Parashat Tetzaveh, Exodus 27:20-30:10, Shabbat Zachor, Deuteronomy 25:17-19

This Shabbat we struggle with two forms of memory.

Music has always had a mathematical component, but now it looks as if mathematics is shaping music. First there a musical intelligence software program that analyzes the likelihood of a song becoming a hit based on some thirty different factors. Now, for a small fee, you and your struggling band can submit a song to a number of companies for analysis. They can then advise you where to make changes that will result in a hit-producing mathematical pattern.

Currently, these cookie-cutter tune treatments only deal with the music. I've always been more of a lyrics person, and I'm waiting for the day when the focus will shift to dissecting the words of hit songs. "Love" is sure to be the most popular choice, but to my algorithmically challenged mind it is too obvious. Were I to try my hand at popular songwriting I would probably choose "remembering" or "memory" as a theme. There are nearly as many songs about remembering as there are about love, and it is a theme that is more diverse and subtler. It is found in words sung by Elvis Presley:
Memories, pressed between the pages of my mind
Memories, sweetened thru the ages just like wine
(Written by Bill Strange and Scott Davis)

As well as the poetry crooned by a cat:
Memory
All alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days
I was beautiful then
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again
(Written by Trevor Nunn and Andrew Lloyd Webber, based on T.S. Eliot's "Rhapsody on a Windy Night")

Or echoing in the Oscar-winning Barbra Streisand hit "The Way We Were": 
Memories,
Like the corners of my mind
Misty water-colored memories
Of the way we were
…Memories, may be beautiful and yet
What's too painful to remember
We simply choose to forget
(Written by Alan Bergman, Marilyn Bergman and Marvin Hamlisch)

We all know that memory can play tricks on us. Perhaps that’s what the Bergmans meant when they wrote: What's too painful to remember/We simply choose to forget. Really?  What would it be like to have no memory? Would it be a blessing or a curse? Two recent examples from the media lead to the conclusion that it would be both. Last December, Henry Gustav Molaison died at the age of 82. Over half a century ago he underwent surgery for a seizure disorder. The operation left him unable to form new memories.

For the next 55 years, each time he met a friend, each time he ate a meal, each time he walked in the woods, it was as if for the first time.
And for those five decades, he was recognized as the most important patient in the history of brain science. As a participant in hundreds of studies, he helped scientists understand the biology of learning, memory and physical dexterity, as well as the fragile nature of human identity.

H. M., an Unforgettable Amnesiac, Dies at 82, Benedict Carey, 

New York Times, December 5, 2008

Memories may be beautiful, but Henry Gustav Molaison was unable to know that.

Then there's the experimental use of the beta-blocker Propranolol, which has been found successful in treating Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Should it be used to erase painful memories, specifically those of elderly Holocaust survivors?

Simply put, how can we help those who have suffered in war, end their lives in peace?
In their extreme age, with the decline of short-term memory and the ravages of dementia, some survivors who enter hospital believe they are back in the camps.
In an institution, routine elements of care can trigger horrors from the past. They may be afraid of showers, suspicious of staff in uniform, even the sharp click of heels in a hallway prompted one woman to shout "heil Hitler" from her room. They resist injections, remembering the numbers tattooed on their arms. They refuse haircuts, because their heads were shaved in the camps.
What brings this issue to the fore is that drugs, which can blunt the force of an emotional memory, are now available and have been tested on rape and accident victims, war veterans and others who suffer post-traumatic stress disorder.

War memories raise ethical dilemma, Leslie Scrivener, 

Toronto Star, November 10, 2008

How can we fail to ease the trauma of elderly survivors? Have they not had enough of remembering?

Ironically, this is Shabbat Zachor, the Shabbat of Remembrance, when we are admonished in the additional Torah reading to 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)

The commandment to remember is incumbent upon the community. Certainly we can shoulder the burden of those who have spent their entire lives not only remembering but reliving. Zachor, remembering, is about transferring the responsibility from one generation to the next.

This week's parashah, Tetzaveh, is not about memories, though it hints at things that are or will be tantalizingly out of reach. It is the one parashah in the last four books of the Torah that does not mention Moses by name. Where elsewhere we find instructions to the people beginning with the form Adonai spoke to Moses saying, this structure is absent in Tetzaveh. As the twentieth century Bible scholar Umberto Cassuto points out regarding the beginning of the parashah: "This paragraph contains three allocutions to Moses, all of which begin with the word ve-atta… followed by a verb in the imperfect or imperative." (Translation: Israel Abrahams) 

While he is not named, the use of ve-atta, "and you" certainly implies that Moses is to initiate what is instructed and then transfer the duties to others.

The portion is very much about the taking on of responsibility. All the preparations by the unnamed Moses are for the priestly ordination of Aaron and his sons that takes place at the end of the parashah: Thus you shall do to Aaron and his sons, just as I have commanded you. You shall ordain them through seven days…(Exodus 29:35). The unnamed Moses has a critical but temporary role:

For seven days, before "the eighth day" (Leviticus 9:1) on which Aaron and his sons took over the ritual duties, Moses would set up the tabernacle each day, bring the offerings, and in the evening he would take it down. On the eighth day – the 1st of Nissan – he set up the Tabernacle permanently, as described in [Exodus] 40:17-33. From this point on Aaron and his sons performed ritual duties.

Rashbam on Exodus 29:35, translation from The Commentators' Bible: 

The JPS Miqraot Gedolot, Michael Carasik, translator and editor

Moses isn't gone. He has delegated responsibilities as per God's instructions. Omitting his name from this parashah allows the focus to be on others who must also play a crucial role in the community.

This Shabbat we struggle with two forms of memory. First, there is the longing for that elusive memory just over the horizon, so near and yet so far. It is the memory on the eighth day, as the priests take up their duties, of all that went on for the seven days before. This is the memory of Moses who performed these rituals until the priests were ready to do so; the same Moses whose presence is felt in the parashah, but whose name is absent. This is akin to the memory we feel on birthdays, anniversaries, or holidays when we gather for celebration, but there are empty seats at the table. We may now be sitting at the head of the table, leading the seder, or making the matzah balls, but the voice of a beloved parent or grandparent whispers the ritual instructions in our ears. These memories are beautiful, painful to remember, yet we would never forget them.

Then there is the memory that pierces us like a cold howling wind. This is the memory of what Amalek did to us. We must brace ourselves and remember. This ugly memory we may wish to forget, but tradition teaches us to do otherwise.

Jewish memory is communal. It is at once breathtakingly beautiful and hideously painful. Memory reminds of us of who we were, affirms who we are, and shapes who we will be. Jewish memory is our Yizkor (memorial) candle; it is also our ner tamid (eternal light) and we provide the clear oil of beaten olives to keep the lamp lit continually. (Exodus 27:20)

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel

Parashat Tetzaveh, Exodus 27:20-30:10

This Parasha has been generously sponsored by Diane Sacks, to honour her dad - a man of learning.

Who has not felt the twinges of jealousy, irrational as they may be?

Last week we looked at the powerful connection of siblings and how, ideally, the bonds of brothers and sisters form the foundation of community and family. Unfortunately, reality often falls short of the ideal. At times tremendous pressure is put on these bonds, which can bring them perilously close to snapping. Who has not known or experienced a situation of great difficulty with a loved one? The closer we are to the individual, the greater our vulnerability. The book of Genesis provides many such painful episodes, the most dramatic one, namely that between Joseph and his brothers, is the catalyst that brought us to Egypt.

At its core, the book of Exodus is about the formation of the Jewish people as a nation, the creation of group identity and cohesiveness. The leadership role falls within one family among three siblings: Moses, Aaron and Miriam. Their roles are not equal. We know that Moses has the greater leadership role. From the book of Exodus through the book of Deuteronomy, Moses appears in every single Torah portion – except for the one we read this week, Tetsaveh.

This week the Torah is concerned with priestly matters: the menorah and its proper lighting, the altar and sacrifices, but mainly the priests, their garments and the process of ordination. The focus thus is on Aaron and not Moses.

Naturally, this did not escape the notice of our eagle-eyed commentators. One tradition holds that Moses is absent from Tetsaveh because it is read at the time that is held to be Moses' yahrzeit, the seventh of Adar. A second tradition claims that Moses, a deeply humble man, bowed out of this parashah so that his brother Aaron might be in the limelight. Yet a third perspective states that Moses’ absence this week is punishment due to his jealousy. What on earth could cause Moses to be jealous? The fact that his brother Aaron was chosen to be the kohen gadol, the high priest.

Think about it: Moses, who was chosen from among all the Israelites to be God's representative before pharaoh, who held the Ten Commandments in his hands, who communed with God panim el panim (face to face), got his kishkes (guts) in a knot because Aaron was chosen to wear fancy clothes, fire up the barbeque, and clean up after the meal. True, Aaron's role as priest was to be the ritual mediator between the people and God. Moses did this too, but with greater freedom than Aaron's limited role. Why the jealousy?

The only answer is that Moses was human. Who has not felt the twinges of jealousy, irrational as they may be? We can speculate endlessly on what would trigger such a reaction in Moses, but that would be a futile exercise. Better to look at this all too common failing and see our own reflections.

Too often, jealousy results from frustration and dissatisfaction with who we are. This was stated eloquently by Morrie Schwartz in one of his conversations with his student Mitch Albom. Though he was commenting about whether he was jealous of youth, his answer holds true for all of us:

…the issue is to accept who you are and revel in that .... You have to find what's good and beautiful in your life as it is now.

Mitch Albom, Tuesdays with Morrie

Or as Ben Zoma teaches in Pirke Avot: "Who is wealthy? The one who is happy with his portion." (Avot 4:1)

The Talmud teaches us that there are only two exceptions to jealousy: "Rabbi Jose ben Honi said: A person is jealous, except of his child and his disciple." (Sanhedrin 105b) What makes these two relationships resistant to the forces of jealousy is that the individual has a stake in their success: You have helped them get where they are.

Perhaps this explains the beginning of our parashah. It contains the odd structure: You shall bring forward (hakrev eilechah) your brother Aaron (Exodus 28:2), or literally: You shall draw near to you…. It continues by saying you shall make garments for him (Exodus 28:2), you shall make a breastplate (Exodus 28:15) as well as other items of the priestly wardrobe, concluding with: And for Aaron's sons also you shall make tunics, and make sashes for them, and make turbans for them, for dignity and adornment. Put these on your brother Aaron and on his sons as well; anoint them, and ordain them and consecrate them to serve Me as priests. (Exodus 28:40-41) "You" refers to the unnamed Moses, who is being given a stake in things. This helps to lessen his very human feelings of envy, easing the tension and transforming him from the one who withdraws in jealousy to the one who eagerly rejoices in his brother's success.

Emotions are powerful forces, but they are within our control. Properly channeled they can even contribute to the greater good. A jealous sibling turns into a zealous supporter. A situation that could have weakened family and communal ties becomes a lesson in cooperation. Moses was able to overcome his envy through Divine guidance and so can we. The yearning to do so is eloquently stated by an anonymous Talmudic sage: "May it be your will Adonai our God that jealousy of us overcome no one, and jealousy of no one overcome us." (Yerushalmi Berachot 7d)

Shabbat shalom,
MS