Make Me an Offer – Parshat Tzav 5784

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Have you made a burnt offering recently? Have you done a ritualistic cleanse or sacrificed grain? We tend to think of the sacrifices that were essential to our ancient Israelite ancestors as a thing of the past, but in fact, they’re not completely removed from how we observe the laws of Torah today. Let’s go to the source in this week’s Torah portion, Parshat Tzav. 

As the Israelites proceed along their timeline in the desert, the realization of the rules starts to set in. If you’re familiar with the cycle of Torah from previous years, you know how much time is spent on explaining what the people of this new nation can and cannot do. Part of the narrative also deals with things like the judicial system Moshe sets in motion and the priestly duties and structure. 

Leviticus chapters 6 – 8 contain instructions for the priests and the Israelites regarding offerings and sacrifices to God. Specifically, chapter 6 describes the law of the burnt offering, which was a voluntary offering made by the Israelites to seek forgiveness for sins or to show gratitude to God. This offering involved burning the entire animal on the altar as a symbol of complete devotion. Chapter 7 provides instructions for the grain offering, which was another form of voluntary offering made by the Israelites. This offering involved presenting a portion of the grain harvest to the priests, who would then burn some of it on the altar as an offering to God. Chapter 8 outlines the consecration of Aaron and his sons as priests. This involved a seven-day ceremony, during which they were washed, anointed, and dressed in their priestly garments. They were also given instructions regarding the burnt offering and grain offering described in the two previous chapters.

Overall, these chapters emphasize the importance of making offerings and sacrifices to God to demonstrate devotion and seek forgiveness. They also provide specific instructions for the priests regarding the proper way to carry out these offerings. As we look toward Passover in a month and how we put ourselves in the Exodus story, I imagine being an Israelite and wondering why exactly all this structure and status matters. After all, we just left Egypt where the hierarchy enforced by Pharoah led to oppression and forced labor.

The physical acts associated with our traditions aren’t some random set of procedures; they’re meant to keep us involved and present in our Judaism. They give purpose and intention to everything we do. You might think burnt offerings are a thing of the past, but it’s still traditional to save and burn a bit of the challah we bake before Shabbat. You might not have had the experience of being a priest and washing your hands before offering a sacrifice to God, but there’s a good chance you’ve washed and said the blessing for handwashing before eating. And that table you’re eating on? The Talmud even compares it to the altar of the Temple (BT B’rachot 55a). As Jews, it’s not a matter of being doomed to repeat history because we forget it. We remember and live in this history every day of our lives. 

Lying to Yourself – Parshat Vayikra 5784

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How often have you committed to yourself to doing something or making a change, only to lose your resolve a while later? Saying “I’m not going to check my phone after 7 p.m.” or “I’m going to get some physical activity in every day” doesn’t do much good unless there’s someone else around to hold you accountable. At the same time, if I ask someone to hold me accountable, but I’m not really committed to doing the work myself, that’s no good either. However, in both cases the person ultimately responsible is yourself. 

Is the question one of action and follow-through? Or is it one of honesty? If you’re not honest with yourself about what you can and cannot accomplish, the goals you set don’t stand a chance. This is one of the hardest parts of making any change. It’s not easy to admit when something isn’t working, especially when you’ve failed at something you promised yourself. 

This week we read Parshat Vayikra, which begins the third book of the Torah and details the many sacrifices and daily, active mitzvot of living as an Israelite. After an explanation of the frequency of the sacrifices, 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.

If you examine that list of the different sacrifices to be offered for different occasions, you’ll learn about the burnt offering and the requirement that for offerings of “broken oaths,” a confession is required. This is called hitvadah in Hebrew. This Hebrew verb is reflexive, implying that our responsibility is to confess to ourselves, to admit to our hearts our own wrongdoing. 

In this moment of Vayikra, of “calling out,” we are reminded both to listen to what others are asking of us and to listen to ourselves. When you break an oath you’ve made to another person, you apologize, plain and simple, and the other person decides whether or not to forgive. But what do you do when you break an oath to yourself? In those cases, the apology and the forgiveness are both up to you, and the first step to making progress of any kind is being honest with yourself.

Ordinary and Extraordinary – Parshat Pekudei 5784

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As much as I’m completely over Daylight Saving Time and ready to just stick with one time and be done with it, the twice-yearly shift does serve one valuable purpose for me. As a creature of habit, I thrive on routine, and this jarring, sudden change is enough to short-circuit my autopilot, at least temporarily. Otherwise, I don’t tend to notice certain changes until they knock me over the head.

For example, I often walk the loop of my neighborhood. It’s a path I know so well that I don’t have to think about it. I’m aware of my surroundings, so I see other people and cars, but my feet know the route intimately enough that I don’t always watch where I’m going because my body just goes. Zoning out can be helpful, but it also means I can miss the little things like buds appearing on the trees in spring or leaves disappearing on the trees in fall. At some point, it will hit me (not literally the tree) and all of a sudden I’m in awe of this beautiful place.

This is the difference between being merely present and having an encounter. You can be present as you experience the natural, ongoing, slowly changing world, but it’s the encounters that wow you and grab your attention. As our Torah reading this week teaches us, both are necessary and holy. 

Parshat Pekudei 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 (the Mishkan) and what the priests are supposed to wear. Finally, the text takes up the building and establishment of the Mishkan.

As we end the book of Exodus we find that the Israelites have created two embodiments of holiness in the Israelite camp: the Tent of Meeting (Ohel Moed) and the Mishkan. The Ohel Moed is a place to be present. On the other hand, the Mishkan, the sacred space where God will dwell among the Israelites, travels with the Israelites and is often at the center of moments of awe and wonder. In other words, God has asked the Israelites to create routine reminders of God’s presence but not to become oblivious to the extraordinary moments when they happen. 

If I Built a Mishkan – Parshat Vayakhel 5784

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If you asked me what I would do if I wasn’t a rabbi, I’d probably say something along the lines of an experience designer or exhibit curator. I love thinking about the user experience of a place, whether that’s a museum, a park, or Costco. A favorite mental exercise of mine is to imagine how I might build something if those decisions were up to me.

There’s a wonderful series of picture books by Chris Van Dusen that imagines what a school, a car, or a house would be like if built by a very creative kid. It’s fun to read these with my children and then ask them, “If you could build a synagogue, what would you make sure to include?” My synagogue would probably include quiet treadmills and bounce pads in the back of the prayer space and multiple types of seating and standing options, as well as multiple rooms for different sensory needs. Of course, their answers are different from mine, and I’m sure all of your answers would be vastly different too. The point is that everyone’s ideal environment is going to be unique, including God’s. 

We read Parshat Vayakhel this week, and we are inundated with facts about the Mishkan. The Torah teaches that we are to collect special gifts to build this sacred space and that these gifts are to be given because the giver wants to give them, not because they are being asked to give them. The text then continues to explain that because of this “giving what your heart tells you” mentality, they end up with an abundance of materials to build this sacred space. The reason the Mishkan is a magnificent construction project is because of the generosity of spirit the Israelites were moved to exhibit.

The entire text is full of directions for building a breathtaking holy space for God in which the community will gather. We’re talking gold, bronze, and silver, along with garments of majestic embroidery and so much glitz and glam. We’re led to believe that God clearly has a taste for the ornate. 

However, this begs the question, is this space for God to feel at home or for the Israelites to feel safe and present? The text doesn’t provide an obvious answer, but in reading the descriptive details, it appears that the grandeur of the Mishkan is partly because God wanted as many people as possible to contribute to its creation. That way they’d feel connected to the space and proud to be there. While our use of holy spaces has changed, the idea of having everyone contribute remains the same. When you volunteer your time and other resources to Neveh Shalom, that’s how you create a space that’s built for you, one you’re proud to be in. And if that happens to include trampolines in the vestry, you know how to contact me.

See For Yourself – Parshat Ki Tissa 5784

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In a world with surveillance video, body cams, and 4K-capable mobile phones, it has become commonplace for news stories to be accompanied by video footage of every type of event, aired for the entire public to see. Before we had cameras everywhere, the only way to truly know what happened in a specific incident was through eyewitness accounts. We had to rely on people telling the story. That often left room for conjecture, embellishment, hiding facts, and other roadblocks in the way of the “whole truth.” The only way to have a complete story is to be fully (or at least virtually) present when something happens, and now that we have Ring doorbells and security cameras, it’s impossible to go back to a time of having to remember or guess what may have happened. 

Despite the creative imaginations that have conjured up artistically rendered selfies of biblical characters (you may have seen these passed around social media), we don’t have the benefit of video footage of anything that occurred in the Torah. As we read the narrative of the Israelite nation, there are many times when we read about events that seem to only be possible outside the scope of rationality. If certain events in the Torah seem improbable, maybe that calls into question the entire document. Faith usually means believing without seeing. However, our Torah portion this week includes a commandment from God about the obligation to see things for ourselves. 

Parshat Ki Tissa greets us in the desert, where the Israelites have received the Ten Commandments, and they are now set to continue on their journey, with Moshe and God leading the way. But Moshe is delayed in coming down from the mountain, and the people are scared, unsure of this God that they have yet to trust. So they gather their gold, make an idol, and turn their attention to something tangible.

While he’s on top of the mountain in his session with the Divine, Moshe hears from God about the Golden Calf and how the Israelites have already broken the laws they only recently received. Even though furious at their actions, God implores Moshe not to condemn them from afar, but to hurry down the mountain to see for himself. 

Why doesn’t Moshe reflect God’s anger until he returns to the people? It’s because here we receive the legal and communal precedent to actually see for ourselves the entirety of the situation before rushing to condemnation. It’s human (and even Godly) nature to form an opinion based on the biases that we carry, but it is our duty to recognize those biases and fight against them rather than act without all the information.