If you finish your broccoli, then you can have your dessert. That’s the incentive we use with kids, but trust me, it works on me too.  I often need the promise of a reward to finish a task I’m either not particularly excited about or one that requires major decision making. For instance, when I was studying for the big Talmud exam at the end of rabbinical school, I would make a deal with myself.  If I finished reviewing a certain number of pages, then I could play one game of FreeCell.  Even writing these weekly divrei Torah, I sometimes incentivize myself by allowing a quick check of Facebook once I hit the halfway point.  An incentive can go a long way to helping a task, no matter how big or small get accomplished.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we all acted responsibly or out of the goodness of our hearts without the dangling carrot of chocolate ice cream or five minutes of free time?  The reality is that we work with a reward or a return on our investment in mind all the time.  In our Torah portions this week, Behar-Behukotai,we see laid out for us the ultimate reward system for living a life of mitzvot. These two portions detail laws of the land.  This includes when it is appropriate to use the land and when it must rest, how we treat workers, prohibitions of idolatry,and the value of our words and promises to others.

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We often associate things that are contagious with something bad.  During the winter months, it becomes survival of the fittest when it comes to staying flu-free.  People take extra precautions to protect themselves from the contagious spread of infection.  Rightly so, as the flu or even a nasty cold is nothing to sneeze at (hardy har).  We protect ourselves from the germs around us by not hugging or shaking hands and,especially at school, using hand sanitizer every chance we get.

Illness isn’t the only kind of contagion.  Ever have a song get stuck in your head because someone else was singing it? Or have you succumbed to a certain trend because of peer pressure?  But despite these connotations, “catching”something isn’t always negative, it just depends on the situation.

This week we read the double portions of Acharei Mot and Kedoshim.  Parshat Acharei Motreminds us of the laws regarding our food and observance of the holiday of Yom Kippur.  It also teaches us the value of an appropriate and intimate relationship with family and friends. Parshat Kedoshim expands upon these rules by teaching us about what makes a community into a holy community, including additional rules about how to treat friends and what we can and cannot do for those in need.  This entire set of instructions comes to form the basis of what it means to be a part of a caring community.

Why is it important for us to be holy?  The text of parshat Kedoshim begins in the plural, “Kedoshim Tihiyu.”  You all shall be holy because I, the Lord your God, am holy.  The commentators find it odd to see holiness in the plural form, as if holiness could be applied both individually and as a group, regardless of who makes up that group. In fact, one insight teaches that this is precisely because the capacity for holiness is not restricted to spiritually gifted people.  Holiness is not reserved for the rabbis or those on a “higher plane.”  Rather,holiness is for the masses; anyone can attain it.

Furthermore, the plural phrasing suggests that not only is group holiness possible, it is most easily achieved in the context of a community.  Think about how difficult it would be for a person to live a life of holiness without others.  And our parshah suggests that it’s not enough for each individual to be holy on his own.  In this case, the whole (or holy) is greater than the sum of its parts.  When a community dedicates itself to the pursuit of holiness, its members support and reinforce the holiness in each other.

Our theme as a school this year is Kedushah, holiness.  It stands for holiness in our relationships with others, holiness in the way we view ourselves, and holiness in the way we treat our school, our homes, and the world in which we live.  May we learn to think in the plural when it comes to holiness so that the good we do catches on.

THIS TOO IS TORAH: Acharei Mot is where we get the English term “scapegoat.”  Part of God’s instruction is that Aaron should lay his hands on a live goat, confess the sins of the Israelites, and then send the goat off into the wilderness, carrying all of the community’s transgressions with it.  How do you deal with feelings of guilt after you’ve done something wrong?

Are you keeping up with any of the Kardashians? Or Lindsay?  Or Justin?  It’s difficult not to when the celebrity industry is everywhere from the doctor’s office in the form of Us Weekly in the waiting room to our living rooms on just about any evening news broadcast.

As a society, we’re addicted to gossip. Sometimes it’s harmless, like when TMZ tells us Britney Spears is headed home for Easter this year. Sometimes it’s not, like when rumors on social media escalate into cyber bullying.  Whether destructive or not, words that come out of our mouths or our keyboards can be excused, forgiven, or even deleted, but never taken back.

This week we read the double portions of Tazria and Metzora.  These Torah portions bring us the laws of purification, of both our bodies and our homes. The laws detail how to return to the community after an extended illness and how to rid community property of physical impurities.  One of the most frequently discussed laws found in these texts is that dealing with the metzora, the leper.  The Torah simply explains leprosy as an infectious and contagious disease, but our sages note the linguistic similarity in the Hebrew word for leperand the Hebrew for the one who gossips,“haMotzi Shem Ra.”  The sages believed leprosy to be a punishment for the sins of gossip because of how they both spread from person to person.

I’ll admit the linguistic connection is intriguing, but the sentence certainly seems harsh, doesn’t it?  A punishment like leprosy for the crime of gossip undoubtedly conveyed the weight of the sin.  A visible mark like leprosy would outwardly brand you as a person who no longer belonged inside the community.  Not only was the perpetrator infected, but he also had to be isolated for fear of spreading the infection and the behavior.

Today,while the punishment might not be quite as severe, gossip can be just as damaging, if not more so.  With a 24-hournews cycle and the power of social media, where things are often referred to as“viral,” ideas spread incredibly fast. Moreover, digital technology empowers us with a false sense of anonymity.  If you have to be confrontational, do you pick up the phone or send an email?  Combine the speed of communication with the feeling of being disconnected from the very message you’re sending, and it’s no wonder rumors get out of control.  What’s worse, we don’t realize what we’re saying or how our words impact others around us until it’s too late.

Tazria and Metzora remind us that gossip, like the ancient punishment thought to accompany it, leaves in its wake only pain and isolation.  And it isn’t just the direct victim who feels the effects, but those who hear our words as well.  That Facebook status update seems innocent enough, but without knowing it you’ve brought to light something not intended for public consumption.  Or adults might swap stories not thinking that children in the vicinity are paying attention,only to find out that the information has been absorbed, reengineered, and retold by much younger gossipers.

We’ve all heard the story of the man who spread rumors and was instructed by his rabbi to rip open a pillow, release the feathers into the wind, and then go retrieve them all.  Perhaps you have even demonstrated the effect of rumors to a child by squeezing toothpaste out of a tube and asking the child to put it back in the container.  Whether through a story, an experiential lesson, or a game of telephone, it’s important to be reminded of the impact of our words.  Our speech can be used for any number of purposes.  May this week’s parshiyotremind us to use it with care.

THIS TOO IS TORAH: Nineteenth century spiritual leader, Rabbi Yisrael Salanter, noted that the laws of leprosy and gossip followed immediately after the dietary laws.  He suggested this teaches us to be as scrupulous about what comes out of our mouths as we are about what goes into them.

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.