Rabbi Eve Posen

A Chasidic story: 

“There once was a town where the only thing the rabbi heard was laughter.  He heard that this person said this to that person and then the chain continued on.  Each person was talking about the other, they all laughed, except the rabbi and the person who was being laughed about.  One day, Shlomo told Barukh about the foolish thing that Yankel had done.  Barukh couldn’t stop laughing.  Yankel was hurt and wouldn’t talk to Shlomo.  Shlomo was very upset and went to the rabbi.  He said, ‘I don’t know what to do, Yankel is my good friend but he won’t talk to me now.  He slammed the door in my face.  I tried to say I’m sorry but he won’t listen to me.’  The rabbi understood.  He said to Shlomo, ‘Meet me at noon in the town square with a pillow.  I will teach you a great secret, but you can only learn it with a pillow.’  The next day Shlomo showed up with a pillow and met the rabbi.  The rabbi had Shlomo rip open the pillow.  As soon as he did this the wind started to blow and grab the feathers and carry them away.  The rabbi took the pillow and shook it so the air was filled with feathers and the wind carried them all over town.  The whole town was filled with feathers.  The rabbi then said, ‘Go and gather up all the feathers.’  Shlomo said, ‘That’s impossible, no one could to that.’  Then the rabbi said, ‘Go and gather up the story about the foolish thing Yankel did.’ Shlomo said, ‘That’s impossible.’  Then he got it.”   

The story tells us that our words are like feathers in the wind.  Once they’ve come out of our mouths, it is very difficult, if not impossible, to take them back. 

Our parshah this week, Acharei Mot, continues the story of Aaron’s sons and their relationship with the priesthood.  It begins by reminding us why Nadav and Avihu were “zapped.”  They drew too close to God.  The text continues with a detailed list of the preparations to be made for Yom Kippurand the foods that we’re allowed to eat.   The common thread throughout the text is a focus on various relationships to be had and to be held dear.  From Nadav and Avihu we gather that there are certain relationships in which it is best to keep some distance and acknowledge that boundaries are there for a reason.  When we cross those boundaries, we often find ourselves in a place of irreversible damage.  The text tells us the same is true with regard to whom we love and have intimate relations with. 

The text then focuses on various types of offerings made in atonement for our actions.  Chapter 16, verse 13 begins to tell us of the offering of incense to be made as Aaron purifies the sanctuary of God.  It tells us that Aaron is to “put the incense on the fire before the Lord, so that the cloud from the incense screens the cover that is over the Ark of the Pact, lest he die.”  The Talmud, in tractateYoma, teaches us about the importance of incense being used to talk about rectifying sins of lashon HaRah, evil speech.  The offering of incense is scented, but has no physical presence and is used to atone for the sin of gossip, which also has no physical reality but can be carried far and wide, with its effects lasting long after it has left its place of origin. 

This week we read not only about needing to guard our tongues and our relationships, but we also celebrate Shabbat HaGadol, the special Shabbat right before we celebrate Pesach.  We think about what it might mean to screen our thoughts before they leave our lips and how to ensure that our fires are the ones that burn within us, the fire of love, the fire of compassion, and the fire of intelligence. We hope that that is what spreads like the feathers in the story, like the presence of God in the text, and encompass the whole earth with understanding and respect.

What is it about a cool spring rain, a dip in the pool on a 100 plus degree summer day in Texas, or even a good long cry when the emotion has been pent up inside? Water not only maintains life, it also renews life, and our connection to this elemental force has grown continuously deeper since the beginning of the earth.

In Bereshit (Genesis) 1:2 we learn that God fashions the earth out of the waters, and it emerges as a new entity.  Then when God wants to start over and refresh the world and creation in parshat Noah, again God uses water, a great flood like a bath over the land so that the earth and its inhabitants can start anew.  It should come as no surprise that the symbolism of water is that of renewal and rebirth.  Not only was the earth birthed out of water, but each of us emerged at one point from the watery environment of the womb.

Today we use water as a symbol during the aseret y’mei t’shuvah, the ten days of repentance between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, when we symbolically wash away our sins duringTashlich.  We ritually wash our hands before we eat so as to make eating a holy act.  Even outside of ritual we use water.  On a hot day when the heat feels particularly heavy we’ll take a cold shower or jump in the pool to emerge refreshed and renewed.  Something even as simple as our daily shower or bath can awaken our senses and get us ready for a new day. 

Jewish tradition emphasizes the powers of water in the use of the mikvah, the ritual bath.  Many women will use the mikvah to mark a new monthly cycle in their lives.  Men and women will commonly go to the mikvah before their wedding day or before Yom Kippur, so as to emerge into this new year or phase in life clean and purified.

Our parshah this week, Metzora, goes into detail about the use of the mikvah as a tool for renewal in our daily lives.  The immersion that the text speaks of is for the metzorah, the leprous person, to emerge from the waters with a renewed outlook on life.  Sefer Ha-Hinnuch, a 13th century commentary on the mitzvot of the Torah, teaches that an experience of illness and recovery is such that it allows the person who has survived to come out renewed and a new person. 

There is an age-old debate about whether or not people are able to change, nature versus nurture.  But in all likelihood, our human personalities are formed in many ways from many sources. Perhaps our nature is set when we’re born, but we emerge out of every experience changed and ready to engage with the world.  The text teaches us that while we might not be the best swimmers, each of us is able to float.  When we’re struggling to move forward, perhaps the only thing holding us back is our fear of diving in to the next step.  If life presents an opportunity for renewal, may we have the courage the take the plunge.

1.  What are some other ways besides using water that we symbolize rebirth or renewal in Judaism?  How does this connect you to living a Jewish life as described in our “ethical covenant”?

2.  What is your favorite type of natural water?  Why?  How does it make you feel?

Sometimes we wish we were mind readers. Occasionally, I’ll ask a question in class and get nothing but blank stares.  Should I assume that because there were no questions and everyone seems to be working away on their own, that they understand the material?  Unfortunately I don’t know what’s going on in their heads, and it can be hard to offer them help if they don’t take the first step by asking for help. 

When we have a problem, we’re often too afraid or proud to let others know about it.  This week’sTorah portion, Tazria, teaches us about asking for help in our world.  The parshah mainly covers purities and impurities.  The text is also laden with images of how a woman must purify herself after childbirth and what to do if you contract various skin diseases.  It talks about the sanctity of our bodies and our obligations to keep them pure especially with the food that we put into them and the words that come out of them.  

In the end of the parshah we learn about the requirements of the person becoming purified.  Chapter 13, verse 45 of the book of Vayikra reminds us that no one is a mind reader.  The text reads: “As for the person with leprosy, his clothes shall be rent, his head shall be left bare, and he shall cover over his upper lip; and he shall call out, ‘Impure! Impure!’”  According to the Talmud, a person calls out “Impure!” not only to warn others of the contagious nature of their bodies, but also so that others will know about it in the first place.  The Torah teaches that we cannot expect others in our community to know our needs unless we tell them ourselves.  If we want to have someone come to our aid, we must first be comfortable asking for help.

When we’re too afraid to ask for help, we deny the community a chance to welcome us and love us through a difficult event.  The truth is, we’re not mind readers, and as difficult as it is to stand up and call out “Impure!  I need help!” in the long run, the love and support provided will help you heal faster and allow you to receive the care and friendship you need.

By the same token, each person in our community is deserving of our nurturing support during a time of need.  This parshah calls out to each of us to not be afraid to admit when we need help from others and to come to the rescue of others when we hear that voice call out.  We should not shun those who need help, just because they are different.  Rather, we should move forward and offer prayer, support and encouragement. 

A few years ago I took part in a life coaching group.  We met for a number of weeks to talk about our goals in life, how we might achieve them, and the broader scope of what they really meant to us.  Our first assignment was to come up with a list of 100 goals.  There were no rules, so no goal was left off.  From writing one letter to a friend to finding a job, anything was fair game.  As we met, we looked at our goals and decided which ones were attainable in a reasonable time and which ones would need either more time or different circumstances.  One of my goals was to say “thank you” every day.  It wasn’t about thanking a person specifically; rather, it was about remembering to have gratitude even during an unlucky streak or a grey period. 

The origin of this goal was really to find meaning when reciting modeh Ani every morning when I woke up.  Our daily liturgy begins before we even get out of bed.  We are to recite the words “Modeh ani l’fanecha melech chai v’kayam, she’hechezarta bi nishmati b’chemla rabbah emunatecha.”  I am grateful to You, living, enduring King, for restoring my soul to me in compassion.  You are faithful beyond measure.  In stating my “thank you” goal, I wanted to know what it means to say thank you, and why I should even do it. 

Our parshah this week, parshat Tzav, gives us the specific instructions for the priests as they offer sacrifices.  We also receive the prohibition on mixing milk and meat and the details of how priests go about sanctification.  Specifically, we learn about the offering for thanks-giving.  Chapter 7 teaches us that a person is to provide a thanksgiving offering in response to having survived a disaster.  Later, in tractate Berachot, the Talmud teaches that we are also to give this offering after returning from a long trip or recovering from illness, childbirth, and similar events.  We now see this play out in modern Jewish life when we go to synagogue after going through one of these events and reciting the Gomel prayer on a Torah reading day. 

What strikes me about this obligation is that it really isn’t an obligation at all.  The text does not tell us that we are obligated, chayav, to bring a thanksgiving offering; the wording is tzrichim, we needto bring the offering.  This implies that we are saying thank you not because it is demanded of us, but rather because we need to do it for our own psychological wellbeing. 

Saying the words “thank you” can become a rote action, something that we say out of habit and not necessarily with a lot of meaning.  This week the Torah reminds us of the gifts we take for granted in our everyday lives.  We aren’t commanded to say thank you in the way we are commanded to honor our mother and father or commanded not to steal.  Rather, the text chooses the word “need” as though gratitude is something without which human beings are not complete.  As we are about to enter the week in which we celebrate Purim, the holiday commemorating Queen Esther and Mordechai foiling Haman’s plot, we remember what could have been and move forward with gratitude for the lives that we live today.   When you’re feeling down or having “bad luck,” perhaps all you need to do is say your daily gratitudes and really be conscious of them.  Revisit why you are thankful, and maybe even follow up on some goals of your own.  Occasionally I’ll go back and look at my list, and every time I do, I am stunned by how far I’ve come.