Author: Eve Posen

A Work In Progress – Parshat Ki Tavo 5783

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Life as a homeowner means being in a constant state of looking around to see what our next project might be. When we bought our house, in fact, we bought it knowing that we would one day lift the roof over the attic and turn that space into a fourth bedroom. Before we had even moved in, before we even purchased the house, we already had plans to change it. It’s not that the house wasn’t inhabitable, it fully was; it was that this house would become the place where our family would grow, change, learn, and make mistakes. It was perfectly imperfect, which made it right for us.

There are other ways to experience this feeling of perpetual creative evolution. Perhaps it is a piece of artwork that you keep coming back to, changing one piece or adding something new. Perhaps it is your garden that appears just right, and then you find that one spot you just have to alter. In our Torah portion this week, the Israelites learn about entering the Land of Israel, and they too learn about being settled in the perfectly imperfect. 

Our Torah portion this week, Parshat Ki Tavo, brings us closer to the final lessons God wants the Israelite nation to learn before they enter into the promised land. Our text reminds us again of the blessings and curses that come to us as we choose to follow or ignore the laws of the Torah. Specifically, we learn of the requirement to make an offering of “first fruits” for the priests in the Beit HaMikdash, and the different ways in which we are supposed to thank God and give praise (before prayer was a daily activity). Finally, the text reminds us of how we’re supposed to take time to rebuke one another when we’ve made a misstep and the ways in which we can do so with compassion and kindness.

As the Israelites prepare to enter the land, God instructs them to “build an altar of unhewn stones.” That is, they aren’t supposed to mess with the stones or try to make them perfect. The altar for God in the land that God had promised them needs to be made up of stones that are imperfect and broken, that fit together the best they can, and aren’t too carefully constructed.

This is because, like moving into a new home and finding all the ways you can change the space, the Israelites needed to explore it, live in it, feel it in all its imperfections. As much as we might like to keep adjusting and fixing, The Torah reminds us not to jump into crafting and changing things the second we see them, but instead take time to notice the ways in which a little crack here or a weird corner there can actually be holy too. 

Respect, Just a Little Bit – Parshat Ki Teitzei 5783

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When it comes to ethical decisions, the Torah will often offer specific scenarios. For example, “Do not deduct interest from loans to your fellow Israelites” or “When you see the ass of your enemy lying under its burden and would refrain from raising it, you must nevertheless help raise it.”

This week we read Parshat Ki Teitzei. We receive laws about war and taking care of hostages, laws about our clothing, laws about family relationships, including parents and children, laws about taking care of the poor, and so much more. Ki Teitzei is in fact the Torah portion with the most number of mitzvot (commandments) in it, but the recurring theme is how we should execute and fulfill the mitzvot prescribed to us.

Among these verses is a law about what to do if one stumbles upon a bird’s nest in a tree or on the ground with fledglings or eggs and the mother sitting with the nest. What are you to do if you want the eggs?

In theory, this is talking about whether we should chase away the mother, or take the mother along with the eggs. It sounds like a conversation about food or the necessity of materials. However, the Torah is clear in specifying that to take the mother along with the young is brutal and forbidden. Rather, respect for the mother earns one the reward of long life. 

There are only two places in the Torah where long life is the reward for observing a commandment; this is one of them, and the other is in the commandment to honor one’s parents. In other words, “respecting the mother” is highly valued whether or not the mother is human. “Long life” is the promise of fulfillment and joy, and the Torah teaches that a mitzvah as important as respect deserves a reward as meaningful as life itself.

Two Seasons – Parshat Shoftim 5783

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Growing up in Michigan I remember (fondly?) people saying, “There are two seasons: winter and road construction.” And the only reason they didn’t overlap was because almost all construction on the roads had to be stopped during the freezing winters, which then made summer travel incredibly frustrating. Perhaps these early experiences in my formative years made me the somewhat grumpy driver I am today. Just to be clear, I’m not an angry driver, I simply get frustrated when the roads are closed for construction, when someone isn’t following the rules of the road, or when something else causes a trip in the car to take much longer than it should for whatever reason. 

What matters in these moments is not that I have feelings of frustration, but what I do with those feelings. Frustration is an acceptable and natural emotion, as long as I’m able to recognize that road construction serves an important purpose. I might have some internal road rage dying to get out, but I also know the importance of keeping our streets safe for everyone. We learn a similar lesson from the Torah portion this week. 

Parshat Shoftim is a section of Torah that completely focuses on the legal system, on justice, and on context. This text includes the commandment to establish judges and officers, as well as a listing of punishments for certain transgressions against mitzvot. We also learn about the laws surrounding false witnesses and murder. 

In chapter 19, verse 10 we read: “Thus the blood of the innocent will not be shed, bringing bloodguilt upon you in the land that the Lord your God is allotting you.” The Talmud derives from this verse that society is responsible for public safety, such as keeping the roads in good repair. In other words, despite the annoyance that comes with road closures and having to go slowly through construction zones, the obligation is upon each individual to create a safer community and while doing so, to respect those around them who do the work. 

As you know, I’m a planner, so when things take longer because we’re creating a safer road, there are two voices battling in my head: one that says “Yay, safety!” and one that screams “NO, I HAVE PLANS!” This week’s Torah portion reminds us that we are to find the balance between the frustrations of changes in plans (or detours, if you will) and the purpose in creating a community that works for everyone. 

Alone Together – Parshat Re’eh 5783

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The last few years have certainly highlighted the differences between communal space and personal space, and community needs versus individual needs. We wore masks at the beginning of COVID19 to protect others, with the understanding that it took partnership in mask-wearing to care for one another. As we moved through the pandemic, with the help of vaccines and ever-growing knowledge about the effects of the virus, we had new decisions to make to maintain the balance between meeting our needs and the needs of the community. 

We read Parshat Re’eh this week, as the Torah races to the finish line of its lessons. In our parshah we learn about the blessings and curses that will come with the observance (or lack thereof) of the mitzvot we’re given. We receive some final warnings about following the laws against idolatry, laws for keeping kosher, and the importance of treating each other as equals. Finally, we receive additional information on our three pilgrimage festivals.

In the midst of this text, we read about a question of centralized sacrifice. Does sacrifice have to happen at an agreed-upon place, or can it be scattered in various places throughout the area? Most of what we learn about sacrifices is tied to the Temple in the post-Torah time. The standard of practice meant coming together for the three pilgrimage festivals, with the assumption that the other sacrifices for well-being, thanksgiving, and more were done in the small cities where everyone lived. This practice was around even before the Temple was built.

In chapter 12, verse 8 we learn that “we should not act as we do now, every man as they please.” The idea is that sacrifice should not be a spur-of-the-moment activity that could be done anywhere. They should be done in the tent of meeting. Yet this cautionary line implies that before this moment, sacrifice perhaps was happening whenever required and inspired around the Israelite encampments. I don’t think Parshat Re’eh is suggesting a prohibition against having private moments of connection; instead, we’re prohibited from having only those moments.

This is the challenge of community time and space. On the one hand, we are often better served coming together, and Judaism dictates moments of togetherness as we mourn, celebrate, and grow. On the other hand, there are also moments that feel personal and sacred, that we don’t want to share with anyone but God. Judaism is a religion of both communal gathering and connection as well as individual prayer. This balance is part of what makes us the people we are. 

To Plant Roots – Parshat Eikev 5783

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The other day I had a conversation with someone about the point at which a person officially becomes a “native” of a place. In the literal sense, the word comes from the same Latin root that means “to be born.” By that definition, I’m a native of Detroit, Michigan; Duncan and Shiri are natives of Dallas, Texas; and Matan is our sole Portland, Oregon native. However, our family has lived in Portland now for nine years, and Shiri only spent the first 10 months of her life in Texas. So is Shiri also native to Portland? And will we ever be? 

For our family, Portland is the place we’ve lived the longest collectively, and we call Portland and CNS home because this is where everything feels familiar and where we’ve built a community. So perhaps, we’re a native family unit? And yet, plenty of Jewish families have been here for generations, so we don’t feel like natives in comparison. So when does that milestone moment occur? The Torah actually anticipates this question as the Israelites continue their journey toward a land they’ve not inhabited in multiple generations. 

Parshat Eikev, which we read this week, explores the notion that God might or might not respond to bargains. We learn of the blessing and reward you receive if you keep the laws of the Torah and of the consequences for those who don’t follow those laws. The Torah recaps the lessons learned from the Golden Calf, the breaking of the first set of tablets, and Moshe’s prayer for the people. We finally receive the second section of the Shema, followed by a clear warning to guard the Torah and its commandments.

In chapter 10, verse 19, the Torah commands us to befriend the stranger because we were strangers in Egypt. The word used in Hebrew for “stranger” is ger. In contemporary Judaism, this word is used for someone who has converted to Judaism, but in everyday modern Hebrew, the verb also means to live somewhere. Why does this word hold both meanings? Because someone who is new to a community should be welcomed as though they’ve lived there forever. To put down roots is to join in the way of life of a place as well as to embrace the traditions and values that sustain that place.

The conversation I described at the beginning lent itself to questions about the different ways in which one can be welcomed into a community and the sense of belonging that comes when you feel accepted and included. Parshat Eikev invites our communities to explore what radical hospitality looks like and how we might make every person in our congregational family feel not as a stranger, but as a native.