Drashot

We live in a materialistic world and a society that values continued growth, consumption, and acquisition. In short, we can never have enough. There is always something more to acquire: more money, more power, more fame, or more things. While modern industrial society has provided many of us with a standard of living that was unimaginable to earlier generations we pay a price for this value system:  constant feelings of unease or anxiety, judging our worth by comparing ourselves to others, never feeling satisfied or at peace with our lives; and there is a profound, negative environmental cost to all of our producing and consuming that threatens human life on our planet. 

Judaism accepts materialism. We recognize that human beings must work and produce to build and sustain society, but Jewish values also place limits on all this making and getting. Those limits are based on an understanding of God’s place in the Universe, our place in the Universe and our relationship, our covenant. This week’s Torah portion describes the Sabbatical (Shmita) year, which comes every seven years and the Jubilee (Yovel) year, which comes every fifty years. In the Shmita year the land was allowed to rest, Hebrew slaves were set free, and land that was sold could be repurchased. In the Yovel, in addition, all land acquired over the last 49 years was returned to the family that originally owned it. In an agricultural society it was like an economic reset button. No one could be enslaved forever, no one could acquire too much land, every family got a fresh start.

Why was this so important? We read, “But the land must not be sold beyond reclaim, for the land is Mine; you are but strangers resident with Me.” (Leviticus 25:23) From our limited, human perspective we think we can acquire land, possessions, and wealth, but from God’s broader, sacred perspective nothing can ever be ours. We just hold it for a short period of time, in trust, because we are mortal. We abide for a short time on earth before we die and a new generation steps into our place. As we read in Kohelet (Ecclesiates 1:4) “One generation goes, another comes, But the earth abides forever.” Perhaps if we took the long-view, the sacred view, our lives would be better, our earth less at risk, and our society stronger.

Pesach comes six months before (or after, depending on your point of view) Yom Kippur. This week’s Torah portion, Achrei Mot, suggests there is a clear connection between the two. 

In our Torah portion we read about the Yom Kippur atonement sacrifice: Aaron designates two goats: one for sacrifice as a sin offering and one as a scapegoat to carry the collective sins of the Israelites to a place in the wilderness called Azazel. (Leviticus 16:8-10) This ritual is to be “a law for all time: In the seventh month, on the tenth day of the month, you shall practice self-denial; and you shall do no manner of work, neither the citizen nor the alien who resides among you. For on this day atonement shall be made for you to purify you of all your sins; you shall be pure before Adonai.” 

The high holy days are our time of self-reflection, fearless assessment of our rights and wrongs, and our commitment to become better people. Our sincerity is real, but our ego driven willingness to justify our behavior often stands in the way of genuine, on-going change. 

Six months later, Pesach gives us an opportunity to recommit, particularly regarding our egos. We are commanded to remove all leaven from our homes. To our sages leaven, with its ability to grow in size, to puff up, is symbolic of our egos which puff us up with our own self-importance. Cleaning out our leaven can remind us we are not as important as we think we are, that we can cultivate a more realistic picture of ourselves and our place in the world. 

As C.S. Lewis wrote, “Humility is not thinking less of yourself, but thinking of yourself less.” Let’s recommit to our Yom Kippur vows of change, turn outward into the world, and be of service.

In our tradition, Pesach has four names: Chag HaPesach (the holiday of the sacrifice of the paschal lamb), Chag HaMatzot (the holiday of Matzah), Chag HaCherut (the holiday of freedom) and Chag HaAviv (the holiday of Spring). We engage with all these holy days during Passover. When the Temple stood Chag HaPesach was a separate pilgrimage holiday on the 14th day of Nissan, when the Israelites would come to Jerusalem to perform the Paschal sacrifice (Leviticus 23:5). Chag HaMatzot, was a separate, seven-day holiday when all Israel and today most Jews would remove all levin (chametz) from their homes and eat only matzah to remember the Exodus. Chag HaCherut reminds us of the central theme of Passover, that is that God freed us from Egyptian slavery, that God acted in history, and even if God does not do so today, the Divinely ordained human condition is freedom even if not all people have yet attained it. Chag HaAviv reminds us that Passover is also the celebration of the Spring harvest. We also reinforce our connection to the Land of Israel by ending our prayer for rain and beginning to pray for dew. 

The special readings for Shabbat Chol HaMoed Pesach (the Sabbath of the intermediate days of the Pesach holiday) pull all these meanings together. The first Torah reading from Exodus speaks of how God acts in the world, when God self-reveals the Divine presence to Moses, just as God intervened to save the Israelites from slavery. The maftir (additional) reading explains the Pesach sacrifice. The haftarah, from Ezekiel 3, is the story of the dry bones, when God brings the dead Israelites back to life and returns them to the Land of Israel, “I am going to open your graves and lift you out of the graves, O My people, and bring you to the land of Israel.” (Ezekiel 3:12) is the promise of a future resurrection and new freedom. Finally, we read Song of Songs, which speaks of the relationship between God and the Jewish people as one of two lovers and alludes to the coming of spring and life reborn.

These four themes and the special readings this Shabbat all remind us that even in difficult times the promise of new life is all around us and that we must maintain our hope and never stop working for freedom, our own and that of all people.

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.