As any parent or pet owner can attest, objects of temptation must be kept out of reach and probably out of sight as well.  When there is something we want and know we can’t have, there is often a greater sense of temptation to see how close we can get without getting caught or hurt.  A child might enjoy looking at the flame of a candle, but a few inches can mean the difference between enjoyment and a burned hand.  A child and a dog might have fun playing together, but one too many pulls on the dog’s tail can easily result in a scratch or bite. The question is do our relationships have similar boundaries and what are they?

This week we read a double parshah, Acharei Mot-Kedoshim.  Parshat Acharei Mot deals with what happens after Aaron’s sons have offered up strange fire to God and with forbidden relationships between human beings.  The structure of this section of text pushes us to look at our relationships with both God and others and see the boundaries and intimacies of each relationship.  Parshat Kedoshim deals with what is known as the “Holiness Code” that helps us to understand how we can walk in God’s ways and create a community of relationship and understanding.

Chapter 16, verse 1 of Vayikra states “And God spoke to Moshe, after the death of Aaron’s two sons, who came too close to the presence of God, and died.”  We learn earlier in the text that there are boundaries to how close the general public, and even the priests, are allowed to come to God.  There are boundaries and borders around Mount Sinai when God dwells there, and even Moshe never sees God face to face.  Nadav and Avihu, two of Aaron’s sons, are intrigued by the presence of God, and when it came time to make offerings, they overstepped the boundaries and were burned, literally. 

This text begs us to ask, what does it mean to be too close to God?  We know that we are not supposed to make idols or use God’s name in undesirable ways.  We’ve learned that we are created in God’s image, betzelem Elohim, which suggests that in certain ways, God is actually inside each of us.  Perhaps when we look at this story of Nadav and Avihu, it is a reminder that we can’t push boundaries or limits too far.  As we strive towards connection with the Divine, with our heritage, spirituality and religion, we must also remember that pushing too hard or too fast might lead to a spiritual death instead of spiritual growth.  Just as building our relationships with others takes time, energy and effort, so too building our relationship with God requires patience, humility and introspection. 

As we read the words of our Torah this week, let us continue to build our relationships with the Divine and with one another, but let us understand the small and steady steps necessary to ensure positive future growth.

ללמוד  To Learn: ללמד  To Teach: לשמור  To Keep:  לעשות  To Do:  Chapter 19 of sefer Vayikra, the book of Leviticus details the laws of how we are to deal with one another.  Read through thesemitzvot and challenge yourself and/or your family to pick one to focus on for the coming week.  See how this changes the way you view others, yourself and the world around you.

As a little girl, all I wanted was to have my ears pierced.  My father did not want his little girl to go about putting holes in her body.  He was determined that I would not get my ears pierced until I was 16, although why 16 was the age I’ll never know.  My dad would tell me that I was perfect just the way I was, or “if God wanted you to have pierced ears, you would have been born that way.”  All I knew was that I wanted pierced ears, and the glory of choosing my earrings to go with my outfit.  Ultimately, we compromised on the age, but my father’s point was that my body was pure and just the way that God had created me to be.

It is easy in today’s world to pick ourselves apart, to find elements of our physical being that we do not like, or that we wish could be different.  You can’t go a day without hearing about a new “cleanse” to rid your body of toxins.  We can wear contacts to change our eye color, heels to change our height; but our physical being remains a gift from God.  The Torah teaches that both our buildings and our bodies have the ability to be purified and should be kept sacred as places for God.  As we read Tazria-Metzora, the double Torah portions for this week, we are reminded of this fact. 

The text of these parshiyot tell us of the laws for the purification of both our homes and our bodies after disease or death has occurred.  The laws remind us that our bodies and our places of resident need to be treated with respect.  We also have the obligation to help one another to maintain healthy living and to support one another when we find ourselves when we find impurities.  While human nature tends to lean towards picking ourselves apart based on what we wish we could change, the Torah reminds us that what is seen as an “impurity” by our eyes is seen as a “tabernacle,” a holy space by God. 

The medieval commentator Abarvanel picks up on chapter 15, verse 31, which states “Thus shall you separate the people of Israel from their uncleanness; that they die not in their uncleanness, when they defile my Tabernacle that is among them.” First and foremost, the words “my Tabernacle” can also refer to the human body.  Additionally, Abarvanel understands this verse as a sign that even when the Israelites are impure, even when we find ourselves feeling “less than,” we know that God’s presence is found among us. 

This way of thinking forces us to see ourselves as created in God’s image and helps us to see that our bodies are indeed on loan to us from God.  While it is cliché to say “your body is a temple,” it is in fact true that the divine spark that dwells within each of us requires that we look at ourselves with forgiving eyes.  May we help one another to find the spark of the divine within us and see the beauty of our individuality. 

ללמוד  To Learn: ללמד  To Teach: לשמור  To Keep:  לעשות  To Do: These parshiyot link the feeling of being outcast because of illness or difference with the punishment for gossiping.  Both being ill and gossiping can alienate you from others.  In Perkei Avot 2:5, Hillel teaches: Do not separate yourself from within the community; and do not be sure of yourself until the day of your death; do not judge your fellow until you’ve been in his or her place… Hillel reminds us that we have an obligation to reach out to others and include them in our community, and to push past our instinct to judge.  Instead, we must strive to remember that our words and actions affect others whether we can physically see it or not.

Nineteenth century composer Claude Debussy, whose works are still used today in everything fromOcean’s Eleven to the new 90210, said, “Music is the space between the notes.”  Silence is so much more than simply not talking, as we learn this week.

This week we read parshat Shemini, which details priestly instructions, including the prohibition from drinking while on the job and the designations for various animals to be considered pure and impure.  But somewhat hidden near the beginning is Aaron’s curious reaction to the deaths of his two eldest sons, Nadav and Avihu.  Although the text goes on to discuss what will happen to his sons’ bodies and how the priests are forbidden from the same mourning rituals as the rest of the people, only two words are used to describe Aaron’s reaction to losing two children: vayidom Aharon.  Aaron was still.  Aaron was silent.

It’s at the installment of the priests as the leaders of the Jewish people where Aaron’s sons make the unfortunate decision to go beyond the celebration and sacrifice that God has commanded. And for that, Nadav and Avihu die.  But what about Aaron?  Certainly after the death of a loved one, especially children, emotions can take you by surprise.  But Aaron is left speechless, and we are left to figure out why.  Many commentators suggest that the silence might have been either in protest of God’s decision, in acceptance of this fate, or perhaps the anguish was too much for words. 

Or maybe Aaron is silent because he has learned there is no better way to take a stand and let his feelings be known than by the stillness of silence.  In parshat Ki Tissa when the people wanted a new vision of God, Aaron jumped into action, which ultimately left him and the nation in a heap of trouble.  And perhaps Aaron saw Moshe’s rage when he descended from the mountain and knew that immediate reaction would lead to regret.

Aaron’s silence could simply be a deep breath, a pause to take in the situation; a moment to think before he speaks, so that his intention would match his actions.  We find Aaron lost in the deepest of thoughts in a moment of intense emotion.  The text, instead of dwelling on this moment, moves forward, giving Aaron the time to breathe and organize his thoughts and emotions.  The power in this moment of silence allows for the reaction to be true, honest and uninterrupted.  Even though he cannot mourn as others do, Aaron, in a sense, has the space to mourn. 

What is the value of silence?  Silence is not necessarily the absence of sound, but perhaps the presence of power and purpose.  A quiet moment can result in new clarity or an opportunity for heightened concentration.  As we experience life and the ups and downs of learning, we must remember the value of silence and embrace moments of thought and reflection as those moments can also be moments of great strength. 

ללמוד  To Learn: ללמד  To Teach: לשמור  To Keep:  לעשות  To Do: Chapter 11 of the book of Vayikra details the rules of eating Kosher animals and Kosher slaughter.  Our parshah reminds us that maintaining boundaries, no matter how rigid or odd they might seem, helps us to lead a focused and purpose-filled life.  Keeping Kosher is more than just limitations or rules on what we eat.  This act requires us to have intention with every bite of food we eat, and to maintain awareness of our place in the food chain and our responsibility to God.  Take out your Humash, and read chapter 11.  Perhaps the next “diet trend” might be mindful eating, because what we put in our bodies matters as we work together to become our kehilah kedoshah, our holy community. 

Yesterday, as the tornadoes made their way through our area and I was monitoring hallways and calming students I was asked what prayer to we say.  “Rabbi, can we say a prayer for the tornado to go somewhere else?”  “Rabbi, should we sing the Shema?”  Aside from the smile on my face at knowing our students have internalized the concept of prayer as a form of comfort, I was left to teach. 

As Jews we are taught in the Talmud that we should never make a prayer that wishes destruction to come on someone else.  When you hear a fire truck we are not allowed to say “I hope it isn’t going to my house” or “I hope that goes somewhere else.”  Our human nature pushes us to wish for our own safety in times of distress, but we are asked to move past that and know that whatever is happening is already in motion.  We can pray for safety of ourselves and others.  At that moment we sang Shomer Yisrael, God, guard Israel. 

This morning, as we all came back to the building, safe and sound we discussed what prayers we could say.  We said the blessing upon seeing an act of nature: Oseh ma’aseh bereshit, blessed is God, the one who makes acts of creation.  We discussed the miracle that with all of the tornadoes and damage there was not one fatality yesterday due to the weather.  We imagined the tornado that might have developed as God separated the sky from the waters below in creation and prayed that we continue to only see acts of creation.

We learned the brachah for hearing thunder or seeing a storm, sh’kocho u’gvurato maleh olam, God, whose power might fill the whole world.  And yet that power appeared to have protected us.  We ended our discussion by benching Gomel, Praised are You, God our God, King of the universe who graciously bestows favor upon the undeserving, even as He has bestowed favor upon me. 

Thank you God for sustaining us through storms, thank you God forsustaining our city.  Thank you God for protecting us, and the fire and police officers who keep us safe. 

In moments of fear we are pushed to turn to gratitude. 

I remember my first rock concert.  I was in third grade and New Kids on the Block were huge, and somehow my mom got me tickets.  I was beyond thrilled.  The whole day I couldn’t wait to go to the concert with my friend Erin from across the street.  We’d planned this amazing night.  Sitting through the concert I was certain, from my third row in the first balcony seat, that Joey McIntyre was staring right at me.  Erin and I couldn’t contain ourselves.  We had tears, we screamed, jumped up and down, and nearly passed out.  Years later I saw Joey on the street in LA, and it turned out he was just an ordinary person.  He wore ordinary clothes and shopped at Target, just like the rest of us.  From my perspective as an awed fan he was superstar Joey, but in reality, he was just a regular Joe.

Parshat Tzav, this week’s Torah portion, focuses on the rules and laws the Israelites must keep. Listed among the rules about sacrifices and the prohibition against eating meat and milk together are the rules about the priests.  The priest was considered an important and special role among the Israelite people.  Priests were to take care of the sacrifices and perform rituals that allowed the ordinary Israelites to come closer to God.  In a certain sense, the priest was placed on a pedestal, especially with the exceptional clothing that made him easily identifiable. 

It would appear that the text recognizes this, as it teaches in chapter 6, verse 3 that the first act that the kohen (priest) is to perform each morning is to put on ordinary clothes and remove the ashes of the previous night’s sacrifice.  These ashes are then treated in a special way with reverence.  Simchah Bunim, a 19th century commentator in Poland, interprets this verse as reminding us that this act ensures that the kohen never forgets his link to the ordinary people who spend their days in mundane pursuits.  The ashen remains of the sacrifices are treated with reverence to teach us that what was holy yesterday must be treated with respect today as well.

There are two lessons here.  Both the priest’s act of wearing ordinary clothes and the act of a sacrificial animal moving from ordinary to extraordinary teach us about remembering our roots and the value of each object of creation.  While a person or object might seem to be the most magical and extraordinary creation at one moment, we need to remember that at our core, we are all created the same. 

There is a Talmudic teaching that we should carry a saying in each of our pockets.  In one pocket we should carry a piece of paper that reads “The whole world was created for me,” and on the other it says “I am but the dust of the earth.”

Looking back on the NKOTB concert, I spent so much time in awe of the performers that I don’t even remember what songs they played.  Sometimes we get carried away by what we think is extraordinary, but the real transformation from ordinary to extraordinary comes from when we elevate ourselves and our relationships with others to a place of mutual reverence and love.  And I think that’s something even a regular Joe can appreciate.

ללמוד  To Learn: ללמד  To Teach: לשמור  To Keep:  לעשות  To Do:  As we’ve now entered into the month of Nissan, we are in the midst of a deep spring cleaning of not only our physical spaces like our house for Pesach, but also of our souls as we prepare for Pesach.  One tradition teaches that the cleaning for Pesach should be similar to Tashlich on Rosh HaShannah.  We use this time to make apologies, let go of the chametz we’ve held on to for the last 6 months and move forward with a lighter heart.  Consider using this week as we prepare for Pesach to take inventory of who you are, and who you’ve wronged and work towards making amends.