Author: Eve Posen

What Could’ve Been – Parshat Shlach Lecha 5784

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I am a reflective practitioner. I have a strong tendency to look back on experiences, services, programs, and moments and evaluate how they went, how I felt, what the outcomes were, or what I might do differently next time. I keep these notes in different forms: sometimes on a sticky note, sometimes I write up a report, and sometimes in ongoing conversations. Where this often backfires, however, is when I reflect too hard for too long and forget that I can’t change the past. When this happens I end up with a lot of should’ve/would’ve/could’ve moments that are largely unhelpful to dwell on unless I am going to run the program again, in which case I need to transform them into “I will.” 

Looking back can often be helpful; after all, we read the Torah every year, learning something new about ourselves or about what could’ve been done differently for the Israelite nation. However, there is also a point when the past becomes unrealistically rose-colored, and dwelling on “hindsight is 20/20” hinders us from moving forward in a healthy way. This also becomes a hindrance in our Torah portion this week. 

This week we read Parshat Shlach Lecha and the story of the spies. The parshah begins with Moshe sending 12 spies, one from each tribe, into the land of Cana’an to bring back an accounting of the land. The spies return with their report, and it’s pretty discouraging. Two spies report back with a positive message, but the negativity of the other ten reports instills so much fear into the nation that they decide they do not want to make the journey into the promised land after all. This infuriates God, who then decrees that anyone who went out from Egypt at age 20 or older will not be allowed to enter the land of Cana’an. This generation will purposefully die out so that a new generation, unfettered by the destructive mindset of their predecessors, can start anew.

The Israelites in chapter 14 break into a huge outcry in the camp after they hear about the supposed giants in the land of Israel. “We should’ve stayed in Egypt! We could’ve been eating what we wanted! We would’ve been better off enslaved than here with only the unknown ahead of us!” This “if only” thinking proves to be to their detriment as they are unable to see the reality that was slavery and unable to trust in God or the leadership guiding them through this transitional time. 

What we learn from this moment is that reflective practice is healthy when we’re looking back in order to find a stronger, more sustainable path forward. Nevertheless, this is a stern warning from God that “should-ing” on ourselves can be counterproductive. Instead, we must send ourselves, shlach lecha, into the future with the strength of experience, knowing what our past has taught us. 

Head in the Clouds – Parshat Beha’alotcha 5784

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Do you ever see shapes in the clouds? Despite the persistent gray for a significant portion of the year, the Pacific Northwest has an incredible variety of weather conditions, including cloud formations. We often see the vibrant colors of the trees against a gloomy (or my favorite, “doomy”) background. Some days there’s so much fog we can barely see ahead of us, but other days the clouds are moving quite quickly as though on a mission to get somewhere before we make it to our own destination. 

It’s easy to get lost in sky-gazing. Watching clouds puts me at peace. Finding shapes and watching their movements grounds me between the heavens and the earth. Having your “head in the clouds” is usually associated with the impractical or unimportant, but to me, it’s those contemplative moments of feeling at one with nature that are more important now than ever. This concept of cloud-watching, in a literal sense, is central to our Torah reading this week as well. 

Our parshah this week, Beha’alotcha, lands us with Aaron and Moses as they get into the daily requirements of their jobs. This section of the text begins with instructions for the purification of the Levites as they do their holy work in the Tabernacle. We read about the first Passover sacrifice in the wilderness and how to make up the celebration of Passover if we somehow miss the holiday. Finally, Moses’s family – his father-in-law, wife, and children – return to join him and the rest of the Israelite nation on their journey through the wilderness.

The magic in Beha’alotekha comes as the order to march is given. When the Torah talks of the Tabernacle, the Mishkan, it teaches us that God’s presence hovers over it in a cloud. The narrative suggests that the cloud symbolizes God ascending and descending upon the camp, and this cloud would determine the movement of the march as well as when and where to make and break camp. Cloud up, time to move; cloud down, time to rest. 

If it feels like a struggle to find God today, you’re not alone. However, I’d argue that even if we’re not necessarily on the move like the Israelites, couldn’t the clouds still serve the purpose they did in the Torah? Their ever-changing shapes remind us to look up and pay attention to the world and to nature. Their movement across the sky reminds us to be open to change. Their rain and fog and mist remind us of our water cycle and connect us to our past and future. These are perhaps a few ways we can still be aware of God’s presence.

A Fence Around a Fence – Parshat Naso 5784

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Back in 2014 when we moved to Portland from Dallas, we went from a single-story house to a house with stairs. We spent so much time trying to figure out how to babyproof for this new situation. How many gates did we need in order to keep our children and those who would play at our house safe? Did we need to lock the cabinets and have a gate blocking the bathroom, or would one or the other suffice? Were we going to be able to leave pieces of art out and at child level or did everything need to be up on a shelf so high even we couldn’t see it? My question is how much of this preparation was necessary for safety and how much was for our own peace of mind? At what point are we building baby gates around baby gates?

And, wouldn’t you know it? The Torah this week also shares some fences we might reconsider in our time as well. As we read Parshat Naso this week, we read about the Israelite society trying to move forward after leaving Egypt and about what it takes to establish a successful community. The narrative picks up with a second counting of the people, laws about how we are to treat one another and the property that we own, the blessing of the priests to the people, and the laws of the Nazir, those who took a voluntary vow to consecrate themselves to God.

Hearing the laws of the Nazirite, it’s clear how restrictive these restrictions were. No wine or vinegar of wine, and in fact nothing with any kind of grapes or even grapes near it at all. At first reading, the idea of avoiding “anything that is an intoxicant” makes sense. But then, the list of prohibitions gets longer and longer and seemingly farther and farther from the original intent of the rule against intoxication. In essence, a fence around a fence around a fence is built for the Nazirite in order to ensure that there’s not even the slightest risk of temptation. Just the mere idea of grapes might lead to wine. 

As farfetched as this sounds, we still use this notion today when it comes to Passover. Ashkenazi tradition prohibits eating kitniyot (legumes) not because it has anything to do with remembering our time in Egypt, but because there might have been, at some point, some kind of contamination of leaven, so therefore all legumes had to be banned. 

On the one hand, these limitations, these fences around fences, do offer a sense of protection when it comes to preserving our ancient rituals and more modern customs. They can even add an extra level of unique beautification, like the tradition of lighting candles 18 minutes before sundown so we make sure that we’re prepared without violating a law. On the other hand, a fence around a fence might offer fewer opportunities to learn self-control and restraint and leave less room for conscious engagement with our traditions if we’re so protected from mistakes. Perhaps the lesson we can take from Parshat Naso is that although providing a safety net is helpful, there’s much more to Jewish life than bubble-wrapping our bubble wrap if we want to act with intention.

It’s An Honor – Parshat Bamidbar 5784

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When I was ordained, I found out some interesting news. After 25 years in the rabbinate, you could receive an honorary doctorate. Why? Because that long in the field allows for a certain level of expertise and dedication of service. I also view this opportunity as a reminder that as a leader, I’m always learning and growing in my position. The day I was ordained was also the day when I realized how very little I knew about being a rabbi. It felt akin to the day our firstborn child came into the world, and we realized we had no clue what to do next.

In so many aspects of our lives, we’re able to grow, change, and even learn and adapt on the fly. In some cases, there might be a title (including an honorary one) that goes along with it, but that honorific comes from putting in the time, the work, and the connection to make it so. 

As we begin the fourth book of the Torah with this week’s portion of the same name, Bamidbar, the Israelites are well-established on their desert journey, and the groundwork for the structure of their future has been laid. Army leaders are appointed to lead alongside Moses and Aaron, a census is taken of the people, and we learn that the camps are situated in a specific order, each with a flag in the center that tells us which tribe is there. The time spent in Egypt is a distant memory at this point.

As the Levites take on their new positions and Moses and Aaron continue to grow as leaders, we learn about the various chief officers and what their jobs are. Each person had a specific purpose to fulfill, and there was an expectation that their work would be completed. With the in-depth list of duties comes the notion that there are no honorary titles in the Torah. In other words, your position is what you do, not a gratuitous rank to add to your curriculum vitae. If you hold the title of chief, then you must continue to do the work of a chief.

The act of serving God cannot be honorary; it must be done with the fullness of heart and soul. To this day, Jewish tradition is filled with ritual actions rather than prayer alone. It’s through fulfilling these traditions that we find purpose in what we do and what we believe. 

Nickel and Dime – Parshat Bechukotai 5784

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I can’t remember the last time I had spare change, except for the coins in our tzedakah box. In our automated electronic age, it feels odd to even think about paying for something with actual cash. Aside from making sure that the tooth fairy always has $2 bills for the children, I rarely even go to the bank. As you can imagine, this causes a bit of confusion when parents and teachers try to explain currency to children.

The concepts of numbers and prices are simple enough to explain. But what do we do when it’s time to get out the quarters, nickels, dimes, and pennies and explain how you’d use them in a store? Then come the questions, like why is a nickel smaller but worth more than a dime? Why is some paper money worth more than other nearly identical pieces of paper just because of what’s printed on it? Alas, I’m not an economist, so my best answer involves a shrug of the shoulders with “I don’t know, it just is.”

Money of course means much more than coins and paper. The math is the easy part, even without a lot of change on hand to demonstrate. What is much more difficult to understand when it comes to money are the ways in which those nickels and dimes add up to salaries for work and the value of things. And this conversation is as old as the Torah.

Bechukotai is the final portion in the book of Leviticus. It acts as an epilogue to the holiness code and continues to guide us in what the pursuit of happiness could be. We see laid out for us the ultimate reward system for living a life of mitzvot. It’s a detail of the law of the land, including 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. 

Within this text, as in other parts of the Torah, is the notion that the way in which the sanctuary is funded is based not on a person’s “occupation” but instead on their gender and age. In our modern world, this feels out of place at best and offensive at worst. However, in a closer read of the text, it appears that these qualities are not meant to assign value to human beings; rather, it is shekel hakodesh, the sanctuary or sacred value. While this doesn’t erase the fact that the monetary amounts differ, what it does tell us is that there is a sacred value to each human in the eyes of God and that perhaps we should focus not on the monetary, but on the completed whole that is a sacred community.