Author: Eve Posen

Making Memories – Parshat Matot-Ma’asei 5773

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The great Torah commentator, Kevin Arnold of The Wonder Years, once said: “Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.” As people, we live through memory. Whether it is the first memory we have, or our last memory of another person, our lives are largely based on our ability to remember the world as we’ve experienced it.  When we get together with a group of friends we haven’t seen for a while, we might reminisce about the old days, about the “easier times” and the fun we used to have.

Our Torah portions this week, Parshat Matot and Masei, contain a brief recap of the Israelites’ journey from Egypt, another warning against worshipping other gods, instructions for the division of the land when they enter Israel, outlines for creating levitical cities of refuge and a piece on inheritance.  Based on this list, it becomes clear that the Torah is attempting to prepare the Israelites for the change of pace as they enter a permanent homestead.

At the forefront of parshat Masei is the recalling of the journey the Israelites took as they left Egypt for the Promised Land.  It begins:  “These were the marches of the Israelites who started out from the land of Egypt, troop by troop, in the charge of Moses and Aaron.  Moses recorded the starting points of their vigorous marches as directed by the Lord.”  And the text goes on to note the places the Israelites hit on their journey.  This list of locations reads like a walk down memory lane.  It’s basically Uncle George’s slideshow of every stop on the family trip, except in this case we don’t have any photos and fancy iMovie transitions to go with it, just the narrator reciting a list of places and stages along the route.  But in a way it’s better without the pictures because our imaginations create a mental photo album of this incredible journey.  And it’s not only a recap of the places visited, but also a reminder of God’s presence throughout their journey.

The capturing of memory, of holding onto the things you love, the things you are and the things you never want to lose, has evolved in recent years.  In the past I have accompanied the 6th graders at Levine Academy on their Texas trip.  About halfway through the trip my first year, I had an epiphany.  I was wondering why we had to allow so much extra time at each stop we visited, until I noticed the students taking in the journey from behind the lenses of their digital cameras.  Every moment from the time we got on the bus on Monday morning until we said goodbye on Thursday night was captured in some way, shape or form on a digital device.  Students took thousands of pictures so they wouldn’t “miss a thing.”

But I wonder how much we miss when we’re trying so hard to save the moment rather than living in it. I thought back to my own childhood, when you had to not only pay for the film, but pay for the developing, thus making excessive picture taking an expensive past time.  And if you wanted video, you had to reserve a certain amount of packing space for blank tapes. The ease with which we can identify and relive a journey now because of these new ways of recording it is wonderful, but what happens to the experience when only viewed from behind the camera lens?  What is the impact on the journey if it isn’t experienced firsthand?

In parshat Masei, the Torah takes us down memory lane, but not with twelve megapixel digital images or a cheesy montage that always, ALWAYS includes the Green Day song “Time of Your Life.”  It’s just words. It’s the narrative of a people finding freedom and finding their identity.  The Midrash imagines this section of text as God telling Moses to write down the journey so that they can look back and see what an amazing journey it actually was.  God doesn’t ask Moses to etch a picture on a stone. Words, written words, is how God asked for the journey to be remembered.

A picture may be worth a thousand words, but how many thousands more are needed to tell you what happened the moment before that picture? And the moment before that? What a picture doesn’t tell you is the back story, the intricate details of how that moment in time came to be.

Everywhere in our lives, we are constantly offered passive ways to help us remember what we’re doing, or where we’ve been.  We can sort through our emails to see how conversations played out, we set reminders on our smart phones and run through our call log to see who we’ve talked to and how our weeks have been.  We go on Facebook and see who we’ve become friends with, what pictures people have posted from a trip together.  But there’s no story to it, nothing that links it all together.

The Torah is that kind of record for us as the Jewish people, and the more we read it over and over again, the more it becomes a part of our lives. Regardless of how much of the Torah you chose to take as fact, Torah is the perfect example of memory in The Wonder Years definition. It symbolizes what we love, what we are, and what we never want to lose. Parshat Masei reminds us that as we begin or end any journey, it is important to take note, to write down what it is we’ve learned, where we’ve been, what we’ve seen and how far we’ve come.

You Had To Be There – Parshat Chukat 5773

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Sometimes the retelling doesn’t quite live up to the actual event.  This happens frequently when you work with kids.  Students will share with me what is apparently the funniest thing that has ever happened to them, and even though they can’t stop laughing about it, I have no idea why they find it so funny.  Or, I find myself relating a cute anecdote from a particular class, and somehow no one finds it quite as amusing as I do.  These are the moments when you simply had to be there.

This week we read parshat Chukat, which is full of plot twists and new experiences for the Israelites.  The lands of Sichon and Og are conquered, both Miriam and Aaron die, and we learn that Moshe will not be allowed to enter into the land of Israel.  In the middle of these major developments, we are also given a purification process that seems somewhat out of place in the context of the significant events that follow it.

Chapter 19 of sefer Bamidbar begins by instructing the Israelites how to purify themselves from contamination by a corpse, and the ritual of the “red heifer” has inspired much discussion and debate.

“Instruct the Israelite people to bring you a red cow without blemish, in which there is no defect and on which no yoke has been laid…give it to the priest to be slaughtered in his presence.  The priest shall take some of its blood with his finger and sprinkle it seven times toward the front of the Tent of Meeting.  The cow should be burned in his sight.”

Following this ritual the priest is to wash his clothes and wash himself.  Another person who is already pure is to then take the ashes of the cow and put them outside the camp so that they may be kept for future purification.
The concept of cleansing following interaction with a corpse certainly resonates with our modern sensibilities.  After all, we live in a world that requires items like latex gloves and Purell.  However, no real explanation is given for the process described.  Many commentators on the Torah see this as a classic example of a law that defies rational explanation.  We are asked to understand and follow the law not because we can make sense of it, but because it is a sign of our devotion to God.

Then again, maybe you just had to be there. Too often in our interpretations of the Biblical word, we try to view the text through a contemporary lens.  In our attempt to rationalize or comprehend, we forget how much the world has changed since the writing of the Torah.  This is by no means an excuse to ignore mitzvot or skip a Torah reading because it doesn’t make sense, but it is a reminder that in order to preserve our sacred tradition, we have to accept a degree of anachronism.

Is this a turnoff to those embracing the study of Judaism? Does it make the Jewish people out of touch? On the contrary, for me the history is part of the appeal.  Mitzvot require intention – they require the injection of blessing and meaning beyond just doing.  Nothing boosts kavanah like the knowledge that generations upon generations have struggled with the same questions and marveled at the same miracles.  Our answer to “you had to be there” has been to use our tradition as a vehicle to take us there.

When you consider the spectrum of Judaism, from the puzzling details of the red heifer to the solemn beauty of Yom Kippur, clearly this is a religion that cannot be phoned in.  You have to be there.  Think about the intricacies of the Pesach seder; this is a holiday that begs us to “be there” to experience the Exodus.  Why do we spin dreidels?  To “be there” when Greek rule forbade the study of Torah.

From this strange and thought-provoking mitzvah in Chukat, we learn there is value beyond doing something because we fully understand it and even beyond doing it because God has asked us to do it.  “Being there” means engaging in our tradition because Judaism – the entirety of our religion – has asked us to.  May we invest that level of intention in everything we do.

Send Me On My Way – Parshat Shlach Lecha 5773

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As the year comes to a close, I find myself in a nostalgic frame of mind.  It isn’t easy saying goodbye to our eighth graders, many of whom have been here since before they could walk.  This is, after all, where they grew up, the place where they have learned so much and made many of their best friends, and the place they have called a home for so many years.  Now the time has come for the students to pack their backpacks for the last time and face the relative independency of high school.  Like parents on the first day of kindergarten (or just about any year, for that matter), we as the teachers and administrators hope the students have learned and internalized the lessons we have tried to impart.  Reflecting on the tools we’ve given them, we feel confident they will succeed in the world, and we anxiously wait to hear about their journeys and triumphs as they continue to grow.

In the Torah, we’ve now reached the point where the Israelites are ever closer to reaching the Promised Land and their own new beginning.  Parshat Shlach Lechah, our Torah portion this week, teaches us about the nature of change and the emotions that come with it.  The text begins with Moshe sending out twelve men, one from each tribe, to look at the land of Cana’an.  As the spies venture out, one can imagine Moshe standing and watching them fade into the distance, hoping they’ll come back with a positive report.  Like a parent or teacher, he knows they might be nervous or scared, and he hopes that they represent their community with good faith and integrity.

However, Moshe is in for a surprise when the spies return.  Not only do the majority of them turn bitter and cynical on their journey, but their negative attitude continues to infect the entire nation.  If it sounds familiar, it’s also the kind of rebellious teenage group-think that tends to crop up just when the end of the school year is in sight.  Ten of the twelve spies insist that the people in the Promised Land are masterful warriors and will certainly overpower the Israelites.  The pessimism is palpable in the retelling of their expedition.  While Caleb and Yehoshua do come back with a more positive outlook on the situation, the damage has already been done by the other ten.

In this moment both God and Moshe exhibit great frustration, and in their anger they punish the Israelites.  God decides that no person over the age of twenty at the time the Israelites left Egypt would be allowed into the new land.  The text almost reads as if God is coping with a failure with this first generation.  It’s a similar feeling when we read parshat Noach, in which God is so angered by the state of human existence that it’s time for a clean slate.

As we say goodbye to the eighth graders and to our students for the summer, we send them out with pride knowing how much they’ve achieved and grown in the past year and over the years at Levine.  We hope that the summer brings with it positivity and great memories.  Most of all, we look forward to their return with reports of the world they’ve encountered and the lessons they’ve learned.

THIS TOO IS TORAH: This parsha is called Shlach Lecha, literally “send to you.”  Since the spies return with varying reports, it’s clear that perspective plays a big role in our experiences. As modern commentator Dr. Jay Michaelson suggests, perhaps what the spies were really meant to learn about was themselves and how to confront their fears before they could conquer them.

via Send Me On My Way ~Parshat Shlach Lecha 5773.

I Am What I Am – Parshat Naso 5773

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In a letter to me on my 18th birthday, my father wrote: “Much of who you are is sealed in genetics, you are who you are because of the DNA that went into making you.  But, you are also who you are because of the choices you have made and will make.  Make wise choices that reflect the best in you and those around you.”  These words often echo in my head as I look at the choices I’ve made and continue to make in my life.  The fact is we are predisposed to certain traits because of the inner make up of our bodies, but we also make choices along the path of our adventure through life.  Some things, like height or genetic predisposition for diseases, cannot be changed, while other aspects of our lives, like a career or how we interact with others, are conscious decisions.

 

As the Israelites inch closer to entering the land of Israel and the new society they have formed, the Torah gives us insight into both the predetermined status and the choices of individuals in that society.  In parshat Naso, this week’s parshah, we read about the special designations for each of the different tribes.  We also learn about a system of punishments for a suspected liar and various gifts brought by the heads of the cities in honor of the dedication of the Tabernacle.  But the primary focus of this text is on the specific roles that people play in society, namely the kohanim (priests) and the Nazirites.

The priest has a status inherited at birth based on the family line.  Because it’s passed down by blood, the role of the kohanim is considered an immutable characteristic of these people, and only in special circumstances are exemptions allowed.  For example, a priest is normally not allowed to be near a dead body, but is exempt from this rule for parents because the status is inherited from them.

 

On the other hand, the Nazirite is a self-chosen status, but full of its own prohibitions in behaviors such as cutting hair, drinking wine, or approaching a dead body.  According to the text this week, Nazirites may choose their position like they would an occupation, and because of this, even when it is their own family member who has died, they are unable to attend the burial proceedings because that restriction was self-imposed as part of the Nazirite designation.

 

The rabbis read these sections with compassion and concern.  After all, it is never easy to have to remind someone that their own choices have prohibited them from involvement in the world around them.  More telling, however, is that the rabbis viewed the choice to become a Nazirite, one who is hidden and separated from general society, as a choice to turn their attention more toward God instead of to others.  In fact, the Hebrew word nazircan mean both “consecrated” and “separated.”

 

It’s not difficult to see the advantages of either position.  For kohanim, acceptance of the rules comes without choice, which in a sense makes abiding by them easier, or at least clearer.  However, being a Nazirite is not an innate part of who someone is, so having that option implies more freedom, but choosing that path ultimately segregates a person from the community.

As modern Jews, we really must have a sense of both aspects – the inherent and the selected – to be fully connected to our religion.  That means we need to feel that Judaism is part of our makeup, either by birth or conversion, and we need to make Judaism a conscious choice every day in our thoughts and actions.

THIS TOO IS TORAH: Did you know that the Nazirite tradition had significant influence on the Rastafari movement?  Their interpretation of the nazarite vow includes the familiar prohibitions against cutting hair and drinking alcohol as well as dietary restrictions that resemble kashrut.