Pure Connection – Parshat Tazria 5784

Parshat Tazria is known for its discussion of childbirth and related rituals. There’s talk of bodily fluids, circumcision, and prescribed “purification.” And like many Torah portions, there’s an inherent contrast in the text we read this week. If the time following childbirth requires a certain period of purification, that implies that giving birth is an impure act in some way. Yet could there be a more God-like experience than childbirth? Many mothers point to that moment as a time when they felt God’s presence. However, as usual, I think there’s a deeper meaning to what the Torah offers.

One of the central themes of Parshat Tazria is the importance of awareness of our words and actions. In the context of the laws we receive about “impurity,” this means being mindful of the ways in which we can unintentionally cause harm to others. For example, if someone were to spread rumors or gossip about a person with a skin disease, they would be contributing to that person’s isolation and stigmatization. Similarly, if we fail to support and care for women after they give birth, we risk contributing to their feelings of vulnerability.

But the lesson of Parshat Tazria goes beyond just awareness. It also calls on us to actively seek out opportunities to bring healing and connection into the world. This is reflected in the detailed rituals of purification that are described in the Torah portion. These rituals require not only the participation of the person who is “impure,” but also the active involvement of others in the community. For example, in the case of someone who has given birth, it is the community’s responsibility to provide support and care to help them regain their strength and return to a state of purity.

This message is particularly relevant today. Though most of what we consider normal activity has resumed following the pandemic, we continue to grapple with the effects of the isolation we experienced. We’re finding that we have to rededicate and recommit ourselves to the values of community and what it looks like to care for one another, whether it’s through acts of everyday kindness or simply taking the time to listen and connect with others.

As we reflect on the lessons of Parshat Tazria, let us remember that our words and actions have the power to either cause harm or bring healing into the world. May we strive to be agents of healing, and may we continue to work towards building a world that is characterized by kindness, compassion, and connection. Shabbat shalom.

Artificial Torah – Parshat Shemini 5784

From deep fakes to instant school research papers, new advances and discoveries in AI are just as controversial as they are useful. Artificial intelligence has been around for decades, if not longer, but the recent surge has led me to think about the ways in which it might relate to modern Jewish practice. AI can summarize and regurgitate information, but its accuracy depends on the reliability of the source and the program’s competency in synthesizing details in a meaningful way.

The first example that came to mind was the transmission of rules and what happens when the information we have might not be fully accurate or may be filtered through another source. Our Torah portion this week, Parshat Shemini, digs into this question as Aaron’s two sons offer up strange fire to God and are themselves burned as a result. The question is did they have exact instructions or, like a pre-telephone game of telephone, was something changed in the transmission of information from Moses to Aaron to them? 

As an experiment in message transmission, here’s an excerpt of what the chatbot ChatGPT came up with when prompted: “Write a sermon on Parshat Shemini in the style of Rabbi Eve Posen.”

Shalom, my dear friends. As we gather here today, I want to talk to you about this week’s Torah portion, Parshat Shemini, and the powerful lessons that it has to teach us about the role of ritual and tradition in our lives. In this portion, we read about the consecration of the Mishkan, the portable sanctuary that the Israelites carried with them throughout their journey in the wilderness. We learn about the intricate details of the sacrifices that were offered, and the precise rituals that were performed, all in service of creating a sacred space where the presence of the Divine could be felt.

But what does all of this mean for us today? How can we, living in a modern world that is so vastly different from that of the ancient Israelites, find meaning and relevance in these ancient rituals and traditions? One answer lies in the power of ritual to connect us to something greater than ourselves. Whether we are lighting the candles on Shabbat, reciting the prayers of the seder, or fasting on Yom Kippur, these acts of tradition and ritual have the power to transport us beyond our individual lives, and to connect us to a larger community, a larger history, and a larger sense of purpose.

But ritual is not enough on its own. We must also strive to live our lives in accordance with the values and principles that underpin our traditions. We must be kind and compassionate to one another, and work to build a world that is more just and equitable. We must strive to live with integrity and humility, and to always remember that we are part of something much greater than ourselves.

As fun and fascinating as this experiment is, it’s also a reminder of the humanity that’s inherent in human creations and what gets lost when that piece is missing. And when we get so much of our information from social media and online “news” sources it’s more important than ever to verify and validate before we take what we read as fact, or we risk “strange fire” by spreading misinformation. In case you were curious, yes, the image on this post was created with AI.

Make Me an Offer – Parshat Tzav 5784

Have you made a burnt offering recently? Have you done a ritualistic cleanse or sacrificed grain? We tend to think of the sacrifices that were essential to our ancient Israelite ancestors as a thing of the past, but in fact, they’re not completely removed from how we observe the laws of Torah today. Let’s go to the source in this week’s Torah portion, Parshat Tzav

As the Israelites proceed along their timeline in the desert, the realization of the rules starts to set in. If you’re familiar with the cycle of Torah from previous years, you know how much time is spent on explaining what the people of this new nation can and cannot do. Part of the narrative also deals with things like the judicial system Moshe sets in motion and the priestly duties and structure. 

Leviticus chapters 6 – 8 contain instructions for the priests and the Israelites regarding offerings and sacrifices to God. Specifically, chapter 6 describes the law of the burnt offering, which was a voluntary offering made by the Israelites to seek forgiveness for sins or to show gratitude to God. This offering involved burning the entire animal on the altar as a symbol of complete devotion. Chapter 7 provides instructions for the grain offering, which was another form of voluntary offering made by the Israelites. This offering involved presenting a portion of the grain harvest to the priests, who would then burn some of it on the altar as an offering to God. Chapter 8 outlines the consecration of Aaron and his sons as priests. This involved a seven-day ceremony, during which they were washed, anointed, and dressed in their priestly garments. They were also given instructions regarding the burnt offering and grain offering described in the two previous chapters.

Overall, these chapters emphasize the importance of making offerings and sacrifices to God to demonstrate devotion and seek forgiveness. They also provide specific instructions for the priests regarding the proper way to carry out these offerings. As we look toward Passover in a month and how we put ourselves in the Exodus story, I imagine being an Israelite and wondering why exactly all this structure and status matters. After all, we just left Egypt where the hierarchy enforced by Pharoah led to oppression and forced labor.

The physical acts associated with our traditions aren’t some random set of procedures; they’re meant to keep us involved and present in our Judaism. They give purpose and intention to everything we do. You might think burnt offerings are a thing of the past, but it’s still traditional to save and burn a bit of the challah we bake before Shabbat. You might not have had the experience of being a priest and washing your hands before offering a sacrifice to God, but there’s a good chance you’ve washed and said the blessing for handwashing before eating. And that table you’re eating on? The Talmud even compares it to the altar of the Temple (BT B’rachot 55a). As Jews, it’s not a matter of being doomed to repeat history because we forget it. We remember and live in this history every day of our lives. 

Lying to Yourself – Parshat Vayikra 5784

How often have you committed to yourself to doing something or making a change, only to lose your resolve a while later? Saying “I’m not going to check my phone after 7 p.m.” or “I’m going to get some physical activity in every day” doesn’t do much good unless there’s someone else around to hold you accountable. At the same time, if I ask someone to hold me accountable, but I’m not really committed to doing the work myself, that’s no good either. However, in both cases the person ultimately responsible is yourself. 

Is the question one of action and follow-through? Or is it one of honesty? If you’re not honest with yourself about what you can and cannot accomplish, the goals you set don’t stand a chance. This is one of the hardest parts of making any change. It’s not easy to admit when something isn’t working, especially when you’ve failed at something you promised yourself. 

This week we read Parshat Vayikra, which begins the third book of the Torah and details the many sacrifices and daily, active mitzvot of living as an Israelite. After an explanation of the frequency of the sacrifices, we learn that there can be a sacrifice made in times of joy and in times of sorrow. There is a special sacrifice for being guilty of a sin and others for complete thanksgiving. As Sefer Vayikra continues, we learn about the laws of how to treat one another, how to engage in holy relationships, and how our calendar and meals should reflect our innermost values and desires.

If you examine that list of the different sacrifices to be offered for different occasions, you’ll learn about the burnt offering and the requirement that for offerings of “broken oaths,” a confession is required. This is called hitvadah in Hebrew. This Hebrew verb is reflexive, implying that our responsibility is to confess to ourselves, to admit to our hearts our own wrongdoing. 

In this moment of Vayikra, of “calling out,” we are reminded both to listen to what others are asking of us and to listen to ourselves. When you break an oath you’ve made to another person, you apologize, plain and simple, and the other person decides whether or not to forgive. But what do you do when you break an oath to yourself? In those cases, the apology and the forgiveness are both up to you, and the first step to making progress of any kind is being honest with yourself.

Ordinary and Extraordinary – Parshat Pekudei 5784

As much as I’m completely over Daylight Saving Time and ready to just stick with one time and be done with it, the twice-yearly shift does serve one valuable purpose for me. As a creature of habit, I thrive on routine, and this jarring, sudden change is enough to short-circuit my autopilot, at least temporarily. Otherwise, I don’t tend to notice certain changes until they knock me over the head.

For example, I often walk the loop of my neighborhood. It’s a path I know so well that I don’t have to think about it. I’m aware of my surroundings, so I see other people and cars, but my feet know the route intimately enough that I don’t always watch where I’m going because my body just goes. Zoning out can be helpful, but it also means I can miss the little things like buds appearing on the trees in spring or leaves disappearing on the trees in fall. At some point, it will hit me (not literally the tree) and all of a sudden I’m in awe of this beautiful place.

This is the difference between being merely present and having an encounter. You can be present as you experience the natural, ongoing, slowly changing world, but it’s the encounters that wow you and grab your attention. As our Torah reading this week teaches us, both are necessary and holy. 

Parshat Pekudei brings to a close the book of Exodus. During this book, we’ve read about the encounters the Israelites had with God at Mount Sinai and in the desert, as well as about the sacred spaces they were asked to create for God. The parshah itself deals with the final judgments about who will work on the Tabernacle (the Mishkan) and what the priests are supposed to wear. Finally, the text takes up the building and establishment of the Mishkan.

As we end the book of Exodus we find that the Israelites have created two embodiments of holiness in the Israelite camp: the Tent of Meeting (Ohel Moed) and the Mishkan. The Ohel Moed is a place to be present. On the other hand, the Mishkan, the sacred space where God will dwell among the Israelites, travels with the Israelites and is often at the center of moments of awe and wonder. In other words, God has asked the Israelites to create routine reminders of God’s presence but not to become oblivious to the extraordinary moments when they happen.