Stop the Spread of Evil Speech

Image from the TV series “Gossip Girl”

Parashat Metzora, Leviticus 14:1–15:33

Dr Jeffrey Seif, UMJC Executive Director

When introducing me as guest speaker at Congregation Mayim Chaim on April 13, 2024, Rabbi David Tokajer quipped: “I’m glad Rabbi Jeffrey Seif is here to talk about Parashat Tazria because I’d rather not.” My hunch is the reluctance expressed in jest had nothing to do with his being afraid of Leviticus 12:1–13:59, as much as it did with the fact that the passages in both last week’s and this week’s readings (Leviticus 12–13 and 14–15) are so far removed from contemporary experience that it’s difficult to find a modern-day application. The readings both weeks speak to, for, and about communicable skin diseases. This week’s reading, Parashat Metzora, alights upon the post-partum quarantine of mothers, upon priests acting as medical inspectors examining dermatological anomalies, upon priests examining and condemning properties, and more. It’s tough to preach from.

Unlike today—where we operate in a world that places a premium on distinguishing between the secular and the sacred (e.g., the premium placed on separating church and state)—in the world of Leviticus, priests served in various capacities as agents of a theocratic state. In that regard, though they occasionally attended to sacerdotal functions, they also served as medical inspectors, building inspectors, and more.

Priests functioned in another time and in another world, one far removed from our own. Challenges associated with bringing light from this ancient parasha to bear on modern experience notwithstanding, oddly for me, it was while I was working on this particular section of hard-to-tackle biblical literature that I got my first “ah-ha!” lightbulb moment as a young spiritual leader and exegete.

While wrestling with Leviticus, and reading through the commentary of former chief rabbi of the British Empire Dr J. H. Hertz, I was struck by his treatment of Leviticus 13:1ff. Commenting on the skin diseases noted therein (that is, “leprosy”), he informed us: “[Some] rabbis regard leprosy as a Providential affliction in punishment for slander or tale bearing; thus teaching that the slanderer is a moral leper, and should find no place in the camp of Israel” (Pentateuch & Haftorahs, 461). Though I’m not personally convinced that leprosy is a providential affliction, I was struck by a recollection that another Jewish sage, Rabbi Sha’ul (Paul), insinuated as much in 2 Timothy 2:14–18. Therein, in v. 16, he beckoned Timothy to “avoid godless chatter,” noting in v. 17 that worthless, ill-spoken “words will spread like cancer” (TLV and NKJV). Closer to the actual Greek, other versions replace “cancer” with “gangrene” (cf. NIV and RSV), given that Sha’ul uses the Greek gangraina—that is, the well-known skin condition denoting tissue death.

Different renditions aside, we do well to note that, with other rabbis, Rabbi Sha’ul correlated reckless speech with an infectious skin disease that starts off as a small infection, grows if left unchecked, and eventually consumes and kills the body as it expands. James says as much, too. For his part, James, like Moses and Sha’ul, spoke to, for, and about the deleterious power of the tongue. In James 3:8, for example, he likened the tongue to a “restless evil, full of deadly poison” (TLV). In so doing, James—better, Ya’akov—parroted the Jewish premium on avoiding lashon hara, that is, an “evil tongue.” His noting inherent problems with evil speech dovetails with the scourge associated with malicious gossip and misinformed speech noted in this week’s Torah portion.

Better understanding traditional Jewish interpretations and applications in Leviticus chapters 12–15 enabled me to better understand what a New Testament writer was saying in 2 Timothy 2:17. Something I dimly saw in black-and-white suddenly burst forth in Technicolor. The confluence, for me, is the power Jewish studies brings to bear on New Testament understanding. Refracting the “Good News” through the eyes of the Jews is the benchmark of Messianic Jewish theology—something I have been engaged in as a professor for 34 years. Bonding together as a community, with a mind to creatively abide in both the Old and New Testament worlds (Jewish and Messianic / Jews and Gentiles) is the trademark of Messianic Jewish congregational life—something we abide in. We work with the Good News through the eyes of the Jews and endeavor to live out the insights and implications together.

“Togetherness” can get a little messy. The movement is new and there’s considerable variance amongst adherents. I encourage patience with one another, believing it best we grant others space to work out the essence and substance of Messianic Jewish faith and orthopraxy. I believe it’s important to give grace—not just space; sometimes we can be guilty of (how can I put it), lashon hara—evil speech.

Have you ever heard of the “Ink Blot” test? A Danish physician named Herman Rorschach asked individuals to describe what they saw when they observed ink splattered on a piece of paper in a clinical setting. Viewing a mushroom configuration on a paper, for example, some described it as an atom bomb blast, a ping pong paddle, a mushroom, or whatever . . . there was no right or wrong answer. It is a projective analysis test, with people eventually describing themselves by the things they were purporting to describe.

As individuals proceeded through a variety of ink blots, patterns emerged on how they processed and evaluated images. I’m less interested in giving a psychological assessment lesson than I am in noting that individuals who are excessively and incessantly critical of persons, circumstances, or places do more to describe their own interior negative dispositions than the things they purport to describe.

People who traffic in gossip about people they really don’t know, and about situations where they’re really not privy to the necessary details, say more about themselves than anything—and they hurt three people in the process. First, they injure their own humanity by trafficking in gossip; second, they take a piece out of the person they are talking about, and then, third, they injure the person they are talking to. In Proverbs 16:27, gossiping lips are likened to a “scorching fire,” and in v. 28, those with loose lips are referred to as “perverse” because they “separate close friends” (TLV).

For these reasons, it seems to me that our rabbis got it right when noting the deleterious effects of slander, much as Rabbi Sha’ul hit the nail on the head by likening bad speech to a cancer or gangrene that starts as a small blot and then destroys the body as it grows. Cognizant of this as I am, I’m reminded of the necessity to be more tolerant of theological variance, patient with those who don’t think like me, and more guarded in the way I speak. With Passover in view, permit me to remind us of the necessity of taking out the old leaven, in this case that of degrading speech— lashon hara. We want to build up and not tear down. There are lots of problems in this world; by following principles noted in this week’s Torah portion I can better position myself to be part of the cure—and so can you!

Doctors of the Soul

Parashat Tazria, Leviticus 12:1–13:59

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

 The kohen shall look at the affliction on the skin of the flesh: If the hair in the affliction has changed to white, and the affliction’s appearance is deeper than the skin of the flesh—it is a tzara’at affliction; the kohen shall look at it and declare him contaminated. (Leviticus 13:3)

The Torah requires that the kohen, or priest, examine the person with tzara’at, an apparently severe and contagious skin affliction that is often wrongly translated as leprosy. Yet here in Leviticus chapter 13, the kohen is asked to observe it twice in the same verse. So why is there this obvious redundancy? Rabbi Yisrael Yehoshua Tronk of Kutno, a 19th century posek (a recognized decider of halakha) opined that it is incumbent when one sees an afflicted person that he also sees him as a whole person. The kohanim were in a sense the “doctors of the soul.” This is the role of a kohen, to restore the person to wholeness—to have the imagination to see beyond a person’s present brokenness, and to recognize his or her own power to heal.

Rabbi Yehoshua of Nazareth, the greatest posek of all, is also the Kohen Gadol, the Great High Priest in heaven and earth. The Besorot (Gospels) record many stories of Yeshua healing individuals who are broken. In Luke 14, he chose to heal a man whose entire body was bloated as the result of tzara’at. The healing occurs in the home of a prominent Pharisaic scholar. Apparently, the sick man is in some way related to the household and is just lying suffering and, we might infer, dying. What is ironic is that the group of men who were present had the power to heal but they were largely unaware of it. It was an untapped power, since they preferred to stand in judgment rather than invite the man to the table and see him as anything other than a lost soul. Only those who know they are broken can offer healing to others.

Some people are not healed because they choose not to be healed. Yeshua once came upon a paraplegic at the pool of Beit-Zata who had been sitting there for years waiting to be lowered into the reputedly therapeutic waters. Yeshua asked the man the most enigmatic question: “Do you want to be healed?” (John 5:1–6). The question seems so counter-intuitive. Why else might a sick man wait for therapy? Still, so many people avoid healing, both intentionally and inadvertently. They often lower their ideals to accommodate their present inability to fulfill their potential. Oddly, many people would rather languish in pain and isolation than risk the failure of trying and trusting. Therefore, Yeshua’s simple remedy was to ask the man to pick up his mat and walk. We are often crippled by our own fear of trying.

I have always been amazed and inspired by the story of Zacchaeus (Luke 19:1–10). Zacchaeus is a tax collector who climbs a tree to get a glimpse of Yeshua. From the reading we can deduce what is obvious in the social-historical context of the text. Tax collectors were considered “sinners,” collaborators with the illegitimate and pagan government. Yeshua’s rhetoric, though, would say anything but that: “Zacchaeus come down immediately. I must stay at your house today.” Yeshua goes on to describe Zacchaeus as a “son of Abraham also.” Yeshua is not merely appealing to Zacchaeus’s lineage, rather to a promise of Torah, which in that social context had long since been domesticated and dismissed when it came to Zacchaeus and those like him. The point here is that Zacchaeus accepts Yeshua’s counter-verdict and begins the process of living up to it, giving half his possessions to the poor and paying back four times what he has gained illicitly, twice the degree of repentance prescribed for such an act in Torah. Zacchaeus’ desire and effort to be spiritually healed is matched and encouraged by Yeshua’s desire to see him as he can be rather than as he presently is.

I’d like to offer one more example, this one of a modern-day kohen and the spiritually broken metzorah (“leper”) who crossed the threshold into his life. The story is recorded in the 1995 book, Not by the Sword: How a Cantor and His Family Transformed a Klansman by Kathryn Watterson, and it remains sadly relevant in our current climate of rising antisemitism worldwide. 

Michael Weisser was a trained conservative cantor, recently graduated and ordained as such. He was offered the position as spiritual leader of a small synagogue in Lincoln, Nebraska; a synagogue that did not have the resources or appeal to call an ordained rabbi. But, shortly after moving his family into a house on Randolph Street in Lincoln, he began to receive threatening antisemitic phone calls. “You’ll be sorry you moved into 5810 Randolph Street, Jew boy.” The calls became more frequent and were accompanied by letters as well. They were all coming from a man named Larry Trapp who had connections and credentials from several white supremacist organizations. He had been terrifying Jews and other minorities in Lincoln for almost a decade.

The truth is that the terrifying specter of Larry Trapp was merely an illusion. Trapp was a severe diabetic who had already lost both legs to amputation and was confined to a wheel chair. He was a sad, angry, disenfranchised man, a victim of abuse himself, who used terror to try to regain some control over his world in lieu of the acceptance he craved. One day when Trapp called, Cantor Weisser and his wife inexplicably began to read Psalms to him over the phone. Following a series of strange developments during subsequent calls, Cantor Weisser went to visit the man who still was a symbol of fear to his family. He was shocked to see the broken man who had previously terrified him and was appalled at the squalor in which he lived. He continued to visit Larry Trapp until his health had faltered so severely that he could no longer care for himself. Trapp moved in with the Weisser family, and, in a still stranger turn of events, converted to Judaism and became a member of the family. He lived with the Weisser family for years, and they became his caregivers until his physical maladies from years of abuse overcame him. He was buried in a Jewish cemetery and was remembered fondly by many of the people in the community whom he had previously terrorized.

 To be healed we must see ourselves as whole. To fill our role as a nation of kohanim we must see others also as whole. Let us then rise to the occasion.

This commentary first appeared in slightly different form on UMJC.org in 2021.

Being the Chosen People is Dangerous

Illustration from the Szyk Haggadah

Parashat Shemini, Leviticus 9:1–11:47
Rachel Wolf, Beth Messiah, Cincinnati

 “I will dwell among the children of Israel and will be their God.” (Exodus 29:45)

 As the nation in whom God dwells, Israel is in grave danger. (Michael Wyschogrod)

 And the Lord said to Moses, “Go down and warn the people, lest they break through to gaze at the Lord, and many of them perish.” (Exodus 19:21)

 God’s Dwelling

For most of Exodus, and thus far in Leviticus, we are reading about a special tent, the tent of meeting, commanded by God to be built by Israel’s most gifted artisans. This is to be God’s dwelling place in the midst of Israel. Because of the presence of the Holy God in the midst of a sinful people, there are many rules and barriers set up to avoid death to those who would venture too close, or improperly, to the Presence of God.

If this is true for Israel as a whole, God’s priestly nation among the nations of the world, how much more for the family of Aaron, chosen to be the priestly family of the priestly people, called to minister at the very altar and dwelling of God’s Presence? The great tragedy in this week’s portion makes the danger of election all too evident.

Now Nadab and Abihu, the sons of Aaron, each took his censer and put fire in it and laid incense on it and offered unauthorized fire before the Lord, which he had not commanded them. And fire came out from before the Lord and consumed them, and they died before the Lord. (Lev 10:1–2)

Aaron and his sons, in last week’s portion, had just presented many offerings of consecration for their own appointed roles in the priestly service of the altar and sanctuary. They had, moreover, completed their consecration period, by remaining in their holy garments for seven days at the door of the tent of meeting. Here, they ate only “clean” food specified for them by God.

The Glory of the Lord Will Appear to You

At the beginning of this week’s portion, God directs Moses to bring a final series of consecration offerings - burnt offerings and sin offerings - both for the priests and for the people.

So [the people] brought what Moses commanded before the tabernacle of meeting. And all the congregation drew near and stood before the Lord. Then Moses said, “This is the thing which the Lord commanded you to do, and the glory of the Lord will appear to you.” (Lev 9:5-6)

When all the offerings were completed, thereby officially making Aaron and his sons ready for their priestly duties, Aaron lifted his hands and blessed the people. Aaron and Moses entered the sanctuary. When they came out, they both blessed the people again.

And fire came out from before the Lord and consumed the burnt offering and the fat on the altar. When all the people saw it, they shouted and fell on their faces. (Lev. 9:24)

 This is reminiscent of Elijah on Mount Carmel:

Then the fire of the Lord fell and consumed the burnt sacrifice, and the wood and the stones and the dust, and it licked up the water that was in the trench. Now when all the people saw it, they fell on their faces; and they said, “The Lord, he is God! The Lord, he is God!” (1 Kings 18: 38-39)

In both cases, the people were rightly afraid. God is powerful! And dangerous!

Tragically, it seems that two of the four sons of Aaron were acting disrespectfully, or possibly just hastily, by offering “profane fire before the Lord which he had not commanded them.”

Immediately “fire went out from before the Lord and consumed them.” These are the exact same Hebrew words that are written just two verses before, to describe the event Moses referred to as the “glory of the Lord” appearing: “fire went out from before the Lord and consumed the burnt offering” (9:24).

This danger inherent in closeness to God, whether by physical proximity or spiritual identification, can be seen as two-fold:

First, there is the danger that comes from God Himself. God is Holy. Creatures tainted by death cannot survive in His presence. Julia Blum has written a book (If You Be the Son of God, Come Down from the Cross), in which she beautifully shows, from the Scriptures, how Israel suffers for being the chosen son of God. Her thesis is that the mark of sonship is suffering and sacrifice. She shows how the punishments of God are a necessary element of the relationship that will eventually turn into blessing. Nevertheless, as in the case of Nadav and Avihu, there is a real element of cause and effect when Israel, especially those in Aaron’s line, fails to obey and listen to God.

Second, there is the great danger from the nations of the world. Jewish theologian Michael Wyschogrod uses this language: “Hated on all sides by those who contest Israel’s election . . . expressing hatred for the God of Israel through the crucifixion of Israel’s body.”

Wyschogrod thought deeply about ways in which Judaism could understand the key beliefs of Christianity. He chose these words with intention: “the crucifixion of Israel’s body.” We see in Genesis 12 that God established a nation from Abraham in order to bless his creation that had gone astray. This could be seen as the overarching purpose of Israel’s election. But there have always been nations, tribes, and individuals that cannot bow to the will of God, who prefer to resist him by attempting to annihilate God’s priestly nation.

And yet, the Passover Haggadah reminds us that, though God wants us to overcome our enemies, the complete victory comes from God’s hand alone. In the Seder, year after year, we read, “For not only one enemy has risen up to destroy us, but in every generation do enemies rise up against us, seeking to destroy us. But the Holy One, praised be God, delivers us from their hands.”

Ezekiel Sees Grace Beyond the Danger

Ezekiel has an amazing eschatological vision of God’s great outpouring of grace upon the people of Israel to deliver us from our mortal enemies. Returning to last week’s haftarah reading, Ezekiel 36:16–38, we see a number of things about this grace.

• We see that God had been furious with Israel, mainly because of murder and idolatry, and, so, scattered them among the nations. (36:18–19)

• We see that by that dispersion, the name of God is profaned by the very fact that the people of Israel are not in their own God-given land. (36:20)

• We see that God is concerned about this, and intends to sanctify His own holy Name by gathering His people from all the nations and bringing them back to His land, that He has given them as an inheritance. (36:21–24) 

 Once God sanctifies his Name in the sight of all the nations of the world by bringing his people back, he does not stop there. Ezekiel’s vision is far-reaching.

In Danger No More

God is about to alter things so completely that his people will no longer be in the mortal danger they have suffered for so many centuries. He determines to sovereignly act so that he will never again have to “pour out his fury” (Ezek 36:18) on his people. Furthermore, they will not again know the violence of the nations: “Nor will I let you hear the taunts of the nations anymore, nor bear the rage of the peoples anymore…” (Ezek 36:15)

In fact, he will change all Israel from the inside. Sovereignly, by his own power.

I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you; I will take the heart of stone out of your flesh and give you a heart of flesh.  I will put my Spirit within you and cause you to walk in my statutes, and you will keep my judgments and do them. Then you shall dwell in the land that I gave to your fathers; you shall be my people, and I will be your God. (Ezek 36:26–28)

Never again to live in the dangerous shadow of chosenness. But to dwell in the presence of God in peace and safety.

Another way we sanctify the holy Name of Hashem is to stand in unity with our people as one. In these dark days of Israel’s suffering, let us continue to stand steadily in prayer for our people; for the war effort, for God to hear and respond to the increasingly loud and lying voices of antisemitism. But most of all, let us, like Moses, intercede for our people, God’s people (as Moses himself reminded God (“These are your people”), praying that he fulfill his promise to put his Spirit within the heart of our people with the prophetic outcome that still speaks to us from Ezekiel.

Honest Worship

Parashat Tzav, Leviticus 6:1–8:36

Mary Haller, Tikvat Israel, Richmond, VA

Our portion this week includes the foundational command given by God to the priests to keep the fire on the altar before the tabernacle burning day and night (Lev 6:8–9). This command can be seen as a constant reminder of our God’s desire to be in communication with his people. He wants to be connected to his creation. As his created beings, it is vital for us to remember he is completely holy, perfect and clean. As humans we are not perfect. I believe we need to enter the presence of the Lord with an honest, open heart. God sees exactly who we are and knows our every thought. We can’t hide anything, so being honest in our worship is essential to presenting our offering as a sweet aroma. 

Let us also keep in mind that the fire would consume what the priests placed upon it. As the fire burned the offering, the smells were sweet and would waft toward the heavens until reaching the Throne of God. This beautiful picture of what a sacrificial offering produces is a learning tool for us today. Leviticus is a book rich with details of sacrifice and offerings. In contrast with previous books of the Torah, the people are not on a physical journey. They remain at a specific location for what turns out to be an important purpose.

Over the past few weeks, we read about the trials associated with Israel’s trek through the desert in the process of leaving behind their past in Egypt and beginning something new. Leviticus (Vayikra in Hebrew) builds upon what was established in Exodus. At first read it may pose more questions than it answers. Much like the journey through the desert the Israelites experienced, Leviticus takes us on a journey through our own metaphorical desert to learn how to find a stronger relationship with our God through intimate sacrifice. Some of us, perhaps, will find God’s love for the first time. Others will journey to find holiness as the only way to God and to learn how God is all holy and only receives holiness.

Living life on planet Earth in 2024 is radically different than it was back at the foot of Mount Sinai. The constant is that the God they honored through meticulous service is the same God we are called to honor today.

In Genesis 8:15–21, Noah was the first to build an altar and offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving to his God for sparing the lives of his family and the animals through the days of the horrific rainstorm. God had given Noah instructions to follow prior to the rains arriving, detailed instructions to build the Ark of safety. Noah showed his love and trust for God by following the instructions and building the Ark. When the rain stopped and the waters subsided, the family exited the Ark. Genesis 8 clearly states Noah offered the best he had in clean animals and birds as a sacrifice showing his heart of thankfulness. The pleasant aroma of sacrifice reached the heavens to be enjoyed by God.

Tzav is our reminder to continue to practice sacrificial worship in our lives today. How do we do this? Let’s take a moment to reflect on two questions. First, what is considered a sacrifice today? And second, where is the altar? 

Today, we don’t have the Temple as in the days of the prophets, and we don’t have a physical place we know as the Holy of Holies. We can’t just step outside of our homes and build an altar that we keep a literal fire on day and night as the priests did in the days of Moses. There are laws to prevent us from searching around our neighborhoods for clean animals or birds. Needless to say, our modern day barbecue grills are not exactly designed for constant readiness. 

After many years of processing, I like to think of my heart’s intent as the fire always ready to carry the sacrificial aroma of my living sacrifice to the Throne of God. My life is the altar upon which the sacrifice is placed. Everything I do and everything I say and think regarding holiness, prayer, serving, sharing the Good News of the Scriptures, and just living are my sacrifices.

Choosing to consistently and intentionally live a life that honors the God of the Torah, in my understanding, is acceptable sacrifice in our modern-day world. We must aim to keep our heart fire hot by choosing to love and live in ways that bring honor to the God of our forefathers. Perhaps it is easier to say living selflessly should be our goal.

Noah’s altar of sacrifice was the picture of newness after the earth had been cleansed. The priestly rituals were designed to keep the tent of meeting pure and holy. Now we live in the days after Yeshua sacrificed all for everyone to have unlimited access to God. The dwelling of God’s heavenly place continues to be open to us through the Ruach.  

What is available to us today is beyond my understanding. We should strive to remember God is holy and his Ruach dwells within each of us who trust in him. “Or don’t you know that your body is a temple of the Ruach ha-Kodesh who is in you, whom you have from God, and you are not your own? For you were bought with a price. Therefore glorify God in your body” (1 Cor 6:19–20).

Trusting God to provide, trusting God to lead, and waiting patiently during challenging times is our sacrifice of worship. In Noah’s day God provided the wisdom needed to face uncertain times. He still does today.

Let us not forget the words of Leviticus 6:6: “Fire is to be kept burning on the altar continuously —it must not go out.” Honest living for God is honest worship.

 Honest worship will send a sweet aroma of sacrifice that will reach our God and bring him honor.

Scripture references are from the Tree of Life Version (TLV).

The Lord Calls Us by Name

Parashat Vayikra, Leviticus 1:1–5:26

Dr. Daniel Nessim, Kehilat Tsion, Vancouver, BC

Vayikra. Being the first word of the book as well as the first word of the first reading of the first parasha of Leviticus, that is what our parasha is called: Vayikra, or in English, “And he called.”

Each of us was given a name shortly after birth and, for most of us, we are still called by that name. When I hear my name, it commands my attention. It identifies me. It also means that the person who has called me knows my name, even if just from a computer readout.

Vayikra is the same term used when God called Moses from out of the burning bush. On that occasion he used Moses’ name not once, but twice (“Moses, Moses!” Exodus 3:4). It meant that he knew who Moses was.

Unlike that first encounter in the wilderness of Midian, this time the call to Moses was accompanied by two other verbs: “and he spoke” and “and he said.” The time frame has changed. Since the first meeting, Moses had led Israel out of Egypt, ascended to the Mountain of Sinai, not once but twice, and was now in the practice of regularly meeting God face-to-face in the Tent of Meeting. Perhaps here we have a suggestion of the more extended instruction that Moses now received from the Almighty. Now, there is more than just calling, but also speaking and saying.

The message that Moses is about to hear is indeed an extended one, and one full of nuances that typically baffle the modern reader. The message of Vayikra is not one where the “One Who Is” makes himself known to Moses alone, but to all the Children of Israel, who by covenant are in permanent relationship to him.

This message comes after Bereishit (Genesis), which can be likened to the basis that the Tent –the place where man could relate with God – was built upon. Further, this message comes after Shemot (Exodus) in which the construction of that Tent is commissioned, and the detailed description of that dwelling place of God is recorded. With that Tent having been assembled, Vayikra begins with carefully arranged details as to what happens in that Place that has been built for meeting God. This is the Ohel Moed – the Tent of Meeting, and what will happen here is the meeting of man with the ineffable.

Now that the Ohel Moed has been built, God makes it clear that his instructions proceed from the Tent, as the Hebrew indicates. מֵאֹהֶל מוֹעֵד. The Lord did not speak to Moses in the Tent, but from it. This has the sense of a decree from a distance. Not a great distance, but a notable one. Whereas Moses usually met with God face-to-face, as we have noted, here there is a degree of separation. Just as in the various terms given to God’s address to Moses (calling, speaking, saying), this adds to the moment of what is about to be taught.

To this day, the teachings of Vayikra (both the parasha and the book) are central to our people. While the sacrificial system ceased with the destruction of the Holy Temple, we continue to pray in the Amidah, “Be favorable, Lord our God, with your people Israel, and turn to their prayers, and restore the service to the inner Sanctuary of your house, and the offering fires of Israel.” Is it the shedding of the sacrificial blood that is yearned for? Rather, it is the restoration of a way of relating to God “as of old.”

God calls to Moses as to a person in relationship with him. He speaks from a Tent that is built so that the Israelites might maintain their relationship with him. The Tent of Meeting. It is in that context that the multitude of sacrifices of different types make sense. These sacrifices were to be a means by which God and Israel could maintain their relationship.

In one sense, all relationships require acts that maintain them. It is something that we all know. Within our relationships there is a constant give and take. Whether by word or deed – even a smile – our relationships are helped and sustained by our gifts to one another. In Vayikra, after calling Moses by name, the Lord then gives detailed instruction as to what those gifts are to be, and how Israel is to maintain their relationship with him.

For some who look in from the outside it is more than easy to conflate all of the sacrifices and the sacrificial system under the concept of atonement. No doubt we are grateful for the essential atonement that has been provided by the self-sacrifice of Messiah Yeshua. In light of that great gift we might miss that Vayikra shows that our relationship with the Creator involves more than that alone. The Lord calls us into a relationship that involves far more than the atonement for our sins which makes it possible. He calls us by name. He asks us to relate to him.

Consider the offerings in this parasha alone. There are burnt offerings that can be offered by any Israelite, according to their ability to afford different kinds of sacrificial animals. These are a pleasing aroma to the Lord. There are grain offerings to the Lord, most of which is to provide food for the priests. Without honey or leaven but always with salt (thus we salt our challah every Shabbat), these are a holy part of the Lord’s food offerings. There are peace offerings, again according to their affordability to the worshiper. These too are for a pleasing aroma to the Lord. There are offerings for unintentional sins, differently specified for priests, all the congregation of Israel, or the individual. These make for atonement, as do the offerings for those who fail to testify to a matter when required to. Lastly, our parasha addresses unintentional breaches of faith to be dealt with via a guilt offering. Accordingly the result of the guilt offering is not only atonement, but forgiveness.

In Psalm 50:13, as Midrash Rabbah notes, the Lord asks, “Do I eat the flesh of bulls, or drink the blood of goats?” Implicit is the message that he is far more interested in the soul of the worshiper than the actual sacrifice. Otherwise, the size of the sacrifice would matter, but it does not. The One who spoke and the world came into being speaks to us today. He desires us to hear his voice. He desires to be in relationship with us.

Vayikra reminds us of the value of offerings that are a pleasing aroma to the Lord, the One who desires to be in relationship with his people and us as individuals. The one who reached out to Moses by name in order to teach Israel how we might maintain our relationship with him. Sacrifices are no longer offered in Jerusalem, but it is certain that he continues to desire relationship with us.

Throughout the Torah and Brit Hadasha, our relationship with God is affected by our relationships with others. As with the Lord, our human relationships need gifts and offerings to thrive. Perhaps a smile for a brother or sister. Perhaps material help, or a kind deed. The Torah acknowledges that many sins are unintentional. Extending forgiveness to those who sin against us can open a door to the freedom of knowing that we, too, have a path to forgiveness for our transgressions.  

The Future Is Now: Hanna-Barbera and the Real Magic Kingdom

Image: Hanna-Barbera Studios

Parashat Pekudei, Exodus 38:21-40:38

Rabbi Paul l. Saal, Congregation Shuvah Yisrael, West Hartford, CT 

When I was a boy in the 60’s my two favorite cartoons were the popular shows The Flintstones and The Jetsons. While Hanna-Barbera Studios produced both, the Flintstones were “the modern stone-age family” while the Jetsons were the “space-age” family of the future. Ironically, though, both families were tongue-in-cheek reflections of 1960’s lifestyle and values.

The Flintstones had all of the 60’s lifestyle expectations, with Stone Age veneers. Their stone-wheel cars would roll up to the drive-in restaurant so they could order a “bronto-burger.” Their humble abode in the Town of Bedrock resembled the low-cost post WWII housing which accompanied the suburban sprawl of the 50’s and 60’s. Even their appliances, such as garbage disposals and hairdryers, ran on the power of prehistoric looking animals. The Jetsons, on the other hand, had flying cars, excessive gadgetry, and robotic servants to help ease their life in cloud scraping hi-rise apartments. Almost prophetically every time-saving convenience had a screen accompanied by robotic voices that sounded like alien invaders in 60’s sci-fi movies. 

Just like the Flintstones, the Jetsons sported 60’s style hairdos and reflected the aspirations and mores of the decade. The women did not work, and the men did everything possible to avoid work. Though the Flintstones represented the blue-collar family and the Jetsons the white-collar family, their mode of operation and goals were identical. So, is there a lesson that can be gleaned by observing the relationship between the Flintstones and the Jetsons? I think there is, and I believe it to be profound. When we speak of what was or what can be, we can only reflect on what we have already known and have experienced. We reconstruct the past and reframe the future based upon our experience of the present.

Could this be the reason that Hashem asked Israel to erect the Mishkan in the wilderness? Did the Creator want Israel to understand what it meant to be truly creative? Is it just possible that he was teaching them precisely what it meant to be co-creators, junior partners in the slow and arduous process of completing the design of creation? Is this why the better part of the second half of Shemot contains instruction and narrative related to the building of the Mishkan? Well, let’s consider this voluminous material.

First, I think it is worth exploring the heptadic structure (structures based upon matrixes of sevens) of the Mishkan accounts. This structure points to the connection between the Mishkan and the order and process by which Hashem created the world. After six days of preparation, Moses enters the cloud that contains the divine presence on Sinai (Exod 24:16). Moses is then given the instructions from the Creator concerning the specifics of the Mishkan construction in seven separate speeches, each distinguished by the formulaic introduction “Hashem spoke to Moses,” or “Hashem said to Moshe” (Exod 25:1; 30:11, 17, 22, 34; 31:1, 12). The seventh speech culminates with God’s instructions for Shabbat observance (31:12–17), punctuated by the divine decree of death for those who violate it.

The seventh speech is followed by the account of the Golden Calf and the ensuing chaos in Israel’s camp, which brings death and division in the ranks. After Moses pleads with God for the people (Exodus 33), the tablets of the covenant are reissued (Exodus 34). The actual building of the Mishkan begins in Exodus 35, initiated by a restatement of the Shabbat commands (35:2–3). The account of the Mishkan building continues through Exodus 40, with continual references to the work being done, “as Hashem had commanded Moshe.” This phrase is most prominent in the last chapter of the account, where it is repeated seven times. The heptadic structure is not only a literary clue that the Mishkan belongs to a covenant of re-creation, but it was also part of a sacred drama that Israel performed each day, thereby making God’s purposes for them part of their DNA. By acting out a new present reality, Israel begins the process of reconstructing the perfect past and reshaping a bright future. A future where they see themselves as a Kingdom of Priests committed to recapturing Hashem’s design for creation.

If failed reliance upon the Creator allowed chaos to ensue and wreak havoc upon the fragile creative order, then obedience to the Creator will inevitably restore the creation to its intended well-being and Shalom. When Israel builds the Mishkan according to the covenantal design of God, the glory of Hashem, which resided in a cloud outside of Israel’s camp, takes residence in the Mishkan following its completion. So, we learn that when we participate in Gemmar Tikkun, the final repair, the Light of Hashem will fill all of the earth.

He built his sanctuary like the heights,

like the earth that he established forever. (Psalm 78:69 TLV)

 We are given a prophetic glimpse into the glorious future through the work, sacrifice, and ascension of Messiah Yeshua, who transcends the past, present and future.

 For Messiah did not enter Holies made with hands—counterparts of the true things—but into heaven itself, now to appear in God’s presence on our behalf. (Heb 9:24 TLV)

The Mishkan does more than complete the cosmic design; it effectively reclaims creational intentions from the disruptive forces of chaos and human sin and re-establishes the Creator’s primordial hopes. Isn’t it amazing what you can learn from cartoons!

A Beautiful Mansion for God

Parashat Vayakhel, Exodus 35:1–38:20

Rabbi Isaac S. Roussel, Congregation Zera Avraham, Ann Arbor, MI

Moshe said to the children of Israel: “See, Adonai has called Betzalel, the son of Uri, the son of Chur, of the tribe of Judah. He has imbued him with the Spirit of God, with wisdom, with insight, and with knowledge.” (Shemot/Exodus 35:30–31)

The Hebrew for the three characteristics listed by Moshe is chochmah (wisdom), tevunah (insight), and da’at (knowledge). Betzalel creates the Mishkan, or Tabernacle, with these three. This is significant because Proverbs declares that God created the world with these same three attributes. Mishlei/Proverbs 3:19–20: “Hashem founded the earth with chochmah; He established the heavens with tevunah; through His da’at the depths were cleaved and the heavens dripped dew.”

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks said, “In creating the universe, God made a home for humanity. In building the Sanctuary, humanity made a home for God.” He asserts that these are the two creations described in the Torah; the universe and the Mishkan. And he points out that there are many literary parallels between them. They are too numerous to delve into in this article, but one of the main parallels is when Israel finishes the Tabernacle. Exodus 39:43 states, “Moshe saw all the work, and — there it was! — they had done it! Exactly as Adonai had ordered, they had done it. And Moshe blessed them.” This reflects God’s declaration at the end of the description of creation that everything He had made was “very good”.

We, too, make a place for Hashem in this world in our own lives. How do we do it? Using these same three characteristics. So let’s delve into their deeper meaning.

Pirke Avot 4:1 states that a chacham (a wise person) is one who learns from all people. Chochmah is related to the word for a fish net (chakah) and is thus viewed as the lowest form of wisdom. It is the collection of information, like casting a net wide and gathering everything in. 

The next higher level is tevunah. The root of this word is binah (understanding) but our Sages relate it to the word banah (bet-nun-hey / to build). Thus it is the ability to take what one has learned and derive new concepts and insights. It is the sorting out of all that was caught in the net, so to speak. 

But one can be an expert with a lot of knowledge, able to see connections with different concepts, and yet not imbibe the spiritual essence of Hashem’s Torah which only comes from deep intimacy with Him. In the Ramban’s commentary on the Torah, he declares that one is able to become a “scoundrel with the permission of the Torah.” (Sadly this has been all too often true throughout the history of all religions). 

This is where the last, and highest, characteristic comes to play. Da’at is not merely knowledge; it means something deeper. Rashi called it “reconciliation.” It is walking so closely to God and so thoroughly imbibing His teachings that we are granted divine inspiration from the Ruach. A modern-day commentator, Rabbi Shmuel Yaakov Burnstein, actually takes it a step further and says that it is a knowing in the Biblical sense, deep intimacy and communion with God. This level of knowledge is understanding that God desires us to not just follow a set of laws, but to internalize and transform our hearts and minds, according to His Way of Holiness. When we reach this level, we have created a place for Him in this world. Our hearts have become a sanctuary, a Mishkan. And our actions flow from this place. 

This is what Messiah Yeshua meant when he said, “the Father is united with me, and I am united with the Father” (John 10:38). He is not describing an ontological reality, that he is divine (which is also true); rather, he is describing a mode of existence, of living in deep communion with Hashem. This is the foundation of the Kingdom of God. Yeshua made a home for his Father in this world, not by merely learning (chochmah), or extrapolating that learning into new ideas (tevunah), but by consistently and daily living at the level of da’at, deep communion with Hashem.

Earlier in John, Yeshua said, “Whoever puts his trust in me, as the Scripture says, rivers of living water will flow from his inmost being!’ (Now he said this about the Spirit, whom those who trusted in him were to receive later)” (John 7:38–39).

This is a life of inspiration from the Ruach! This is a life of deep communion with God, imbibing His holiness and love. This is a life of da’at!

We can see the central importance of this deepest level of knowledge in the fourth blessing of the Amidah. We pray “Favor us with knowledge, understanding and discernment from You. Blessed are You, O Lord, Giver of knowledge.” This last word is actually da’at. Given our line of reasoning, then the sole reference to da’at in the final words of this blessing makes sense. 

Kabbalism has related these three forms of knowledge (chochmah, binah, and da’at) with the first three Sefirot (aspects of God): chesed/lovingkindness, gevurah/might, and tiferet/beauty. When we live a life of da’at, we become the source of living water Yeshua referred to, and we create something beautiful in the world. 

God created a home for us in His creation of the universe. God has created a home for us through the life, death, and resurrection of His Messiah. May we create a home for Him in this world, by not only learning His precepts and understanding their application, but by embracing the very essence of His Holy Torah.

In doing so, it will not only be a home, but a beautiful mansion, out of which will flow living waters of healing and blessing to all around us!

“I Have Called You Friends”

Parashat Ki Tisa, Exodus 30:11–34:55

Dr Jeffrey Seif, Executive Director, Union of Messianic Jewish Congregations

As a rabbi, I work through the parasha every week. I typically read through the portion and, while paying attention to what the text is saying, I look for a feeling, an impulse prompting me to land on a particular passage. My heart bounced all over the place while reading this week’s parasha. I wasn’t sure where I wanted to land, because there are compelling landing strips all over the place.

Moving through it backwards, one alights upon the Lord’s “Thirteen Attributes” (34:6–8), about which much rabbinic ink has been spilt. Moses’ beckoning God to “show me Your glory” (33:18) taps and articulates readers’ interest in experiencing God in worship, much as it resonates with prayer warriors who want to “speak to God face to face” (33:11), and experience His presence and rest (33:14). More intellectually-minded exegetes, forever keen on connecting the dots between Tanakh and New Testament, find connections with a theme that resonates in both: friendship.

In 33:11, Moses is likened to a “friend”—specifically, a friend of God. In the Johannine Gospel, Yeshua is on record promising “friendship” to believers who abide (Jn 15:14). Then, immediately afterwards, He more forcefully reiterates the point and a promise, saying: “I have called you friends” (15:15). It’s hard to overstate the significance: the relationship with God that believers in Yeshua enjoy is akin to Moses’. Friendship is a key in both. The incredibly good news articulated in Exodus 33 and 34, however, is juxtaposed against tragic and agonizing bad news in chapter 32. There, readers learn of the Gold Calf incident, and the judgment that came as a result of it.

There’s agony and ecstasy in this week’s Torah portion. While there’s much I could say from these few pages—and perhaps should say—I am going to limit myself to Aaron’s failure.

Moses’ absence from the people while atop Sinai, in 32:1, created a problem—one not of his making. Moses was gone.… Restless, discontented sorts beckoned Aaron to step into the leadership void. The shepherd sheepishly complied. He bought into a “let’s return to Egypt” narrative, and began the manufacture of a golden calf (32:2–4). Though the principal (Moses) was out of sight for a season, the principle to move forward and not manufacture and worship Egyptian idols most surely would have been present. Would it have been too much to expect Aaron, the High Priest, to resist their press toward its manufacture and return to Egypt? I think not. He, however, solicited donations of gold rings from the Hebrew men’s wives and daughters (32:2) and commenced with the manufacture of the idol (32:5). This surely wasn’t Aaron’s finest hour!

Rashi comes to Aaron’s defense, conjecturing: “Aaron said in his heart: ‘The women and the children cherish their ornaments; perhaps the matter will be delayed and in the interim Moses will come’ [back].” I’m not altogether sure Rashi can know what Aaron said in his heart. That aside, Aaron’s lack of resolve here wasn’t simply a “one off” event. Later, after the Israelites left Sinai, we see how Aaron was yet again drawn into another’s discontent. Spirited along by Miriam’s chagrin this time, Aaron was drawn into her angst and participated in her family rebellion (Num 12:1–2). Rashi conjectures it was Moses’ wife’s beauty that invoked Miriam’s ire. Maybe; maybe not, I don’t know. . . . I do know this though: Aaron’s lack of fortitude and his being too easily swayed is apparent.

So as not to single out Aaron, I’ve long observed how flaky people can be—every now and again. Mindful of it, I’ve long wondered how God gets any work done through us, given various glaring imperfections associated with the human condition. He does. God graciously and patiently bears with our human foibles—and this fact is salient in this week’s parasha.

The Torah follows Aaron’s lackluster performance in chapter 32 with an important statement in Exodus 34:6–7. Therein, in what Judaism refers to as the “Thirteen Attributes of God,” God’s “compassion,” His “gracious” disposition, His being “slow to anger” and “showing mercy to a thousand generations” are stated emphatically. That God is thus minded is not only good news for Aaron but it’s good news for us as well. As we’ve seen, the relationship with God that believers in Yeshua enjoy is akin to Moses’ relationship with God. Friendship is a key in both. To be sure, Aaron’s performance with the golden calf leaves a lot to be desired. It’s not unreasonable to expect better from a spiritual leader. We want leaders to lead us forward, not back to Egypt. My main take away, however, derives from the reminder that God is gracious and bears with us kindly, and in friendship.

Speaking of “bearing” and speaking of “forward”—and as I close—permit me to say the following: Stay tuned for the UMJC’s Kadima: Forward! program. Information on where we’re going will be coming to you in reasonably short order. Forward!

 Jeffrey Seif is the Executive Director of the Union of Messianic Jewish Congregations. He can be reached at jeffreyseif@umjc.org.

The Glorious Garments of Service

Parashat Tetzaveh, Exodus 27:20 – 30:10

Russ Resnik, UMJC Rabbinic Counsel 

You are to summon your brother Aharon and his sons to come from among the people of Israel to you, so that they can serve me as cohanim — Aharon and his sons Nadav, Avihu, El‘azar and Itamar. You are to make for your brother Aharon garments set apart for serving God, expressing dignity and splendor. (Exodus 28:1–2)

The priestly garments of dignity and splendor have something to teach us about humility and self-sacrifice. It’s a paradoxical lesson, and we can consider it from the vantage-point of some instructions Messiah Yeshua gave on the way up to Jerusalem for his final Passover.

Yeshua had told his followers what awaited him in the holy city—betrayal, arrest, and a gruesome execution at the hands of Rome. These grim words were hardly out of his mouth when two of his closest followers, Ya’akov and Yochanan, approached him asking for a special favor, perhaps because Yeshua had also said he’d rise after three days: “When you are in your glory, let us sit with you, one on your right and the other on your left.”

Yeshua tells them, “You don’t know what you’re asking! Can you drink the cup that I am drinking? or be immersed with the immersion that I must undergo?” Ya’akov and Yochanan assure Yeshua that they can, and he says they will indeed share in the cup and immersion of his suffering. “But to sit on my right and on my left is not mine to give. Rather, it is for those for whom it has been prepared” (Mark 10:35–40 CJB).

Yeshua’s response—“it is not mine to give”—can be understood as one of several statements of his apparent limitations in the Besorah of Mark, like his inability to do miracles when he visited his hometown (6:5), or his response to the rich man who called him “Good rabbi”—“Why are you calling me good? No one is good except God!” (10:18). Yeshua is the anointed heir of David, who will come in glory to sit on David’s throne, but God is the ultimate authority and Yeshua can’t simply hand out favors.

The mystery of Yeshua’s divine-human status confronts us here, but there’s another implication of “it’s not mine to give.” In this kingdom, positions of status are not handed out along the usual lines of charisma, clout, and connections. Perhaps Yeshua is not contrasting himself and God so much as contrasting his kingdom and all other kingdoms. Status in his kingdom isn’t gained by the usual means of power and insider access, but is reserved for those “for whom it has been prepared”—a lesson that the rest of Yeshua’s followers need to learn, because they become outraged when they hear about the request of Ya’akov and Yochanan.

But Yeshua called them to him and said to them, “You know that among the Goyim, those who are supposed to rule them become tyrants, and their superiors become dictators. But among you, it must not be like that! On the contrary, whoever among you wants to be a leader must be your servant; and whoever wants to be first among you must become everyone’s slave! (Mark 10:42–44)

For anyone who has yearned to be “seen,” as in today’s jargon, who has struggled with feelings of envy and competitiveness, Yeshua’s words provide a way out. Accept the place God has given you and use that position to serve others.

At first glance, however, the inauguration of the High Priest in this week’s parasha might seem to reflect the sort of exalted leadership and religious hierarchy that Yeshua decries. Aaron, the chosen one, is given “holy garments . . . for beauty and for splendor” (Exod 28:2). But among these garments are hints of the same paradoxical truth Messiah Yeshua is seeking to instill in his followers: Fulfillment in the Kingdom of God doesn’t come from jockeying for a place on center stage, but from serving in the place that God has prepared for us.

The High Priest is to wear a choshen, or breastplate, on which twelve precious stones are set, each one engraved with the name of a tribe of Israel. “So Aaron shall bear the names of the sons of Israel on the breastplate of judgment over his heart, when he goes into the holy place, as a memorial before the Lord continually” (28:29). The High Priest, however gloriously he is clothed, is a burden-bearer. He carries the names of the children of Israel over his heart even in his moment of highest exaltation, when he goes into the holy place and appears before Adonai himself. He is raised up as a leader among his people, yet he is a burden-bearer serving them all. “Whoever among you wants to be a leader must be your servant; and whoever wants to be first among you must become everyone’s slave!”

Furthermore, on the breastplate each of the tribes is represented equally. Each has a set place, a place “prepared” for it, and none is higher or lower than any other.  

Only when every stone was in its place would the priest be able to don the breastplate and thus be fully ready to fulfill his service to the Divine. The instructions for the choshen ensured that there was a place for every tribe and that none’s space dominated any other. By divine design, all of Israel was given their rightful space. (Rabbi Leah Lewis in The Mussar Torah Commentary)

Rabbi Lewis here is highlighting the arrangement of stones as a symbol of humility, which isn’t a matter of self-abasement, or coy comments about how “it’s not about me.” Dignity and humility go hand in hand, and humility means discovering and occupying our rightful space—neither too high nor too low—in God’s design. And as Yeshua teaches us, this rightful space will be one of service to others.

But serving others is such a familiar ideal that we can easily agree to it and then neglect it. The names on the breastplate hint at one way to avoid that pitfall: letting the name of the other person, their identity and their struggles, the realities of their life, matter deep with ourselves, just as Aaron bears the names over his heart. Yes, it’s important to maintain good personal boundaries, but we also need to let others truly matter to us. Out of that connection arises service that’s not an abstract ideal, but real-life action that will mean something in the life of the one we want to serve.  

The breastplate bearing the names of the tribes of Israel, each in its place, reminds us also to embrace our God-given place and not to compare ourselves with the other servants; neither to seek a better position than theirs, nor to grovel in our lowliness. Instead, we’re to serve within the space God has prepared for us . . . and prepared us for, “even as the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve” (Mark 10:45a).

Organized Religion

Parashat Terumah, Exodus 25:1–27:19

Matt Absolon, Beth T’filah, Miramar, FL

And you shall put the mercy seat on the top of the ark, and in the ark you shall put the testimony that I shall give you. There I will meet with you, and from above the mercy seat, from between the two cherubim that are on the ark of the testimony, I will speak with you about all that I will give you in commandment for the people of Israel. (Exodus 25:21–22 ESV)

 Permit me to dive into this week’s reflection with some questions.

Did Moses pray to God?

If Moses were walking the quiet stillness of the desert night, would he hear the voice of God in the same way as he hears it inside the Mishkan, or does Moses save all the conversation for his morning “chat” with God, face to face?

Assuming you had access to the very voice of God, and assuming you were chosen to directly speak to God face to face, what precisely would your prayer life look like?

These questions are asked to explore how God’s voice speaks to us, in different ways, in different places, for different purposes. Clearly, God has called our forefathers into the wilderness to worship him, with the Mishkan at the epicenter of our physical place of worship. The Mishkan, then, is an organized place inside space and time, within which our forefathers and God would meet with one another. The Mishkan is the place where God spoke with Moses.

The intentionality of the design of the Mishkan must not slip from our view. The purity of the gold and silver, the weight, measurements, design, and layout, the soft radiance of the menorah, the rich colors and so forth; all of this sublimity in design, materials, intentionality, planning, focus, hard work, cooperation, was driven by one overarching purpose: to create an organized space where God would dwell with us and speak with us. This effort and purpose are mirrored in the haftarah portion with the building of Solomon’s Temple (1 Kings 5:26–6:13).

This intentionality and purpose gifted our forefathers with a cohesive framework to jointly worship God, a framework that culminates in the creation of the most intense and sacred days of our calendar. Worship was to take place at a specific place, at a specific time, guided by specific people, using specific elements, within a specific ritual, for a specific outcome. Any deviation from the specificities endangered both the priesthood and the community with bearing the full weight of God’s unquenchable fire. To hear God’s voice as a community our forefathers had to organize and regulate their religious services around a given set of mishpatim, rules or ordinances. The religion of our forefathers, of Mount Sinai, of the Mishkan, is an organized religion.

So, we see that the voice of God to Moses, and by extension to the assembly of Israel, came by way of an organized and intentional religious space. It was not random or haphazard. It was not spontaneous or unconstrained. God’s voice came within an organized space and time.

This is not to say that Gods voice can only be heard inside an organized space; clearly this notion is not biblical. But rather, this is to say that God’s voice is heard in a particular way, only through an organized space. When we come to Yom Kippur or Shavuot or Shabbat services, we join together to hear God’s voice in that particular way, as he speaks to us mysteriously as individuals, but simultaneously as a collective flock. Communal worship brings God’s voice to us in a particular way, which can only be heard within the community setting.

Branching out from this pattern is the principle that we should organize our own place of prayer and meditation at home in an intentional and organized way. We should not leave our devotional life to the winds of spontaneity, randomness, and haphazardness. But rather we should be intentional about the time, place, and purpose of our devotional and quiet times before the Lord. When we do so, we create a deliberately organized space where we can hear the voice of God, which can only be heard in that particular way.

It is a very Jewish thing for us to be disciplined in our spiritual walk. The daily and weekly liturgy offers us a framework to communally enter into an organized space and time to hear God’s voice.

May this drash offer a word of strength to those who, in alignment with the worship at the Mishkan, integrate the liturgical prayers into their daily worship; and a word of encouragement to those who find themselves struggling with “organized religion.” I encourage us all to discipline our worship within an organized and intentional space and time so that, like Moses, we might hear God speak with us there.