Author: Eve Posen

Should You #PrayForSomething – Parshat Naso 5776

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Pray For Something

Does prayer for healing after a tragedy actually work? I’m not sure the answer is black and white, but I’m sure it’s a question worth asking.

As you can imagine, it’s difficult to write a d’var Torah this week without the tragic loss of life in Orlando influencing my thoughts. Every day this week news outlets have tried to put more pieces of this devastating puzzle together, and every other post I see as I scroll through my social media feeds is a commentary on gun rights (and wrongs). Obviously no two events like this are exactly alike, but one thing that always seems to surface in the wake of tragedy is the plea for prayer. You may have even seen the #PrayForOrlando hashtag, similar to the #PrayForParis hashtag shared following the Paris terror attacks last year.

What is the goal of this sentiment, and if the goal is some form of healing to those most deeply connected, is it successful?

While we may not have a definitive answer, our Torah portion offers some insight. As we read parshat Naso this week, we read about the Israelite society trying to move forward after leaving Egypt and the establishment of a successful community. The narrative picks up with a second counting of the people, laws about how to treat one another and our property, the blessing of the priests to the people, and the laws of the Nazir, detailing how we might dedicate ourselves directly to God.

This week’s parshah also contains an iconic section of Torah, the priestly blessing. This section of text is invoked every Friday night as the blessing over the children, it’s used to bless a bar or bat mitzvah, and it’s bestowed upon a couple under the wedding canopy.

May God bless you and keep you.

May God smile at you and be gracious to you.

God lift God’s face upon you and place upon you peace.

Each line is itself a noble, yet modest blessing. However, what is noteworthy is that God is invoked in each one. Why is it necessary to recall in each line that we are praying to God? Perhaps with the transition from slavery to freedom still relatively fresh for the Israelites, we need to be reminded that it was only with God’s help that we were able to establish ourselves as a free people. That would certainly be an argument for prayer as an agent of change, or at least a viable form of gratitude.

Or perhaps it’s the opposite. Perhaps it’s what is not included in these three lines that speaks to how our partnership with God works. In the priestly blessing, we are given abstract concepts like graciousness and peace, but these are simply wishes we would like fulfilled. It’s the rest of the Torah that acts as a blueprint for action. As we learn throughout the Torah, our relationship with God is one of give and take, and it’s only balanced if prayer and action work hand in hand.

On Monday night while Congress held a moment of silence for the victims of the Orlando shooting, Representative Jim Himes of Connecticut walked out of the House, a gesture meant to decry “silence” without action. The Dalai Lama shared a similar sentiment the same night at the U.S. Institute of Peace. Although he asked for a moment of silence before his talk, he followed it by warning that prayer without action is empty.

Our prayers should not be empty words, just as our partnership with God should not be one-sided. By no means am I saying we shouldn’t pray for the victims and loved ones involved in a tragedy. The message I take away from the priestly blessing is that regardless of what you’re praying for or what policy you support, peace and healing depend on more than prayers and hashtags alone.

Parenting by the Parshah – Naso

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The contrast between joyous Shavuot (when we receive, along with the rest of the Torah, the commandment “Thou shall not kill”) and the horrific events in Orlando and Tel Aviv is jarring and nauseating. Today I offer a departure from my usual lighthearted parenting lessons as I grapple with what it means to give and receive blessing in this world my daughter will inherit. But perhaps this struggle too is Torah.

Israelites and Window Seats – Parshat Bamidbar 5776

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Window Seats

I prefer the window seat on airplanes. If I have to be stuck in an insanely small place for a long period of time, at least I can see the outside world. For me, the window seat is a compromise between the middle seat, where there’s very little room for movement, and the aisle seat, which tends to bleed into the chaos of the rest of the plane, like the unforgiving snack cart or the unobservant passenger. It may not be casebook claustrophobia, but it’s an irrational fear nonetheless.

On one end there’s the middle seat fear of having no control or way out, and it’s unsettling when it happens on the plane or anywhere else. Of course the opposite of total restriction isn’t necessarily ideal either. We learn very early on as small children that we do better with boundaries and set guidelines. Having too many options or choices causes chaos. A child will initially celebrate the expanse of options, only to have a meltdown caused by the overwhelming lack of structure. Parents, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

We see this same phenomenon with the Israelites. This week we begin reading the fourth book of the Torah, Sefer Bamidbar. This text brings us to the accounting of the people, showing us who each of the tribes are and what numbers they hold at this moment. Each tribe is denoted with a flag which marks their territory. This is the beginning of an organized society, a significant change from the free flow uncertainty they had after leaving Egypt and an even bigger change from the tight restrictions they had while enslaved.

This week the story takes another turn. Mitzrayim, the Hebrew word for Egypt, means “from a narrow place.” Egypt was a metaphorically tight place for the Israelites, filled with strict rules and laws and very little freedom to move about or guide their own journeys. Imagine the stark contrast of moving straight from this pre-liberated society to a place called midbar, the Hebrew word for the desert. The desert is a vast open expanse filled with endless (and unknown) possibilities. It’s understandable that this new world without boundaries would cause chaos and uneasiness.

The struggle between too many restrictions and not enough restrictions plays out time and time again, everywhere from business regulations to government power to the running of our own households. In parshat Bamidbar we see further movement (literally and figuratively) toward what a budding nation needs in order to give its people freedom, while keeping safety and security as top priorities. As I said, I prefer the window seat.

Slippery Slope – Parshat Bechukotai 5776

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Slippery Slope

When conservative Judaism made the change to allow congregants to drive to shul on Shabbat, the argument against the change was that congregants would take this permission further than intended. Those opposed to this shift were concerned that anyone who started driving to shul on Shabbat would eventually be driving to the movies on Shabbat or driving to the mall on Shabbat. This is the definition of what we often call a “slippery slope.” It’s the fear, logical or not, that one action may result in unintended and disastrous consequences. The slippery slope argument is invoked in order to maintain the status quo rather than risk a calamitous outcome. In the case of driving on Shabbat, the concern was that one decision would water down the observance of the entire movement.

That’s not a discussion we need to get into specifically, although this week’s parshah contains an interesting version of the slippery slope. This week, in parshat Bechukotai, the Israelite nation is receiving the final laws of the book of Vayikra, which detail specifically how we should treat one another in various relationships and how we should connect to God. The Israelites have only been out of Egypt for a short period of time, and during this first taste of freedom, they are in their stubborn and rebellious adolescent years as a nation. God, as the dutiful parent, tries every which way to implore the Israelites to keep the mitzvot. God tries to use a love and logic approach in giving consequences that fit the actions, as we saw in parshat Yitro. God tries angry intimidation, as exhibited when the Israelites build the golden calf. Now, God brings on the threats.

Chapter 26, verses 14-45 are a section of text known as the Tochecha, the rebuke of the nation for their missteps. In verse 18 God shares that the disciplinary action for sinning will be sevenfold. The Sifra, a fourth century commentary on the book of Leviticus, sees the process of falling away from God’s ordained path as occurring in seven steps, which read remarkably like a cause-and-effect slippery slope argument:

  1. People will stop studying Torah.
  2. Without this foundation of study, they will come to see the commandments as matters of personal choice rather than moral obligations.
  3. They will therefore resent people who do study and practice and who make them feel guilty for not doing so.
  4. They will then try to stop others from fulfilling the commandments in order to feel less guilty themselves.
  5. They will deny that the commandments came from God.
  6. They will deny the existence of a covenant between God and Israel.
  7. They will deny the existence of God.

The Sifra offers what is certainly a worst cast scenario, but it also reminds us that our actions, for better or worse, can cause chain reactions in the world. And it got me thinking. We really only focus on the negative slippery slopes (a slippery slope has a pretty negative connotation), but the change we sometimes fear could just as easily result in a series of positive aftereffects.

Consider the positive slippery slope of driving to shul on Shabbat. The reason this response was accepted was because removing the prohibition against driving potentially allowed more people to feel comfortable traveling to shul on Shabbat. This, in turn, would help build community and strengthen the Jewish people in the long run. Perhaps rather than calling this positive chain reaction a “slippery slope,” it instead harkens back to how Moshe received the Torah in the first place; he climbed the mountain.