Author: Eve Posen

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.

Don’t Be Mean – Parshat Kedoshim 5784

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Have you seen the new Mean Girls? The 2024 movie is based on the stage musical version of the story, which is based on the 2004 movie of the same name. I love Mean Girls. I love it because of the social commentary about how we’ve trained ourselves to judge people (particularly women and girls) and objectify their bodies.

To clarify, I don’t love that “mean girls” exist. The constant picking apart of superficial traits is at best unhelpful and at worst destructive. But I do love the conversation starter this movie can become. In a classic scene, the “mean girls” are looking in the mirror and each one is talking about what they hate the most about their bodies. The character played by Linsday Lohan is new to this kind of behavior and just sort of looks at the other girls wondering why they would pick themselves apart. 

To me, the inherent question is if this is what negative body talk looks like, what would positive body talk look like? What does it look like to examine yourself in the mirror and appreciate what you see? What does it look like to love yourself? This question is central to our Torah portion this week. Parshat Kedoshim is referred to as the “holiness code” because of the rules included within it. The laws in this section of text are centrally focused on the ways in which we are to treat one another. Don’t charge undue interest, don’t put a stumbling block before the blind. Generally speaking, these laws are all about creating a community built on recognizing the holiness in each and every human being.

The most well-known of these laws is “love your fellow as you love yourself.” I struggle with this mitzvah, not because I don’t love other people, but because of what it really means to love ourselves. What if you don’t love yourself as much as you should? If you’re hardest on yourself, does this mean that you should be hard on your neighbors? Furthermore, does loving your neighbor as yourself mean that love overrules the rebuke that might come if the neighbor were to make you uncomfortable?

If you occasionally struggle to love yourself, you might find comfort in another verse, which begins, “Do not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your countrymen.” Perhaps we can infer that if you should love your neighbors (countrymen) as you love yourself, then likewise you should not bear a grudge against yourself either. In other words, if love is challenging (when is it not), you can at least start from a place that’s free from vengeance and grudges. We can’t be expected to go from being mean girls straight to being caring and accepting. There’s a process, a transformation. And sometimes the path to love of others and ourselves includes a critical middle step: don’t be mean.

After Death, There Is Life – Parshat Acharei Mot 5784

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I’ve written before about when my Zayde (my grandfather on my mother’s side) died when I was 11 years old, in a strange way it cemented my love of Judaism. Why? Because the rituals of Jewish grief and mourning were comforting and gave me something to do when I felt unmoored. Through the subsequent deaths of my grandmothers, my other grandfather, and even my father, I have been eternally grateful that there was something prescribed for me to do when I wanted to do nothing. The path from seven days of sheltering in grief to 30 days of slowly re-entering the world, and then a year of saying a prayer allowed each stage of grief, and then some, to be acknowledged. The process pushed me to move forward, even when I wanted to hide from the world in bed.

This feels particularly relevant in this week’s Torah portion. This week we read Parshat Acharei Mot, the portion that details the laws and rules for healthy relationships. It begins with the clean-up after the loss of Aaron’s sons because of their out-of-body experience breaking the rules and continues with the laws about how we’re supposed to atone for our sins on Yom Kippur. The final chapter of the text deals with appropriate and inappropriate relationships between family members. 

In the time between the death of his two sons and where we pick up the story, Aaron has learned about ritual but was likely given the space he needed in order to experience his grief. And then, after the loss, Aaron returns to his community and is deeply entrenched in the rituals of Yom Kippur, of forgiveness and sin, and of the work he is responsible for as a leader in the community. 

Could Aaron have needed and taken more time to grieve privately before coming back to the public spotlight? Yes, and that probably would have been understood. Was it also important for Aaron as a leader to show that our grief can ebb and flow and that perhaps being back in community with others can also be helpful? Probably also yes. 

Parshat Acharei Mot reminds us of the power of this beautiful religion. Especially after the long week of keeping kosher for Passover, it’s easy to think of certain Jewish rituals as burdensome. Sometimes you can only eat certain foods. Sometimes you can’t eat anything at all. Sometimes you don’t turn on your computer until the sky is dark. But so much of what we practice is about what we need as humans to survive and thrive, and as odd as it may sound, that includes how we understand and deal with death.