Drashot

In the Jewish religious imagination words have an awesome power. God created the Universe with words, “God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light.” (Genesis 1:2). God’s revelation of Torah at Sinai came about through spoken words, “God spoke all these words, saying:” (Exodus 20:1), and then continues with the Ten Commandments. “The Ten Commandments,” is actually the Christian designation of the revelation. In Hebrew they are called Asseret HaDibrot, the Ten Utterances. Thus morality also came into the world through the spoken words. 

While words can create they can also destroy. We have witnessed the use of language to destroy entire political systems, pave the path to war, and create an environment that makes genocide possible. The Nazis were masters at this manipulation and remain the personification of evil. We also know, all too well, how language can be employed to hurt others and break down their self-confidence and self-esteem. This is the reason that gossip is considered such a toxic and sinful behavior. 

This week’s Torah portion is Tazria and explores the social and ritual impact of contracting skin disease (tzora’at in Hebrew). Our sages suggest that skin disease was an outside manifestation or punishment for gossip. They made a pun on the name of the disease by saying, tzora’ah is a punishment for motzi shem rah, bringing out a bad name or gossiping about someone. They also said that gossip hurts three people, the one who is gossiped about, the one who spreads the gossip, and the one that hears the gossip. 

Whether you believe, as our ancestors did, that disease is a punishment for social wrongs, it is clear that we Jews give words great power, to to build up or to destroy. It’s worth thinking about what we want to say and how we want to use our power of speech, for good or for ill, before we next speak.

How do we mark time? How do we engage in our closest and most sacred relationships? These are the questions that come to mind this coming Shabbat, the fourth of special Shabbatot Pleading up to Pesach. It is called Shabbat HaChodesh (The Shabbat of the Month) because it is the Shabbat that immediately precedes the month of Nissan, the month of Pesach. In the special maftir Torah portion for this Shabbat we read, “This month shall mark for you the beginning of the months; it shall be the first of the months of the year for you.” (Exodus 12:2) and our Torah portion then goes on to describe the first Passover Seder and the sacrifice of the paschal lamb. Thus, calendared, or marked time begins with the month of the Exodus from Egypt, not with Rosh Hashana, the Jewish new year, as we often assume. It is our liberation from slavery that is the essential event and all Jewish times starts and returns to this central event. So, how we mark time tells us what we, our culture, values most. 

It is the same in relationships. In this week’s Torah portion, Aaron’s sons, Nadav and Avihu, are killed when they bring strange fire, or unsanctioned incense into the Holy of Holies. Some of our sages explain that they were killed, not because of any sin, but because their desire to be close to God was so strong that they entered the Holy of Holies when they should not have done so. In their excitement and desire they did not respect God’s boundaries; thus they were struck down. We can learn from this that a strong relationship must be motivated by a desire for genuine connection with the other. A good relationship should be close, giving, and concerned. But we also need to respect the autonomy and the boundaries of others. If we are overbearing or focused only on our needs, we do not see the other person for who they are and their needs. 

How we mark time and how we treat others shows who we are and what we value most.

What does it mean to be pure? Is it a spiritual state, an emotional state, a moral condition, or all of the above? Is being pure the same as being good? Does it matter in our lives or is it a meaningless antiquated concept? 

This Shabbat is called Shabbat Parah, one of the five special Shabbatot leading up to Pesach and is based on the special Maftir reading from the Book of Numbers describing the Ritual of the Red Heifer, the Parah Adumuah. ‘This is the ritual law that יהוה has commanded: Instruct the Israelite people to bring you a red cow without blemish, in which there is no defect and on which no yoke has been laid.’ (Numbers 19:2) The cow is sacrificed, burned, and its ashes are mixed with water to purify anyone who comes in contact with a corpse. 

Such contact led to ritual impurity which disqualified anyone from bringing a sacrifice to the Temple, thus in ancient times the Israelites were reminded to purify themselves before the Pesach holiday so they could make the pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Once the Temple was destroyed the ritual was no longer necessary, yet our Sages maintained Shabbat Parah and repurposed its meaning to remind us to purify our homes of chametz before the Pesach holiday. 

Yet, there is a deeper meaning still. Freedom of moral choice is the foundation of Jewish ethics. That choice is often challenged by our physicality and our mortality, our fear of death. So, often we make the wrong moral choice because of our physical desires, whether it’s eating excessively or drinking too much, or worrying about our own comfort and security more than we need to and ignoring the needs of others who have less than we do. 

Shabbat Parah, with its call for ritual purity, reminds us to take the moral high ground and do the right thing.

It’s not just about cleaning our homes of chametz; it’s about clearing our souls of selfishness.

This Shabbat, the one that immediately precedes Purim, is called Shabbat Zachor, the Sabbath of Remembrance. The special maftir, additional, Torah reading remembers how the Amalekites attacked the Israeites in the wilderness, “Remember what Amalek did to you on your journey, after you left Egypt—how, undeterred by fear of God, he surprised you on the march, when you were famished and weary, and cut down all the stragglers in your rear. Therefore, when your God יהוה grants you safety from all your enemies around you, in the land that your God יהוה is giving you as a hereditary portion, you shall blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. Do not forget!” (Deuteronomy 26:17-19) Amalek, like all cowards, attacked the Israelites where they were weakest, in the rear, where the old, the frail, and the weak traveled behind the main body of the Isralites. Amalek is considered the eternal enemy of Israel, because they rejected the Jewish vision of a moral world exemplified by God. Instead they sowed distrust. Haman, the villain of Purim who wanted to annihilate all the Jews of the Persian Empire is considered to be a descendent of Amalek by our sages. So we remember Amalek, before we begin the holiday of Purim. We remember that the Jewish people have always faced danger and adversity, that there have always been those who have hated the Jewish people and wished the worst for us. Yet, we also remember that we have survived those threats and thrived as a people: from Egyptian slavery to liberation, from the mortal threat of Haman to the victory and celebration of Purim, from Roman oppression and thousands of years of exile, descending into the deepest trauma and despair. Followed by the reestablishment of the State of Israel and the revitalization of Hebrew culture and the Jewish people. The key to Jewish survival has always been a commitment to Jewish values, a willingness to live by them and for them, and, as in the holiday of Purim, to defend ourselves whenever necessary.

This Shabbat is called Shabbat Shekalim, which is marked on the first Shabbat before the beginning of the month of Adar (or in a leap-year, like this year, Adar II) and comes approximately six weeks before Pesach. It is marked by a special maftir (concluding) Torah reading, “This is what everyone who is entered in the records shall pay: a half-shekel by the sanctuary weight—twenty gerahs to the shekel—a half-shekel as an offering to Adonai… You shall take the expiation money from the Israelites and assign it to the service of the Tent of Meeting;” (Exodus 30:13 & 16) This is a liturgical reminder of the half-shekel tax that was assessed on all Hebrews to pay for the upkeep and maintenance of the Temple, when it stood in Jerusalem. The Temple, its surrounding mikvaot (ritual baths and the roads leading to it all had to be prepared for the Passover holiday, one of the three pilgrimage holidays (Hagim) when the people would come to Jerusalem. The six weeks gave enough time for the Jewish communities outside of the Land of Israel, like Sura and Pumbedita in Bavel (modern Iraq) and Alexandria in Egypt, to collect the tax and send it to Jerusalem. Shabbat shekalim reminds us of the connection of the Jewish people to the Land of Israel that has existed for more than three-thousand years. For much of that time there has been a large Jewish community outside the Land and only recently, have we once again established a thriving Jewish community in the State of Israel. Shabbat Shekalim reminds us that a strong relationship between Israel and worldwide Jewish communities is essential for the growth and health of the Jewish people, as it has been throughout much of our history.

We live in a time of fear and anxiety. Massive economic dislocation, changes in social values and norms, climate change and COVID pandemic have left many of us feeling unmoored and without solid ground on which to stand. Then there is the particularly Jewish stressor of the rise of open antisemitism on both the left and the right. It is easy to understand why we give in to our fears, but fear is a dangerous place from which to act. In this week’s Torah portion the Israelites build an idol, the Golden Calf, violating the commandment to not worship false gods which they received just a small time before. Our sages of blessed memory wondered how the Israelites could do such a thing so quickly after their experience at Sinai and provided an explanation in the Talmud. There was a misunderstanding between Moses and the Children of Israel. They thought he would return after 40 days, but Moses said he would return after 40 days and 40 nights. So at the end of the fortieth day the Children of Israel became nervous. Satan appeared to them and told them Moses had died. This is when they called on Aaron to build the Golden Calf. (Talmud Bavli, Berachot 89a) Newly freed, alone in the wilderness, without their leader, the Israelites became afraid. In their fear, to comfort themselves, they turned to the ways they knew, those of Egyptians: idol worship. Thus they erred, turned away from the values they were meant to live by and broke faith with God. If they had only waited a few more hours all would have been well. There is a lesson here for us. To remain true to our deepest convictions, to remain optimistic, to act from a place of hope and never surrender to our fears.

We live in a casual time. Not that long ago men put on jackets and ties and women wore dresses to go out to dinner, attend a concert, or go to a party, even to go to synagogue. Now such attire seems utterly unthinkable when billionaires wear hoodies or t-shirts and people fly in sweatpants and Crocs. There is even a sub-heading of clothing called ath-leisure, whatever that means. We have certainly gained some physical comfort with our prioritization of casual clothing, but have we lost something as well? This week’s Torah portion describes the clothing of the Kohen Gadol (the High Priests) at great length: a linen tunic, an embroidered blue robe, a jewel encrusted, golden  breastplate and a peaked hat (Exodus 28:31-42) Commenting on this verse Maimonides (12th C. Egypt) wrote:  “It is a mitzvah for the priestly garments to be new, attractive, and to hang low like the garments of the men of stature, for honor and for beauty.” (Mishne Torah: Laws of the Vessels of the Temple and the Priests 8:4). The Kohen’s garments reflected his stature and his sacred service. This idea is continued in the concept of hidur mitzvah, trying to fulfill a mitzvah with as much beauty as possible. So casual and comfortable dress has its place, but perhaps wearing special clothes to synagogue might make the experience itself more special. 

What does it mean to be a sacred community, a congregation? In this week’s Torah portion, Terumah, we read these words of God, “Let them build me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them.” (Exodus 25:8) This sentence contains a grammatical problem. It should read, “Let them build me a sanctuary that I may dwell within it,” but it does not. Clearly the sanctuary, the Mishkan, is not about the physical structure, it is about the connection between the Divine and people. It is easy to confuse a physical structure with a spiritual purpose. People love to build beautiful buildings, but it is what goes on in the buildings that matter. The Hebrew verb to dwell (l’shachen) shares the same root as God’s indwelling, feminine, presence: Shechina. If our congregation is a place of warmth, welcoming, and care, then we have earned God’s presence and we will feel the Ruach HaKodesh, God’s holy spirit, dwelling amongst us. When we share joys together and are present for each other in times of sorrow our biulding is filled with holiness. If we care more about physical matters, then we may have a beautiful worship space but it will feel empty. The choice is ours.

Since October 7th and the brutal Hamas attacks on Israelis we have been navigating through a challenging moral landscape that includes Israel’s right to defend its citizens, Hamas’ indifference to Israeli and Palestinian civilian casualties, the question of the proportionality of Israel’s military response and the unwillingness of many supporters of the Palestinian cause here in the Bay Area to grant any legitimacy to Israel and its right to exist. This week’s Torah portion, Mishpatim, begins to build on the Ten Commandments shared in last week’s Torah portion. They focus on human interaction and particularly how we must treat the weakest in society: the widow, the orphan, the stranger and the slave. In the midst of all this we come across this verse, “If the thief is seized while tunneling and beaten to death, there is no blood guilt in that case.” (Exodus 22:1) Commenting on this verse, we read in the Mishna (1st C. CE), “A burglar who is found breaking into a house may be killed by the owner of the house with impunity (see Exodus 22:1)… on account of his ultimate end, as it is presumed that if the owner of the house would resist the burglar, the burglar would kill the owner of the house.” How fitting this is since Hamas has built a massive complex of tunnels to attack Israel, to hide from Israeli soldiers while putting civilians at risk, to imprison hostages taken from Israel, and to ambush Israeli soldiers. The time, effort, and funds expended on these tunnels are testimony to Hamas’ murderous intent and the right to self defense is clear. It is important to remember this in these difficult times.

This Shabbat is called Shabbat Shira (The Sabbath of Song) for the song of celebration that Moses and the Children of Israel sing after they cross the Sea of Reeds and witness Pharoah’s army drown after the sea closes back on them. Scholars think it is one of the oldest pieces of poetry in the Tanach.  It begins, “I will sing to Adonai, for God has triumphed gloriously;

Horse and driver God has hurled into the sea.” (Exodus 15:1) and it concludes with these words that we sing at every service, “Who is like You, Adonai, among the celestials; Who is like You, majestic in holiness, Awesome in splendor, working wonders!,” (Exodus 15:11) These are the opening words of Mi Chamocah. Notice that in this moment of deliverance from danger and triumph over their Egyptian enemies there is no pride in their victory, just praise for God. It was God’s work and their faith that saved the Israelites from certain death. And yet, there is a midrash that complicates the story from the Mekhilta DeRabbi Yishmael, Tractate Vayehi Beshalach 6:4. It  says that Moses raised his arms for the Sea of Reeds to part and yet it did not. Standing at the shore of the sea, all the Israelites said: “I will not enter the sea first.” So they hesitated as the Egyptians drew closer. Because they stood frozen, deliberating, Nachshon ben Aminadav leaped into the sea. As soon as he did, the sea began to part. From this we learn that human agency, the willingness to act, to take a leap of faith, was the essential component for the miracle of the parting of the sea to begin. Faith, recognizing that God represents a force for good in the world that we can believe in and tap into for strength, combined with courage, the willingness to act when action is necessary and everyone around us is frozen, these were the two elements essential to make the Sea of Reeds part. With faith and courage we can face any test, no matter how hard, no matter how frightening.