Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Parashat Tazria

Parashat Tazria

Adar-II 27, 5771 ~ April 2, 2011

by Diane Whitten-Vile

With this week's Torah portion, we learn a great deal about the ritual function of thekohanim (priests) in helping people cope with certain illnesses, particularly the illness of 'tzara'at,' or what is often mistakenly referred to as leprosy. This becomes the focus of sustained attention, presumably because it was quite common in the ancient Near East.

Basing themselves on a story found in the book of Numbers the Rabbis of the Midrash viewed tzara'at as an external sign of an internal decay. Illness became a symbol for corruption, immorality and callousness.

The link between illness and a lack of ethics arises from the story of Miriam's criticism of Moses' wife for being a Cushite. Clearly, Miriam uses her sister-in-law's ethnicity as a pretext for attacking her brother. Whereas Jewish tradition goes so far in rejecting racism that the Rabbis of the Midrash and Talmud justify Moses' selection of an African woman as his wife, Miriam is unable to restrain her harmful comments and her corrosive bigotry.

In a condemnation that neatly parallels Miriam's criticism that Moses' wife is too black, Miriam is stricken with an illness that leaves her skin a flaky white. Since her 'tzara'at' resulted from her critical words, the Rabbis naturally associated the two.

Thus, the biblical laws on 'tzara'at became an extended metaphor for self-centeredness, critical or slanderous speech, and hateful deeds.

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 our notice at all. Half the channels on TV, it seems, are devoted to this kind of lashon hara. Yet they strike at the core of the kind of world Judaism is trying to establish. Those practices provoke a cynical disregard of human decency; they cultivate our suspicion of each other and our assumption that others are speaking ill of us behind our backs just as we are of them. How many times have you partaken in lashon hara, just to leave the conversation and think "I wonder if that person talks badly about me when I'm not around?"

My daughter, Hannah, told me the following parable which I thought was great, and many of you have heard I'm sure. She felt it was appropriate for this drash so here goes:

A man goes to his Rabbi and tells him that he has spoken badly about someone else, and he wanted to know how to make it better. The Rabbi told him to go home, get a big goose down feather pillow and poke a hole in it. After the feathers fall out, pick them up and put them back into the pillow. The man seemed satisfied and went home to attempt this task. However, the next day the man returned to his Rabbi and said "Rabbi, I poked a hole in the pillow, and the wind picked up the feathers and blew them all over the town and I couldn't pick them back up. (You know where this is going, right)? So the Rabbi said, "that is what lashon hara is like. Once you speak badly of someone, you don't know where it will go or how it will spread, and there is no taking it back."In the words of the Rabbis, "A loose tongue is like an arrow. Once it is shot, there is no holding it back."

A marvelous tale is told of a wandering merchant who came into a town square, offering to sell the elixir of life. Of course, large crowds would surround him, each person eager to purchase eternal youth. When pressed, the merchant would bring out the Book of Psalms and show them the verse "Who desires life? Keep your tongue from evil and your lips from guile."

In an age awash in 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 spreading rumors to make others look bad, we can devise empathic explanations for why someone might have acted in a disappointing way.

Many thanks to my father-in -aw for always inspiring me with his weekly drashot, my daughter who remembers well what she was taught at OHDS and JCHS, and to Rabbi Bradly Artson whose writings always inspire.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Parashat Shmini

Parashat Shmini

Adar-II 20, 5771 ~ March 26, 2011

by Maxim Shusteff

Though I try to avoid self-absorbed public navel-gazing, I will risk starting on a personal note. I volunteered to write the mini-drash for Shmini because I recently made the proper date calculation to figure out my correct Bar-Mitzvah parsha (17 Adar II, 5752), and this was it. Why I didn’t know this before isn’t worth recounting here, but I decided this would be a good opportunity to delve into the parsha. So as I read it, I was more than usually attuned to possible personal interpretations that I might find and meanings that I might glean for my own spiritual path.

And it was thus that I came across one of the more mysterious and poignant and troubling passages contained in the Torah – the deaths of Aaron’s sons Nadav and Avihu. After the dedication of the mishkan and the public seven-day inauguration of Aaron and his sons into the priesthood, we begin Parashat Shmini with another series of sacrifices, culminating with the appearance of the glorious presence of Hashem before all the people. What an awesome, wonderful, celebratory moment! The sin of the golden calf finally behind them, all the people sing with joy and prostrated themselves.

It is here that Nadav and Avihu offer their strange/foreign fire, which Hashem did not command. They are immediately consumed by a fire that “issued forth from before Hashem.” The parallel language here is striking. Just a few verses earlier, when Aaron had successfully finished his sacrifices and the people saw the glory of Hashem, we read the same phrase word for word: vatetze esh milifnei Hashem, vatochal – “fire issued from before Hashem and consumed” (ate up) the offering. In that instance, it is clearly a sign that the sacrifices had found favor and acceptance with Hashem. If so, does that mean that Nadav and Avihu themselves became a sacrificial offering? Wasn’t the whole point of our sacrificial rites to underscore that Hashem was opposed to human sacrifice? If indeed that’s the case, why are the brothers punished so swiftly and completely, and in this way? What was it that made their foreign fire so intolerable?

I think we might begin to find the answer in the equally mysterious response that Moshe makes to the deaths of the two brothers, telling Aaron that “this [event must be] what Hashem spoke of, saying by those near me I will make holy/be made holy” (the verb tense can have both meanings). To make holy is to set apart and to establish boundaries, to define what is acceptable and what is not in a certain context. Hashem is hamavdil bein kodesh lechol - he who differentiates between the holy and the ordinary. And thus for Nadav and Avihu, as newly-inaugurated priests, being very aware of that distinction had to be job number one. When the Torah tells us that the strange fire was one that Hashem had not commanded, it’s clear that Nadav and Avihu knew this. So they improvised and used a little creative license in bringing an offering. Is that so offensive?

Another hint of what was amiss comes a few verses later, when Hashem speaks to Aaron directly, warning him and his sons against having wine and alcohol when they perform their services (“so that you will not die” says Hashem! more on this in a moment). Were Nadav and Avihu perhaps intoxicated when they brought their strange fire? Perhaps literally, from celebrating with the people, or figuratively “drunk” with religious zeal? If so, we seem to have a very clear statement from Hashem that religious zeal can be expressed in unacceptable ways.

The warning “so that you will not die” appears several times in the preceding chapters, particularly when Moshe is describing the various details and duties of the priesthood to Aaron and his sons. With Nadav and Avihu we see why that warning is necessary: doing anything other than what you are commanded will bring the fire of Hashem against you. Most simply, then, this episode reads as a stern reminder that we must be very careful, precise and stringent with our observance of mitzvot. More broadly, it is the story of the Jewish people in microcosm: keep my mitzvot, says Hashem to the children of Israel, and you will become a holy nation, a kingdom of priests and a moral light unto the world. So that you will not die.

Is Nadav and Avihu’s lack of caution simply the result of being “new on the job,” and priestly inexperience? Could they be expected to get everything perfect the first time? Isn’t their punishment disproportionate? Maybe not. Maybe they were indeed expected to get everything exactly right. Not so long ago, the nation was worshipping a golden calf. The mishkan and its sacrifices and all the details of its service (and all the 613 mitzvot) are an antidote to sliding back into such immorality. Aaron and his sons were specifically trained to carry out the sacrifices on behalf of the whole community. They got very specific instructions. To avoid another golden calf disaster, they would be the guardians and keepers of the right way of doing things, so improvisation and creativity, in this context, are not as desirable as we might think.

Because the kohanim are commanded to carry out the sacrifices, they are in a position of authority and responsibility, and many commentators agree that Nadav and Avihu’s fate highlights the fact that those with authority or responsibility are held to a higher standard. The priests are also the educated class with very detailed training, so the same holds true for education and knowledge – learning brings with it greater responsibility and being held to a higher standard.

Which brings me back to the personal dimension with which I started. The opportunities for learning and Jewish growth that Beth Jacob provides are unparalleled, as we all know. I happen to be a complete “learning junkie” – I crave new knowledge all the time on almost any subject. Which lately has meant taking advantage of many modes of Jewish learning in our community. The parsha reminds me that simply learning and gathering knowledge is not enough – action must follow. Once in possession of knowledge, a higher standard applies.

May we each continue on the path toward deeper knowledge of Hashem and a closer relationship with the divine. Shabbat shalom.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Parashat Zachor


Parashat Zachor
Adar-II 13, 5771 ~ March 19, 2011 
by Joanne Jagoda


      This week is known as Parasha Zachor or Shabbat Zachor, the Parasha of Remembering and is one of four special parashas preceding Purim.  We are commanded to publicly "hear" a select maftir to remember the lesson of what Amalek did to us.  I am struck by how we are a people for whom remembering, Zachor, is a significant ethical principle.  Altogether the verbzakhar appears in its various declensions. no less than one hundred and sixty-nine times." (Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi Zachor: Jewish History and Jewish Memory.  

     One of our most important tenets, Zachor et yom ha Shabbat, remember the Sabbath day, reiterates the story of creation and the institution of the Sabbath perhaps the single most unifying bond of the Jewish people. We are also called upon repeatedly to "remember" the exodus from Egypt, "zacher l'tzeat M'tzraim, another pivotal event in the formulation of our historical consciousness.  We are continually reminded as well to remember we were slaves in Egypt.  Rosh HaShanah is known as Yom HaZikaron, the Day of Remembrance where we recall that Hashem is the creator of the universe.  On this day as well, G-d is said to remember our deeds. We also have the Yizkor service several times a year when we remember our loved ones and pledge deeds of kindness in their memory.  
  
     It is an interesting question as to why it is a commandment to remember the heinous example of Amalek which certainly serves as a negative lesson qualitatively different than the other positive reminders, many of which serve to remind us of the nature of Hashem.  Amalek was a grandson of Esau, the son of a concubine. Our sages have suggested that Amalek absorbed Esau's hatred of the children of Jacob hearing his grandfather bemoan his fate and how Jacob had stolen his birthright. His name became associated with a nation known for its reliance on violence to prove its superiority.  
  
     We are introduced to Amalek in Exodus, XVII, 9-17.  The Israelites were camped in Rephidim and were unhappy, striving against Moshe because of their thirst. Once again they questioned why they were taken out of Egypt, forgetting about the miracles of the Reed Sea and the manna and were wavering in their faith.  "Then came Amalek and attacked Israel in Rephidim." When he attacked the weak and vulnerable from the rear in Refidim without cause, the true nature of the Amalekites was revealed.  Not a single nation had dared attack Israel except the Amalekites.  Amalek did not fear G-d.   
  
     It is in that time of doubting that our Sages say Amalek appeared.  Joshua fights with the people of Amalek by sword while Moshe is holding his staff from the top of a mountain; his fight waged through repentance and prayer.  Moshe finally prevails and Hashem tells Moshe he will blot out the remembrance of Amalek.  Moshe predicts, "...the Lord will have war with Amalek from generation to generation." 

It is later in the book of Deutoronomy that we are commanded to hear the verses about Amalek:"



Remember what Amalek did to you on your journey when you were leaving Egypt: how, undeterred by fear of God, he came upon you on the march when you were tired and weary, and struck down all those who were stragglers behind. And it will be when God has given you respite from all your enemies all around, in the land which the Lord, your God, has given to you as an inheritance to possess it, you shall erase the name of Amalek from under Heaven, do not forget (Deuteronomy 25: 17-19).



     Though we are admonished to wipe out the remembrance of Amalek, we are exhorted to never forget what he did.  It is customary for the reader to read the verse two times as there is some question about the pronunciation of whether the word is Zacher or Zachor. This shows the importance of hearing every word correctly.  One should be very careful to listen to all the words, since most halachic authorities consider it a mitzvah to hear this portion once each year.  The Sages explain that the definition of "remembering" is to speak the matter aloud at least once a year. Since this is not considered a time-related mitzvah, women are obligated to hear the reading as well, though there has been much discussion about this point. If one accidentally missed Parshat Zachor, the obligation may be fulfilled by listening to the Torah reading on Purim itself, or to the weekly reading of Parshat Ki Tetzei(and according to many authorities, Parshat Beshalach as well). There is not a blessing on this commandment of remembering Amalek, since one does not make a blessing on destruction (even of the most evil of the peoples of the world).

     In the text, interestingly the word used to describe Amalek's encounter is "asher kar'cha ba'derech" literally meaning that Amalek "happened" upon the Jews.  Despite the phenomenal events which had struck Egypt, the ten plagues and the splitting of the Reed Sea, this encounter demonstrated that the Israelites were vulnerable and could still be attacked.  However, they were attacked in a most cowardly way. In the Midrash Tanchuma it states,"When Israel came out of Egypt, and G-d split the sea before them and drowned the Egyptians within it, the fear of them fell upon all the nations. But when Amalek came and challenged them, although he received his due from them, he cooled the awe of the nations of the world for them. It was as if the Amalekites "cooled a hot bath", hence the word kar'cha, from the  root word kar, cold. Though they scorched themselves in defeat, they encouraged others to think they could prevail against the Israelites.

     The attack of Amalek has taken on many symbolic interpretations.  For example, Rabbi Abraham Twerski in Living Each Week,  sees the the army of Amalek as the antithesis of Israel, the enemy of the Jewish people.  "Amalek personifies the forces of evil which threaten the spirituality of Jews in every generation, and there is a perpetual struggle between G-dliness and the evil connivances of Amalek.  It is the strategy of Amalek to undermine the spirituality of Israel at moments of weakness, coming upon them when they are weary, confused and bewildered, when they doubt whether G-d is among them.  Amalek isolates those that are weakest seducing them into cults and alien faiths." (p.140) His goal was to annihilate the Jewish people spiritually as well. 

     Parasha Zachor is always read the week before Purim.  Haman the Agagite is a descendant of Agag, the king of the Amalekites, who was initially spared by King Saul who grievously erred in not taking his life when first told to do so by Hashem.  This story is recounted in the special haftarah we will read on Shabbat Zachor, taken from I Samuel (15:2-34). Mordechai's lineage was traced to the line of King Saul's father, and just as Saul defeated Amalek and its king, Agag, so Mordechai foiled the plots of Haman "the Agagite" (Esther 2:5, 3:1,10). 

     Haman, as his ancestor Amalek, was the archenemy of the Jews who represented a spiritual force which he abhorred. Just as Amalek was eliminated, so was Haman.  There is an interesting parallel in the megillah, where it states that the story of Mordecahi and Haman should be recalled, "these days should be remembered and celebrated by every single generation...and these days of Purim should never cease among the Jews, nor shall their remembrance perish from their descendants." Esther 9:28-29.

     Sadly we still have our Amaleks today.  In a fascinating  Op-Ed piece, "Israel Fears Amalek's Arsenal" in the New York Times, May 16, 2009, writer Jeffrey Goldberg discusses how Netanyahu considers Iran to be a modern day Amalek.  Goldberg explains, "Amalek in essence, is Hebrew for existential threat.  Tradition holds that the Amalekites are the undying enemy of the Jews... If Iran's nuclear program is, metaphorically, Amalek's arsenal, then an Israeli prime minister is bound by Jewish history to seek its destruction, regardless of what his allies think."

     Sometimes as much as one would like to forget Amalek, Haman, Hitler and our current day "Amaleks," such as Ahmadinijad, we cannot.  As our history has shown us,  we are obligated to remember the lesson of Amalek and to heed the prophetic words of Moshe, "the Lord will have war with Amalek from generation to generation." We have seen that in every generation we have to contend with the external threat of those who wish to annihilate us, as well as the continual internal challenges where we must strive to strengthen our spirituality.  

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Parasha Vayikra

Adar-II 6, 5771 ~ March 12, 2011 

by Todd Wilkof



At the end of Parshas Vayikra the Torah introduces the korban oleh v'yoraid - the variable offering whose cost varies according to what the sinner can afford. It is called an "offering that goes up and down". The Torah lists three sins for which this offering is brought: denying testimony, contaminating holy things, and false or unfulfilled oaths. For violating any of the above, a wealthy individual brings a sheep or a goat for a korban chatos, a sin offering. If one cannot afford the animal offering, he may bring in its stead two birds (either two turtledoves or two young doves) one for a chatos and the other as an olah (a burnt elevation offering).

The Ibn Ezra explains why two birds are brought by the poor man in lieu of only one animal brought by the wealthy sinner, namely: "lest the poor man sin with his improper thought!" The Ibn Ezra suggests that in the process of confessing his sin, the poor man may find himself resenting that he cannot afford to bring what he considers a good and proper atonement of either a sheep or goat. Harboring resentment for his lot in life, he may go on to question G-d's judgment as to why he is a poor man. The import of these thoughts can naturally lead the poor man away from the one goal of the offering in the first place: a sincere desire to rectify improper thoughts and actions. To atone for these negative thoughts and criticisms, the poor man brings the second bird as an Olah.

We can find a further example of this sort of doubling back on our negative thoughts in the commentary of the Ramban (Vayikra 14:18). He notes that as part of the purification process for the metzorah - one who is stricken with leprosy - many offerings are brought (an asham - guilt offering, a chatos, an olah, and a mincha - meal offering), "and all are expressions of atonement". Why so many? The Ramban suggests that one offering is to atone for the sin he committed before he was affected by the plague, and the additional offerings for the sin he committed during the time of the plague. The Ramban explains: "perhaps in his anguish he complained to Hashem". The affliction of tzara'as manifests itself physically upon its victim, and in addition it causes him to be removed and ostracized from the community. In the face of this anguish and shame, the metzorah may very well conclude that Hashem is mistreating him. To atone for these negative thoughts he must bring a sin offering.

All this demonstrates how careful we must be with our thoughts during our ritual interaction with Hashem. Just as the korban service once did, our Tefillah is now our context to rectify and atone for negative thoughts that may well up inside us during the course of our communication with Hashem.


In the Amidah we initiate a divine dialogue. We begin by recognizing Hashem as the source and strength behind our power of speech. We say: "My Lord, open my lips, that my mouth may declare your praise." These introductory words help us to recognize that before our infinite Maker we do not have the ability to express the yearning of our souls without Hashem's assistance. We request that G-d help us cast aside the mental blockades and emotional meanderings that we place in our own path, so that we might more fully connect to Him in the course of our prayer to follow.

19 blessings follow, and in reciting them we strive to fully engage in an intimate encounter with the divine source of all blessings. In the absence of the korbanos, these blessings allow us to offer up our thought, speech, and action before Hashem.

We conclude with a request that our offerings be accepted: "May the expressions of my mouth and the thoughts of my heart find favor before you Hashem, my Rock and my Redeemer." In petitioning Hashem to find favor in our almost completed prayer, we wonder whether our power of speech may have fallen short. The inadequacy of our praise and the insincerity of our feelings and wishes loom before us as our encounter before G-d is nearing its end. With the last remaining embers of our offerings smoldering before us, as it were- we are provided a final chance to offer a word that acknowledges Hashem's direct and personal involvement in our life- "my Rock", and a word indicating our belief that all He does is for the best- "my Redeemer".  Like the poor man who brings a second korban to atone for the shortcomings of his first offering, these two words can serve us in a similar way.  They can be offered up as emblems of our desire that Hashem has accepted what we have tried to communicate and that He has forgiven of us of any complaints, negativity or ungratefulness that may have entered into our thoughts and feelings. Taking our leave, we hope for lasting impact upon our soul.