By Hazzan Jenna Greenberg.
In Parashat Shemini, God lists the kosher and non-kosher animals very specifically, including the credentials for what makes each creature of the water, land and sky fit or unfit for eating: fish must have fins and scales; land mammals must have split hooves and chew their cud; predatory birds are prohibited.
Since these rules are seemingly arbitrary, we might ask why do we have these rules? Why do we keep kosher?
There are many answers to this question, but let’s take a look at a short passage a little bit deeper into this third book of the Torah, Vayikra 20:25-26:
You shall separate animals that are pure from those that are impure, and between pure and impure birds. Don’t make your souls detestable through animals or birds or anything alive on the ground which I have separated as impure. You shall be holy to Me, for I am your holy God, and I have separated you from others nations to be Mine.
According to these verses, kashrut keeps Jews distinct. The dietary laws are designed as a call to holiness.
A second reason that Rambam gives is that non-kosher food is dirty and that the rules of kashrut keep us from getting sick. It is a mitzvah that protects our physical well-being, just as many other mitzvot protect our well-being, both physically and also socially and emotionally. Think of that golden rule coming up in just a few parshiyot: V’ahavta l’reiacha kamocha/ Love your neighbor as yourself. Treating others well helps us feel good about ourselves and, hopefully, the same treatment gets reciprocated back to us as well.
A third reason for keeping kosher that Ramban taught is that certain animals are cruel so we shouldn’t eat them. In other words, you are what you eat.
It is problematic to eat a predator because it could make us predatorial.
So how can we make ourselves kinder people as we eat? Kindness is at the root of kashrut. While Shemini gets specific in which animals are kosher, it makes me think about a famous verse about kashrut and kindness that is repeated three times throughout the Torah: Lo t’vashel g’di b’chalev imo/Don’t boil a kid in its mother’s milk.
Several sages explain that such a practice was especially heartless – to take the mother’s milk, intended to nurture the child, and to use that very milk to cook the child, and then to eat them together. Ibn Ezra and Rashbam compare it to the likewise forbidden practices of slaughtering a mother animal together with its child on the same day (Lev. 22:28), and taking a mother bird together with its eggs (Deut. 22:6).
Lo t’vashel g’di b’chalev imo. This verse is ultimately rooted in kindness, and I think is a bigger picture answer to how kashrut makes us kinder.
Connected to the golden rule that we say at the beginning of every morning service: V’ahavta l’reiacha kamocha, Love your neighbor as yourself. In other words, be kind to others. The mystic Isaac Luria brings this message back to God, in that loving others is a necessary condition of our experiencing divine love.
Everything else is commentary.
By Hazzan Sandler.
This week we read a special Maftir and Haftarah for what’s known as Shabbat Parah. The special Haftarah is from Ezekiel. I often like to highlight the Haftarot because, in my experience, the prophets are widely under-studied among normal people. Clergy, academics, maybe day-school alumni may know more but the average person couldn’t tell you much about Isaiah, or Jeremiah or any of those poetic, angsty, hopeful, mystical weirdos we call the Prophets.
I also find the prophets particularly interesting in these times because they prophesied in ancient Israel and Judah before, during and after the exile to Babylon. In a way, these prophets have the most insight (within the Bible) about Jews like us who exist alongside a sovereign Jewish nation in the land of Israel. Mind you, much has changed, but the same calls for justice, righteousness, kindness, and ritual that make up the pages of Prophetic writing are deeply resonant with the challenges of a people that has power, success, influence and comfort. The prophets challenge us not to get too comfortable or corrupted by our own success, and beg us not to go astray from God’s will. The consequences of doing so are linked to our exile and diaspora, and while that theology may or may not suit you, it is, in my mind, a worthwhile perspective to consider.
So what sticks out to me in this week’s special Haftarah?
Ezekiel gives this prophecy in Babylon, so the people are already exiled from Israel. It begins with God bemoaning the behavior of the people, and states (Ez. 36:19), “I scattered them among the nations, and they were dispersed through the countries: I punished them in accordance with their ways and their deeds.”
And I don’t like to psycho-analyze God too much, (for what I hope are obvious reasons), but listen to this fascinating next verse (Ez. 36:20-21): “But when they came to those nations, they caused My holy name to be profaned, in that it was said of them, ‘These are the people of Hashem, yet they had to leave His land.’ Therefore I am concerned for My holy name, which the House of Israel have caused to be profaned among the nations to which they come.”
I want to paraphrase those three verses: “I punished Israel because they messed up bad, and now they’re making Me look bad. My reputation is on the line and I’m now doubly annoyed.”
Does God sound a little petty and self-righteous? Yeah, but in God’s defense, there do need to be consequences when the people do wrong.
The real irony is that God then promises to redeem the people, bring us back to our land, and make the land flourish like the Garden of Eden. He promises to renew us with a new heart and a new spirit. The nations of the world are going to be so inspired and blown away by our comeback that God’s name will be sanctified. God even says this: “Not for your sake will I act, O House of Israel, but for My Holy name” and this is echoed in the Avinu Malkeinu prayer on High Holidays, “Avinu Malkeinu, aseh lema’ancha im lo lema’aneinu — do this for Your sake, if not for ours.” It’s an idea repeated in the first paragraph of every amidah, “umeivi goel livnei v’neihem lema’an shemo beAhava – and [God] sends a redeemer to their children’s children for His name’s sake with love.”
I always found a certain humor in the idea that we pray for God’s help for God’s own sake. My conception of God is usually more transcendent than a being that cares about Its own reputation. That feels too human to me. And yet, we appeal to God’s ego? I find that hard to believe, and it makes me laugh.
On the other hand, there’s a deep wisdom to be found in recognizing the following: To the extent that we were created “betzelem Elohim – In God’s image” we also are the image of God. We can’t always perceive God, and if we do it’s indirectly. However, human beings have the capacity to learn, grow, make choices, explore morality and do amazing good or evil in the world. And the choices we make–the good we put in the world (or don’t)– are a reflection of God. What we do individually, communally, nationally, or globally all add some good or some bad (or some of both) to the scales of the world. I imagine it is like a computer program. Our actions, large and small, are the input. God set it up to process the input and give an output. God as the Programmer can step in, employ a miracle or two, send a prophecy, give us a Torah etc. But mostly, the way things are is directly related to how we are. We learn this from the Megillah where everything that happens is about humans making choices – not to bow, to cast a lot, to build gallows, to approach the king, to raise the scepter, to fight back. God isn’t mentioned once, yet there is a miraculousness to human beings making difficult, life-saving choices at the right time in the right place.
And so God’s reputation is deeply linked to how we behave. And as the world becomes less and less magical, and perhaps at times really dark and difficult, it’s no surprise atheism is on the rise. But I believe in God. And I believe in my duty to act in ways that will make the world a better place. A place where people say “Thank God” more often than, “Oh God…” As we make our way closer to Passover, celebrating a time when God really showed up for us and took us out of Egypt, I hope we all feel inspired by the words of Ezekiel, and show up for God, by showing up for our world to make it the best it can be, one good choice at a time.
By Rabbi Freedman.
We all know the Purim story – which we will hear Saturday night and Sunday morning – is named for Queen Esther, but why? That was a curious choice by the ancient rabbis living in a man’s world.
For the sake of argument, why not call it Megillat Mordecai? After all, he was the one who overheard the guards plotting to kill the king. His passing along the message – and his subsequent reward of being paraded around in public – were integral to the story. Most important of all, he was the brains behind the mission to save the Jewish people. He devised the plan for Esther to approach the king to save their people. And he inspired her when she initially refused. Those are significant contributions, and the Jews may not have survived otherwise.
So why not name the scroll after him? To borrow a baseball analogy: even the best managers remain on the sidelines. It really comes down to the player in the batter’s box to win the game. In other words, it’s important to have a great idea, but more credit goes to the one who executes it. And here is where Esther shines.
It is Esther whose life is on the line in the near term when she approaches the king unsolicited, not Mordecai. It is Esther who displays unsurpassed courage and bravery when she reveals herself to him as a Jew amidst the genocidal decree, not Mordecai. It is Esther who sticks out her neck, not Mordecai. The rabbis were wise enough to recognize the distinction, and they gave her the ultimate, enduring credit – naming the story after her.
Queen Esther is primarily known for her beauty, but let us not forget her unrivaled bravery and courage as well.
By Rabbi ALex Freedman.
“If you build it, he will come.” The famous line from the movie Field of Dreams means that if Ray builds a baseball field, his father will return.
“If you build it, He will come.” Rabbi Moshe Grussgott of Manhattan points out that this paraphrases an important verse from the Torah reading in Parashat Terumah, which kicks off the construction of the Mishkan, the desert portable sanctuary. If you (the Jews) build it (the Mishkan – portable sanctuary), He (G-d) will come (and dwell among you). This is a pretty accurate summary of Exodus 25:8: “Let them make me a sanctuary, and I will dwell among them.”
Nearly the entire duration of the book of Exodus (Ch. 25-40) is devoted to the Mishkan’s construction, which concludes this week with Pekudei. Why the extensive coverage about the same topic?
– First, details matter. Everyone wants an HD television, the more pixels the better. That picture is more highly detailed than standard definition, and the results speak for themselves. If we want our TV’s in HD, shouldn’t we insist that important projects and relationships be lived in HD too?
– Second, G-d is most present when people give or build. Avot DRabbi Natan makes this conclusion based upon a close reading of our verse: When they make me a sanctuary, I will dwell among them. When people involve themselves in a cause or project, they gain a sense of meaning and purpose, a feeling of being part of something larger than themselves. Some people call this feeling “G-d.”
-Third, building something refines us. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks notes that the only time in the Torah when the Jews did not complain about something was during the construction of the Mishkan. For the first time, they had to provide for themselves, not rely on G-d. And they emerged stronger for it. He writes: “It is not what God does for us that transforms us. It is what we do for God.”
What are you building?
By Hazzan Jenna Greenberg.
Taking a closer look at some of the materials used for the Mishkan, we learn in parashat Vayakhel that they include items such as precious metals (gold, silver and copper), materials like linen and wool in various colors, animal skins, wood, oil, spices, and precious stones.
The name of one of these materials is rather intriguing. Linen, known as sheish, is a word that to most of us means the number 6. The rabbis teach that sheish meant both of these things. It was linen, and each thread in the sheish yarn was made of six strands.
This is particularly fitting to me as today marks my mother’s 6th yahrzeit and, like our artisan ancestor Betzalel, Mom was an artist too: she was an amateur tailor, creating many Halloween and Purim costumes; a professional potter, who taught pottery classes that I often attended, and we even had a pottery studio with a wheel in our basement!
The importance of art to her is also fitting as the importance of creating and protecting beautiful things in Jewish tradition is rooted in Parshat Vayakhel.
We learn that the Mishkan had three top layers, which were placed on top of each other. Layer #1, made up of sheets of colorful cloth, was on the bottom, and you could see it only if you were inside the Mishkan. Layer #2 was made up of sheets of goats’ hair, creating a protective tent over that first layer, like a raincoat. Even these layers protecting our beautiful Mishkan were beautiful in their own right.
Rashi says that we can learn a lesson from this second covering: “The Torah teaches a rule of life: People should take care of beautiful things.”
Think of all the ways that we do this today, especially with our beautiful and holy ritual items. We use a beautiful bag to protect our tallitot, and on top of that, many use a plastic covering made for the purpose of protecting that first layer, and ultimately, the tallit within the first bag. We use beautiful mezuzot which are ultimately protective and often artistic cases for the Torah text on the klaf within. Ritual items such as the lulav, etrog and Kiddush cup often have a protective case or box that often serves more than just that protective purpose, if you’ve seen any of the artistic renditions of said items. Even a siddur can have a beautiful, protective cover, as our Kitah Gimel students will receive next week at their special Shabbat service.
Through all of this, I believe that one of the greatest values we learn from this week’s parsha is that of Hiddur Mitzvah: beautifying the mitzvot. We should go above and beyond to take care of the ritual items we use, elevating their purpose and beauty to an even higher level of holiness in the way that we protect and care for them.
As we learned from both our parsha and Rashi’s commentary, not only should we create beautiful things, but we should take care of them as well. By doing so, we honor the artists who create the masterpieces that we admire and use. And when they are no longer with us, we honor their memories by caring for the artistic items they created.
By Hazzan Jacob Sandler.
Last week I returned from Song Leader Boot Camp – a national conference that focuses on Jewish leadership, education, and music. Having attended 9 of the last 11 conferences over the past 10 years, it’s come to be more than just a conference but a community of fellow songleaders, educators, clergy and musicians alike. In addition to many wonderful sessions, and prayer experiences, it provided me time and space to reflect on my own life, my work, my passions and those not so pleasant areas where I’d like to improve.
Coming back from the highs of such intentional communal gathering to an overflowing inbox of emails (some of which, I’ll admit, were already piling up before I left), I had a tough transition back to ‘normal life.’ There are real things I want to do better, and real ways I want to be better.
If I can get vulnerable for a moment, I thought about how grateful I ought to be for this wonderful community – I work with incredible professional partners and lay people, I’m well compensated and I feel so loved and embraced by the community. I also thought about how despite the truth of that, it’s hard work and it’s relentless. And I’ve gained weight since I’ve started and though I’m not asking for suggestions, I’ll admit it would be nice to start that family and plant some deeper roots. So, what do I do with these really big feelings?
I had a moment I imagine is familiar–I woke up, groaned, and started the daily wrestle with myself to get out of bed and face the day. I wish I could sleep in… but instead of rolling over to snooze that one extra time (that I don’t really have time for), I thought, “what if I actually said Modeh Ani?” You know that short prayer you sung in Hebrew school to the tune of “You are my sunshine” or maybe Jeff Klepper’s tune at camp (look it up you’ll recognize it).
I decided to say it. I said each word really slowly. I recognize I have the privilege of knowing word by word how to say it and also what each word means–but it went something like this:
Modeh – thank. First gratitude, even before
Ani – I or I am. It means ‘I am grateful’, but really it means ‘grateful am I’ — gratitude first, then ego.
Lefanecha – before You – that is in the presence of God.
Three words in, and I’m very aware that first thing in the morning I am grateful, then I’m myself, and then I’m in the presence of God. Who by the way is:
Melech Chai VeKayam — Eternally Living Sovereign. Imagine a King, or your boss or anyone in charge is just right there, ready to be thanked and you’re still in pajamas… It’s a wild practice. Deeply humbling.
But to be fair, there’s good reason to be thankful, even when you want to sleep in or snooze. Why am I thanking God?
Shehechezarta bi nishmati — that You have returned to me (literally in me) my soul. And the word for soul Neshama is related to the word for breath, Neshimah. It’s no coincidence that this waking up breath parallels the breath of life God breathed into the very first Adam in creation. We wake up and are created anew. But why?
B’chemlah – with compassion. We recognize the gift of this day is a kind gesture from God. But also,Rabah Emunatecha — great is Your faith. Not emunati – not on the merit of my faith, which may come and go with the weather. Not because I believed hard enough was I given this day. Rather, because God has great faith. God believes in us.
I’ve been saying Modeh Ani each morning for almost a week now. And it continues to amaze and inspire me that God believes today could be the day we do something amazing. Today we might turn it all around, today we might make a good choice, say a kind word, or any number of amazing things. God believes in us, and we can take that vote of confidence with us into our day.
I’ve felt the difference it makes. Beginning the day with gratitude (even if it’s a little forced or contrived at first), flips the script. I don’t think it’s the magic of the words but the power of the ideas they express. So, if any of this resonated for you in your own busy life, I hope you’ll carry these ideas and give it a try. Let me know if it helps. And if nothing else, I hope you gained a deeper understanding of these words that you’ve known so long.
By Rabbi Alex Freedman.
We all know that we are supposed to dress up and wear nice clothes for Shabbat/holiday services at shul. Why is that?
I think many people would answer: because everyone else is dressing up! Indeed, when everybody is dressing up for an event – any event – we feel out of place if we don’t match the attire.
But I think we must consider a deeper answer to this question. Optimally, we dress up for ourselves. We don’t dress up for others because synagogue – while there are certainly social elements – is primarily a religious experience. We don’t dress up for God because God is not swayed by the clothing we wear. Instead, we dress up for ourselves. That is, we recognize that the clothing we wear affects how we feel, and so wearing certain clothes prepares us better to encounter God and Torah at shul.
I think we all intuit this. Were we to go to synagogue in our pajamas, we would feel tired and ready to sleep, not ready to pray. (Related to this, I always feel strange on the night of Purim when I am praying in some silly costume. To me, it feels off.)
The clothes we wear on our outside significantly affect how we feel on the inside. This is a core message from this week’s Torah reading, Tetzaveh. The focus of this portion is describing in elaborate detail, the special garments to be worn by the High Priest and ordinary priests while serving in the Mishkan sanctuary. Aaron the High Priest was to wear eight special garments, including a breastplate with all the names of the tribes. The Torah notes that it should go over his heart: “ Aaron shall carry the names of the sons of Israel on the breastplate of decision over his heart when he enters the sanctuary, for a remembrance before the Lord at all times” (Exodus 28:29). Aaron was the spiritual leader of the Israelites, and yet he had to wear not just one special garment in the sanctuary, but eight! It was the Torah’s way of having him prepare for the ultimate spiritual leadership role.
I remember hosting a Zoom town hall with the congregation about the first High Holiday services during Covid, when almost everybody was to stay home and use the livestream because it was considered physically unsafe for a large crowd to be in the building. Somebody asked a question in jest, “can I watch services on my couch in my pajamas?” We all chuckled. But then, on a serious note, I responded with a teaching: Of course you can wear whatever you like; no one will know and nobody will stop you. But consider wearing your shul clothes even on the couch because you will feel more prepared for services and connected to the prayers, for that is our prayer uniform. This is similar to the Halacha that on Shabbat we are supposed to wear special clothing, even away from services. Not to dress up for each other, but to dress up to honor the day itself.”
By Hazzan Jenna Greenberg.
While Moshe remains on Har Sinai, God provides detailed instructions regarding the construction and decoration of the Mishkan, the central theme of this final third of the book of Shemot. This Tabernacle is to house the Ark and allow the Divine Presence to dwell among the people of Israel.
God instructs the Israelites to bring a variety of materials for this very purpose. Following the gathering of these items, God says the following in Ex. 25:8: V’asu Li Mikdash v’Shachanti B’tocham. They will make me a mikdash (holy place) and I will dwell be-tokham (in them).
Our parshanim wonder: If this pasuk is talking about the Mikdash, wouldn’t it make more sense for it to say that God will dwell B’tocho, in it, in singular? Why does it say be-tocham, in plural?
One of these commentators, the Nefesh ha-Hayyim who lived in Lithuania 250 years ago, suggested that the main idea of the Mikdash and God’s presence in this world is about people. If people make themselves holy through observing all the mitzvot, then they themselves can actually become a Mikdash, a holy place, and God will dwell inside them.
This is what the Sages meant when they explained “I will dwell be-tocham (in them)”–it’s that God will dwell in THEM (the people), not just in IT (the Mikdash).
Let’s take a closer look at this word Mikdash: the root of this word Mikdash is Kuf-Dalet-Shin. So many familiar words share this shoresh: Kadosh, Kaddish, Kiddush, Kedusha. All are grammatical variations on this central theme of holiness.
Kuf-Dalet-Shin. What is the central letter of this Hebrew root that all of these words have in common? DALET
DALET: The name of each letter in the Alef-Bet not only has a numeric equivalent, in this case, Dalet represents the number four, as it is the fourth letter of the Alef-Bet. But each letter’s name also has a unique meaning in and of itself. Dalet is a variant of the word Delet which means door.
This letter is central both literally and figuratively to the root of holiness. When we think about Dalet in this way, I think about 2 things. On the one hand, we have the ability, both in our individual homes and in our synagogue, to open the door, to fulfill the mitzvah of hachnasat orchim, to welcome guests into our spaces, ultimately elevating our personal and communal homes in holiness.
At the same time, thinking back to the Nefesh HaHayyim commentary, when we perform mitzvot, such as hachnasat orchim, and 612 other commandments, WE increase in holiness. The spiritual door within us opens as we welcome God’s presence into ourselves, truly feeling that spark of the divine which humanity was given when we were created B’tzelem Elohim, in God’s image.
May we each go from strength to strength with each mitzvah we perform, elevating ourselves and our community in holiness.
By Hazzan Jacob Sandler.
You must not carry false rumors; you shall not join hands with the guilty to act as a malicious witness:
You shall neither side with the mighty to do wrong—you shall not give perverse testimony in a dispute so as to pervert it in favor of the mighty—
nor shall you show deference to a poor person in a dispute.
Parshat Mishpatim is full of rules and laws that run the gamut of forming a society. The above set of three verses struck me this week. The first sentence seems fairly simple, almost obvious. Of course any good society should know not to join hands with the guilty, nor give any credence to unsubstantiated rumors. But the next two verses, in my eyes, show us how much harder that can be when we navigate the messy, complicated world around us.
You shall neither side with the mighty…nor shall you show deference to a poor person in a dispute. What does this mean? It means we all need to check our biases. It’s really difficult when someone we’ve come to respect, love, or even rely on is suddenly caught up in a scandal. Since the #MeToo movement and even well before, we’re not strangers to seeing those we look up to getting caught doing something they shouldn’t have done. And in some cases, our desire to preserve our image of that person might incline us to forgive them, offer them a second chance without necessarily holding them accountable for the problematic choice they made. Sometimes it’s difficult not to side with the mighty. It can be understandably tempting to justify the action, rationalize or even deny that it could have happened as it is described. But we must not carry false rumors, nor give perverse testimony so as to pervert it in favor of the mighty (or influential, powerful, beloved, respected etc.)
But “nor shall you show deference to a poor person in a dispute.” In our pursuit of justice and accountability, we mustn’t fall prey to the other temptation. We shouldn’t be venerating victimhood. We shouldn’t strip the poor of their dignity by simply pitying them. The merit of their case should be based in fact and truth. I see it all the time among friends that in an effort to transcend a “might makes right” attitude, they almost automatically root for the underdog on the basis of their status as underdog. This too is not the path to justice. This is the sort of thinking that can keep a group of poor people in a state of perpetual reliance on the help of others. It’s the sort of thinking groups like Hamas take advantage of when leaving their people in a constant state of victimhood, rather than tending to the needs of those they’re meant to be governing.
So it isn’t simple after all. Every case, every claim, every headline requires an exhausting effort to validate. Everytime we go to share a post online, are we taking care not to violate this negative command? Are making sure we aren’t carrying false rumors? Are we cautious and demanding that facts and truth be circulated? Are we certain that we are neither favoring the mighty, nor showing deference to the poor? Are we checking our bias, and doing the deep listening required to move forward as a society? There’s so much information out there, and for better and for worse, truth has never been more difficult to identify. As Rabbi Tarfon says in Pirkei Avot, “It’s not on us to finish the work, but we are not free to ignore it.” May God lead us with His good counsel.
By Rabbi Alex Freedman.
The best teachers widen our view of the world. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks Z’L wrote something about this week’s reading, Yitro, that has long stuck with me. Because it’s not really about Yitro, Moses’ father-in-law, way back then, but about all of us every day.
In the Parsha, Yitro notices Moses wearing himself out by listening to the legal cases brought by the people all day every day. Yitro confronts him directly by saying “The thing you are doing is not good. You will surely wear yourself out, and these people as well. For the task is too heavy for you. You cannot do it alone” (Ex. 18:17, 18). He then urges Moses to delegate, to train others to be capable of answering these legal questions, while Moses will serve as a supreme court, as it were, handling the most challenging cases.
Rabbi Sacks is taken by the phrase “not good, Lo Tov.” It rings a bell for him. He turns to the only other time that exact phrase is used in the Torah, Genesis 2:18. There we see God observing Adam without Eve and being quite lonely. God says, “It is not good for man to be alone; I will make a fitting helper for him.” God then proceeds to create Eve.
There too we read “not good, Lo Tov.” When there are only two instances of an expression, each example must inform the other. What do we learn from each case?
Rabbi Sacks answers: from Genesis we learn, it’s not good for a person to live alone. And from Exodus we learn, it’s not good for a person to lead alone. Living alone removes us from the blessings of companionship, family, and community. Leading alone is an impossible task that wears out an individual and prevents that group from preparing for future success.
From what is not good, we learn the best path forward: to live together and to lead together.
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