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.

Hold Me Back – Parshat Korach 5783

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I can sympathize with Korach. That’s not to say that what he and his followers did was right, but I know what it’s like to be consumed by strong emotion. If you know me, you know I’m passionate when it comes to certain subjects. One of the hardest things for me to do is stop myself from going all in and throwing everything I have behind a cause when I’m sure that I’m right. On the one hand, I think it’s important to have opinions and make them known. On the other hand, speaking your mind can sometimes rub people the wrong way.

The good news is I’ve learned many tricks over the years to manage this passion. I might ask a friend or colleague who’s with me to give me a sign that I’m in that “zone.” Or if there’s time, I might discuss the situation in advance to get feedback on my emotional level first. I’ve also learned the valuable lesson of being able to excuse myself to catch my breath before doing or saying something I’ll regret. I’m a natural redhead; fury is my language, and occasionally it can be put to good use.

Of course, the electrical charge of acting on emotion can come with consequences, which is clear in our Torah portion this week. This week we read Parshat Korach, the narrative detailing the revolt of Korach, who breaks apart the priesthood and prepares a revolt, while Datan and Aviram, two other troublemakers, begin a revolt of their own. Chaos breaks out in the camp, and those who don’t see a purpose to the fight pull away, which turns out to be solid decision-making, as the earth opens up and swallows Korach and his followers.

As we know from Parshat Noach, God promised never to destroy the entire world again. Clearly, that doesn’t stop God from momentarily becoming outraged and destroying groups of humanity because the rage is too great. That happens this week when Korach and his followers cannot restrain their dissent, and take physical actions to make their story known. Unfortunately, they go well beyond respectful dialogue and dissent.

Regarding this moment, the Talmud in tractate Hullin shares: “The world exists on account of people who are able to restrain themselves during a quarrel.” Rabbi Simcha Bunim, a key figure in Hasidic Judaism in 18th-century Poland, further explains that because Korach and his followers were not able to do that, the earth gave way and swallowed them. It’s a fairly apt metaphor; this is truly what happens when we’re not able to take a pause and gain control. It’s easy to be “swallowed up” in our emotions and personal feelings. It’s easy to temporarily let go of rational thought, despite the consequences. Parshat Korach reminds us that we can disagree without getting swallowed up in the silos of our own thinking.

Taking a New Path – Parshat Shlach Lecha 5783

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About a year and a half ago, the whole world was obsessed with Wordle, the online word-guessing game. Plenty of people still play (including me), and even continue to share their scores on social media. Scrolling through Facebook, you’ll find different responses. In fact, living on the West Coast, I actually had to stop myself from checking Facebook before I completed that day’s puzzle because other people’s reactions would actually make me nervous about my own skills. Sometimes the word is easy, sometimes it’s more obscure. Some players are proud, some are frustrated. It’s fascinating for everyone everywhere to be working on finding the same answer, working toward the same goal, and yet, true to human nature, have widely varying reactions to the challenge. Perhaps there’s something at the root of this notion, which is exactly why I love this week’s Torah portion. 

This week we read Parshat Shlach Lecha and the story of the spies. The parshah begins with Moshe sending 12 spies, one from each tribe, into the land of Cana’an to bring back an accounting of the land. The spies return with their report, and it’s pretty discouraging. Two spies report back with a positive message, but the negativity of the other ten reports instills so much fear into the nation that they decide they do not want to make the journey into the promised land after all. This infuriates God, who then decrees that anyone who went out from Egypt at age 20 or older will not be allowed to enter the land of Cana’an. This generation will purposefully die out so that a new generation, unfettered by the destructive mindset of their predecessors, can start anew.

The spies – it’s a classic story of groupthink, influence, and peer pressure. They all go into the same land to explore, and yet somehow two of the spies have a different take. There is much commentary on why, how, and what exactly made them stand out. However, the text itself gives us a big clue, if you’re into grammar. In chapter 13, when they go into Israel, there is a change in verb form. “They went up (plural) and came (singular).” In other words, they all started together, but arrived at different places, perhaps both mentally and physically. 

The Talmud suggests that this change in verb conjugation is about intention. While most of the “spies” went into the land and were gathering economic and military data, Caleb went to go visit the tomb of the patriarchs in Hebron. He went up in a group, but arrived at his conclusions about the land through his own exploration. Perhaps at the initial encounter he did see the land like the other scouts, but he pushed on using his own thinking to find a place that had meaning for him. 

Caleb and Joshua pave their own path in this week’s Torah portion. They’re able to escape the influence of the collective voice to show the power of the individual and some positive thinking. That’s not to say that the individual is always right or that going against the majority is always the preferred method. But perhaps the Torah portion this week is a lesson that sometimes the only way to get the full picture is to consider both sides, and then to draw your own conclusions.