Parashat Shmini, Leviticus 9:1-11:47; Shabbat Parah, Numbers 19:1-22

This Parasha has been generously sponsored by Lorne Opler in honour his brother, Alan Opler.

"A place for everything and everything in its place."

Baseball season is upon us again, and with the peanuts, popcorn and Crackerjacks come all the rituals inherent to the game. I do not mean the singing of the national anthems and the seventh-inning stretch. One of the joys of watching a ball game is observing the rituals of individual players. Some have particular mannerisms they repeat each time they step into the batter’s box. Nomar Garciaparra is probably among the more entertaining ballplayers in this category. Others have had rituals that take place off the field, such as only eating poultry on the day of the game. (That would be Wade Boggs.) No matter what the ritual, each player is convinced that it helps him do his best.

If you could find a levitical priest, he would nod in agreement with the baseball player. He would understand that performing a sacrifice according to detailed instructions would obviate the need for a sacrifice fly. The baseball player must follow the proper rules of dress for the game; the priest must be appropriately attired. The ballplayer must do things "by the book" for the sake of his team, the levitical priest must also adhere to the rules for the sake of Israel’s relationship with God. You cannot go to bat when it is not your turn in the lineup, much as you would love to take a swing at the ball. There are dire consequences for the team. You can’t offer a sacrifice to God at the wrong time; there are consequences there, too.

Nadab and Abihu found that out the hard way. There they were, shortly after the ordination ceremonies were completed, eager to fulfill their priestly duties: Now Aaron's sons Nadab and Abihu each took his fire pan, put fire in it, and laid incense on it; and they offered before Adonai alien fire, which God had not enjoined upon them. And fire came forth from Adonai and consumed them; thus they died at the instance of Adonai. (Leviticus 10:1-2)

In their zeal, Nadab and Abihu either forget or ignored the detailed instructions about sacrifice. Everything has to be done properly, and that includes the timing. They bring an offering before God which is described as being esh zarah (alien fire.) Nadab and Abihu played with fire and got burned. Their sacrifice was not sanctioned, their timing was off, and it cost them their lives.

What on earth did they do wrong? This question troubled our sages. After all, you would think that the priestly zeal to serve God is something to be lauded.

One explanation is that they were more concerned with themselves than with others.

Moses and Aaron once walked along, with Nadab and Abihu behind them, and all Israel following in the rear. Then Nadab said to Abihu, 'Oh that these old men might die, so that you and I should be the leaders of our generation.'

Talmud, Sanhedrin 52a

Midrash Leviticus Rabbah draws on Leviticus 16:1 for a different explanation: The Lord spoke to Moses after the death of the two sons of Aaron who died when they drew too close to the presence of the Lord. Because the two young priests drew too close to the Divine Presence, Aaron is warned not to come at will into the Shrine behind the curtain, in front of the cover that is upon the ark, lest he die. (Leviticus 16:2)

Being the "player of the game" is secondary to your team winning. Baseball is a team effort and to win you have to abide by the rules. Ditto the sacrificial system; ditto Judaism. There are boundaries, as is evident in Shmini. Nadab and Abihu drew too close, crossed a boundary and suffered the consequences. The sacrificial system is about maintaining order and boundaries. This was made explicit to Aaron: This is a law for all time throughout the ages, for you must distinguish between the sacred and the profane, and between the unclean and the clean. (Leviticus 10:9-10) Throughout the book of Leviticus, the rules and parameters are there for everyone, not just the priests. The laws of found later in the parashah (Leviticus chapter 11) are all about boundaries, about things being out of place. It's not a matter of good and bad but proper order. Peanuts and crackerjacks are fine at a ballgame, chicken soup isn't. A ball hit into stands is a home run, unless it is on the wrong side of the foul post, one millimeter can make it out of bounds. Rule-wise in a ball game, a foul ball is not fair. Food-wise in a ball park, a fowl bowl is not fare. (Sorry, I couldn't resist).

"A place for everything and everything in its place;" this adage attributed to Benjamin Franklin conveys a bit of the mindset found in Leviticus, though it needs to be expanded a bit: proper place, proper time, proper items, and proper behavior. Hmm, that last one can be tough for us to take. We'll get to that in a moment.

Even in ancient times, things could get out of whack. Sometimes when this happened, you brought an offering. At other times, such events prevented you from bringing an offering. For example, persons who came in contact with a corpse were ritually impure and could not nosh on the paschal sacrifice. Why were they impure? Perhaps it had to do with the blurring of boundaries between life and death. To remedy the situation, a red heifer was burned before the priest. Its ashes were used to purify those individuals who had come in contact with a corpse. The details of this ritual (Numbers 19:1-22) are read this Shabbat, which is designated as Shabbat Parah (Shabbat of the Heifer) and occurs just before the month of Nissan, when we celebrate Pesach.

Lest we think that all this is rigid and archaic – just like baseball according to its critics – we find that we too have sensitivity to boundaries. Despite society's championing of individual desires, nonetheless there are limits. The newspapers regularly report on the downfall of leaders who went too far and got burned; whether role models in politics, business, or religion; whether the issue is one of power, greed, or fulfilling personal desires.

The lesson we learn from Shmini is one of limits. No one has complete freedom; there are always consequences. There is yet a more difficult lesson as well: Just because something feels right doesn't mean it is right. It felt right for Nadab and Abihu to bring the offering they did. But boy, were they wrong, even if they meant well! There may have been a fire burning in their hearts, but fire can be destructive unless properly channeled. This is the heart of Leviticus: channeling things properly so they are constructive rather than destructive. Many modern Jews view the rituals of Leviticus as the cold embers of an ancient fire. Its message, though, is a fire that needs to be fanned to ignite in our souls.

Shabbat shalom,
MS

Parashat Tzav, Leviticus 6:1-8:36

The threshold is where our Judaism is tested

Remember Alice who followed the rabbit down the rabbit hole? Her adventure really began when, at the very bottom of the hole, she came upon a series of doors and was unable to open any of them:

However, on the second time round, she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and behind it was a little door about fifteen inches high: she tried the little golden key in the lock, and to her great delight it fitted! Alice opened the door and found that it led into a small passage, not much larger than a rat-hole: she knelt down and looked along the passage into the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she longed to get out of that dark hall, and wander about among those beds of bright flowers and those cool fountains, but she could not even get her head though the doorway…

Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Chapter 1

She eventually made it through. Her choice was somewhat easier than the conundrum faced by the heroine in Frank Stockton's classic short story "The Lady or the Tiger?" . In this story a man is sentenced for the crime of loving a princess. As with all criminals in his community he is brought into an arena with two doors. His sentence is determined by which door he chooses. One choice means immediate death at the mercy of a ferocious feline; the other choice results in marriage to a lovely femme fatale. The twist is that his beloved princess knows who or what is behind each door and gives her lover the signal. But we are never told which door is chosen. This is a life-and-death version of Let's Make a Deal. We seem to have an insatiable curiosity for what lies behind those doors. Will it be the latest car with all the bells and whistles, or just honest-to-goodness bells and whistles?

While the function of doors has not changed, the psychology of doors has. Do we go through a door to get away from it all, or to be part of the action? Put it another way: Do you prefer the privacy of your backyard or the community of your front stoop? This is a question that has played a significant role in a movement called "New Urbanism." Also known as traditional neighborhood design, the idea is to build our cities and towns in such a way as to foster community. This is based on diversity in housing, public spaces, and transportation. It is the opposite of what is commonly called urban and suburban sprawl.

Entranceways are one of the differences between sprawl and the vision of New Urbanism. Drive down the streets of most suburbs that have sprouted in the last few decades and you will be overwhelmed by the garages. It is no longer the entrance to the home that is important but the rear patio door that leads to the supposedly private backyard. In more traditional neighborhood design, the garage is less noticeable and the big front porch has made a comeback.

The overall goal of these new neighborhoods is to recreate the social interaction that has disappeared from most of our current subdivisions. Simply moving the houses closer to the streets and providing tree-lined sidewalks doesn't guarantee pedestrian interaction. However, by locating porches close to the sidewalks, residents can easily converse with neighbors as they pass by. Contrary to most conventional subdivisions, traditional neighborhoods encourage residents to become acquainted with their neighbors. One result of people knowing one another is a renewed sense of safety, both for children and adults.

Larry Garnett, Porches with Purpose

On a porch it's possible to be in a private space and still participate in a public sense—and the public can participate in a home owner's private world.

Elizabeth Plater-Zyberk quoted in
A Room without Walls: Rediscovering the Front Porch by Jason Miller

The intersection of private and public space plays an important role in Parashat Tsav. While continuing the levitical focus on the variety of offerings and the rituals surrounding them, the very end of Tsav shifts our focus to the folks in charge of the sacrifices - the kohanim (priests) – and to the intriguing details of their ordination:

Moses said to Aaron and his sons: Boil the flesh at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting and eat it there with the bread that is in the basket of ordination — as I commanded: Aaron and his sons shall eat it; and what is left over of the flesh and the bread you shall consume in fire. You shall not go outside the entrance of the Tent of Meeting for seven days, until the day that your period of ordination is completed. For your ordination will require seven days. Everything done today, the Lord has commanded to be done [seven days], to make expiation for you. You shall remain at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting day and night for seven days, keeping the Lord's charge — that you may not die — for so I have been commanded.

Leviticus 8:31-35

It is intriguing that priests are to remain at the entrance to the tent (petach ohel) for the week of ordination. Perhaps it is my modern sensibility, but to my mind it makes more sense if the priests are well within the tent during those seven days. Shouldn't they be meditating on the role they are about to undertake? Isn't it distracting to sit at the entrance to the tent?

In the Torah the entrance to the tent (petach ohel) is a special place. Abraham greets the three divine visitors as he sits at the entrance to his tent. (Genesis 18:1-2) In fact, Rashi tells us he specifically chose this location in order to provide hospitality to passers-by. Sarah overhears the news that she will bear a son at her petach ohel. (Genesis 18:10) Sforno notes that the angel announcing the birth of Isaac was actually there to address Sarah. This is a spiritually important location. God speaks to Moses at the petach ohel (Exodus 33: 9, Deuteronomy 31:15), sometimes in the presence of Israel. (Exodus 33:8, 10) This is also where God rebukes Aaron and Miriam. (Numbers 12:5) Korach and his fellow rebels meet their fate at the entrance of the tent. (Numbers 16:27)

Even when we are no longer wandering in the desert and no longer living in tents, the threshold retains its importance. This Shabbat's proximity to Purim reminds us that Esther too stood at the threshold awaiting recognition from the king to invite him and Haman to a banquet. (Esther 5:1) Esther's threshold is spiritual as well as physical. She hides her Judaism in order to enter the palace. Now, at the threshold before the king, she initiates a plan wherein she must reveal her true self.

Living in our modern society, are we still sensitive to the petach ohel as both a physical and spiritual place. Where are we in relation to our modern-day tents? Are we inside: physically isolated and mentally insulated? We all know of people who draw the blinds and lock their doors, not bothering to look out at the greater community. As well, we are acquainted with other individuals who prefer to be on the outside, physically and spiritually, not even bothering to peek in.

The threshold is the boundary between the public and private spheres, the dividing line between the sacred and the profane. In the Torah, the priests are not hermits. Their role puts them at the center of the community. Even their private preparations entail public presence.

Actually, the sacred area is not in the inside of the tent, nor is the public space outside: The threshold is the sacred space. The point at which the areas meet, the entranceway, the threshold, the tent door, this is the most sacred of spots where God speaks to us because this is where we must respond.

"Be a Jew at home and a man outside of it." This was the lesson of the Haskalah (Enlightenment) as summarized by the poet Yehuda Leib Gordon . Judaism was in the tent. The moment you walked out the entrance you were a participant in the modern world. Over a century later, experience has shown us that this is not so. The threshold is where our Judaism is tested: not in the comfort of home or synagogue, but at the moment we set foot through that doorway to interact with the world around us.

This is what the priests found out and what Esther learned. It remains our challenge as Jews today. When we walk towards that entrance, we know that that is where God’s presence is so strong and yet so fragile. This is the area we must approach with the resolve embodied in the psalmist’s prayer:

Open up gates of righteousness
I will approach and thank the Eternal one.

Psalms 118:19

Shabbat shalom,
MS

Parashat Vayikra, Leviticus 1:1-5:26; Shabbat Zachor, Deuteronomy 25:17-19

The soul laid bare before God.

I love the music of Kurt Weill. The only reason I took High School German was so I could understand Mack the Knife in the original. In North America those familiar with this song from the Threepenny Opera know the Bobby Darin version, or perhaps the Louis Armstrong rendition. Some might be familiar with the German version, Die Moritat von Mackie Messer, because it was used by Ernie Kovacs as the music to accompany many of his sight gags in the golden days of television. There is a world of difference between the 1950's hip North American version and the original 1929 Berlin item which exudes cynicism both in the lyrics of Bertolt Brecht as well as in the music of Kurt Weill. Alas, there is no original cast recording of the Berlin stage production. The song about Mack the Knife which opens the play was actually a last minute addition. It was performed by one of the most popular actors of Weimar Germany, a fellow named Kurt Gerron, who also happened to be Jewish. A few years ago I saw a film about Gerron that forever changed this song for me.

From the height of celebrity in Weimar Germany, Gerron fell into the depth of Nazi hell known as Theresienstadt. There he was given the task of making a film for Nazi propaganda purposes to show the world how wonderful Jewish life was under Nazism. Gerron weighed his decision: The Jewish council told him to do what he must in order to survive. And so the film The Führer Gives a City to the Jews came into existence.

Being the consummate professional, Gerron put his all into the project, making the best film he could. All this is documented in the 2002 film Prisoner of Paradise. There are scenes of soccer games and people at cafes. Children are shown eating fresh bread and fruit. Smiling for the cameras, Gerron's fellow inmates were forced to act as though all were well.

Because the film was made for the Nazis, the once popular Gerron was viewed as a traitor by his community. Not that this made any difference in the long run. The Nazi shark showed his pearly white teeth and Gerron became one more victim of this monster's insatiable appetite.

Why am I reminded of this film on Shabbat Zachor, the Shabbat before Purim? Zachor means remember, and on this particular Shabbat we are to remember all those in history who sought to destroy us. Amelek is the symbol of these adversaries from Haman of old to his modern descendants.

Remember what Amalek did to you on your journey, after you left Egypt —how, undeterred by fear of God, he surprised you on the march, when you were famished and weary, and cut down all the stragglers in your rear. Therefore, when the Lord your God grants you safety from all your enemies around you, in the land that the Lord your God is giving you as a hereditary portion, you shall blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. Do not forget!

Deuteronomy 25:17-19

In the Bible Amalek attacks when Israel is famished and tired, striking from behind where one would find the weakest members of the group: The old, the infirm and the very young. Shabbat Zachor is more than a reminder of the evil that threatens to destroy us. It is an exhortation to our moral responsibility in the face of evil.

Nonetheless, this selection from Deuteronomy is the additional reading for this Shabbat. The primary reading is the beginning of the book of Leviticus, Vayikra, a portion that deals with a variety of sacrificial offerings and the proper way of bringing such offerings. While the majority of offerings involve various animal sacrifices, Chapter 2 deals with the simplest of offerings: the meal sacrifice. The chapter begins with the words nefesh ki takriv "when a person brings an offering." Normally, the biblical text uses ish or adam to designate a person. The biblical word for person nefesh is the word we use today for soul. In addition, the cantillation marks for this phrase are an unusual combination. Listen closely and you can hear: This is the soul laid bare before God.

Rabbi Yitzchak said: What distinguishes the meal-offering that the term 'soul' is used? Because the Holy One, Who is Blessed said: "Who normally brings a meal-offering? It is the poor person. I account it as though he had offered Me his very soul".

Talmud, Menachot 104b

The individual, who cannot afford an animal, or even a bird, brings a meal offering. This meal offering is termed kodesh kodashim, most holy (Leviticus 2:9).

Every time I read this parasha the meal offering stands out from the rest of the sacrifices. There is tremendous power in the starkness of the words: In bringing this simplest of offerings, we come before God as our innermost being, nefesh. This is the sacrifice of one who has nothing else to offer and it is considered most holy.

This brings me back to the Weimar superstar Kurt Gerron, physically imprisoned in Theresienstadt and morally incarcerated by an all-too-real Amalek decked out in fancy gloves and jackboots. We remember Amalek; Gerron faced the real thing. What did he accomplish by putting his heart and soul into a project that many viewed as a pact with the devil?

He was a nefesh who brought a sacrifice, offering the best he could, putting his soul into it. Some reports say he hoped to save a few lives by making this film. We know what happened to him once the film was finished. But the results of his efforts are not what Amalek anticipated. Gerron's film allows us to see souls otherwise lost and forgotten. Images that cry out zachor, remember.

One particular image haunts me: It is of group of young children eating fresh bread; in Theresienstadt Kurt Gerron's project made it possible for these children to get a slice of fresh bread, perhaps one slice at the most. For some of these children it was probably the best meal they had had in their young lives.

One slice of bread, a meal offering of the finest flour. Gerron's sacrifice brought a moment of fleeting happiness into their too-short lives. On this Shabbat, when sacrifice and memory are intertwined, this too we must remember.

Shabbat shalom,
MS

Parashat Pekudei, Exodus 38:21-40:38; Shabbat Shekalim, Exodus 30:11-16; Rosh Chodesh Adar II

The mindset that entertains the possibility of human obsolescence demeans us all.

It appears that the long awaited conflict is over: Blu-ray disc has won the DVD battle. HD DVD will go the way of Betamax videotapes, 8 tracks, cassettes, vinyl records, floppy disks. Add to the discard pile my first portable computer –a Kaypro which was the size of a large suitcase, and also desktop PCs which are deemed obsolete the moment they are bought. To quote the late night commercial: "But wait, there's more!" How about my first cellphone –resembling a brick in shape, size and weight, old fax machines, typewriters, rotary phones, or hairdryers that don't last beyond their warranty?

The cliché is true: We live in a throw-away society in which it is cheaper to replace things rather than repair them. I can't keep track of the number of toaster ovens I have owned. Yet my dad still has the same one that my folks used when I was a kid. Hey, he even has my mom's hairdryer, which is older than I am. Nowadays, it is cheaper to buy a new watch than replace the battery in an old one. This also holds true for cellphones – if you can still find a replacement battery for one. Is it even possible to change a battery in an iPod? It seems that the latest items are built to last the shortest amount of time (and yes, the warranties covering them are getting even shorter). Planned obsolescence is a fact of modern life, albeit a frustrating one.

The very concept of "planned obsolescence" is a modern invention. According to writer Giles Slade:

Actual use of the word “obsolescence” to describe out-of-date consumer products began to show up in the early twentieth century when modern household appliances replaced older stoves and fireplaces, and steel pots replaced iron ones. But it was the electric starter in automobiles, introduced in 1913, that raised obsolescence to national prominence by rendering all previous cars obsolete.

Giles Slade, Made to Break: Technology & Obsolescence in America, p. 4

He points out that convenience has always played a role in obsolescence. First, the razor blade took over for the straight edge, now we have complete razors – metal blades with plastic handles – that are fully disposable.

In addition to the quickening pace of technological innovation that renders the item we just purchased obsolete, there is also something called "psychological obsolescence." That's that nagging feeling that you need to get new clothes every few months because the style, material, cut or color you're using is deemed to be out of date. The same holds true for cars and even personal appliances as they become fashion statements. An abundance of television shows have me convinced that my house is hopelessly out of style and the only solution is to gut it and start over.

It is one thing to deem items outdated, but we do this with people as well. We all know businesses that are constantly restructuring, workers who discover that their jobs no longer exist, or worse – the potential for work no longer exists because they have reached a particular age and are assumed to lack the abilities for what is needed. Slade looks at the wonderful, simple technological tool called the slide rule which dates back to the early 17th century. With the advent of the calculator, a technological divide took a human toll:

Thus, by the 1980s, what younger engineers perceived as a democratization of calculation had in fact sheared the engineering world along generational lines. Age, not wealth, determined which engineers had the advantage. As the hacker culture would soon demonstrate, design and engineering were no longer the exclusive activities of a carefully trained elite. The term 'obsolete' now applied both to the device that the older generation of administrators preferred and to the analog skills they used.

Giles Slade, Made to Break: Technology & Obsolescence in America, p. 203

Well, we know that things change: Sometimes it is the world that changes, sometimes we do. Businesses tell us we must adapt to changes, but this attitude often ignores what an individual might have to offer. Beyond that, the very mindset that entertains the possibility of human obsolescence demeans us all.

So let's pause our latest gizmo for just a moment and turn to that most retro item, the Torah scroll, which this week unrolls to Parashat Pekudei. Here at the very end of the book of Exodus, we find that the Tabernacle has been completed. The word pekudei refers to the account taken of all the items used for the building of the mishkan (tabernacle): everything from the gold for inside the structure to the ram skins for the outside: Each item was tallied, and each served a purpose.

The mishkan had a couple of important functions: God's presence would fill the Tabernacle and was a symbol of the divine presence in the midst of the people. In addition, the mishkan housed the ark wherein were placed the Ten Commandments: He [Moses] took the Pact and placed it in the ark; he fixed the poles to the ark, placed the cover on top of the ark, and brought the ark inside the Tabernacle. (Exodus 40:20-21) But Moses had gone up Mount Sinai twice to receive the commandments. Recall that in a fit of anger, he smashed the first two tablets when he saw the Israelites dancing around the Golden Calf. The Talmud (Bava Batra 14a-b, Menahot 99a) teaches that the ark contained both sets: The second set brought down whole, and the shards of the first set that Moses had broken. The broken pieces were not considered useless and tossed aside; these shards were as sacred as the whole.

Today we still treat sacred items and ritual items with reverence. We bury works that have the Divine Name written in them. We do the same with ritual items such as tallitot, (prayershawls). Consider then, if objects are sacred, how much more so a human being made in the image of the Divine?

Permit me a short digression: I recently overheard a group of young girls talking at a restaurant. They couldn't have been more than nine years old and looked adorable, all dressed up and on their best behavior at a friend's birthday dinner. They covered a wide range of topics in a short amount of time as only sweet young things of this age have the energy to do. As often happens in a conversation among friends, there was a difference of opinion, at which point one girl would insult the other by calling her a – well, let's just say a derogatory term for a mentally challenged individual. Ouch, out of the mouth of babes. Even at this tender age, these children, who would know better than to use racial or ethnic slurs, still managed to find a denigrating term, one that asserts human obsolescence.

This Shabbat is the first of four special Shabbatot that will occur between now and Pesach. Shabbat Shekalim, occurs on the Shabbat prior to the month of Adar or on Shabbat Rosh Chodesh (the new month) Adar. In traditionalist synagogues we read Exodus 30:11-16, describing how a census is to be taken of the Israelites, aged 20 and above. Everyone counted in the census contributes half a shekel, the rich shall not pay more and the poor shall not pay less than half a shekel… (Exodus 30:15) How interesting, rich or poor pay the same amount; everyone is treated equally in the census. No mention is made of IQ or ability. The 20 year old is not valued more than the 30 year old, the 45 year old is not obsolete.

Interestingly, the word used for tallying the people is lifkudeihem (according to their numbers), related to the word pikudei, from the root pkd, to account. This root is also found in Exodus 34:7 where we are told that God visits (poked) the iniquity of parents upon children and children's children, upon the third and fourth generations. The same root is used positively Genesis 21:1 where God took note (pakad) of Sarah as He had promised and she was blessed with Isaac, ensuring the continuity of our people and our brit (covenant).

What a mishmash of things this week! Let's see if we can simplify: A human being is not an object to be denigrated or discarded. The census we read for Shabbat Shekalim teaches us that each person is as important as the next. The weekly parasha goes even further, showing us that what appears to us as obsolete or defective is in fact quite precious. If this is true of an item, how much truer it is of a person! As always, we have a choice. If we choose to ignore the humanity of those around us, our children will learn from us, carrying this sin for generations to come. If we take note of the Divine gift implanted in each human being, we become instrumental in fulfilling the brit. Contemplate this and the words in the Rosh Chodesh Amidah will take on new meaning:

Remember us this day for well-being;
Take note of us (fokdeinu) for blessing;
Help us to a fuller life.

Shabbat shalom,
MS