Author: Eve Posen

Eight Days a Week – Parshat Shemini 5773

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I love the anticipation of a big event.  I admit to actually counting down the days to big trips and even saving birthday cards to open on the exact anniversary of my birth.  I remember all of the preparation that went into both my bat mitzvah and my wedding. During all the work that went into these special events I nearly crawled out of my skin with anticipation as the date grew closer.  But with all of this anticipation, there is a certain letdown the day after when there is nothing left to look forward to . .. at least until the next event.  I have the same reaction to Passover, Hannukah, and Sukkot; I can’t wait for them to start, and by the middle of the holiday I’m already getting sad thinking about having to go back to the same old routine when it ends.  It seems that no matter how old I am I still follow this cycle:  excitement, anticipation, and then letdown after it’s over.

As we read parshat Shemini this week, we are reminded of the anticipation that leads up to an important event, but also taught about how to prolong a sacred time. The parshah begins with the words “on the eighth day” after the priests had been installed.  The text picks up with the narrative of creating a holy leadership team of Aaron and his sons, who unfortunately make an offering without the appropriate directions or intentions and end up losing their lives.  Beyond this tragic story comes the laws for making time holy with sacrifices and laws of making our bodies holy by following the laws of kashrut.

One of the themes we see through all these rules is the idea of the eighth day.  After all, a seven-day week is considered a complete unit, and the eighth day represents starting the cycle over.  As I am relearning to play piano,I’m reminded of the eight-note octave, which begins the scale again.  Eight is an important number in Judaism: baby boys are circumcised on the eighth day, Passover and Sukkot are celebrated for eight days in the Diaspora, Hannukah lasts for 8 days.

But what happens after those eight days? It’s easy to anticipate an event with all the excitement and preparation that comes with it.  It’s more difficult to take the joy and energy of that event and continue  it through to the ninth day.  The Talmud suggests that the reason the eighth day is of such importance is because while the first seven days of an event represent the days of creation, on the eighth day we are challenged to return to living in our day-to-day world of ordinary events.

We often get so caught up in the excitement of a festival or the planning of an event that we forget how to take that joy and blend it into our everyday lives.  Imagine taking the same care about what we eat on a daily basis as we do during Passover?  Or what would happen if we didn’t just enjoy the light of the Hannukah candles on those eight nights, but if we looked for a shining light every night as we gathered together as a family?

Our parshah this week reminds us that set sacred times and actions are important, but what really matters is what we do after we’ve been sanctified.

THIS TOO IS TORAH: These eight-day celebrations always remind me of the Beatles song “Eight Days a Week.” While the song itself has nothing to do with Judaism, it’s a nice reminder that the end of a week or the culmination of an event doesn’t mean the end of the joyous feelings that accompanied it.

Light My Fire – Parshat Tzav 5773

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I have a confession to make.  I can often be found early on Sunday mornings watching Joel Osteen preach on television.  Joel Osteen is Pastor of Lakewood Church in Houston who, in true evangelical style, brings passion, love, and warmth to his preaching.  Like his congregants, I find myself captivated by his confident presence.  When the camera pans the audience, you can see their faces engaged and enthralled with his message, hanging onto his every word.  Every week he puts on this incredible show of faith and energy, which never appears to falter. 

As a teacher and preacher, it usually follows that the more energy I put out into my teachings, the more interested the class is in the material.  If I am excited about a topic, that excitement shines through, and soon the students are revved up about the learning ahead.  On the other hand, there are also mornings when not even the greatest exertion of energy can liven up the room, and I can walk out of a service or class feeling as though I’ve emptied my entire energy reserve with nothing to show for it.  It certainly makes me wonder where Joel Osteen gets the energy and charisma to inspire and invigorate thousands of people every week.
This week we read parshat Tzav, which reviews the instructions for the priests with regard to the various sacrifices.  We learn about offerings of thanks, offerings of well-being, offerings of guilt, and offerings of free will.  This is also the parshah in which we receive the commandment against mixing milk and meat and learn about the gifts that the priests receive from the well-being offerings made. 
In the discussion of the offerings, the Torah teaches that offerings are most often to be made using fire.  Chapter 6, verse 2 states: “Command Aaron and his sons thus:  This is the ritual of the burnt offering: the burnt offering itself shall remain where it is burned upon the altar all night until morning, while the fire on the altar is kept going on it.”  The last Hebrew word in this verse could also be read as “within him” instead of “on it.”  This interpretation teaches that the fire of the altar for God must be paralleled in the person serving God.  In this case, the priest must have a fiery passion within him in order to continue his work.  Today, we might understand this as the need for our own spiritual leaders to remain passionate and excited about their own work so it can inspire us. 
The text teaches that the sacred nature of serving God that we find as the job of rabbis, priests, and other clergy must never be lost.  Just as the Toraidic priest is inspired and filled with passion by the well-being offerings given by the community, so too our leaders today gain inspiration and increased passion from the excitement and love of their community.  A medieval commentator states that it is the responsibility of the congregation to see that the enthusiasm and dedication of the clergy is never extinguished. 
As I see it, this is a mutual responsibility.  Even more so, I believe there is a give and take between clergy and community that keeps the passion burning for both.  I am grateful every day to be a part of a school community that challenges me, inspires me, and lifts me up.  We are blessed in a community where pre-K children ask insightful questions about God’s origin and 8th graders offer bold and intelligent commentary as to how religion and science come together.  May we take a lesson from students young and old to keep asking questions so that the fire of inspiration in each of us burns brightly all our lives.
THIS TOO IS TORAH: The English word “inspire” comes from the Latin for “to breathe.” Which image of inspiration or passion resonates more with you, that of breath or fire?

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Uniquely Me – Parshat Vayikra 5773

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“Well, if Johnny jumped off a bridge, would you do it too?”  You’ve heard this familiar retort and perhaps even used it to try to shed light on the temptations of peer pressure.  The question is posed to prove that sometimes what the group does is not always the right choice for every individual.  The question reminds us that each of us has the ability to make choices for ourselves and our own best interest.  But, this is not always easy, especially when you are young and want more than anything to fit in.  We go to extra lengths to fit in, whether it’s dressing in a way that looks “cool” but really makes us uncomfortable or making a bad judgment call and stealing lipstick from the drugstore or cheating on a test.  We spend a significant amount of time, whether consciously or not, trying to walk the fine line between individual needs and desires and the desire to fit in with the group. 

This week we begin reading sefer Vayikra, the third book of the Torah.  This book is full of rules and laws that delineate types of sacrifices, both communal and individual, the establishment of priests and sacred worship, reminders about what to put into our bodies, how to remain pure, and the consequences that result from breaking these rules.  The tie that binds each of these sections of text together is that of community. 
Sefer Vayikra and our parshah this week begin with God asking Moses to speak to the Israelites.  Chapter 1, verse 2 states “Speak to the children of Israel and you say to them, ‘When a person presents an offering of cattle to the Lord, from the herd or flock should y’all choose.’”  This verse begins by instructing a singular individual and concludes with the plural, speaking to the entire community.  Both individual and communal offerings are required in the text, but the switch mid-verse is peculiar. 
The rabbis warn in Leviticus Rabbah, a 6th-8th century work of commentary, the individual must not be influenced to inauthentic action by the community.  Leviticus Rabbah picks up on the word used in verse 2 for a person, adam, teaching that an “offering must be like that of Adam, belonging to you and not stolen, offered solely to express your love of God and not to impress your neighbors.”  That is to say that while offerings and ritual are meant to be performed in community, the action must be authentic.  Making an offering because you want to appear more generous to the community or to jump on the latest trend of “spiritual practice” because it is what everyone is doing will lead you nowhere, according to our text. 
Rather, performing the mitzvot that are laid out in sefer Vayikra should add to our own unique relationship with God.  An unknown Hasidic master taught that we enter the sanctuary as individuals, but the experience of worship leads us to transcend our separateness and become part of the community. 
The central part of the book of Vayikra is known as the holiness code, which describes the ways in which an individual behaves ethically and morally.  Holiness, according to our text, is being yourself, your truest and best self.  That’s truly the easiest way to live a life full of honor and blessings.
THIS TOO IS TORAH:  We actually refer to Vayikra indirectly every time we read from the Torah as a community.  During the Torah reading, a Kohen is called to approach (k’rav) to have the first aliah, just as the priests in old times would approach (k’rav) to perform the duties of the sacrificial service.

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The Bigger Person – Parshat Vayakhel-Pekudei 5773

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One of my clearest memories of my time playing softball as a kid was the end of the game.  If my team had won the game, then we all had to go shake the hands of the team that lost before we could celebrate.  If we lost, we had to go congratulate the winner.  The coaches always reminded us about our sportsmanship if we lost and how to be a gracious winner if we won.  Not the easiest concepts growing up. Sometimes you don’t want to be the bigger person; sometimes you just want to pout, feel sorry for yourself, or even begrudge the person or team that won. 

Even as adults we sometimes struggle with this, albeit in different situations.  As we learn in the Torah and in our lives, how a person responds when it comes to competition reveals a great deal about his character.  Our Biblical narrative up until this week has shown our leaders don’t always act with unflinching integrity.  Abraham asks his wife to lie to save himself, Jacob steals a blessing from his brother, and Noah gets drunk and then causes his sons to sin.  Then we get to Moses.  Now Moses is not always perfect, but in this week’s Torah portions, Vayakhel-Pekudei, we see the true depth of Moses’s character.
In chapter 40, verses 15-16, God commands Moses to go and anoint his nephews, Aaron’s sons, as priests for the community.  God tells Moses to do for his nephews as he had done for his brother, and Moses complies.  Imagine being in Moses’s shoes and being asked to promote your nephews over your own sons.  Moses doesn’t put up a fight or ask why not his own sons, he simply does what God asks him to do and moves on. 
In this moment, Moses shows the greatness of his character and his love for his brother by anointing his nephews with the same purpose and intention as he anointed their father.  Etymologically, to go from humility to humiliation is not much of a stretch, but for Moses to choose humility in honoring his nephews instead of humiliating them by disobeying God means a world of difference.
We show true love when we can rejoice in the good fortune of others even when it’s an experience we ourselves may never know.  To be like Moses, to be a leader who celebrates with someone else when you are hurting, is truly what it means to be a part of a community. 
THIS TOO IS TORAH: The Hebrew words for “a humble person” and for “grape” are spelled slightly differently, but are both pronounced “anav.”  Some scholars have drawn a connection between grapes and humility because grapes are valued in a bunch, not individually. And grapes are worth more when they are squeezed into wine, just as a person’s true worth might be revealed when she is under pressure.

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What Goes Around – Parshat Ki Tissa 5773

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Racecar.  A man, a plan a canal: Panama.  Eve.  Each of these is a palindrome, spelled the same way forwards and backwards.  Ever since the day I figured out my name was a palindrome, I have been on the lookout for others.  I even convinced my parents to name my sister Hannah with an extra “h” (originally it was Hanna) so we could both be palindromes.  Palindromes are uncommon, once you move past the ordinary ones like “mom” and “dad.”  Interestingly though, both of those words are actually palindromes in Hebrew too.  When I discover palindromes and other linguistic oddities, I find myself looking for added meaning, which is why this week’s parshah brings out my inner geek.  

Parshat Ki Tissa begins in chapter 30, verses 12-14, “When you take a census of the Israelite people according to their enrollment, they should give the Lord a ransom for himself on being enrolled, that no plague may come upon them through their being enrolled.  This is what everyone who is entered into the records shall pay: a half-shekel by the sanctuary weight.”  Two words in these verses jump out. 
The word for “they shall give” is ונתנו (v’natnu).  If you look at the Hebrew letters vav, nun, taf, nun, vav, you will see that it is a palindrome.  The Torah teaches that giving is a cycle.  Here, we give to show our membership to the community and show our membership to this group of people.  But the rabbis teach that the reason this word is palindromic is because we should be giving as we might receive.  Being a part of the community means that throughout all of life’s ups and downs, we will be supporting others as we ourselves are supported.   
The second word that brings layers of meaning with it is “Half a shekel,” מחצית (mechatzit).  While this word is not a palindrome, it does carry a significant teaching.  The first letter and last letter,mem and taf, combine to spell the word met, which means death.  The second and penultimate letters combine to spell chai, which means life.  The middle letter, tzadi, is the first letter of the Hebrew word tzedakah which, in one sense, has come to mean giving charity. 
In this text a half shekel literally meant the difference between life and death for those who were counted in the census for the military.  Today, we read these words and understand that the way we give and the way we receive can be the difference between life and death to some in our community. 
Parshat Ki Tissa holds in it a pivotal moment in our narrative.  The text reminds us of the incident of the golden, masked calf, where the Israelites lost faith and created an image to worship.  Their fear and lack of faith angers and frustrates God.  God wants to destroy the nation, and Moshe has to step in and intervene.  This is a Moshe who has now accepted the responsibility of protecting the people.  There is a give and take when we each take responsibility for one another, and this is a theme found throughout the parshah.  The first four psukim of Ki Tissa teach us this deep lesson in a profound way. 
THIS TOO IS TORAH: We still have a census taken periodically today.  What do you think is different about the kind of census taken in the time of the Torah and the kind taken today?  What question do you think should be asked as part of the Dallas Jewish Community census?  I’ll leave you with this palindrome question to ponder: Are we not drawn onward, we few, drawn onward to new era?

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