Author: Eve Posen

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.

At the Height of Power – Parshat Behar 5784

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As someone who is (to use the euphemism) vertically challenged, I’ve been called “tiny but mighty” and reminded that “big gifts come in small packages.” It’s true, I often need to use a step so that I can be seen when I’m on the bimah, and I can’t reach the top shelf almost anywhere. On the other hand, I also have small feet and can wear kid-sized shoes, which saves me money and allows for more sparkles. Another advantage is I don’t usually worry about hitting my head on ceilings or not fitting into a seat on an airplane.

Sometimes our physical forms determine the challenges or advantages we face in the world, and there’s not much we can do about it. At the same time, often it’s the size of our hearts and the height of our intentions that make the difference. 

This week we read from Parshat Behar, the penultimate section of text in the book of Vayikra. The text details the laws of the returning of the land in Israel during the shmita (jubilee year) and how slaves and land are returned to their prior status. We also read about what happens to Jewish-owned land in the diaspora in the jubilee year and how we are to help those who are in need within our communities. The text ends with another warning against idolatry.

In the Torah portion, the Israelite nation is noted as being a “small nation,” and the mountain that stands as our touchpoint of grandeur and godliness is described as being the smallest in the region. The name of the portion, Behar, means “on the mountain,” which refers to Moses talking to God on Mount Sinai. It is odd then that the laws specified in this section of the text are about agriculture and land ownership, none of which are part of the current Israelite experience as a nation. Why would they be given here? 

Perhaps it’s because it’s easier to describe a system of law for a developing nation that emphasizes equality before land divisions and property ownership break people apart. Or, perhaps it’s because Sinai is the smallest mountain and Israel is the smallest nation in the region, yet both have the power to hold a place of influence, partnership, and justice in the world around them. Parshat Behar reminds us that physical size doesn’t matter; it’s how we make use of what’s given to us that’s most meaningful.

All Your Perfect Imperfections – Parshat Emor 5784

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Sculpting with clay is expressive, cathartic, and just plain fun. Can I create anything artistic? Not really. Every ashtray (remember those?) or mug I tried to make at camp as a child came out a little wobbly and definitely would not have been safe for practical use. And yet, my parents still proudly displayed them in their respective offices as decorative tokens of my affection for them. This tradition continues in various ways with our children. Our seder table at Passover time is always filled with little knickknacks and school projects that the kids have made for us over the years that help enhance the Pesach story. The misspellings and wonky placement of eyes on a frog are the most perfectly imperfect treasures I own. 

This week we read Parshat Emor, and we once again find ourselves deep into the commandments surrounding Jewish practice. Parshat Emor focuses on the rules and regulations for the priests, along with the obligations of the Israelites. It covers the observance of certain holidays, including mentions about the holiness of Shabbat, other holidays we are to celebrate throughout the year, and the ways in which we are to treat one another and even animals. The majority of these rituals are meant to be done in public, with the entire community a part of them.

As we read these strict and precise regulations regarding animals for sacred sacrifice, we come to the section on the freewill offering. In essence, this is an offering made as a gift, and as such has no strictures on whether or not the animal has blemishes or imperfections. When there’s so much detail and precision included about laws for sacrifices, why does the Torah go to such great lengths to add in an offering of this kind without the usual requirements?

Perhaps it’s because when something comes from the heart, the meaning is one of love and connection, not necessarily about following certain rules. In other words, Parshat Emor teaches us the distinction between the offerings we make that must fit a need and those that fulfill a more abstract purpose.

These days, we don’t use sacrifice as part of our rituals, but the message still applies. You wouldn’t donate expired food to a food bank, but you might donate an incomplete set of dishes to a thrift store. Or you might create a piece of artwork to cheer up a friend who’s under the weather, even if your creations won’t ever appear in a gallery. As humans, we’re imperfect, so the work of our hands can be perfectly imperfect too.