Author: Eve Posen

The Blame Game – Parshat Vaetchanan 5783

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“It wasn’t me.” It’s a common phrase among kids when a situation has gone south. However, adults seem to be just as guilty of passing blame when no one wants to take responsibility for what’s gone wrong. Why? Because as humans it’s usually in our nature to do that which is right, and we’ll try to avoid shame at all costs. It can be hard to tell when someone is ashamed because we humans have evolved into amazing actors. A dog puts their tail between their legs, but humans have a range of emotional subtleties and better mechanisms to hide our true feelings. Does that mean there’s some evolutionary reason behind passing the blame?

Avoiding responsibility could have any number of causes. Perhaps it’s the weight of feeling like you’ve let someone down. Perhaps you feel you did your part and it was someone else who didn’t, and there’s no easy way to say that. Whatever the circumstances, sharing blame always feels easier than shouldering that burden on our own. 

The Torah often gives us glimpses into understanding temptation and the motivation that goes with it, and this week’s Torah portion is no exception. Parshat Vaetchanan continues with the retelling of the laws here again in the book of Deuteronomy. We also read about God’s persistent refusal to allow Moses to enter the Land of Israel. The Torah then issues a caution to uphold the mitzvot as the key to building an Israelite society. Moses then sets three cities of refuge, and we receive probably the most well-known instruction in the Torah, the Shema. 

As Moses moves towards the end of his tenure as the leader of the Israelite nation, it’s clear that he is devoted to doing what is right for the people, but after so much time arguing on their behalf and defending them, he’s a little bit worn out. In chapter 4, verse 21 he suddenly changes his language. Instead of arguing for ALL the people, including himself, he argues “the Lord was angry with me on your account.” Such to say, God is mad at me because I am responsible for you. 

One could argue that it was Moses’s missteps as a leader that set him up to take responsibility for the missteps of the people in this text. Another argument could be that Moses did all he could to guide the people, and yet they still made mistakes, they didn’t listen, and they caused harm. But the bigger message here is that leaders, like Moses, do more than inspire or rally or blaze a trail. They are willing to accept responsibility, for better or worse.

Hate is a Strong Word – Parshat Devarim 5783

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As the parent of a 6-year-old and 9-year-old, I think I’m relatively immune to the jabs they throw at me when we set down a boundary. When you’re a child, boundaries feel more like punishments than safety precautions. This, of course, means they’re quick to hurl at us a line like “You’re being unfair!” or “He gets to do this, so why can’t I?” or worst of all, but not unheard of, “I hate you!”

Despite my children’s belief that boundaries make me a terrible parent, setting clear expectations and limits is a critical part of parenting. What’s important isn’t that they like the rules, it’s that they understand them. That’s the thing about setting boundaries: both parties need to understand their purpose. If you set a boundary without explanation, it leads to all sorts of questions and distrust. Instead, establishing clarity in boundaries is how we best move forward. We learn this too in our Torah portion this week. 

Parshat Devarim begins the final book of the Torah, which shows the Israelites totally unmoored by the change in leadership and location ahead of them. Devarim stresses the covenant between God and Israel and looks toward Israel’s future in a new land as they build a society that pursues justice and righteousness. The central theme of this section of text is monotheism, the belief in one God, and building a society around the laws we’ve been given over the course of the four previous books.

As the narrative of this last book continues, we see the Israelites trying to find their place and larger purpose in their post-Egypt society. In the first chapter, they appear flummoxed and exasperated. They say out loud in verse 27, “God hates us.” This reaction is not totally unexpected. After all, they’ve lived through some pretty challenging times in their exile and wandering. Ever since they left Egypt, they feel as if they gained their freedom only to be handed more and more rules and responsibilities. It’s a childlike behavior, in a real way. Young children, and even occasionally tweens and teens as well, tend to forget or ignore all the things they are given, like food, shelter, love, not to mention life itself. They focus only on what they wanted but didn’t receive. And, being the overreactors that they are, the word “hate” might get thrown around.

The Israelite nation is a toddler nation, so to speak. We read this section of text to remind us that while being let down feels terrible, part of maturing is learning the value of hakarot hatov, or “recognizing the good.” With age (of an individual or a society) comes the experience to be able to look at the grand scheme of things. 

In It Together – Parshat Matot-Masei 5783

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Is the Supreme Court an example of democracy in action? That’s not meant to be flippant; the recent slate of decisions handed down from our highest court prompts me to ask: Does the fact that one person is in charge of Supreme Court Justice appointments make the Court less democratic by nature? I think there are arguments for both sides. For example, you could say that because our president is elected through a democratic process, the Supreme Court is (indirectly) representative of the people, at least at a certain period in time. On the other hand, if a president loses the popular vote, meaning that the president’s party views may not necessarily represent the majority, does that contradict this idea? 

Unanimity is rarely achieved in any setting where different opinions are represented. One side is almost always going to be the minority. Yet, putting the SCOTUS appointment process aside for a moment, even when there are “winners” and “losers,” there’s still something reassuring about being part of a greater deciding body. Making decisions on your own, in a silo, can feel like a pretty heavy burden to bear, while group decision-making provides support, reassurance, and safety in numbers. This is actually echoed in the Torah we read this week. 

In our parshah this week we read the final sections of text from the fourth book of the Torah, Bamidbar. Parshiyot Matot and Masei begin with a discussion of the different vows Israelites might make, and then they detail the requests of the various tribes as they get ready to enter the Promised Land. The chapters end with the final placements of all the tribes as they prepare to divide their land inheritance.

As the land appointments are given out, there is a noticeable shift in verb forms. While so many of the instructions are given in the singular, at this moment, chapter 34, verse 18 switches to the plural: “And y’all shall take . . .” The word tikchu is second person plural. Who are “y’all” in this case? Up until now, this has been about one tribe or the other, so the sages say that this refers to both Eleazar and Joshua, a team who oversees this land distribution.

Governance is critically important, and it’s not a solo task. At the end of this turning point in the Torah, the text reminds us of the power of being in it together. Decisions are best made not in isolation, but rather in partnership, in which we can discuss the impacts and the future that will come from them. Eleazar was a priest, while Joshua was a different kind of leader, and together, their combined expertise offered the best outcome. That’s the lesson of community.

For Our Children – Parshat Pinchas 5783

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Do you have a will? How about an advance medical directive? Do you have an estate plan? Have you shared your burial wishes with someone, in writing? I’m asking this of every adult over the age of 18. If you answered “yes,” then mazel tov, and thank you for planning ahead. If the answer is “no,” let’s have a chat. I know that these questions can be uncomfortable to answer, as they immediately remind us that our time on earth is finite, but it’s imperative to make these plans not just for your own peace of mind, but also as an act of love and respect to those who will be alive and carry on in your absence. As it is often said, it won’t kill you to talk about death (but planning can potentially improve the lives of others).

You may be asking why I, just shy of my 41st birthday, am so passionate about this topic. For starters, my mother is a CPA who specializes in estates and trusts, so some of the need to prepare runs in the family. Secondly, it may seem obvious, but our children and our dog need to be cared for in the event of our passing, and that’s not a decision we wanted to postpone. Finally, I plan for the future because the Torah tells me to.

Parshat Pinchas includes the narrative of the daughters of Zelophechad still stands as an important case for Jewish inheritance law. It wasn’t until they spoke up that God and Moses recognized the need for guidance and provisions for all children, not just the sons. At this moment, God changes the law to make sure that these daughters are cared for. If you argued that the strictures associated with the laws about things like who they could marry were unjust, you’d certainly win; later rabbinic authorities pushed even further in the Talmud and then the Shulchan Aruch to permit daughters to inherit half of what sons would. And when that wasn’t good enough, Rabbi Ben-Zion Hai Ouziel, the Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel from 1939 to 1953, believed even in the early 20th century that women could vote and be elected, serve as judges, and use birth control for health reasons. He made an enactment in Israel that put a daughter’s inheritance on equal footing with a son’s. 

The Torah and subsequent legal texts spend a great deal of time establishing inheritance and plans for the end of life because they’re essential to keeping a semblance of peace during an incredibly emotional time. We cannot know one’s thoughts or intentions after they’ve died, so planning ahead is the only way to be clear and fair. Plus, preplanning for your burial not only saves a lot of stressful decision-making, but also ensures that you can ask for Jewish burial rituals like taharah, the ritual preparation of the body. And while it may sound a little crass, the reality is that prepaying for your own arrangements means you can use those credit card points or miles to take a vacation you actually get to enjoy.

Writing your advance medical directive and making sure your next of kin are aware of your desires takes the guesswork out of what is already a traumatic process. Having a will allows you to share the ways in which you want your property divided and can save a lot of family strife. But beyond the physical items you’ll distribute or your wishes for end-of-life care, writing an ethical will is a way in which your values and ethics can be cherished and passed down for generations to come. Parshat Pinchas guides us in this essential aspect of life – preparing for death – and there’s hardly a more compassionate, caring gift you can give.

Transition, Transition! – Parshat Chukat-Balak 5783

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The scene in Fiddler on the Roof where Tevye and the rest of the town sing about tradition really resonates with me, but not for the reasons you might think. While I often accept tradition as the “why” for what we do as a Jewish people, I also question it. For me, this song always had a certain tongue-in-cheek element, satirizing a much bigger moment of “why.”

As Jews, so much of what we do falls under the “we do this because we’ve always done this” reasoning. In large measure, that’s true, but the ways in which we question and then change those traditions are also distinctly Jewish. Consider the example that, for many decades now, we have had women as clergy.

This week we read a double parshah, Parshat Chukat–Balak, which is full of plot twists and new experiences for the Israelites. In both of these stories, we see the Israelite people nervous about what comes next and concerned about what they are responsible for. The lands of Sichon and Og are conquered, both Miriam and Aaron die, and we learn that Moshe will not be allowed to enter into the land of Israel. Chukat details the significance of a month of mourning, with a focus on the passing of Miriam and Aaron. Balak asks us to examine our preconceived notions when we view others. And together, they teach us about transition.

Why is there this focus on processing death? Why is transition a necessary part of tradition? It’s partly because in this week’s double portion, the Israelites expose their grief, and God prescribes a way to deal with this loss and move forward. It’s the most human of emotions, with a very human way of responding attached to it. The Torah tells us that when someone dies, we have concrete actions to take. It’s a series of steps: do this, then do this, then do this. The Talmud continues this instruction by adding more specific laws to shiva, the first seven days of mourning, sheloshim, the first 30 days, and then the entire year.

The crux of each of these texts is how we respond to change, and specifically loss. The Jewish traditions of mourning we still practice today originate right here. To be honest, transition isn’t easy for me, and it’s these traditions that are why I love Judaism.