Touchy-Feely – Parshat Re’eh 5775

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Touchy-Feely

Two friends are out walking their dogs, and one friend says to the other, “Yesterday I taught my dog to whistle.” The second friend turns and says, “That’s incredible! Can I hear it?” The first one says, “Of course not. I only taught it to him – he didn’t learn it.”

I’m not sure this concept is obvious until you actually stop to think about it. Teaching doesn’t automatically equal learning, in the same way that cooking dinner doesn’t automatically mean a certain two-year-old is going to eat it. I’m not talking about anyone in particular, of course. The point is that it’s the responsibility of the learner – or the eater – to digest the information.

In rabbinical school, my classmates always made fun of me because of the way I sat with my pen and paper and outlined every piece of reading material we were ever assigned.  That was how I learned the information best, by the tactile nature of handwritten note-taking.  I could never take notes on a computer; to this day, I need to write by hand in order to remember.  These notes and outlines were the key to my success in school, and I still have them.  If there’s ever a “rabbi edition” of the TV show “Hoarders,” you’ll get a first-hand look at my boxes of handmade flashcards.  

There are multiple theories as to when and why absorption of data happens, but the way we interact with our world and the way we take in information differs from person to person and from subject to subject. You may have heard of the theory of multiple intelligences, developed by Howard Gardner, a psychologist who determined that there are eight modalities that are used in order to hold information.  The theory suggests that for a lesson to stick, or material to be learned, we must take it in in a way that speaks to us individually.

The Torah is perhaps the first curriculum written for multiple intelligence learning.  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 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 some more information on our three pilgrimage festivals.  

The parshah begins with Re’eh, “see the blessings and curses,” but just a verse later we read “if you do not hear the commandments…”  The Torah understands that we absorb information differently – some by seeing, some by hearing, and some by touching.  There are Israelites who might have heard God’s booming voice at Sinai, but because they couldn’t see it, didn’t believe it.  There are those who might have seen the grand show from Sinai, but needed to actually hear God’s voice in order to take it all in.  

I mentioned before that there are multiple learning theories. There’s also the theory that it’s the subject matter that is the bigger factor in successful learning. If you’re going to learn how to drive, how would you like to learn? By reading about driving, by engaging in a lively debate about driving, or by getting behind the wheel? Learning to drive needs a hands-on approach. Now let’s say you’re learning about the subject of legal ethics and pose the same question. Most of us go for the lively debate, right?

The Torah gives us the subject-based side of the coin too. We have commandments based on intellectual and spiritual concepts:

Hallow God’s name. (Lev. 22:32)

Don’t bear a grudge. (Lev. 19:18)

And we have commandments that are purely tactile or auditory:

Hear the sound of the shofar. (Num. 29:1)

Eat matzah on the first night of Pesach. (Ex. 12:18)

To live a Jewish life, we have to engage our intellects and our senses. What a concept!

As I reminded my classmates back in school, we all learn differently, and, guess what, we all graduated.  This week as we read parshat Re’eh, we are reminded that Judaism is experienced uniquely by each of us and in each of the ways we are commanded to do so. Listen to the Shema, see the flame of the candles, taste the sweetness of the wine, celebrate Shabbat. Most importantly, make it your journey of learning.

Stubborn and Stiff-necked – Parshat Eikev 5775

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Stubborn

I can be stubborn. It’s innate, and it’s among my less than desireable qualities. My mom will tell you I was a stubborn child, and I have no doubt she’s right, given the stubbornness Shiri exhibits more and more as she approaches two years old. However, I’m also convinced our stubborn ways aren’t closing us off to other ideas and opinions; they simply mean we stick to our guns where things like what we want to do with our days or exactly what we want to eat are concerned.

Shiri does things on her own terms, whether that means waiting to walk until well into her fourteenth month, refusing food until we can identify what she’s craving, or waking up early simply so we come in and hug her.  I’ve heard countless times that a strong will is a good quality to have, as it usually means she will advocate for her needs. This independent stubbornness will most likely serve to her benefit as she grows. At the same time, it is extremely trying in a two-year-old.

We learn in our parshah this week, parshat Eikev, that raising a stiff-necked child is nothing new.  The the Israelites were also stubborn.  The parshah begins with a reminder of the blessings and rewards of success that will come to the Israelites if they guard and observe the Torah and all of its commandments.  We are then reminded of our responsibility to remove idolaters from our midst.  The final section of the parshah is a reminder of the Israelites’ experiences in the desert, their missteps and what they learned from each of these moments.

Chapter 9, verse 6 teaches, “Know, then, that it is not for any virtue of yours that the Lord your God is giving you this good land to possess; for you are a stiff-necked people.  Remember; never forget how you provoked the Lord your God in anger.”  This is basically a scolding of the Israelites, reminding them that they are receiving the Promised Land not because of their excellent behavior, but because they earned it in a battle of endurance.

“Stiff-necked” is not usually a compliment; we often think of it as a negative trait.  It makes you think of people who are unwilling to change, who can’t take criticism. However, the commentary Exodus Rabbah gives this section of our text a different spin.  “The stubbornness of the Jews in the face of persecution has enabled us to remain Jewish through the centuries.”  In other words, without this stubborn nature, the Jewish people would not have stood the test of time.

And when you think about it, the very narrative we live by is the most stubborn part about us. When you think of the Torah scroll, what comes to mind? The atzei chayim, the handles at the ends of the center dowels, are incredibly stiff-necked to support the weight of our history. The text contained within it is a stubborn, unchanging document, and the stubbornness is reinforced year after year because we cycle through the exact same parshiyot.

Yet, as conservative Jews we have managed to find the balance between sacred, stubborn tradition and lifestyle choices that don’t hermetically seal our culture and cut it off from the world.  We argue, we question, we test our limits. Welcome to Judaism 101 – yes, you’re in the right place. Maybe that’s why as frustrating as Shiri’s stubbornness can be, it’s also a huge relief, because I know that even at her young age, she’s embracing her heritage. Now if I could only get her to eat carrots.

Seeing is Believing – Parshat Vaetchanan 5775

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Seeing is Believing

The Shema is the crux of monotheism: “Hear O Israel, Adonai is our God, Adonai is one.”  It’s one of the first prayers our children learn, and we assign it a variety of rituals.  We might ask the children to make the Hebrew letter shin (showing 3 fingers) with their hands as they cover their eyes to teach that Shema begins with shin.  In our house the Shema is a part of our bedtime ritual, sending our daughter to dreamland with one last bit of Jewish faith before she falls asleep.  Traditionally, this is also the last prayer Jews will say upon their death bed.  Whatever ritual you primarily associate with the prayer, the Shema is universal among Jews, and known by many outside the Jewish religion.

This week we read parshat Vaetchanan, the second section of text in the book of Deuteronomy.  It is perhaps one of the most famous texts in our Torah.  Moses requests to enter the land of Israel, but God remains firm in his punishment of forbidding Moses from stepping foot in the promised land.  The Torah sends out a caution to observe the commandments therein and reaffirms that idols are prohibited, which we learn in the Shema, stating there is only one God.  We also receive the second giving of the Ten Commandments and are to teach these words to our children.

There is extra attention paid to the idea that Judaism must be lived, it cannot simply be learned.  Chapter 4, verse 9 teaches, “But take utmost care and watch yourselves scrupulously, so that you do not forget the things that you saw with your own eyes and so that they do not fade from your mind as long as you live.  And make them known to your children and to your children’s children.”  The Torah is insistent that Judaism hinges upon experience, and it provides pathways for those who were not able to witness the Exodus firsthand.  None of us today were there at Sinai, but we certainly have the ability to live, breath, and experience Judaism on a daily basis.

The phrase “people of the book” is often used to lump together many of the so-called Abrahamic religions.  Jews, Muslims, Baptists, Methodists, and others have embraced this way of aligning ourselves with the laws that define our various traditions.  But if there was one term to distinguish Jewish tradition, you could make a strong argument for “witness.”  We are a people of witnesses, and it is demanded of us that we see and engage in the world through a Jewish lens.  That is the beauty of Jewish living.

The final letters of the first and last words of the Shema are ayin and daled.  Ayin is the last letter in the word shema, and daled is the last letter in the word echad.  Combined, they spell eid, witness.  Our parshah this week teaches us that living our lives as Jews means that we are witness to the power of experience and the power of community.  We cover our eyes to show our belief in God when we recite our central prayer, but we open our eyes in order to experience the wonder that is Jewish living and learning.

I’ll leave you with a final anecdote that is one of my favorite experiences as a rabbi so far.  The religious questions that rabbis get from kids are the best.  When is God’s birthday?  Were there dinosaurs on Noah’s ark?  An inquisitive first grader once asked me, “Why is the Shema written in the prayer book if we always cover our eyes when we say it?”  What an astute observation.  The sentiment is well represented in this week’s parshah.  Clearly, there would be no need for our main tenet of faith to be written in the siddur if we all internalized these essential words the way we teach our children to do.

[photo credit: Black & White Justice via photopin (license)]

The You That I See – Parshat Devarim 5775

Eve Posen5 Comments

The You I See

When I was 13 years old and celebrating my Bat Mitzvah, somehow it was clear to everyone that I would become a rabbi.  As for me?  I was a typical teenager, so of course I thought they were completely nuts.  Ok, yes, I loved being in the synagogue.  Sure, I wanted to push the boundaries of what women were allowed to do in my shul.  Alright fine, I was a natural Torah reader and thrived standing on the bimah.  Well now that I think about it, I guess the signs were pretty clear.

But at that age, in my mind there was no way I was going to be a rabbi.  This continued to be my train of thought as I worked through high school, despite the fact that I lived in Israel for a semester and, upon my return, wanted only to study Hebrew, Israel, and Judaism.  In college I was also active in Hillel, leading the conservative minyan and basically acting as a one-person religious life committee.  Then there was my job as youth advisor and Hebrew school teacher at the conservative shul in town.

I mean come on!  Who I was on the outside screamed “Rabbi!”  Except inside, I didn’t believe that was my path.  How could I have totally missed these obvious clues?  Part of the reason is because I fully expected to use my college degree in Judaic Studies towards Jewish communal work, or perhaps Jewish education.  That is until Rabbi Abby Treu, who then worked at University of Michigan Hillel, finally opened my eyes.  She convinced me that more than anything, I was hiding from my own insecurities, my own disbelief that I could be a rabbi.  She saw something in me I didn’t see – that I couldn’t see – and I am so grateful for that push of enlightenment.

This week in our parshah, the Israelites follow a story not so different from mine as we enter into the final book of the Torah, Devarim (Deuteronomy).  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.

The book begins “These are the words that Moses addressed to all Israel on the other side of the Jordan.”  Addressing words to all Israel?  How is this possible?  Isn’t this the same Moses who at the beginning protested this leadership role, stating that he was not ish devarim, a “man of words”?  Know anyone who’s afraid of public speaking?  Moses started that.  And yet, here he is years later confidently sharing his message with the people.  Moses didn’t take speech classes or join the Mount Sinai debate team.  His speaking ability didn’t necessarily improve, but he did accept that this was his calling, and he embraced it wholeheartedly.  In doing so he led a nation and was true to himself.

Had Moshe not had the nagging voice of God pushing him to move forward, to speak, to assume his role as leader, he never would have grown into himself, and he never would have made such an impact on our people and our history.  Let’s face it, our story as we know it would be completely different.  And had my friend Rabbi Treu not pushed me to consider the obvious evidence before me, I never would have had the courage to apply to rabbinical school, and I doubt I’d have found as much satisfaction in my career choice.  Now I can say with certainty that being a rabbi feels like exactly what I want to do with my life.

We begin the final book in the Torah by understanding that our success in life comes from growing into our own selves.  Sometimes it’s hard on your own to recognize what makes you truly happy, but when the right person can help reflect that back to you, it makes all the difference.  In this Shabbat of Hazon, this Shabbat of Vision, we are inspired to envision ourselves as we want to be, with all the potential others see in us.  This is your push.  Shabbat shalom.

Do You Solemnly Swear – Parshat Matot-Masei

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Solemnly Swear

As Duncan and I began our journey into parenthood, we had all sorts of grand notions of the type of parents we would be.  Like other parents we know, we swore to each other that we would be the best possible role models. We promised to have all the best qualities we loved in our parents and none of the worst ones. We vowed to be fun, honest, and fair 24/7.  And then Shiri was born.

I’m not saying we went back on every promise, but we found out it was a lot harder to uphold those promises when we were living the reality of parenthood.  Limiting our own screen time to after the baby was asleep in bed was great in theory; however, being up at all hours of the night with a newborn almost always meant a 4:00 a.m. Facebook check.  We wanted to teach Shiri to be a healthy eater and to set healthy examples for her with our food and exercise choices, but some days just demand fries and a milkshake.  We had vowed to act one way, and hard as we try, we still aren’t always in line with those expectations we set for ourselves.

The problem with broken promises to ourselves is they often don’t have enough of an impact to really change our behavior.  Think of New Year’s resolutions or simply trying to change a bad habit.  The problem with broken promises to others is there’s often too much of an impact because of the resulting loss of trust in the relationship.

This week we read the final sections of text from the fourth book of the Torah, Bamidbar.  Parshiyot Matot and Masei begin with the 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.

Promises play a role in both of these sections. In Matot, certain types of vows are identified and explained, including vows of married couples to God and each other. In Masei, the tribes make requests of Moshe, and Moshe responds, vowing to give certain parcels of land to certain people.  These are verbal agreements, once again showing the power of words.

From the creation of the world through God’s word alone, to the myriad laws on how we use our words to create or destroy, the power of speech is identified as one of the unique gifts of a human being.  More specifically, our human communication, when combined with our memory and our empathy, gives us the unique ability to create and enact self-imposed legislation.  Put another way, our speech can represent not only the exchange of words, but the exchange of tangible, touchable things.

The parshiyot this week remind us that our words have this power and that whether or not we can feel it, there is weight to the promises we make to ourselves and each other.