of our minds from the captivity of ignorance, the opening of the eyes of the blind (ignorance), the strength to face each day, and for the breath of life itself. I always appreciate when a twelve-year-old starts illustrating the miracles for which each prayer commands our attention. I then ask the $64,000 question (if they get it right, I give them my permission to ask someone for $64,000 … not that it will be granted): “Each prayer begins, We praise you God, Who (performs this miracle or that). How does God do these things?” Often they look at me with puzzled eyes.
I teach students that they are correct, miracles are the things that we cannot explain that should make us go, “Wow!” They are incorrect in that they happen all day … every day and they happen because we make them happen. Life begins with the interactivity of human beings. Education happens because teachers take an interest in students (and students take an interest in their teachers). The strength that we have to stand tall, even in the face of a crisis often comes from the people who interrupt their lives to hold us. For each miracle, there exists a human interaction that either makes the miracle real or helps us to appreciate that we walk in the realm of the miraculous.
Whatever role God plays in the process … only God knows, but the desire, ability, compassion and love that cause us to participate in creating and fostering miracles in each other’s lives begins somewhere beyond us. Absolutely, though, it begins with a love that commands our attention for the plight and well-being of each other. Where we pay attention, the world matures and heals. Where we ignore the miracles around us and turn our backs on each other, the world fails.
Torah commands us to love our neighbor as we should love ourselves. This teaching is the foundational truth that allows miracles to flourish in our world, and also why reading the news is so painful. Even while the difficult news can help us to enter each other’s lives, it also reminds us of all the people who have forgotten the power of the miraculous, and are stuck in the destructive forces of ego and selfishness. Yes, we all live partially in this realm … it is part of the human condition. Every one of us who writes, teaches or leads has to have a dose of ego to believe that what we have to offer matters. Often we find ourselves believing that it matters far more than it warrants. We struggle, though, to see past “me” to a focus on “us” … all of “us.” We are sometimes more successful than we are at other times.
We credit the Baal Shem Tov for founding Khassidut (celebration of faith). He taught that a soul might descend to earth and live seventy or eighty years for the sole purpose of doing a favor for another–a spiritual favor, or even a material favor. I understand this teaching to remind us of our need to focus on each person with whom we come into contact. We may have many people with whom we have an impact, but each is to be treated as if he / she were the only one. We must never look past the way in which we impact each other’s lives. We are each other’s miracles, and the day that we realize this truth, there will be no room for the abusive ego that drives war and the thirst for power. What miracles have you participated in today? How will you demonstrate thankfulness for the opportunity tomorrow? Shabbat Shalom.
Shabbat Shalom with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah – Tazria-M’tzora
I was speaking to my mom who was telling me of her last Dr’s. visit. She had a pretty clean bill of health for a woman who has been through a great many challenges in life. I know the many challenges that she faces. Still, though, I always get to hear about the luncheons she attends, the classes she takes, and the excitement at the thought of her next visit with my sisters or me. I was speaking to her as I was leaving a hospital after a visiting a couple whose babies are facing real challenges trying to acculturate to life outside of the womb. The parents lovingly hold each other and engage the nurses in appreciation. There is incredible joy in their voices as they speak of their twins, even while I know that life still hangs in the balance. I was on my way to check on a dear friend who was bed ridden, waiting for some life resolution. We all knew that his earthly demise was near, yet his spirit stayed strong. He kept telling me how beautiful the spring is here at the shore, wanting updates on our Shabbat morning study group so that he did not miss the study highlights. I stand in awe of the tenacity of folks who face challenges head on and never give up seeking and engaging opportunities for blessings and celebration in between the ongoing recurring painful episodes that seem overwhelming.
I know the old saying that God never gives us more than we can handle. I have had my moments of exemplary strength in times of crisis. Still, though, some days I am afraid of my own shadow. I know that I am not alone in this experience. I know that many of us find ourselves walking through both the world of strength and the world of intense fear and pain. I know that we are strongest when strenuously tested. Still, though, I see people who never feel that they can measure up. I work with teens who self-mutilate. Suicide and acts of terror to others seem to proliferate. The news shares details of the nightmarish “personal interest” stories as if they were as common as sharing brownie recipes. There is horrific pain in this world, but it has become so common-place that we grow numb to the news of pain. I look at the lives that lay in ruin and try to figure out why, for some, intense trials bring out the best in us while for others they leave us devastated.
There is a stark difference in the world view of those who stand and face trauma in one way versus those who run to hide: wounded and afraid. The difference lies in how much one experiences love. I am not speaking just in terms of erotic or even filial love. Rather, I am speaking of self-love and respect that keeps us keenly aware that we have value, and the fight is worth fighting as much as the love is worth sharing. When we are emotionally secure, we can face anything.
Often, though, we need each other to experience this love. It is so easy to get lost in our own pain. There are certainly people who have an innate sense of inner security, but most of us need those who love us to remind us that we have value. Without these arms that hold us, we struggle to maintain some perspective as to trials large and small and lose all perspective as to the value of blessings in our life.
So, I read this week’s Torah portion that focuses on dealing with a tzara-at; a mystical affliction that destroys lives, communities, and even the physical structures in which afflicted people live. Unfortunately, traditional translations render this word “leprosy,” but those who speak Yiddish know that the word “tzuris” (same word) means “gnawing at you problems.” Rabbis have used this metaphor to speak out against AIDS, evil speech (lashon harah), and a host of social and medical maladies. In each case, we put an emphasis on the afflicted one, and what he/she may have done to find himself/herself stuck in the affliction. Most people who suffer did nothing to “deserve” their affliction. Decreeing that God punishes people this way belies every notion of a loving and benevolent “Divine Parent.” Many have used this text as a metaphor for the hurricane that no one caused, but which left communities devastated in its wake. There is not a lot out there that yields “feel good” messages from this portion.
In reading through, I got to the part where the High Priest has to travel around the outskirts of town to inspect all afflicted/infected folks. They had to be thrown from camp until they healed. The High Priest made the call as to when someone could come back if ever. I always found this a little pretentious, and a door opening for abuse of power. As I spoke about this portion with our temple religious school, it hit me that we are a kingdom of High Priests. The Torah teaches that the whole world of faith is a “mamlekhet kohanim – a nation of High Priests.” Each of us has the authority and obligation to hold each other’s life in the balance. Where people are so afflicted that they withdraw or are thrown from society, we each have the priestly power to leave them exiled or bring them back. “Kol Yisrael aravim zeh b’zeh – all faithful folks are responsible for each other.” Where people cannot see past their pain, how much of their tzara-at stems from the fact that we cannot see past their pain, either? The priest had to go to the people afflicted, and not wait for them to come back. Without the priest’s permission, they can never come back.
We possess incredible power to change lives in this world. Most of what we do is complain about the people we do not want to help heal, or worse still, in shunning them, we only increase their exile and their affliction. In 1965, Burt Bacharach wrote the song, “What The World Needs Now?” the answer he provided: “Love sweet love.” It has been 50 years since the song topped the charts. Is it time that we pay attention? Shabbat shalom.
Shabbat Shalom with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah – Sh’mini II
It is hard to be creative, having to write about the same portion two weeks in a row; especially when that means three or four different sermonic ideas on the same text. Last week, we read Parashat Shemini. We are doing it again this week. We are in the midst of a holiday based calendar correction which warrants this rarely needed repetition. So, there are two weeks of Kosher, two weeks of Nadav and Avihu and alien fire, and two weeks of finishing the anointment of priests. UGH!
I met with a Bat Mitzvah student yesterday. I tried explaining why we read the same words over and over again every year. The Torah does not change, but what we see in it changes. She asked why that happened, and I was able to respond that we have new experiences to bring to the study of text each year. I asked if she still thought her favorite 5 year old heroes were the best things on earth. She looked at me and laughed, “Of course not!” She nodded that she understood. It was in that moment that I realized that even while I teach the need to revisit the text with new eyes each time we read it; I am not always as good about doing this. I sometimes get stuck in having found some really neat (often off beat) moral in text, and it becomes my single take away from the text for years to come.
I do not keep a ritual level of kashrut. I don’t eat pork, and while I admit to tasting my wife’s shrimp on occasion, I do not eat shell fish. I have always stayed away from these foods because in times of attacks on Jews, those who weren’t killed were forced to do things that were demeaning and degrading. I have read many stories where these actions including making Jews eat things that (if strictly kosher) they would never eat. Please note that I am sure that Freud would have argued that of all the things I could have picked, the obsession with food says something about my inner longing to have been a Jewish mother.
I committed to rethinking the issue, if only for the exercise of being intentional in my study. So, I reread the rules of kashrut. Ok. I still refuse to believe that God cares what we eat. IF God cares about our eating meat, I cannot see it making sense that it’s okay to slaughter some defenseless animals and not others. Perhaps we should not be eating any meat at all, but I am faithfully sure that if God is personally interactive, then God cares a lot more about the “kosher” that comes out of our mouths than about what goes in. I took a look at the requirements that Torah gives us that helps us determine which animals are fit and those which are not. This is not really new to me, for I have always believed that the pig is a symbol of deception. An animal has to have a cloven hoof and chew its cud. The pig is the ONLY animal that looks kosher, but is not because of its internal structure. I often teach this as a way of helping our children understand human nature. Often people are seen doing the right things or who seem to have “it” all together. A book cannot be judged by its cover.
I decided to look at the fish. A fish has to have fins and scales. Shellfish are out, as are many fish species. Complicating the matter are those who have scales when young, but who lose them as they age (sturgeon and swordfish). I was always willing to accept that sometimes the sole answer for rules one does not understand is the need to know that we are disciplined enough to make decisions. We often tell our children to do something even if they don’t understand why. They will grow from the experience. This, however, has always felt like a copout answer. So, I had to think about the purpose of fins and scales. Fins help propel fish. The speed at which it works is less important than that it works … and that it allows them to move in so many different directions turning in every angle their spine allows. Fish do not stagnate. They do not get stuck … unless caught. Shell fish are not nearly as mobile. The scales on a fish protect the fish’s physical integrity. Scales provide a fish with the security to move without fear of injury or damage.
My faith works the same way. If I stagnate, or if I put limitations on my ability to move freely in faith, then it becomes more superstition than faith. Faith has to be rooted in the freedom to experience life. At the same time, I am grounded in core beliefs that protect me; the scales represent the soul’s integrity.
Again, I find that I struggle to believe that this is a literal mandate about what to eat or not, but I absolutely believe that Torah was never intended to be read literally. Using the metaphor of physical sustenance (food for the body), Torah calls on us to wrestle with sustaining our spirit. If we get stuck we lose vision and insight; we have to keep moving in our faith and study. If we lose sight of our core values we wander aimlessly. If we lose a sense of being grounded, we also have no ability to have an epiphany that might help us grow or evolve our sense of truth as we garner more experience and more data from living more days. Perhaps next year, I will work on why the bird’s opposable talon makes a huge difference … or maybe it simply teaches us that firmer grips and greater stability help us make more sense of the world. For me, I marvel in how even the seeming minutia offers profound opportunities for learning. Nothing has to be devoid of spiritual value. Take some time and look past the things you think you know. You never know how cool an epiphany can be.
Shabbat Shalom.
Rabbi Marc A. Kline
rabbimarc@monmouthreformtemple.org
Shabbat Shalom with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah – Sh’mini I
My Rabbi gave me some great advice before I left the practice of law to head off to Rabbinical school. Rabbi Gene Levy told me to remember the following: 1. If I don’t ask myself every day, “What am I doing here?” I do not belong. 2. Hebrew Union College (the Rabbinical seminary) is a means to an end. I knew that I loved this man and respected his wisdom, so I took the leap of faith, closed my practice and moved to Jerusalem to begin my studies. Gene has been right on every count.
Each day I have to remind myself why I made this choice. Some days, the reminder comes from the midst of dramatic frustration or painful engagement. I remember that I chose this work to make a difference and help bring an end to frustration in the world. Other days, the reminder comes from the most incredible blessings. I have to take a step back and give thanks that I get to do what I do, and that I find myself in the position of experiencing miracles. Some days bring both experiences. At either end of the spectrum or anywhere in between, I have to remember that I have to be intentional in waking up each day and in re-engaging. There is no way to take any of this for granted and still be able to come back for more.
Perhaps the greatest piece of this advice was the reminder to keep the seminary experience in perspective. Gene told me that the classroom experience was important, but one’s ability to engage the heart and soul of great teachers would have a greater say in the type of Rabbi I would become. He was correct; the classroom afforded me many opportunities to learn, but my passion came from the time spent with some wonderful souls. Several of my now deceased professors stand out in these memories. Rabbi Chanan Brichto, zt”l, was as dear a friend and engaging a mentor as a man could have. Dr. Gene Mihaly, zt”l, welcomed us into his home and taught class, and then taught us to love our tradition. Dr. David Weisberg zt”l and Dr. Alvin Reines zt”l pushed us to expand the boundaries of Torah to keep it from stagnating.
This week is the yahrtzeit for my thesis advisor Dr. Ellis Rivkin. Ellis was one of the most unique individuals I was ever blessed to know. I sought him out because he was my Rabbi’s advisor and friend, as well. Ellis was not a Rabbi, by ordination, but is more responsible for my rabbinate than any individual other than my late wife Cindy who blessed me with her permission to go on this journey. At 91, this amazing man had spent years garnering disciples, developing rabbis who learned to look at history through lenses that focused on process and not dates; relationships and not events. Take time to read “The Shaping of Jewish History,” “The Hidden Revolution, “What Crucified Jesus,” or any of a host of his work. You will never look at history the same way again. He epitomized the definition of the word mensch, the most righteous of individuals, and his unconditional acceptance and love for his students was unparalleled at the seminary. From the hours he spent helping me to focus on the task of writing my Rabbinical thesis to the Totalitarianism class final exam he administered over a gourmet Chinese dinner, I grew to love this man’s soul and stand in awe of his diverse insight. He predicted Perestroika, he taught me to understand the equal dignity of all faith traditions, and he made sure that I understood that being a Rabbi was a call to love our tradition and people first and a paying profession second. This relationship was meant to be. Ellis was Gene Levy’s advisor, as well.
This week, Torah introduces us to the concept of kosher. Kosher means appropriate. This is not a matter of hygiene or health. This is a matter of discipline, and it has been the source of incredible angst and argumentation not only within our tradition, but between ours and other traditions. What I know, is that this text demands that we pay attention. An animal’s place on or off the list speaks to its relative value in the lives of humanity. There are abundant commentaries arguing that the call to pay attention to what goes in our mouths merely begins a conversation that focuses a whole lot more on the appropriateness of what comes out of our mouths. Every time I teach this message, I find myself back at that final exam dinner at the Blue Gibbon, a Cincinnati restaurant I have enjoyed many times since. Rabbi Jim Egolf and I asked Ellis why such a nice dinner in place of an exam. His response was simple. The greatest value of food was that it gave us the strength to do great work. If we could really enjoy what we ate and with whom we ate it, then we would use its energy to bless those around us. This has been, for at least this rabbi, the single most important lesson ever learned about kosher. Pay attention to what you eat – it should not be accidental (regardless of the literal list), for the atmosphere and substance of the meal will determine the appropriateness of how we behave after it is over. And, pertinent to the class, if we can truly appreciate the gift of the meal and the atmosphere, we will, true to all human values, want to ensure that others get to enjoy the same blessings moving forward. It is only when we take for granted what and how we eat, that we can ignore another’s need for blessing and think we can demean their lives to a checklist of basic needs which we then often ignore. Kosher was not about what we eat; it spoke to the intention with which we eat, with whom we eat, and the conversation/relationships that thrive because we are together while we eat.
Ellis demanded that we serve first, love first, and learn first, anything short of this demeans the blessing with which we have been granted in getting to do what we do and enjoy what we enjoy. There is no more profound understanding of kosher – of appropriateness – than the lessons this wonderful man taught by the way in which he lived. Shabbat Shalom.
Shabbat Shalom with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah – Passover
This year, our congregation celebrated a week-long of Purim. It was not intentional, but sort of just happened. We did a Purim play in religious school for older kids, another for the whole school, and another for adults on a Saturday night. Passover is shaping up the same way. If we include the various religious school Seders (differing ones for differing age based cognitive levels), I will have experienced all or part of five Seders at Monmouth Reform Temple and one at home. In this light, I have given this holiday a whole lot of thought. In the process of revisiting everything I feel about this holiday, I rewrote my Haggadah (the service/prayer book used at Seder, and had to rethink a host of the holiday’s symbols and lessons.
Most poignant to me is the piece of the service where we address the four types of children. Traditionally, the first is the wise, the second is wicked, the third is simple, and the fourth is the one who does not even know enough to ask questions. Traditionally, the wise child understands how vested he/she is in the conversation and the story. The wicked one stays distant, affirming that it is for everyone but him/her. The other two are simple and need to be taught the whole story, knowing that especially as to the last, we have to be proactive in education.
This week, coincident with the beginning of the holiday, we read the piece from Torah about Aaron’s sons, Nadav and Avihu. Moses had just ordained them as priests, and the brought an “alien fire” to the altar. The text says that the fire leaps from the altar and consumes them. I scoured Jewish and Christian commentary on this text. The near-uniform answer is that the brothers were arrogant or drunk … the Seder’s wicked child(ren) who excluded themselves from the miracles of redemption and the prescribed service at the altar.
In past years, I have defended the boys. As an advocate knee deep in the continual civil rights movement, I know lots of folks who have brought an alien fire to the altar and died in its wake. Martin Luther King’s fire was not only alien to a white supremacy based nation, but churches all over the country preached that his movement violated God’s ordained plan for humanity. Members of the Ku Klux Klan wore crosses around their chest as they lynched black people. Around the world, there are many who control the practice of religion and use it for all sorts of abominable purposes. It is often the case that it is the “alien fire” brought by someone bent on righteousness that changes the course of history … and most often, at the cost of his or her life. I certainly see the possibility that Nadav and Avihu died from their own arrogance. I also see that they might have been the first social action leaders who stood up to God to argue what we know to be true: there is never only one path to God.
So, I had to rethink the “wicked” child. Dr. King taught that violence begets violence, and hate begets hate. The only way in which we can drive either out is through love. I also know that most folks who hate feel that they have something to defend. Teenagers distant themselves from norms in order to rebel; they need to be their “own person.” They are often not secure enough within themselves to be strong and belong. Bullying comes from insecurity. One who is secure in his/her own skin and faith does not need to validate himself at the expense of others. It takes faith to realize that God is bigger than our personal beliefs. It takes only fear and insecurity to need to prove one’s self by destroying everyone else. Our unfortunate reality is that there a lot more fearful people than faithful ones. In both the case where someone withdraws in insecurity or bullies for the same reason, they isolate themselves from the blessings of the world. The wicked child is then this afraid and insecure child: thus, we better define the wicked child as the isolated child.
What Dr. King taught us, is perhaps the best Passover lesson there is. If we really want to heal the world … bring freedom to the world, and then we need to embrace it. If people act out or disassociate because of being insecure, then we need to perform the mitzvah of “ahavat shalom baen adam l’ayavoh … making peace between one and his enemy.” We know that this is one of the greatest of mitzvoth, so we need to give the isolated child a reason to want to join us. Instead, the traditional Haggadah ostracizes this child by telling them that they are outside of God’s covenant. Maybe the world is wrong about Nadav and Avihu in shunning them as not appreciating God. If I am right, then perhaps they appreciated God more than anyone else, including Moses and Aaron. Perhaps, we can alleviate the isolated child’s angst by listening and engaging. Perhaps, for all these years, in celebrating freedom at our seder tables, we have actually participated in continuing strife in the world … isolating one-fourth of the children who are, in reality, not shunning us but screaming for recognition and ultimately, for help. In the spirit of John Lennon’s words, “It’s time for a … Passover … revolution.” Shabbat Shalom. May Passover bring us all sorts of reasons to celebrate … and find ways to help others celebrate, too.
Shabbat Shalom with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah – Passover
This year, our congregation celebrated a week-long of Purim. It was not intentional, but sort of just happened. We did a Purim play in religious school for older kids, another for the whole school, and another for adults on a Saturday night. Passover is shaping up the same way. If we include the various religious school Seders (differing ones for differing age based cognitive levels), I will have experienced all or part of five Seders at Monmouth Reform Temple and one at home. In this light, I have given this holiday a whole lot of thought. In the process of revisiting everything I feel about this holiday, I rewrote my Haggadah (the service/prayer book used at Seder, and had to rethink a host of the holiday’s symbols and lessons.
Most poignant to me is the piece of the service where we address the four types of children. Traditionally, the first is the wise, the second is wicked, the third is simple, and the fourth is the one who does not even know enough to ask questions. Traditionally, the wise child understands how vested he/she is in the conversation and the story. The wicked one stays distant, affirming that it is for everyone but him/her. The other two are simple and need to be taught the whole story, knowing that especially as to the last, we have to be proactive in education.
This week, coincident with the beginning of the holiday, we read the piece from Torah about Aaron’s sons, Nadav and Avihu. Moses had just ordained them as priests, and the brought an “alien fire” to the altar. The text says that the fire leaps from the altar and consumes them. I scoured Jewish and Christian commentary on this text. The near-uniform answer is that the brothers were arrogant or drunk … the Seder’s wicked child(ren) who excluded themselves from the miracles of redemption and the prescribed service at the altar.
In past years, I have defended the boys. As an advocate knee deep in the continual civil rights movement, I know lots of folks who have brought an alien fire to the altar and died in its wake. Martin Luther King’s fire was not only alien to a white supremacy based nation, but churches all over the country preached that his movement violated God’s ordained plan for humanity. Members of the Ku Klux Klan wore crosses around their chest as they lynched black people. Around the world, there are many who control the practice of religion and use it for all sorts of abominable purposes. It is often the case that it is the “alien fire” brought by someone bent on righteousness that changes the course of history … and most often, at the cost of his or her life. I certainly see the possibility that Nadav and Avihu died from their own arrogance. I also see that they might have been the first social action leaders who stood up to God to argue what we know to be true: there is never only one path to God.
So, I had to rethink the “wicked” child. Dr. King taught that violence begets violence, and hate begets hate. The only way in which we can drive either out is through love. I also know that most folks who hate feel that they have something to defend. Teenagers distant themselves from norms in order to rebel; they need to be their “own person.” They are often not secure enough within themselves to be strong and belong. Bullying comes from insecurity. One who is secure in his/her own skin and faith does not need to validate himself at the expense of others. It takes faith to realize that God is bigger than our personal beliefs. It takes only fear and insecurity to need to prove one’s self by destroying everyone else. Our unfortunate reality is that there a lot more fearful people than faithful ones. In both the case where someone withdraws in insecurity or bullies for the same reason, they isolate themselves from the blessings of the world. The wicked child is then this afraid and insecure child: thus, we better define the wicked child as the isolated child.
What Dr. King taught us, is perhaps the best Passover lesson there is. If we really want to heal the world … bring freedom to the world, and then we need to embrace it. If people act out or disassociate because of being insecure, then we need to perform the mitzvah of “ahavat shalom baen adam l’ayavoh … making peace between one and his enemy.” We know that this is one of the greatest of mitzvoth, so we need to give the isolated child a reason to want to join us. Instead, the traditional Haggadah ostracizes this child by telling them that they are outside of God’s covenant. Maybe the world is wrong about Nadav and Avihu in shunning them as not appreciating God. If I am right, then perhaps they appreciated God more than anyone else, including Moses and Aaron. Perhaps, we can alleviate the isolated child’s angst by listening and engaging. Perhaps, for all these years, in celebrating freedom at our seder tables, we have actually participated in continuing strife in the world … isolating one-fourth of the children who are, in reality, not shunning us but screaming for recognition and ultimately, for help. In the spirit of John Lennon’s words, “It’s time for a … Passover … revolution.” Shabbat Shalom. May Passover bring us all sorts of reasons to celebrate … and find ways to help others celebrate, too.
Shabbat Shalom with a Heart-Healthy Dose of Torah – Tzav
As a teenager, I thought I was bulletproof. I played ball with reckless abandon, and did not reserve this for only games that mattered; it was a way of life. My mom loves telling the story of the day the gym called her to tell her that her son had broken his ankle. I was playing pick-up basketball with my brother. She asked the caller, “which son?” The response was simply, “Both.” I drove to the basket and injured both of us. The list of injuries I have sustained is long, and you think at some point, I would wise up. Since turning 50, I have significantly added to the list … though only one injury even has a story almost worth telling.
My wife, Lori, calls it “Y chromosome disease.” All men have it. It is our fate: men to do stupid things with our bodies. For all of us, it takes a lot of effort for us not to default to our “God given” deficiencies (somewhat tongue in cheek guys … ladies, I know you are nodding your heads).
Some parts of our lives are absolutely beyond our control. This concept of fate is only a piece of the puzzle, for we also always have the ability to choose how we respond to that which we cannot control. We do have the ability to choose better self care; we can choose to pay more attention; we can choose to be more aware and more sensitive. A famous “truism” reminds us that if we don’t like what is happening, we should work to change it. If we can’t change it, then we need to change the way in which we approach it. Ultimately, we have the power to choose our desired personal destiny. The value of education is to help us learn how to make better decisions. The value of experience helps us frame these decisions in ways that make sense. Every day, we are blessed with this opportunity. Every day, we are confronted with this challenge. How we internalize the blessing and address the challenge will determine the relative direction of our destiny and the values of our lives.
There is, however, still more. The value of Torah is that it creates conversations. You know I believe that. You also know that I believe that the Torah, written without vowels and sentence structure can say all sorts of things when the reader organizes the text vocally. We each have the power to write a completely different text than the one our neighbors write, even while we all begin at the same starting point … the consonantal structures.
Between 1400 and 1000 years ago, a group of sages tried to create a standardized text for the purpose of ceremonial uniformity. They knew that the static text should not change the ability to manipulate it and wrestle with its potential meanings, but wanted to create a standard. They put vowels, punctuation, and musical notation to the text. If you open a Jewish Bible, you will see their work on every word, line, and page of text. They did something more, though. In these additions, they hid their own textual commentaries. In so doing, they set in stone that every time the text is read in ceremony, it is read in a way that emphasizes and de-emphasizes pieces of the story line.
We know that spoken or sung texts give us a whole lot more emotional and intellectual opportunity than words simply written on a page. How we vocalize a text often provides it with meaning that the text, by itself, might not convey. So, the musical notes added to text motivate us towards specific understandings. This phenomenon is part of this week’s Torah story. One of the notes is called a “Shalshelet,” and in some sense of onomatopoeia, it is a note that extends the pronunciation of the word longer than would happen normally in reading it. This note happens in only four places in Torah (three in Genesis and one here). Many scholars have noted that its unique and rare use calls attention to specific themes in the text … including some that only become evident because of the way in which these specific words elongate and play out when chanted.
I have also read several pieces that focus on the psychology of this week’s story line to help in understanding. This week, Moses formally anoints his brother and his brother’s children as priests. He does the sacrifice on the altar that begins the ceremony … the last sacrifice he will ever perform at the altar. He will no longer be the singular shaman for the people, and will share power … perhaps even cede power to his brother. This musical note appears in the text at the moment of the fire on the altar’s passing of leadership. The text does not speak about Moses’ anxiety, but the musical vocalization gives us a sense of anxiety. Is he prepared emotionally to let go? From this many scholars argue that we have to be intentional about our choice making. I agree, but that point is already well made.
The unique lesson tied to each of the four uses of this note transcends the self. Moses (and in Genesis Lot, Joseph, and Eliezer) are all at pivotal points in their stories, when this shalshelet note happens in text. For Moses, his ability to turn over the reins of leadership ultimately has little to do with him and everything to do with the people. The whole world is going to change, and, by that one act, we will move from a people based in the prophetic sharing with God into a world of ritually based worship. Moses’ conundrum may be about his ego and loss of self esteem, but I do not think so. I think he is worried that he now has the task of keeping prophecy alive, even while all of our time and behaviors are directed to and at the altar.
We each control our own destiny, until someone changes it for us. Each of us has to be willing to give up a piece of ourselves and change our destiny when we see that the needs and well being of the rest of society would make our insular selves irrelevant or counterproductive to our society. Sometimes, it means making sure that society, even in moving in a new direction, never loses its grounding. We are at a crossroads in the faith world. We have let politics, ego, and power become the ritual of our religions. The names/labels of each of our religions are used in the most unholy of ways, as people destroy each other’s loves … under the guise of religion. No wonder so many people are walking away, and in doing so, abdicate the label and all it purports to stand for to the most fanatical of uses.
The shalshelet is a warning to us. Even as we walk through the ritual in our lives, we cannot let go of the prophetic call to justice, righteousness, mercy, compassion, love, and peace. Even as we see people usurp our religious labels for their own hateful purposes, we have to reclaim our traditions, and once again find ourselves standing before the altar of loyalty and faith to each other and to the dignity with which God created each of us. Go back to Church, to Temple, to the Mosque. Go back and claim your rightful and righteous inheritance. Go back and reclaim your traditions from the fanatics who abuse it. Go back and let’s join in the prayer for peace. Shabbat Shalom.