The Humble Mountain

Parashat B’har- B’chukotai, Leviticus 25:1-27:34

Rabbi Isaac S. Roussel, Congregation Zera Avraham

Our parasha this week opens with God speaking to Moses from Mount Sinai. A midrash speaks of three mountains, Tabor, Carmel, and Sinai, vying to be the one from which God would reveal the Torah. God chooses Sinai because it is the lowliest of the three and he wanted to teach Israel humility. One could ask, though, that if God wanted to teach us humility, why didn’t he just give the Torah in a valley instead? The answer that I would propose is that this reflects our nature. Humans are indeed beings of great power. We can mold and shape the world around us in a way that the animals cannot. We also have the power to do great evil and good with our speech and actions. Each of us is indeed a great mountain, but we must learn humility to be of service to others.

This reflects the nature of God, in whose image we are made. He is the Ultimate One of great power, and yet he exercises great humility to give us space to become his partners in the unfolding of creation. Our free will is a gift that an omnipotent and yet humble God bestows upon us.  Another midrash states that God showed his humility when he said to the angels, “Let us make man in our own image.” Rashi says that since humans looked like angels, they could have been jealous that such beings lived on the earth. Therefore, God consulted the angels to include them in the process of creation, which he did not need to do. It was an act of humility for the sake of others.

Messiah Yeshua reflects this attribute of his Father. He repeatedly states that he only does what his Father tells him to do. And he lives as a servant for others, rather than lording it over them. He makes space and takes concern for the poor, weak, sick, and disenfranchised. This is expressed most fully in a passage from Philippians that we read in our congregation as part of the Aleinu. It says,

Though he was in the form of God, he did not regard equality with God something to be possessed by force. On the contrary, he emptied himself, in that he took the form of a slave by becoming like human beings are. And when he appeared as a human being, he humbled himself still more by becoming obedient even to death—death on a stake as a criminal! Therefore, God raised him to the highest place and gave him the name above every name; that in honor of the name given Yeshua, every knee will bow—in heaven, on earth and under the earth—and every tongue will acknowledge that Yeshua the Messiah is Adonai—to the glory of God the Father. (Phil 2:6-11)

Yeshua is divine, and therefore a “mountain”. But he is a lowly mountain by living and dying as a human being for the sake of the world. In the last verse, you will note that even his exaltation is for the glory of the Father!

As I already noted, we are created in God’s image and therefore are also beings of great power. Through giving both the Torah on that lowly mountain, and Yeshua, the Living Torah, who exemplified a life of humility, God calls us to the same. Just before the passage above, Rav Shaul urges the Philippians, “Do nothing out of rivalry or vanity; but, in humility, regard each other as better than yourselves. Look out for each other’s interests and not just for your own. Let your attitude toward one another be governed by your being in union with the Messiah Yeshua” (Phil 2:3-5, emphasis added).

Mussar teaches us that humility is not total self-debasement. It is instead recognizing that we need to take up an appropriate amount of space. It is a middle path of being the humble mountain. The Talmud states that one who possesses haughtiness of spirit deserves excommunication, and one who does not deserves it as well. This is the middle road of humility. We are called upon by God to live for the sake of others; to be attuned to their needs and wants. This can only be accomplished through our consistent exercise of humility.

May we be cognizant of our great power and yet exercise humility. May we emulate Yeshua Rabbeinu and live a life of devotion to him and the Father by making room for others. May we be like Sinai, a humble mountain!

The Blemished and the Whole

Parashat Emor, Leviticus 21:1–24:23

By Rabbi Paul L. Saal, Shuvah Yisrael, West Hartford, CT

For decades, Western society has been making concerted efforts to be more accepting and inclusive of those who have physical and mental disabilities. This means that accommodations must be made for impediments that have historically restricted people from living fully integrated into the greater society. In the past most of “civilized” society dealt with others’ handicaps by turning a blind eye. At best, the disabled were treated with dismissive sympathies and self-congratulatory charity; at worst they were often blamed for their disabilities and pushed to the margins of society. Only recently has the conversation turned toward treating those with disabilities as fully enfranchised members of society, rather than isolating them and consigning them to lives of degradation and exclusion.

Scripture also speaks of such disabilities through a complex balance of values, priorities, and perceptions. On the one hand, many of the heroes of the Bible suffered from physical and mental handicaps. Jacob limped, Isaac was blind, Moses had a speech impediment (and a fragile ego), Miriam dealt with dermatological concerns, and Saul clearly had bouts of depression and possibly psychosis. Rav Shaul dealt with some type of ailment but preferred to refer to it as “a thorn in the flesh,” leaving us to wonder about his issues of deep shame. What is most important to acknowledge is that these leaders were able to function in exemplary fashion.

But the narrative of Scripture is neither simple nor always inclusive. The parasha for this week, Emor, seems to prefer “wholeness” of both sacrifice and those who presented the sacrifice. The sacrifice could not suffer from any mum (defect) or it would be disqualified! This is an exclusion that I would imagine brought little complaint from the animal community of ancient Israel. But what I find most disturbing on its face is the disqualification of any kohen (priest) who exhibits permanent physical malady. “Any man of your offspring throughout their generations in whom there is a blemish shall not come near to offer food of his God” (Vayikra 21:17). The really troubling part is the elaboration that follows. Those who are blind, those who are lame are excluded. Then it gets personal! If your arm or leg is too long or too short, if you suffer from spine curvature or dwarfism, a scar, scurvy, or crushed testes you are eliminated!

It would be nice to dismiss this as merely a product of its time, but because it is part of the Holy Torah it must be addressed, and we should examine the legacy it has had on historical Judaism and perhaps even the taint it has left on the broader society. We cannot deny that this passage and others have lent a kind of legitimacy to the dehumanization of the disabled. Rabbinic legislation at one time forbade the disabled from participating as fully enfranchised members of Jewish society, either by functioning as acceptable witnesses in legal proceedings or by being part of a minyan. Why? Because Torah said so! Thank God this has been rethought, but in order to wash away the impure legacy of such thinking we need to continue to discuss and dismiss it as the intent of Torah.

There is another way, then, to understand this portion of Torah. Rather than merely seeing the service of the kohen as the privilege of the gifted, we might instead see it as the responsibility of the “whole” to the “broken.” Many commentators noted as I have the relationship between the exclusions of the sacrifice and those of thekohanim. They are precisely the same. Sefer HaChinuch, a 13th century exposition on the 613 commandments, notes, “There are disfigurements that disqualify a kohen from serving, and if they are in an animal they disqualify it from being brought as an offering.” There is an indelible relationship between the animal that will perish on the altar and the one who takes its life. The slaughterer is forced to identify with the terror of the sacrificed animal and to perform the unsavory task of exchanging one life for another. It should also be noted that while specific disfigurements may prevent one from being the slaughtered or the slaughterer, it never prevents any person in the ranks of Israel from bringing a sacrifice. So, it is the unfortunate task of both unblemished animal and unblemished kohen to provide restitution and restoration for those who are blemished.

It is also helpful to consider the expanded meaning of the Hebrew word mum, blemish. In the Bible mum refers to moral. As well as physical, blemishes (cf. Deut. 32:5where it is often translated crooked or warped) and is used extensively in this sense in the Talmud: “Do not ascribe to your fellow your own blemish” (BM 59b). If a man falsely accused someone of being a slave, it was evident that he himself was a slave, since “a person stigmatizes another with his own blemish” (Kid. 70b).  So we might further understand that while it is really only the morally “unblemished” that can offer redemption to the “blemished,” it is actually the responsibility of the “whole” to bring “wholeness” to the otherwise “broken.” A denial of such responsibility, and the stigmatizing of others, might just be a justification for our own deepest sense of “brokenness.”

It is no wonder then that when Yeshua was confronted by self-righteous pietists concerning the rather blemished company that he kept, he responded by saying, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous but sinners” (Mark 2:17, Luke 5:31, Matt. 9:12). Yeshua does not challenge the health of those who dismiss the health of others, but reminds them if they have received the gift of health, then they are indeed responsible for those who have not. In the same way that he is both kohen and sacrifice, he beckons us to follow him and live sacrificially daily (Luke 9:23).

We as they are challenged to see that we are all to some degree handicapped. We each must confront our weaknesses, our inabilities, and our injuries, both physical and emotional. But if we are willing to be honest and acknowledge our brokenness then we can be made whole and bring wholeness to others.

Safegaurding the Light

Parashat Acharei Mot – K’doshim, Leviticus 16:1-20:27

Dr. D. Friedman, UMJC rabbi, Jerusalem, Israel

Leviticus is an amazing work, a book that is called “Torat HaKohanim” in many circles, that is, the book of instructions for the priests, and is written in beautiful chiastic form. Wedged into its contents is this week’s double portion.

Leviticus tells the children of Israel how to live in holiness in the Land of Israel. We can see God’s wisdom in inserting these instructions at this point in the story. Israel was preparing to enter the Land of Israel. Her national health depended upon the tribes following what God instructed them to do. The Land of Israel would not be an empty parcel: seven very pagan Canaanite nations already made their home there. Their ways, practices, and lifestyle would easily influence the tribes of Israel and seduce them into paganism if they did not closely obey the Torah.

Thus our portion instructs Israel how to live in such a way to inherit blessing, instead of reaping sorrows by falling into Canaanite customs and practices:

You must not do as they do in the land of Canaan, where I am bringing you. Do not follow their practices. You must obey my instructions and be careful to follow my decrees. I am the LORD your God. (18.3-4)

God wanted the people of Israel to be a shining light from the Land of Israel, and not for the Canaanite nations to “shine their darkness,” if you will. Moses instructs the Israelites in Deuteronomy 4:5-8:

See, I have taught you decrees and laws as the LORD my God commanded me, so that you may follow them in the land you are entering to take possession of it. Observe them carefully, for this will show your wisdom and understanding to the nations, who will hear about all these decrees and say, “Surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people.” What other nation is so great as to have their gods near them the way the LORD our God is near us whenever we pray to him? And what other nation is so great as to have such righteous decrees and laws as this body of instructions I am setting before you today?

For Israel to walk in her destiny, the Canaanites had to be driven out of the Land, because of their enormous, purposeful and evil lifestyle, built upon serving their demon-idols. Those nations were: Jebusites, Amorites, (the biblical idiom, “the iniquity of the Amorites”, cf. Gen. 15.16, tells us what the Amorites were known for: offending the One true God in his chosen land), Girgasites, Perizites, Hivites, “Canaanites” and Hittites.

eviticus 18:5 states: Keep my decrees and laws, for the man who obeys them will live by them. I am the LORD. Let’s look at the Hebrew in order to understand this verse. The verb ushmartem is used, meaning “watching over, guarding something”. It is often a military term, describing what a military sentry does from his outpost. He carefully looks for any and everything that is out of the ordinary. As a sentry watches over the field, so do we watch over the instructions in the Torah to carry them out. A better translation of the rest of the verse could be a man will do them and so live. It is not an optional clause like some translations make it sound, as in “if you want to live, do them.”

This instruction is coming from a holy God to Israel. Let’s get it right: if the tribes did not act like sentries over the keeping of the Torah, the Canaanite nations would influence them, and that would dim the light that God had called Israel to be! Look at how merciful the Holy One is here: He called Israel to be a light, but he doesn’t leave the people without the knowledge of how to be that light—if you want to live, do them! And the first mitzvah of Torah that they would have kept, which would have shined a bright light this: “I am the Lord your God who liberated from you from Egypt. You will not have any other gods in my presence” (Ex. 20:2–3). So the best paraphrase of 18:5 I can think of is this: Keep my decrees and instructions, for the man who wants to live will do them!

Verse 6 then comes into our text, and instructs Israel as a nation how to live and act in a holy way: No one is to approach any close relative to have sexual relations. I am the LORD. The Holy One separated Israel’s sexual practices from those of the Canaanites around them, who used cult prostitutes, and did most of what we read in 18:7-20. Families were violated and people’s boundaries were violated in typical Canaanite practice. It was not to be so in Israel. Verse 24 summarizes this section of our parasha: Do not defile yourselves in any of these ways, because this is how the nations that I am going to drive out before you became defiled. And thus we see God’s aim: to keep the tribes away from the evil that could infect them through their surroundings.

God through Moses and his scribes has just done a clear job of educating and warning the nation. In God’s great mercy, he told them all of Leviticus 18, so that they now know what they would see. They also know what they must do. And just for a final reminder, we have verse 30: Keep my requirements and do not follow any of the detestable customs that were practiced before you came, and do not defile yourselves with them. I am the LORD your God.

 This is God’s teaching for Israel.  Shabbat shalom!

Eighth Day, First Day

Parashat Tazria-Metzora, Leviticus 12:1–15:33

Rabbi Russ Resnik

All of Creation is in need of redemption, as Scripture says: “. . . which God created to do.” (Sefat Emet)

 Messiah’s resurrection on the first day of the week during Passover, which we recently commemorated, is the seed of redemption, the firstfruits of the resurrection to come (1 Cor. 15:20–23). The nineteenth century commentary called Sefat Emet, or “The Language of Truth,” sees the promise of this redemption established from Creation: “Then God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it, because in it he rested from all his work which God created to do” (Gen. 2:3, literal translation). The phrase “which God created to do,” according to this view, means that after God created all things, he began to do the work of redemption.

Sefat Emet goes on to note that human beings, created on the sixth and final day of Creation, have a share in this work of redemption. “The human was created last in deed, but first in the order of redemption. It is through humanity that Creation and redemption are joined together.”

On the sixth day, just before God entered the rest of the seventh day, he gave instructions to the newly formed human couple: “Be fruitful and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it” (Gen. 1:28). After six days of Creation, the work was not entirely finished. Humankind still had the task of filling and subduing the earth. This process is part of the redemption to which Sefat Emet refers, not just redemption from sin (which hadn’t even happened yet), but fulfillment of all that God intends for his Creation.

In a similar vein, over three hundred years earlier, Sforno commented on Genesis 2:1. “‘Thus the heaven and the earth were finished’ . . . having reached the end purpose of existence in general.” That is, heaven and earth are not finished in the sense that there is nothing left to be done, but in that they express the purpose of Creation “in general.” And what is that purpose? Redemption, or Tikkun, “the restoration of all things, which God has spoken by the mouth of all his holy prophets since the world began” (Acts 3:21).

In a conversation spanning centuries, Sforno and Sefat Emet agree on a point that has tremendous implications for us today. Creation holds within itself the seed of a new Creation. The completion of God’s original plan of Creation entails a new Creation, a spiritual rebirth for every human being. Thus, in Parashat Tazria, we read,

Then the Lord spoke to Moses, saying, “Speak to the children of Israel, saying: ‘If a woman has conceived, and borne a male child, then she shall be unclean seven days; as in the days of her customary impurity she shall be unclean. And on the eighth day the flesh of his foreskin shall be circumcised.’” (Lev. 12:1–3)

The eighth day is the first day of new Creation. In Genesis, the seven days are the week of Creation, but here they are seven days of impurity, followed by an eighth day that designates a new beginning. This doesn’t mean that the “old Creation” is somehow corrupt and must be replaced by the new. Rather, the creation of the male child, which is in itself holy, reaches its fulfillment only on the eighth day, through circumcision. The holiness of Creation is elevated to a new level.

God gave the original instruction concerning circumcision, of course, to Abraham:

“You shall circumcise the flesh of your foreskin, and that shall be the sign of the covenant between Me and you. And throughout the generations, every male among you shall be circumcised at the age of eight days.” (Gen. 17:11–12a, NJPS)

Circumcision on the eighth day becomes the boundary that distinguishes the household of Abraham, which is joined to the Lord through covenant, from the rest of humankind. We might say that God creates humanity on the sixth day, as the culmination of his work of Creation, and then creates a new humanity on the eighth day through circumcision.

The eighth day is particularly significant because the newborn has completed a seven-day unit of time corresponding to the process of Creation. In like manner, Exodus 22:29 stipulates that the first-born of an animal is dedicated only on the eighth day after birth, and Leviticus 22:27 lays down that an animal is not fit for sacrifice before that day. (Nahum Sarna, JPS Torah Commentary, Exodus)

The eighth day, then, is a day of new Creation that carries forward the purpose of the original Creation. Now we understand why the gospels emphasize the first day of the week in recounting the resurrection of Messiah.

After Shabbat, as the next day was dawning, Miryam of Magdala and the other Miryam went to see the grave. (Matt. 28:1, CJB)

In the evening that same day, the first day of the week, when the talmidim were gathered together behind locked doors out of fear of the Judeans, Yeshua came, stood in the middle and said, ‘Shalom aleikhem [Peace to you]!’” (Yochanan [John] 20:19, CJB).

The first day is the eighth day, the first day of redemption.

God himself accomplishes and guarantees this work of redemption, but he does so in partnership with humankind, ultimately embodied in Messiah himself. The eighth day reminds us that God created us not just to await redemption and certainly not just to await our “heavenly reward” in some other realm. Rather, we are to be active participants in the cosmic drama planned from Creation, a drama that reaches its turning point in the resurrection of Messiah.

Sefat Emet says, “It is through humanity that Creation and redemption are joined together.” We see this reality as the Son of Man, Yeshua the Messiah, brings through his resurrection on the eighth day. But do we see this reality in our own lives? How do we participate as human partners in Tikkun, restoration of Creation, even today?

Adapted from Creation to Completion: A Guide to Life’s Journey from the Five Books of Moses (Clarksville, MD: Lederer Books, 2006).

"Hey Teacher, Leave Those Kids Alone!"

Parashat Shemini Lev. 9:1-11:47

by Dr. Jeffrey L. Seif

Years ago, Pink Floyd’s irreverent song “Another Brick in the Wall” caught my attention. Lines like, “We don’t need no education. We don’t need no thought control. No dark sarcasm in the classroom,” followed by the commanding, “Teachers, leave them kids alone!” caught my attention. As a thirty-year college classroom teacher, it gets my attention even now. My job here, of course, is to understand Moses, not Pink Floyd. I mention Pink at the outset, not to attempt to explain him but to note that, in this week’s parasha, Aaron stands up to Moses the rabbi-teacher and, in effect says, says: “Hey teacher. Leave my kids alone!” Really!? Could it be? Don’t take my word for it. Take a look.

In Leviticus 10:16-20, Moses noted that a sin offering was not attended to properly (v. 16) and “snapped at [Aaron’s priestly sons] Eleazar and Itamar” (v. 17). He is heard scolding them, in vv.17-18, with: “Why have you been negligent!?” (My paraphrase.) By way of response, Aaron steps in and says, in effect: “Ok. You’re right. But they did this and they did that. Hey teacher, leave those kids alone!” After he takes up for them, Moses considers his argument and backs off his critique, in v. 20. The back-and-forth between Moses and Aaron makes for a rather odd exchange. Don’t take my word for it; take a moment and read it in the Word yourself. When I did, this odd exchange and moment leapt out and prompted some reflection. What is going on here in the ancient Word, I wondered, and might it have any implications for today’s modern readers?

When one considers how chapter 10began with Aaron’s two other sons, Nadab and Abihu, invoking God’s ire for not properly attending to the Tabernacle’s particulars, and being summarily executed, it’s understandable that Aaron would be a bit edgy when his other two sons—novice priests, themselves—become the object of Moses’ displeasure, for screwing up a major sacrifice in the Sanctuary. By way of response, one hears Aaron immediately taking up for them to stave off further chagrin. I imagine he’s particularly mindful of the consequences for not adhering to proper Tabernacle protocol, given that the chapter opens with a painful reminder to that effect. So much for face value, now let’s dig a little deeper.

In 9:15, Aaron, himself, was told to offer this offering—with no mention of his sons assisting. While I make room for delegation every now and again, the point is that he was principally responsible for the offering—and thus for the impropriety noted here. Rashi alights upon this and says Moses takes on Aaron’s sons, Eleazar and Itamar, so as not to cast aspersions on Aaron and the dignity of the High Priest’s office. Leaving the merits of this assumption aside, J. H. Hertz says, against the backdrop of the deaths of Nadab and Abihu, “they [all] didn’t deem themselves in a state of purity to share in the solemn rite” (Hertz, Pentateuch & Haftorahs, pp. 447-448). For him, assuming I understand him correctly, brazen disregard is less the issue here, than humility and a general feeling of unworthiness. In short, with Nadab and Abihu’s deaths still very fresh, and the internalized pain very raw, seeing themselves as sinners too, Eleazar and Itamar were reluctant to eat the sin offering. Was this a mistake, even so? Yes. But Moses was satisfied with the response (v. 20), and he moved on.

Before we move on ourselves, let’s consider a few applications. First, the misconception that God is an angry God given to snapping out on every one and throwing folk into hell for every infraction is simply not borne out by even a casual reading of the Mosaic literature. It’s not how Jews see him, and it’s simply not who he is. God is gracious. Secondly, note that motive is more important than motion here: at the chapter’s opening, the priests’ mistake evolved out of a casual indifference toward their priestly tasks—spirited along, perhaps, by their being intoxicated while attending to them; here, at the close, the misstep is spirited along by a very sober reverence—a fear of the Lord. With this as the case, judgment is averted: because God looks at the heart and not just at the fact that someone didn’t do their part.

This good news from ancient Jews is good news for me and yous. There is no word for “yous,” of course; I invented it because it rhymes. I wanted my point to impose itself on your brain and stick there. Why is that? Yeshua beckoned his followers to look deeply and to “not judge by appearance, but judge righteously” (Jn. 7:24). This, of course, comports perfectly with the Torah’s oft-stated premiums on looking into matters deeply, inquiring of particulars diligently and judging people and circumstances righteously. May we all do so in our affairs with others, and recall how our gracious God does so in his assessments of us.

Perhaps Pink Floyd’s kids didn’t need their teacher’s “mind control,” as the rebellious song goes, but we need ours. May biblical faith and virtue grow within us and renew our minds, along with a healthy reminder of the grace of God toward us—something amply attested in this week’s Torah reading.

Jeffrey Seif is available at drjeffreyseif@aol.com

Keep That Fire Burning

Parashat Tsav, Leviticus 6:1-8:36

By Monica Roush, Beth Messiah Congregation, Montgomery Village, MD

Have you ever heard the phrase “on fire for the Lord”?  The metaphor of fire has long been equated with passion, and in my mind this is a Christian saying, not a Jewish one.

I was surprised to find out that the phrase actually stems from this week’s parasha!

The fire on the altar shall remain aflame on it, it shall not be extinguished; and the Priest shall kindle wood upon it morning after morning. . . . A constant fire shall burn upon the altar; it shall never go out. (Leviticus 6:5-6)

Yosef Jacobson has this to say:

“A constant fire shall burn upon the altar” – the altar, in the writings of Jewish mysticism, is symbolic of the human heart, the space in each of us most capable of sacrifice. The heart, however, needs a continuous fire burning in it. For the human heart to live deeply, for it to feel empathy and experience the depth of life and love, it needs to be on fire, passionate, aflame. (Yosef Y. Jacobson, http://www.algemeiner.com/2010/03/26/tzav-“a-constant-fire-shall-burn-upon-the-altar”/)

The Modern Hebrew word for enthusiasm is hitlahavut, being inflamed or impassioned, or . . . “being on fire.” Abraham Joshua Heschel says that hitlahavut is

The experience of moments during which the soul is ablaze with an insatiate craving for God, when the memory of all other interests and the fear of misery and persecution are forgotten. In such instances a man seeks to give himself to God and delights in his being a gift of God. (A. Heschel, “Being Aflame or Having Fire Within,” in A Passion for Truth, New York: Jewish Lights Pub., 2008, p. 333.)

There is a challenge here, if you’re willing to take it. Life has a way of bogging us down with the mundane, with self-doubts, struggles, with whatever it can.  It’s easy to lose focus and forget to continue to “kindle the fire.”

So how do we maintain and continue to foster our own inner altar? Jacobson goes on to say:

There is only one way: “The Priest shall kindle wood upon it morning after morning”.  Each and every day we must place “wood” on our altar, in order to feed its potential flame. Fire cannot exist in a vacuum; the fire in our heart and soul, too, requires “wood” to sustain it . . . it needs fuel.

What is the wood or fuel that is capable of feeding the soul’s flames each day? Study, meditation, charity and prayer. These are daily encounters with the living G-d that allow the fire of the soul to hold on to something and to take root in the human psyche.

A delicious piece of cheesecake, reading and answering your e-mail, listening to the news don’t do the trick of turning on your soul or your inner depth. They lack the properties to stoke the flames of the soul. In the morning, before you do anything else, you need to engage in labor that will let the flame of your soul emerge.

What’s the key to a good marriage, or any relationship for that matter? Communication.  It’s vital to any healthy relationship. This same principle applies to our relationship with HaShem. We must make it a priority to meet with him.

According to the Baal Shem Tov, one’s relationship to God is like a romance. One must be fully and wholeheartedly invested. And as Heschel said: “Faith is fire, not sediment,” meaning it is action. Faith requires active investment. When given that investment it becomes, like fire, necessarily infectious.

According to Jacobson,

Goethe said, a man sees in the world what he carries in his heart. If your heart is aflame, your world that day will be on fire. And you must place the wood on your altar each morning, no exceptions.

Consistency is the key to a meaningful and inspiring day. There are no shortcuts to inspiration; everything comes with a price. The only job where you start at the top is digging a hole. But life is about climbing mountains, not digging holes. And to climb a mountain, you must begin at the bottom.

We have the opportunity to make a difference for good, to bring good in the world, but our course is one of action. We must work at having hitlahavut, at being on fire.

May these words from our Master be readily found near our hearts:

You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven. (Matthew 5:14-16)

The Call across the Divide

Parashat vaYikra, Leviticus 1:1-5:26

by Rabbi Russ Resnik

It’s one of the 100 most-performed songs of the 20th century, the second best single of all time according to Guinness, and number three in Rolling Stone magazine’s list of “The 500 Greatest Songs of All Time.” And here’s what it says:

Imagine there’s no heaven / It’s easy if you try
No hell below us / Above us only sky
Imagine all the people living for today

Imagine there’s no countries / It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for / And no religion too
Imagine all the people living life in peace . . . Copyright © Downtown Music Publishing

This isn’t just a 20th century sentiment, but an idea that is thriving in the twenty-first. The most rapidly growing religious affiliation in the US is the “Nones,” people with “no religion” as John Lennon would put it. In 2014, Nones represented 23% of the US population and 35% of Millennials. Only seven or eight percent of Americans declare themselves atheists or agnostics; so most of the Nones believe that there’s a God or, more accurately, that there’s probably something out there, but this “something” is beyond personality, beyond our knowing, and generally not that relevant. One reason that Nones don’t affiliate is that they think religious people use the idea of God for their own narrow purposes. So if you get too specific in your beliefs about God, you’re suspect. The (dogmatic) truth among the Nones is that all religions are groping toward the same destination, even though they don’t realize it, so any claim to unique truth is invalid.

For the unaffiliated, especially the younger unaffiliated, if you claim to know God, or more outrageously yet, claim that God actually wants to make himself known, you’re part of the problem. If there’s a God, he should keep his distance.

Leviticus dispels this dogma of the undefined God from its first word.

Leviticus opens with Vayikra el Moshe, “And he called to Moses…” Normally, when God speaks to Moses, the verb is amar or davar, used repeatedly throughout the Torah. Vayikra, on the other hand, is used to describe God’s speaking to Moses at only three points in the story.

The first Vayikra came when Moses was out tending his father-in-law’s sheep and saw a bush burning without being consumed by the fire. He turned aside to observe this wonder more closely, “vayikra elav Elohim – and God called out to him from the midst of the bush and said ‘Moses! Moses!’ and he replied ‘Hineni – here I am!’” (Exodus 3:4).

The second Vayikra actually appears twice. When Israel arrived at Mount Sinai, “Moses went up to God and Adonai called to him – vayikra elav – from the mountain” (Exodus 19:3). Later, Moses went back up to receive the stone tablets, “and the cloud covered the mountain. The glory of Adonai rested upon Mount Sinai, and the cloud covered it for six days. And he called to Moses – vayikra el-Moshe – on the seventh day from the midst of the cloud” (Exodus 24:15-15).

The third Vayikra is here at the beginning of our parasha. Exodus concluded with the tabernacle or tent of meeting in place, filled with the glory-cloud of God’s presence so that Moses could not go in. The cloud rested upon it “in the sight of all the house of Israel throughout all their journeys, and the Lord called to Moses and spoke to him from the tent of meeting” (Ex. 40:38b – Lev. 1:1).

The glory-cloud keeps Moses at a distance; the voice of Adonai calls him near.

This glory-cloud God is not the abstract “something out there” of the no-religion folks. The God of the Bible is awesome, transcendent—and actively revealing himself to us. He’s a person, who ultimately reveals himself by walking among us in human form—a scandalous idea in our postmodern world. In Exodus this God appears to be unapproachable, but he calls out to Moses, our representative, across the distance of his otherness and awe.

This same dynamic is at work with the other two Vayikras. At the Burning Bush, the fire of God keeps Moses at a distance, but the voice of God calls to him across the distance. Likewise at Sinai; the glory-cloud covers the mountain and no one can approach. But the voice of God calls Moses to come near and hear his life-giving instructions.

The Nones are right to emphasize God’s otherness. We’re wrong if we try to reduce God to our categories or harness him to our agendas. The Nones probably wouldn’t use the term “holiness”, but that’s what they’re sensing. But the unique message of Scripture is that God calls to us across the divide of his holiness. God won’t diminish the impact of his holiness, but he still seeks to bring humanity near. Here is a remedy to our tendency to reduce the divine to our own terms, to produce a user-friendly god, or like the Nones, an irrelevant God. The God of Israel will always transcend our terms, and yet he calls us to draw near. Spiritual growth means embracing God’s transcendence, at the same time as we listen for his call across the divide.

God’s call to Moses in Leviticus 1 introduces an elaborate system of sacrifice, detailed in the rest of our parasha, and all the way through Leviticus 9. Worship is the goal of the Exodus, so why does Leviticus seem to make worship so difficult? The truth is that the rules of sacrifice and priesthood don’t make worship more difficult; rather, they make it possible. God is ever-present, but his holiness keeps us mortals at a distance. The Levitical system is given, not to impose or maintain the distance, but to bring us near, and to prepare the way for the ultimate Sacrifice who bridges the gap.

God seems abstract, unknowable, totally other to many today, but the God of Scripture reveals himself to be a person, knowable, and near to those who heed his call. This God might even be calling out across the divide, to some of those who’d like to imagine a world where God doesn’t matter.

Learn to Listen

Parashat Ki Tisa, Exodus 30:11-34:35

Jonathan Roush, Beth Messiah Congregation, Montgomery Village, MD

People love to talk but hate to listen. Listening is not merely not talking, though even that is beyond most of our powers; it means taking a vigorous, human interest in what is being told us. You can listen like a blank wall or like a splendid auditorium where every sound comes back fuller and richer. (Alice Duer Miller)

Our portion this week opens with Exodus 30:11: “The Lord spoke to Moses saying…”

Drift down to verse 17: “The Lord spoke to Moses saying…”

Verses 22 and 34. Chapter 31:1 and 12. Chapter 32: 7 and 9.

Over and over again we see one party talking and one party listening.

Of the five senses that we have (see, smell, taste, touch and hear) hearing is, arguably, the one we have the least amount of control over. We cannot help what we hear. However, we do have incredible control over what we choose to listen to. Could the exacting details of God’s instructions have been communicated to the Israelites if Moses had not been listening?

Ours is a world that can’t stop talking. Yet at the center of Jewish faith and practice is the Shema, the call, the command to listen: “Shema Yisrael! . . . Listen Israel!” Interestingly enough, the world “listen” is an anagram of the word “silent” in English. How else can we listen unless we are silent?

It’s not for nothing that the Torah records the phrase “The Lord spoke to Moses” (or some form of this phrase) no fewer than 21 times in this parasha alone, while there are only six or so moments recorded of Moses talking to God. The emphasis is clear. Are we listeners?

Proverbs 15:28 encourages us that “The heart of the righteous ponders how to answer,” yet author Stephen Covey once noted, “Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.” This breakdown between hearing and intentional listening results in an isolating fracture. Not only between us as individuals, but also between us and God. We all need to be heard because listening is an act of engagement. It’s the foundation of relationship.

In a 2014 sermon Rabbi David Wolpe said that people unfold slowly. “They give new dimensions, different colors, different vectors, different ideas of who they are, where they’ve been and where they’re going each time we engage with them.” Obviously, this requires us to spend time, and it takes real effort.

This stands directly opposite of the world we live in. The world moves so quickly now. Nearly anything is available to us at the touch of a button. Have a question? I can have answer for you in a matter of seconds. Want to see a movie? You don’t even have to go to the theater or the video store, you can stream it on your TV. Want some food? Hop down the street to a fast food place or better yet order in. Want to see the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel? Pull up a photo online. Want to talk to friend? Drop them a text.

We’ve replaced experience with expedience (pseudo-experience)!

It’s not that these things don’t have a useful place in our lives, but would anyone argue that these represent the best, most meaningful and fulfilling ways to experience life? We’ve grown accustomed to the idea that if we can’t get it done quickly, then it’s not really worth doing. Yet, as Rabbi Wolpe notes, one of the effects of this lightning-quick age of technology is that “we know ourselves less well, other people less well and the world less well. We have much more information but less insight.”

There are some things you simply cannot shortcut or shortchange.

By taking the time to listen,

we engage in a way that changes both ourselves and the people we interact with. In music, the way we listen has an immediate effect on the unfolding of what is happening in the ensemble. We are not just each playing our individual instruments at the same time, but rather we are playing together. Our listening and actions are inseparable. (What Does it Mean to Listen by Michael Gold.)

This is not just true of music. This is true of our lives, our relationships with each other and
with God. Moses was changed through the time he spent listening on the mountain.

He was there with the Lord for forty days and forty nights; he ate no bread and drank no water, and he inscribed upon the tablets the words of the Covenant, the Ten Commandments. And it came to pass when Moses descended from Mount Sinai, and the two tablets of the testimony were in Moses’ hand when he descended from the mountain and Moses did not know that the skin of his face had become radiant while God had spoken with him. Exodus 34:28-30

That fact that Moses was physically altered is a beautiful word picture of this dynamic listening.

Albert Einstein said:

A human being is part of the whole . . . limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings, as something separate from the rest—a kind of optical delusion of consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.

We may not have 40 days on a mountain, but we do have Shabbat. We stop and we work to focus our attention and intention more than any other day. On Shabbat we work harder not just to hear, but to listen. To listen to each other, to listen to creation around us, and to uncover the voice of God in it all.

Purim and the Hidden Messiah

Purim—the festival of Esther—is the most light-hearted of the Jewish holidays. Perhaps that’s what leads the sages of the Talmud to ask, “Where is there an allusion to Esther in the Torah?” (Chullin 139b). They answer with a reference to Deuteronomy 31:18, where God warns Israel of exile to come: V’anochi haster asteer panai, “And I will hide, yes hide my face.” Asteer – “hide” – sounds like Esther. So does the term hester panim, to hide the face, which describes the conditions of Israel’s long exile. Rashi wrote, “In the days of Esther there will be hester panim, hiding of the divine countenance.” Accordingly, there is no mention of God in the whole book of Esther.

Purim, then, is the festival of exile, a time when God seems hidden, which extends even to this day. Believers in Messiah, however, might not think of themselves as being in exile. If Messiah is risen and present among us, how can we say that God’s face is hidden?

Isaiah 53:1 provides a vital clue:

Who has believed our report?

And to whom has the arm of the LORD been revealed?

Ironically, the phrase “arm of the Lord” normally describes the mighty and undeniable acts of God. “Arm of the Lord” reminds us of Passover, which comes just a month after Purim, when God revealed himself openly both to Israel and to Egypt by a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. “Arm of the Lord” is almost a synonym for revelation of the Lord, but Isaiah asks whether there is anyone who has seen it. We again confront hester panim, God alive and well, but hidden.

The Gospel of Mark sounds this same theme. It opens announcing, this is “the Good News of Yeshua the Messiah, the Son of God,” (1:1) and goes on to record the testimony of Yochanan the Immerser (1:7–8), and a voice from heaven: “You are my Son, whom I love; I am well pleased with you” (1:11). Even the demons recognize that Yeshua is the Son of God (1:24, 3:11, 5:7), but Yeshua silences them. Indeed, he repeatedly instructs those who experience his healing power to tell no one about it (1:44, 3:12, 5:43, 7:36, 8:26). When Yeshua visits his own hometown, the people ask, “Where did this man get all this?” (6:2-3). Rather than recognizing him as Messiah the Son of God, they take offense at him. His own disciples, when Yeshua performs the great miracle of calming a storm on the Sea of Galilee, ask “Who can this be, that even the wind and the waves obey him?” (4:41).

Mark has announced who Yeshua is, but there’s still something hidden about him, and we, the readers, get drawn into the question, “Who can this be?” If we answer too quickly, we’re bound to get it wrong, because Yeshua hides that he is Messiah to reveal what kind of Messiah he will be. He turns the normal expectations of his day, and our day, on their head. As Purim reminds us, things are not as they appear. Those who seem powerful and in control will be put in their place by outsiders, including a God who is hiding.

The turning-point in Mark comes when Yeshua takes his disciples off to a retreat, and asks them on the way, “Who do people say that I am?” Peter nails it: “You are the Messiah,” but Yeshua orders them not to tell anyone else (8:27-30).

The secret is out, but now Yeshua focuses on the suffering and crucifixion he must endure to fulfill it. Furthermore, Yeshua reveals that even after he rises from the dead there will be continuing exile and persecution—the hidden face of God—until he returns (13:33-37).

Yeshua hides his Messianic identity to ensure that his followers understand what kind of Messiah he is. But he has another purpose in remaining hidden; to prepare them for the long period between his resurrection and his return in glory, when he will often seem hidden, and his followers may be tempted to lose hope and become complacent. Instead, Yeshua warns us to stay alert, to believe actively, and to serve him before all else as we watch for his return.  The way of loyalty to a hidden Messiah is different from what we might choose for ourselves. And it’s definitely different from the way carved out by the religious consumerism of our day.

Purim reminds us of Isaiah’s question, “to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed?” And Purim provides the answer: it will be revealed to those who actively rely on him, despite the delays and disappointments of exile. In the same way Yeshua, who seems hidden to many, who fails to meet the expectations that this world cherishes, is the source of deliverance to Israel and the nations. Purim reminds us to remain faithful to Yeshua’s words and example during this time of hester panim, the hiding of God’s face.

Rabbi Russ Resnik

The Story of Us

Parashat Tetzaveh, Exodus 27:20-30:10

Rabbi Isaac Roussel – Congregation Zera Avraham

Once a year the Queen of England addresses parliament. She enters through a special door, only to be used by the reigning monarch, which leads directly into the House of Lords. She sits on her throne, turns to her steward and says “Fetch the rabble.” The steward then marches down the long corridor separating the House of Lords from the House of Commons. As the ministers of the Commons see him coming they slam the door in his face. He raps on the door three times with his large staff and shouts, “The queen demands your attendance.” At that point, they open the door and process down the corridor and listen to the queen’s address.

What caused such an unusual ritual?

Well, on January 4, 1642, King Charles I stormed the House of Commons seeking to arrest four ministers of parliament that he suspected of treason. He was unable to do so because they had fled. But this intrusion eventually led to the English Civil War and ultimately Charles I’s beheading. Some years later when his son Charles II was enthroned, the ruling monarch was permanently banned from the House of Commons and this ritual evolved.

So what does this have to do with us?

This ceremony has become part of the shared story of the people of Great Britain. As Jews, we too have our shared story. The Torah is full of commands from Hashem. In recent parashiyot we have commandments for the construction of the Mishkan (Tabernacle) and the sacrifices. In today’s parasha we have commandments for how to make the vestments for the cohanim (priests). But our tradition also includes human-ordained commandments. We have rabbinic commandments such as not mixing meat and dairy, and lighting Shabbat candles 18 minutes before sundown, and definitions of what constitutes work on Shabbat. Chanukah is a holiday ordained not by God but by the Rabbis. And we have the upcoming holiday of Purim, which is a biblical holiday but is not expressly commanded by God.

Some reject these human-ordained commandments because they did not come directly from God. They do not understand that the story of Israel is not just about God, but about our covenant with God, our relationship with God. Sometimes you will hear Christians refer to history as “HIStory.” While I understand the sentiment, the fact is that it is not just HIStory but it is OURstory. It is the story of Israel and Hashem, with the Church grafted in through the agency of Yeshua.

These commandments, though, are in decreasing authority. The highest level commandments are those given by Hashem in the Written Torah. The next level is Halacha, Oral Torah, the decrees of our Sages. (I frequently use the analogy of the Written Torah being the US Constitution and the Oral Torah being the case law that plays out the practical aspects.)

Next in importance are the minhagim, customs. There are universal customs such as the lighting of Yahrzeit candles. This is not a mitzvah but a custom, and why we do not recite a blessing before doing so. But each congregation also has its own local customs. A Purim custom in our congregation seeks to honor not only Mordechai but also Esther. So when we read the Megillah we not only yell “Yay!” for Morty, but also “You go girl!” for Esther. And we have a recently developed another minhag where two of our women, whose Hebrew names are Devorah and Yael, get aliyahs for the parasha that has the story of the prophetess Devorah and the tent-peg-wielding Yael.

We also have personal customs. One of my personal minhags is based on a midrash that is especially meaningful to me. It speaks of the eternal silent Aleph that daily radiates out from Mount Sinai calling all of humanity to Hashem. During the Torah procession I always try to kiss the Torah with my tzitzit on the Aleph that is on the mantle or breastplate.

I was talking to a friend of mine recently who told me that he was very depressed last fall and was walking in the woods while it was raining. He suddenly felt God’s presence in a powerful way and felt like God was telling him that he too was crying over all the problems. This has become a part of his personal story.

But our personal stories join with our communal stories and with God’s story to become OURstory. Therefore, we do not reject rabbinic mitzvot out of hand (though we may wrestle with them) and we honor our Sages’ writings such as the Talmud. They are part of our story with God.

I would like to go a bit further, however, and say that God is really in these things, just in less obvious ways. God is not mentioned at all in the Purim story and yet he is behind the scenes working to accomplish his will. God is behind our customs. He is in our desire to honor heroic women as well as men. And God is in our personal stories of encountering him in the rain. One could dismiss all of these and say that Purim was just a matter of politicking, and that God really wasn’t there in the rain. But faith says that he was. My first spiritual director, Byron Hosmer, of blessed memory, had a plaque hanging on the wall with a Latin inscription. It said, Vocatus atque vocatus deus aderit; “Bidden or unbidden God is present.”

As we celebrate Purim this coming week, let us reflect on this. Let us reflect on the fact that it is not only HIStory but OURstory. Let us reflect on the fact that Torah, Halacha, universal customs, local customs, and even our personal customs that come from our own experiences, all make up this Grand Story. It is a story that started when God chose Israel. It is a story that continued as he gave us the Besorah of Messiah Yeshua and grafted in the Church. It is the Story of God and Us!