On Yom Kippur we read, “Yom Kippur atones for sins committed by humans toward God. But it cannot atone for sins committed by one human being against another.” What does this mean? This week’s Torah portion explains, “When a man or woman commits any wrong toward a fellow man, thus breaking faith with the Lord, and that person realizes his guilt, he shall confess the wrong that he has done. He shall make restitution in the principal amount and add one-fifth to it, giving it to him whom he has wronged.” (Numbers 5:5-7) In other words, guilt and confession are not sufficient for atonement when we have wronged another person. The most important thing we must do is to correct the damage we have caused. It is not sufficient to restore property; we must also pay 20% in damages. Or if we hurt someone, it is not enough to say we are sorry. We must put in extra effort to repair the relationship we have damaged. Judaism is not a cop-out for responsibility. Being religious, “keeping faith with God,” requires that we maintain the highest level of integrity in our personal relationships.

This Shabbat we begin reading the fourth book of the Torah. In Hebrew it is called Sefer Bamidbar, the Book of the Wilderness, from the first verse which, says “Adonai spoke to Moses in the wilderness of Sinai.” In the Christian tradition it is called The Book of Numbers because it begins with God commanding Moses to take a census of all men suitable for military service. Counting people is problematic in Judaism. Here it is commanded by God to provide to meet the essential need of mutual defense and so is acceptable. On the other hand in 2 Samuel 24, King David takes a census which leads to a plague that kills 70,000. This is taken even farther in some Jewish communities where people are never counted, even for a minyan; rather they are “not counted,” as in “not one, not two, not three…” or are counted using ten words from a verse in sacred text. Another expression of this point of view is, “Things are counted but never people.” In other words, a census denies our unique individuality and our humanity, by placing us in an undifferentiated mass. But perhaps there is a way to resolve this seeming contradiction. To make a community function, we each need “to stand up and be counted.” That is, we each need to contribute our own special gifts and unique talents to build and sustain our congregation. We don’t need to count each other; we need to count on one another to make community

There used to be a bumper sticker that perfectly expressed our society’s obsession with material possessions—“The one who dies with the most toys wins.” In this week’s double-portion we read the counter argument to materialism, “But the land must not be sold beyond redemption, the land is Mine; you are but strangers resident with Me.” The idea that we own anything is an illusion. There is a Hasidic story about two men fighting over a piece of property. They can’t resolve their conflict so they go to their rabbi. The rabbi listens to each of them and still can’t resolve the issue, so he asks them to take him to the land. He lies down and puts his ear to the ground. After a few minutes he stands back up. “What did the land say?” the two men ask. The rabbi responds, “The land spoke to me and said, ‘Why are these two arguing about who owns me? Some day I will own both of them.’” The message of this week’s portion is that we are just temporary residents, with a short-term lease on the Earth. Torah teaches that what we own isn’t important; what we do with our lives is.

Parashat Emor is almost entirely about sacrifices. The sacrificial worship system focused on exacting detail and set procedures. For example, Emor begins with what qualifies a priest for sacred service, or a sacrificial animal to be offered. In both cases they must be physically perfect, without blemish. It then goes on to list the major holidays—Pesach, Shavuot, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Sukkot–with their particular sacrifices. Then in the middle of this long list of sacrificial details it says, “And when you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap all the way to the edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest; you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger: I the Lord am your God.” (Leviticus 23:22) What is this line doing here? Perhaps it comes to teach us that Judaism is a combination of both careful religious ritual and a commitment to work for social justice. To focus only on one or the other is to miss Judaism’s message: to be a religious person requires sustaining our connection to God and to each other.

Parashat Kedoshim, the second of this week’s double Torah portion, begins with these words, “You shall be holy, for I, ADONAI your God am holy.” (Leviticus 20:2) What does it mean to holy? The parasha doesn’t say, but it does give some examples of how one can be holy: by honoring parents, worshipping God, not reaping all crops but leaving some for the poor, not stealing, being an honest witness, paying a worker fair wages on time, not insulting anyone – even a deaf person. To be holy, that is Godlike, occurs when we treat one another decently, fairly, with respect, and avoid exploitation. The way we treat each other paves the way for our connection to God.

~Rabbi Dean

This week’s double Torah portion is about “cooties,” the ritual impurities caused by childbirth, skin diseases and molds in houses. There are times when Torah gets very strange and this is one of them, as we read this ancient view of disease and its impact on the individual and the community. With text like this, we always have three choices: accept them at face value, reject them or try to find a way to make some sense out of them. Rather than focus on the understanding of disease, look at how the Torah describes a ritual for separation and quarantine of the infected person and the ritual for inclusion. So often in our society, disease sends us into a limbo state, scared, isolated and lonely. Our tradition understands that ritual has deep psychological power and can ensure that even in the most difficult moments we will feel connected to community.

~Rabbi Dean

This week we read of the death of Aaron’s sons, Nadav and Abihu, when they bring “alien fire, which He had not enjoined upon them.” In response God kills them as we read, “fire came forth from the Lord and consumed them; thus they died at the instance of the Lord.” There are two traditions about these deaths. One suggests that Nadav and Abihu were drunk and could not properly fulfill the order of sacrifice and were therefore killed. However, a Chasidic teaching says that Nadav and Abihu were both so intense in their love of God that their passion erased the barrier that separates Earth from Heaven and God took them to be with him. It is often possible to give another person’s behavior either a positive or negative motive. Disrespect or passion for God—how we view another often says more about ourselves than it is does about others.

~Rabbi Dean

The holiday of Passover has four names in Hebrew: Hag ha Pesach (the holiday of the Passover sacrifice), Hag ha Herut (the holiday of freedom), Hag ha matzot (the holiday of matzos), and Hag ha Aviv (the holiday of spring). The Shabbat during the intermediate days of Pesach (hol ha’moed) emphasizes the theme of spring with its liturgical readings on the theme of rebirth. The Song of Songs with its themes of love and spring is read before the Torah service. Song of Songs with its erotic love poetry and erotic description of the natural world was an extremely controversial book in rabbinic times and the last to be included in the Hebrew Bible. Tradition has it that only after Rabbi Akiva showed that it was an allegory of Israel’s love affair with God was it canonized. I think the jury is still out on that one, and Song of Songs remains a beautiful example of the redemptive power of romantic love and connection to nature. The Haftorah reading is Ezekial’s vision of the valley of dry bones, where God resurrects the bones of the exiled Jewish people. In response to their cry, “Our bones are dried up, our hope is gone; we are doomed.” (Ezekiel 37:11) God responds, “I will put my breath into you and you shall live again, and I will set you upon your own soil.” (Ezekiel 37:14). The Shabbat of Pesach reminds us that in every moment, liberation, change, and renewal is possible, as long as we can sustain our hope, faith, and love.
~Rabbi Dean

Pesach is our holiday of liberation and of rebirth as a free people. This Shabbat, the Shabbat immediately preceding Pesach is called Shabbat ha Gadol, the great Sabbath. It is one of four special Shabbats that fall between Purim and Pesach. In traditional communities Shabbat ha Gadol was the time when the rabbi would remind the congregation of the special laws regarding the removal of hametz and kashering homes in preparation for the Pesach holiday. The day is also marked by a special Haftorah reading, Malachi 3:4-24, that speaks of the promised messianic redemption and ends with these words, “Lo, I will send the prophet Elijah to you before the coming of the awesome, fearful day of the Lord.  He shall reconcile parents with children and children with their parents.” Pesach, the redemption of Hebrew slaves from bondage, is the model of the future redemption of all mankind. A promise of a time when all human beings will turn to one another in love, as one big family. Pesach is a reminder that slavery can be overcome and humanity can be redeemed. May we all enjoy this season of freedom and rebirth together.

~Rabbi Dean

This week we begin the book of Leviticus, or Vayikra in Hebrew. Vayikra means to be called as in, “The Lord called to Moses and spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting.” (Leviticus 1:1) To be called, that is to be drawn to a certain task, or field of work, or to make a particular contribution to the world, is not generally considered to be a Jewish idea. It is sounds “too Christian” to have a calling. But a cursory look at the Torah sees that God calls many to a particular task; just a few are Abraham, Moses, David, Isaiah, Jeremiah and Elijah. Each was singled out to perform a particular task in service to the Jewish people. Each of them resisted at first, but ultimately responded. According to Jewish tradition, each of us has a calling, a special purpose. The challenge is to be open to it, to respond to it and then to do it.

~Rabbi Dean