Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Divrei Rav Josh- Parshat Emor: God's Harvest

On April 22nd, communities around the world celebrated Earth Day, a holiday created to remind us of our obligation to be mindful stewards of our planet. In an article entitled "Tending to Our Cosmic Oasis," former Chancellor of JTS Ismar Schorsch writes that Judaism obligates us to reject the notion that all our material possessions are permanent, but rather that anything we own or posses is ultimately due to God's grace. Schorsch writes:
"...Judaism pulsates with reverence for God’s handiwork. Man may embody the highest form of consciousness in the universe, but hardly merits the limitless power of an absolute monarch. His unique ability to unravel the secrets of nature does not make him the equal of its creator...Judaism is a religious tapestry designed to sharpen our eye for the divine, in nature as well as in history, and thus is laced with universal motifs relevant to our contemporary crisis" (Ismar Schorsch, "Tending to Our Cosmic Oasis," The Melton Journal: Issues and Themes in Jewish Education, Vol. 24 (Spring 1991), 3).
Chancellor Schorsch cautions anyone from assuming that our ability to have possessions means that we are permanent owners of anything, for all things in this world are subject to God's will, and anyone blessed with plenty must use their good fortune to bring divine sanctity into this world, an idea expressed in Parshat Emor's depiction of the mitzvah of the omer.

Parshat Emor describes God's command to the Israelites that, prior to eating any food that is produced in the harvest season, the Israelites should bring an omer of their harvest to the Kohanim for a sacrifice. The parasha states:
"And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying, "Speak to the children of Israel and say to them: When you come to the Land which I am giving you, and you reap its harvest, you shall bring it to the kohen an omer of the beginning of your harvest. And he shall wave the omer before the Lord so that it will be acceptable for you; the kohen shall unblemished lamb in its first year as a burnt offering to the Lord..." (Vayikra 23:9-12).
As is often the case in Sefer Vayikra, our rabbis were curious as to meaning behind the mitzvah of the omer, and how providing this portion of our harvest to God achieves certain larger aims in terms of the relationship between God and the Israelites. Beginning with our rabbinic midrashim, the bringing of an omer is considered intimately connected to something about the divine-human relationship. The midrash states:
"Do not take the precept of the omer lightly, for it was by merit of this commandment Abraham was privileged to inherit the Land of Canaan...as it is stated, "And I will give You, and to your seed after you, the Land..." (Genesis 17:8) on condition that you shall keep My covenant (17:9). What is meant by covenant? The precept of the omer" (Midrash Vayikra Rabbah 28:6).
The above midrash argues that something about the omer relates to the covenant between God and Abraham, as their covenant remains a paradigm through all of Jewish history. However, the midrash is opaque in terms of how exactly collecting the omer specifically reminds one of the covenental relationship.

Two later commentaries on the Torah offer a similar theme about the true meaning of the omer, and how bringing an omer to the kohanim makes a profound statement about the nature of our material possessions and our relationship with God. First, the Akedat Yitzhak, a super-commentary on Rashi by Rabbi Isaac ben Moses Arama, argues that collecting an omer of the first fruits acknowledges the covenant by forcing the individual to recognize that their harvest, no matter how bountiful, does not belong to them, but ultimately belongs to God:
“The declaration “When you come to the land which I give to you” collocates with the Divine promise, “For the Lord your God brings you into a good land...a land of wheat and barley...a land in which you shall eat bread without scarceness....when you have eaten are replete, then you shall bless the Lord your God...Beware that you forget not the Lord your God.”  The land was to be given to the people of Israel as a means to an end, as a necessary tool to achieve the ultimate goal and satisfaction (i.e. the appropriation of the Torah).  The omer of the first fruits reflects this idea.   Hence the prohibition to eat from the new produce before the offering up of the omer.   The priest is to wave it before the Lord in order that the offering of the people may be accepted and their awareness deepened that all this is at our disposal- not for its own sake, as fools are wont to think, but to enable us to serve God” (Akedat Yitzhak on Vayikra 23).   
According to the Akedat Yitzhak, lest one believe that a bountiful harvest is indicative of a person's own intrinsic worth, the mitzvah of the omer exists to remind each Israelite that any bounty from that harvest exists not for material wealth for its own sake, but to serve God. By extension, each time one sanctifies a piece of their harvest to God, they are not only acknowledging God's sanctity in the short-term, but making a statement about humanity's responsibility to obey God in the long-term.

Second, Rabbi Moses Alshikh, a sixteenth-century Torah commentator, writes that the omer not only reminds the Israelites that they are not responsible for indefinite material gains, but also that they are not responsible for their inheritance of the land of Israel. Alshikh states:
"Lest we succumb to pride, God has commanded us to offer up the earliest product of the Israelite harvest presenting the priest one omer as a token of our gratitude, of our acknowledgment that God is the Creator of the Land and all it produces...When you come to the Land implies no conquest but the acquisition of a legacy. This may foster the illusion that the Land belongs to Israel permanently and unconditionally, to be inherited by their children to be tilled and cultivated, and to reap the fruits of their sweat and toil" (Moses Alshikh on Vayikra 23:10).
According to Alshikh, we should not limit our understanding of the omer's significance to only the harvesting of the land, but of Israel's inheritance of the land itself. God will provide the Israelites a beautiful land with which to reap successful harvest, yet the harvests and the land itself are both depend on our willingness to accept God's Torah, and live our lives in intimate connection to the Divine.

Whether we are thinking about humanity's relationship to the environment, or how we teach our children to value people and community more than things, the above commentaries about the omer teach us what it means to maintain humility about who really "owns" our possessions, and take notice of the ways that we can allow God's presence to overcome the temptations of materialism. All of us, at any stage of life, can become convinced that we are the masters of our destiny and possessions, yet ultimately our parasha provides us a model by which we can take a step back, and give something ourselves as a means of acknowledging that God's role in providing us a bounty through which we can harvest all the goodness in our lives.

Shabbat Shalom!

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Divrei Rav Josh- Parshat Aharei Mot-Kedoshim: Marshmallows and Holiness

If I had to choose a single scientific experiment that significantly impacts my work as a Jewish educator, I would choose the famous Stanford Marshmallow Experiment . This experiment consisted of a group of young children who were left alone in a room with a piece of their favorite candy, and were told that they could either eat the single piece of candy now, or wait fifteen minutes and receive an entire bag of that type of candy. Ultimately, after observing the students for the next several decades, the researchers found that the students who were able to delay gratification for fifteen minutes demonstrated higher achievement in a number of areas than those who chose not to wait and ate the single piece of candy.  

As a Jewish educator, I look at this experiment and remember that we oftentimes fail to teach our children that delayed gratification is a Jewish value, and the basic practice of practicing restraint in certain areas of our lives benefits us spiritually, inter-personally, professionally, and even materially. Believe it or not, this idea can be found in Parshat Aharei Mot-Kedoshim when we closely examine how our rabbis interpret the famous verse where God says, "You shall be holy, for I, the Lord your God, am Holy" (Vayikra 19:2).  

One of our earliest midrashim on this verse establishes the idea that holiness represents an ability to separate one's own behavior from the behavior of others. The Sifra states:
"You shall be holy"- you shall set yourselves apart. "For I, the Lord your God, am holy"- meaning that if you make yourselves holy, I shall credit you as if you had sanctified Me, but if you do not make yourselves holy, I shall view as if you have not sanctified me" (Sifra Kedoshim 1:1).  
This midrash argues that sanctifying oneself is inherently connected to sanctifying God, and our later commentators will be tasked with understanding what are the specific actions that define our capacity to attain that sanctity.

However, when our Medieval Commentators examine this verse, a famous debate takes place in the commentaries of Rashi and Ramban as to whether or not this verse should be read narrowly or broadly. Rashi writes:
"“You shall be holy”: abstain from forbidden relations and from sin.  The concept of holiness always accompanies the laws of sexual relations..." (Rashi on Vayikra 19:2).
Rashi's commentary asserts that the statement "You shall be holy" must be connected to the forthcoming prohibitions of illicit sexual relationships, since the broad principle would most likely apply to the specific prohibitions that the Torah ultimately lists. If we read the verse from our parasha narrowly, we can see the appeal in Rashi's interpretation, as it limits the principle of "You shall be holy" to that which immediately follows it.

However, when the Ramban examines the same verse, he argues that Rashi construes the verse too narrowly, and ignores the broadly principle that is explicated through this entire passage. The Ramban states the following:
"In my opinion, this "purity," is not, as Rashi holds, confined to the laws of sexual relations, but rather that associated throughout the Talmud with the pious, called Perushim (abstemious, saintly). This is so because the Torah forbids certain relations and foods, permits intercourse with one's wife and the consumption of meat and wine...Therefore, after outlining absolute prohibitions, we are given a general command of restraint from things that are permitted" (Ramban on Vayikra 19:2).
According to the Ramban, while Rashi is correct to relate the principle of "You shall be holy" to sexual relationships, Rashi ignores the fact that similar language in used in other places where holiness is connected to the importance of restraining one's behavior. Instead, the Ramban argues that we should see the principle of "You shall be holy" as introducing us to limitations placed upon for a specific act that, under other circumstances, we are permitted to perform. For example, while the Torah limits specific sexual relationships, the Torah also states that it is a mitzvah to procreate. Similarly, while the Torah describes examples when a person can or should limit or abstain from consuming alcohol, such as in the case of the nazir, the Torah does not completely prohibit alcohol consumption. In each case, the Ramban argues that the Torah is attempting to explain how placing limitations upon ourselves is an essential element towards pursuing a pathway of holiness.

In the modern commentary, Chancellor Ismar Schorsch argues that the statement "You shall be holy" expresses Judaism's promotion of self-denial as an act of spirituality. He writes:
“....holiness in Judaism begins with self-denial.  The basic thrust of the Torah is to limit our freedom of action.  In Jewish law the proverbial 613 commandments break down into 365 proscriptions and only 248 prescriptions.   The ideal is not to be governed by our impulse, nor to try out everything that we are capable of doing.   Dissipation is a danger to both health and truth.  Judaism is our Walden Pond where simplicity is the key to mastering life; less is more, and “a man is rich in proportion to the things he can afford to let alone” (Henry David Thoreau)” (Ismar Schorsch, “Aharei-Mot Kedoshim: What is Holiness?”, Canon Without Closure: Torah Commentaries, 420).
One cannot read Schorsch's commentary without seeing the echoes of Ramban's interpretation, for Chancellor Schorsch is notes that we choose not to do says a great deal about our capacity for divine connection. In each case, our rabbis articulate that the Torah aims to use prohibited acts as a means of attaining sanctity by emphasizing the value of teaching restraint, delayed gratification and impulse control.

At every stage of life, we are faced with opportunities to act impulsively, or to show restraint. Whether we are tempted to say something inappropriate to or about a friend or colleague, decide whether to have a salad or a slice of pizza for lunch, or spend our money or place it in the bank, all of us spend our lives living through moments when restraint is a value that pays short-term and long-term dividends. Fittingly, our rabbis understand the principle "You shall be holy" as imploring us to embrace restraint as a Jewish value, and may we teach that principle to children, students, and members of our community.

Shabbat Shalom!



Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Divrei Rav Josh- Parshat Tazria/Metzora: Tza’raat, Fast and Slow


Last year, I read Daniel Kahneman’s magnificant book Thinking, Fast and Slow, which provided a window into ways our mind makes judgments that are “fast,” quick and intuitive, verses judgments that are “slow,” or deliberative and holistic.   According to Kahneman, there are major consequences for teaching people to be more slow to judgment in how they make decisions.  He writes:

“We would all like to have a warning bell that rings loudly whenever we are about to make a serious error, but no such bell is available, and cognitive illusions are generally more difficult to recognize than perceptual illusions.   The voice of reason may be much fainter than the loud and clear voice of an erroneous intuition, and questioning your intuitions is unpleasant when you face the stress of a big decision.   More doubt is the last thing you want when you are in trouble.   The upshot is that it is much easier to identify a minefield when you observe others wandering into it than when you are about to do so.    Observers are less cognitively busy and more open to information” (Thinking, Fast and Slow, 417).   

Kahneman’s theory is that one ultimately makes better, more thoughtful judgments when they think “slow,” yet thinking slow requires that we have the discipline to stop and judge our perceptions for a second time, an idea that is reflected in this week’s parasha of Tazria-Metzora.

The general consensus of our rabbinic commentators is that while we cannot ignore the literal ways in which tza’raat affects the Israelite community, the actual effect of tza’raat is meant to be a decidedly spiritual one.   In his commentary on the Mishnah, Moses Maimonides writes that tza’raat is a supernatural phenomenon:

“Tza’raat was meant as a warning and chastisement, for we are obviously not dealing here with natural illnesses, since garments and houses are inanimate.   This is rather a wondrous supernatural phenomenon...whatever happens to the garments and houses is, like the plague affecting the human being, called tza’raat figuratively...and the tza’raat becomes clean when its color turns white again--and this is the most important message and purpose, because of the spiritual nature of the entire subject of tza’raat” (Maimonides, Commentary to Mishnah Negaim 12:5).   

If we accept Maimonides’ contention that we should look at tza’raat as a spiritual, rather than literal, affliction, it would also make sense for us to see the lessons that we can take this parasha as spiritual, rather than literal.   Below, I will share how our rabbinic interpret one particular aspect of the procedure for determining tza’raat in Parshat Tazria/Metzora, and how making a distinction between the literal and spiritual can teach us something essential about the value of thinking “slow” in our relationships with one another.

When our parasha describes how a Kohen should determine whether or not a person is afflicted with tza’raat, the Torah includes a curious repetition concerning the procedure how the Kohens should check for tza’raat:

The Kohen shall examine the affection in the skin of his body: if hair in the affected patch has turned white and the affection appears to be deeper than the skin of his body, it is a leprous affection; when the Kohen sees it, he shall pronounce him impure” (Vayikra 13:3).

When examining this passage, our rabbis note that our verse states two times that the Kohen “looks” at the garments in order to determine tza’raat.  In response, our rabbis determine that the multiple uses of the word “look” provides us a window in the spiritual message of this mitzvah.

Commenting upon a later which references the need for a Kohen to look and determine whether or not a person is afflicted with tza’raat, Rashi asserts that there exists different reasons why a Kohen might “look” for tza’raat in different situations.  He writes:

“And on the day” (13:14)” What does Scripture teach? It comes to teach that there is a day when you may see it and there is a day when you may not see it. Hence our rabbis said, “A bridegroom is granted [exemption from examination] all the seven days of celebration for himself and his garments and his house; and similarly on a festival one is granted exemption all the days of the festival” (Rashi on Vayikra 13:14).

This commentary, which alludes to rabbinic teachings that can be found in the Babylonian Talmud in Moed Kattan 7b and Bechorot 34b, implies that there exists instances where it is clear that one must declare a person to be impure, yet there are also instances where circumstances would require one not to declare someone impure, even if they might be impure according to only the letter of the law.

Regarding our verse specifically, the Meshekh Hokhmah, the Torah commentary of Rabbi Meir Simha Ha-Kohen of Dvinsk, takes a spiritual approach and writes that the repetition of “seeing” refers to two different modes of looking, each of which reflects a certain aspect of interpersonal engagement.  He writes:

“Why the redundancy? One can say that the verse refers to two different aspects. In the first, the Kohen shall examine the affection. This involves the physical act of looking, where the Kohen checks to see if there are signs of tzara’at. The second aspect, though, refers to another type of “looking.” Thus we are told, for example, that if the person is a bridegroom in the first seven days of his marriage or if a person comes to the Kohen in the middle of a festival, the Kohen does not judge the person to have tzara’at until that week or that festival has ended, so as not to disturb his joy. Thus, the Kohen must “look” at various external factors as well, for the ways of the Torah are ways of pleasantness. (Meshekh Hokhma, Rabbi Meir Simha Hakohen of Dvinsk, 1843-1926, Latvia).

In this commentary, the looking commanded of the Kohen refers to both the external physical indications of tza’raat, as well as the contextual factors surrounding that person’s life at that moment.   By implication, the Meshekh Hokhma argues that it would be possible for a Kohen to observe the external, physical characteristics of tza’raat, yet still not pronounce that person impure, if the external factors do not warrant such a ruling.   This reading of the text from Vayikra provides a powerful example of how a Jewish religious authority might think “slow” before they make a ruling with important implications.

By emphasizing the various ways in which a Kohen must “look” at a person afflicted with tza’raat, our parasha is teaching us something essential about what it means to make judgments about other people.   In our parasha, it would be easy to assume that the Kohen should simply take a quick look at a person, and make a cut-and-dry decision as to whether or not they are afflicted with tza’raat, yet, in reality, our parasha demands that the Kohen take the slow approach to pronouncing affliction.  Similarly, in our relationships with one another, most us make snap judgments that affect our entire attitude towards other people when we meet them, taking the “fast” approach, when, in reality, we must be “slow” to look at another person, trying to understand the entire person before we judge them.   By extension, as we raise our children to become caring, kind human beings, we must embrace the challenge of helping them look slowly at other people, see the whole person, and use that as a means to find the good them.    May we embrace our parasha’s call for us to make evaluations based on everything we see, and not just from a snapshot of what think we see.

Shabbat Shalom!

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Divrei Rav Josh- Parshat Shemini: A New Ritual, A New Name


One of my favorite novels is The Fifth Mountain by Paulo Coehlo, which is a modern retelling of the story of Elijah the prophet, where the prophet is forced to deal with the tragedy to being alone and beginning anew when no one else understands him.  At the climactic point in the novel, the main character challenges a group of villagers to see how they might tell a new story about themselves in the wake of destruction:

“Tragedies do happen.  We can discover the reason, blame others, imagine how different our lives would be had they not occurred.  But none of that is important: they did occur, and so from there onward we must aside that fear that they awoke in us and begin to rebuild.   Each of you will give yourselves a new name, beginning at this very moment.   This will be the sacred name that brings together in a single word all that you have dreamed of fighting for” (Paulo Coehlo, The Fifth Mountain, 212-213).

This passage imagines what it would be like to the past behind us, and walk into a new future with a new name, and a new purpose, a vision recognized our rabbis understanding of the opening of Parshat Shemini.   

When I read the weekly parasha, I oftentimes find myself trying to understand how an individual event or command fits into the entire narrative of the Torah, specifically how what a statement to one character at a particular time means in light of what happened previously in that character’s life.   Parshat Shemini opens with a description of God instructions to Moses and Aaron as to how one should begin preparing the mishkan for divine service.  The parasha states the following:

“And Moses said: 'This is the thing which God commanded that you should do; that the glory of God may appear unto you.'  And Moses said unto Aaron: 'Draw near unto the altar, and offer thy sin-offering, and the burnt-offering, and make atonement for yourself, and for the people; and present the offering of the people, and make atonement for them; as God commanded.'  So Aaron drew near to the altar, and slew the calf of the sin-offering, which was for himself” (Vayikra 9:6-8).

For our rabbinic commentators, the completion of and service in the mishkan is related to the aftermath to the building of the Golden Calf.    While the building of the Golden Calf represented an instance where the Israelite community came together for a profane purpose, the mishkan represented an opportunity for the community to come together for a sanctified purpose.  Aviva Zornberg summarizes the nature of this transition in her book The Particulars of Rapture:

“...in the midrashic versions of the Golden Calf episode a pockmarked future history of infidelity and intransigence has left its traces.   The essential question, then, is of the possibility of teshuva, of change.  If “love of authority” is the underlying perplexity of human experience, is an authentic relation to the other at all conceivable?”  (Aviva Zornberg, The Particulars of Rapture: Reflections on Exodus, 413).   

According to Zornberg, once the Israelites prove able to construct the mishkan and offer divine service in it, they will have demonstrated their capacity for change, a powerful example of a how person or community’s individual mistakes need not prevent them from transformative growth.

For our rabbinic commentators, no person benefited from the transformative change of building the mishkan than Aaron, who was intimately involved in the construction of the Golden Calf, yet who was also tasked with leading the people in priestly rituals and the sacrificial rites.   One midrash points out that the service in the mishkan tested the Israelites by intentionally reminding Aaron of all the acts performed when constructing the Golden Calf:

“When the Israelites made the Golden Calf, God told Moses, “Now leave Me alone...and I will destroy them.”  Moses said to God: “Test them [the Israelites] to see whether they will make the Mishkan.”  What did the Torah say regarding the failure at the Golden Calf?   “Remove the gold rings.”  And what the Israelites brings?  Rings.  And when they made the Mishkan, they made the same contribution.  And that is what is written, “All who were generous of spirit brought nose-rings and earrings, rings and bracelets”- the Israelites sinned by means of earrings, and so God would be satisfied by means of earrings” (Midrash Rabbah, Shemot 48:5).   

In this midrash, everything that the Israelites were asked to donate and bring for the construction of the mishkan were items previously used in the construction of the Golden Calf, a type of measure-for-measure decision on the part God that linked these two events in the minds of the Israelites and Aaron, in particular.

However, when our commentators analyze Parshat Shemini, they note that Aaron’s memory of the Golden Calf impedes his enthusiasm for the divine service is about commence in the mishkan during this parasha.  As a result, Moshe offers Aaron words of encouraged described in the following midrash:

“And Moses and Aaron came to the Tent of Meeting”- when Aaron saw that all the sacrifices had already been offered and all the actions had already been performed, but the Divine Presence was not descending to Israel, Aaron stood and was troubled.  He said, “I know that God is angry with me; it is because of me that the Divine Presence has not come down to Israel.   This is what my brother Moses did to me- I went out and was embarrassed, because the Divine Presence did not descend to Israel!”  Moses immediately entered with him, and they asked for Divine mercy, and the Divine Presence descended to Israel.  Therefore, it is written, “Moses and Aaron came to the Tent of Meeting” (Sifra, Parshat Shemini).   

This midrash takes a psychological approach, and invites us to empathize with Aaron’s hesitation to begin his priestly service, given the guilt he felt over the construction of the Golden Calf, and how Moses’ statement to Aaron attempted to renew Aaron’s focus and passion for divine service.    Therefore, if we are to see as the construction of the mishkan as an opportunity for the Israelites to atone for the sin of the Golden Calf, we must also see the Aaron’s service as an opportunity for him to no longer be remember as the man who constructed the Golden Calf, but the man who inaugurated divine service, a man with a “new name.”   

Similar to my Dvar Torah last year, I remained fascinated by the way in which our rabbis’ understanding of Parshat Shemini teaches us something powerful about our capacity for change, and what it means to walk into new opportunities that allow us to close less flattering chapters of our lives, and write news one of hope and opportunity.   When a student makes a mistake, they imagine that this mistake will define them forever, yet if education is a process of our growth, our task is to help students see how they move beyond their mistakes, write new chapters in their lives, and move forward.   May we embrace this task, and like Moses, walk with our students and children down pathways of growth, change, and possibility.   

Shabbat Shalom!