Mmm . . . Torah – Parshat Vayikra 5776

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mmm Torah

I have an addiction to the Food Network. I could spend hours watching other people prepare food, talk about food, and even eat food, but I never end up watching for long stretches of time because it always makes me too hungry. How I wish I could taste or simply just smell the delicious foods being prepared. Whether it’s Bobby Flay barbecuing, the Chopped competitors creating their fast-paced masterpieces, or the sugary sweets of Cupcake Wars, it all looks so good I wish the programming was scratch and sniff.

Reading the Torah there some instances when I wish I was able to be present in that exact moment being described. The book of Vayikra has several of those moments for me. This week as we read parshat Vayikra, we begin the third book of the Torah, which details the many sacrifices and the active mitzvot of living as an Israelite. This begins with the explanation of the sacrifices that we are to give daily, weekly, and yearly. 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.

It may sound strange to say that hearing about these laws makes me hungry, but virtually all of the sacrifices have to do with food or food stuffs over a hot fire. It reads like a barbecue recipe, with fragrant smells abounding.

Interestingly, the Torah describes each burnt offering as “a gift of pleasing odor to the Lord.” That is to say that the smell of the sacrifices is something that God could take in. Anything wrong with this picture? Well, the rabbis certainly had a problem with this notion. After all we are told not to create “images of God” and that God is not in human form, and yet here we are, reading about a God with a nose. This might lead to an incorrect understanding that we are offering sacrifices not to God but to some other anthropomorphic “God,” which violates the Torah.

To reconcile this controversial thought, Rashi, the great medieval commentator, suggests that what is pleasing to God is not the aroma, but the fact that Israel is doing God’s will. In other words, it’s not the physical odor of the sacrifice, but the physical act of the sacrifice that matters to God.

God’s version of the “smell-o-vision” that I so unashamedly desire is the vision of his creations doing good in the world. Parshat Vayikra teaches that the ephemeral proof (the “odor” if you will) of our good deeds is only one aspect of mitzvot, and probably the least important one at that. It is the long-term and long-lasting results we’re after. Those are the results that matter to God and the ones that should matter to us.

Now if you’ll please excuse me, this talk of food is making me hungry.

Following the Rules – Parshat Pekudei 5776

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Following the Rules

My mom will confirm I have been a rule follower my whole life. I thrive on order, and I see rules as guidelines meant to keep me and those around me safe. It’s partly my type A personality that makes me a rule follower, but I honestly don’t mind following the rules as long as they make sense to me. Sometimes this means that I’m a little less daring, or I take a little more time to decide that a particular adventure is right for me, but that’s part of the cost of being a rule follower. I have fun, even if that means a slow-paced, well-thought-out kind of fun compared to someone more spontaneous. This rule following is also why I find so much inspiration in Judaism to help guide me in daily life.

Parshat Pekudei, this week’s Torah portion, 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 and what the priests are supposed to wear. Finally, the text takes up the building and establishment of the Mishkan, the sacred space where God will dwell among the Israelites.

As God is presenting Moshe with the rules and regulations of anointing the priesthood, we read the line “This Moshe did; just as the Lord had commanded him, so he did.” Apparently, Moshe “did” twice? Why is the bookend necessary?

The first “doing” teaches us that Moshe was an active doer to begin with. He had the ability to make change. In other words, he wasn’t simply following orders, he was the mover and shaker among the nation. The reiteration that Moshe “did” is about his commitment to God’s words. Moshe was more than motivated; rather, he was motivated in accordance with what God asked and expected of him.

Rules are a valuable guide – they keep us safe, they give us direction, they give us boundaries. But it’s the commitment behind the rules that gives us purpose.

It’s a similar concept to one we read just a few parshiyot ago in Mishpatim. The people utter “na’aseh v’nishma,” meaning they will do and they will hear (Exodus 24:7). Judaism has long been thought of as an “active participant” type of religion. In fact, I myself am a firm believer in the power of “doing Jewish” rather than merely being Jewish. However, the understanding of those actions plays just as big a role. After all, are we not Yisrael, the nation that “wrestles” with God and our tradition?

For me, this dichotomy is the essence Conservative Judaism. We are expected to think things through and act on them, but we should be motivated to do so as an expression of our relationship with God. That is doing Jewish.

Gifts Please – Parshat Vayakhel 5776

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Gifts Please

Maimonides, our great Jewish legal expert from the 12th century, created a hierarchy of giving. It’s a series of eight levels, the order of which is based on the relationship between giver and recipient, with level one being the purest form of gift from one human to another.

If you’ve heard me tell Shabbat stories, you know I have a few favorites. One of my favorites stands out as a prime example of Maimonides’ second level of giving, in which neither the giver nor the recipient knows the other.

There once was a very generous baker, who found himself with a few extra loaves of challah one particular Shabbat evening. He decided the best solution would be to sneak into the shul, place the extra loaves in the ark, and leave them in God’s hands, hoping something good would transpire. On Shabbat morning, the man found the challah had disappeared. Clearly, God had found a use for them, so he made extra the next week as well. Week after week he did this, and week after week by Shabbat morning, they were gone.

At the same time there was a very poor man in the town who was too embarrassed to ask for help. Week after week he went to shul for Friday night services to pray. For weeks he stood in front of the ark, praying to God that there would be food on his table when he made it home. One week on a whim he opened the ark, hoping to bring himself nearer to the holiness of the word of God. Lo and behold, inside were beautiful challot for him to bring home. He tried it again the next week, and there they were again. Week after week he prayed, and week after week the scrumptious bread appeared as an answer to his prayers. One Shabbat, the synagogue caretaker caught a glimpse of both men in this weekly routine and orchestrated a meeting between them. They feel foolish at first, but it is the rabbi who convinces the men that they have shared the ultimate gift in this weekly exchange.

I love this story because it exemplifies the pure joy of giving simply to give. This same concept is present in our Torah portion this week, parshat Vayakhel. The narrative continues with the requirement to observe Shabbat and includes the request to bring gifts to build the Mishkan. Following that, Betzalel and Ohilav are appointed as the taskmasters of the construction project, and we hear about the abundance of gifts the Israelites brought to the Tabernacle.  

The Torah teaches that the Israelites brought gifts morning after morning. In fact, the word “morning” is repeated, which is interpreted to mean that the people brought their gifts at first light, a time during which individual faces could not yet be distinguished from one another. This suggests that the Israelites were contributing not out of obligation to each other or for any sort of recognition, but out of love for God.

Like both the baker and the recipient of his kindness, the mitzvah of the Israelites and the Mishkan was in the anonymity of the act. Too often in our world we are looking for acknowledgement of the work that we’re doing because it “feels good,” when in fact the good feeling we get should be a side effect of doing the charitable work in the first place.

Below for your reference, I’ve included the full series of giving levels as formulated by Maimonides. Where does your giving to others fall on the spectrum? Perhaps we can all strive to work less for the credit and more in the dim light of morning.

Levels of Giving