The Path Before You – Parshat Eikev 5781

If you stay in one place long enough, your family becomes rooted and connected to that place in a deep way. Those of you with older siblings may know the feeling of walking into a new classroom at the beginning of the school year and having the teacher look at your last name on the roster and automatically associate you with any memories of your older sibling. It can even happen a generation or two apart, like when a grandchild who is working hard to start their own career, but in the same field as a grandparent, can’t escape the stories about living up to the legacy. In so many ways we find ourselves following paths laid years or decades before, and yet each human being is also their own person and thus different.

The Torah often follows this line of reasoning, including Parshat Eikev this week. We should trust God because Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob put their faith in God, and God’s promises were fulfilled. At the same time, we’re reminded of all the ways in which the Israelites choose a new path and not be like their ancestors.

This week we read Parshat Eikev. We learn of the blessing and reward you receive if you keep the laws of the Torah and of the consequences for those who don’t follow those laws. The Torah recaps the lessons learned from the Golden Calf, the breaking of the first set of tablets, and Moses’s prayer for the people. We finally receive the second section of the Shema, followed by a clear warning to guard the Torah and its commandments.

In the aftermath of the Golden Calf incident, which happened a while back, God and Moses are going back and forth on the merits of the Israelite nation. The concept of the “merit of ancestors,” or zechut avot, is often cited here. In other words, God should have mercy upon the Israelites because they come from meritorious people. They should receive mercy because they are the same as their ancestors, even in their differences. The thing is, Moses also makes the argument that it’s not just the “good” qualities that they have in common. They also share the same stubbornness, a stubbornness that has preserved them as a people through generations. 

We want to pass down only our best qualities, whether it’s older sibling to younger sibling, parent to child, or grandparent to grandchild. However, sometimes it’s not necessarily the “best” qualities that are the most important, but the ones that best serve us. 

Parshat Eikev reminds us that while the idea of zechut avot paved the way and may open doors for us, it’s up to us to go through the door and pave the way for those who will follow.

Clingy – Parshat Vaetchanan 5781

I’ve always been bothered by the end of the movie Titanic when Rose climbs on to the door in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean after the ship goes down. There seems to be room for Jack to climb on top of the door with her, and yet he dies and she survives. Why do they both not get to make it and only one of them is pulled to safety? There has been much debate about this scene over the 24 years since the movie came out, including a segment on the television show Mythbusters that recreated the tragic ending with a replica of the door. The obvious answer is because it makes the story even more dramatic and moving, not to mention the tragedy of the Titanic isn’t a happy story to begin with. But if you prefer a bit of dark humor, you could say the reason is because Jack didn’t want to be the clingy one in this relationship. 

Of course in this memorable movie scene, “clinging” is a matter of life and death. However, when we turn the verb “cling” into the adjective “clingy” we’re usually referring to people, things, and ideas we hold onto for emotional reasons, not physical necessity. For example, there are some things that we cling to in order to give us hope or sustain us through a rocky patch. “The light at the end of the tunnel” is a cliché that reminds us that if we can just reach a certain point, a reward will follow. Or, as my trainer says, “You can do anything for 30 seconds.” It’s a little bit of hyperbole, but knowing that those 30 seconds will end is the hope I cling to in order to push through the last two minutes of holding a plank. What are some things you cling to? 

Parshat Vaetchanan, which we read this week, offers some insight into this concept. The Torah portion continues with the retelling of the laws here again in the book of Deuteronomy. We also read about God’s persistent refusal to allow Moshe to enter the Land of Israel. The Torah then issues a caution to uphold the mitzvot as the key to building the new Israelite society. Moshe then sets three cities of refuge, and we receive probably the most well-known instruction in the Torah, the Shema. 

In chapter four we receive a verse of Torah that is still used today in the congregation just before the reading of the Torah. “While you, who are clinging to the Lord your God, are all alive today.” In the midst of recounting the destruction of those who didn’t serve God, this verse tells us that Israel is alive today, and Judaism exists today because the people have “clung” to God. Faith, in a sense, is that floating door in Titanic, and that is how we survive. 

“Clinging” to faith looks different for each of us. Holding onto Judaism can look like maintaining multiple traditions over generations, or simply keeping a recipe as sacred to the family. Some of us cling to God, while others cling to the specific words of Torah that bring us meaning and comfort. However you interpret it, this idea of holding tightly to each other and to our tradition is the reason Judaism has survived, and if we remain clingy, it will continue to survive.  

Being Alone – Parshat Devarim 5781

As we reenter an in-person world and discover again what it means to connect with people face to face, it really puts into perspective how alone we’ve been over the last 18 months. Whether it was the frustration of online meetings or the isolation during quarantine, we didn’t just feel alone – we were physically separated. 

One of the effects of this aloneness is the perception of the burden of extra responsibility. Put another way, how do we know if our leaders are doing their jobs if we can’t see them? How do we even know who is doing which job? And how can leaders delegate when they can’t interact with their people? Without the benefits of interacting through our usual support systems, we’re left feeling either untethered and unfocused or tied down and stuck.

This feeling isn’t just a consequence of pandemics. It surfaces in times of imminent transition and change. Our Torah portion this week, Parshat Devarim, introduces the final book of the Torah, which shows the Israelites totally unmoored by their change in leadership and seemingly unknown future. As reassurance, 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 comes back to the Jewish roots of 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. 

Moses is in the midst of transferring leadership, sharing his final lessons with the Israelites, and helping the Israelite people prepare for this major transition. He reflects back on a moment when he was overburdened and unable to be the best he could be for the fledgling nation. To illustrate his point, Moses reminds the Israelites of the journey he himself took to build his support system in order to move the community forward. For example, he reminds them that he established a court system of different judges so that they didn’t have to wait all day for one person (Moses) to make a decision.  

In this reflection, Moses’s words come in two parts: “I cannot bear the burden . . .” and “How can I bear unaided . . .?” The leader of the Jewish people admits that the problem is too big, and he simply cannot bear the burden of leadership alone. These verses are usually read in the tune we chant for Eicha, Lamentations. The melody is sad and, quite honestly, draining. It very well captures feeling alone and without support.

Individual responsibility is one thing. Of course we should all have to account for our own actions. However, support systems are critical, especially in times of trauma or transition. As we enter the last book of the Torah, we see Moses reminding the Israelites to be there for each other through this change and always. What a perfect analogy as we rediscover what it means to be there for each other as a community.

Time for an Update – Parshat Matot-Masei 5781

I recently saw a Facebook memory pop up. It was a very frustrated me as a rabbinical student when I woke up one morning to go to class and found my computer locked in the midst of an epic system update. It was 30% done, and that meant I wouldn’t have been able to take my computer with me for classes or finish my homework, and basically being without my computer felt like a type of mental paralysis. This was pre-smartphone, so there was no backup option of using my phone to get work done. However, my computer hadn’t crashed; it was making itself better. When I got home that night, I had an extremely awesome working computer that was all updated and ready to do the work I needed. And these days either the updates happen faster, or I’ve figured out how to time them appropriately. 

More and more things in our lives receive regular updates: our phones, our TVs, even our refrigerators connect to the internet for firmware updates. We’re always finding ways to take something and make it safer or more secure. Think of the number of car safety features that have become standard over the last decade or so. Now there are back-up cameras, automatic brakes, passing alert sensors . . . despite the too frequent use of cell phones while driving, we’ve never been more informed and aware as drivers. We don’t just update our digital lives. As information changes, health recommendations change, languages change, and books get new, revised editions. All this is to say that as our world changes, so does the information we need to be a part of it. 

There is one book, however, that does not receive regular updates or revised editions. The Torah we read today is still the same Torah inspired by God and interpreted through Moses. 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 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.

As the text begins we find ourselves in this section of laws dealing with vows. Chapter 30 specifically deals with the vows of women. Basically, the Torah tells us that if a woman makes a vow while she is still young, her father can decide to validate the vow or invalidate it. The same then holds true for her husband; he too can choose whether or not her words are valid.

This stated subordination is certainly problematic for the world we live in, but it was troublesome to the sages in the Talmud as well. Already at that time they tried to limit the applicability of this law by restricting the time one could annul another’s vows. And yet, the law still exists in the Torah, and we read it year after year.

For better or worse, the scroll we call the Torah isn’t updated. We can’t change the words themselves because, as words of God, the story is static and unchanging. Fortunately though, we have rabbinic scholars who have worked for millennia and still work daily to understand the intent of the commandment, so that it can apply in a modern form to our lives today. In fact, this is the work of the Committee on Jewish Laws and Standards for the conservative movement. 

While we might not change the main body of the United States Constitution, we have amendments that allow for new interpretations and even changes. In a similar way, the Torah is in a sense the first draft, and the Talmud (and even this drash) are the updates. That first draft is still critical. To update anything, we must start with a solid foundation. The Torah is our foundational document, and this week’s portion is a reminder that we continue to update it using the spirit and intention of the law in order to guide us in our lives today. 

Morning, Noon, and Night – Parshat Pinchas 5781

Want a great way to quickly get to know someone? Ask them to describe their ideal day. When Duncan and I were first dating, we discussed our “perfect days.” I challenged him to write up a whole itinerary. Where would he be? Who would he be with? What would the day look like from start to finish? And then I created an itinerary for mine. The elements in my perfect day always involve someplace near a body of water. I’m with my family enjoying the sun and the open sky, but I’ve also built in some alone time. The ideal day always begins and ends with me taking a long walk to set my intention for the day, and then reflect back on the day before bed, respectively.

Despite the fact that these ideal days almost always include some hypothetical components that may change with age, the morning and evening reflection is a constant. I am my most grounded self when I have those two touch points in my day. I think my attraction to the idea of starting and ending my days with a connection to the earth, to God, and to my body also offers some insight into my love of Judaism. 

Jewish living is structured around prayer – daily prayer – and that comes from our Torah portion this week, Pinchas. Parshat Pinchas begins with the story of Pinchas (identified as Aaron’s grandson) and the extreme action he took toward those who defied the prohibition against idolatry. Then we move to the daughters of Zelophechad (Joseph’s great-great-great-grandson), who want to inherit land after their father’s death because he had no sons. Then Joshua is appointed Moshe’s successor, and we end with the sacrifices we are to make for Rosh Chodesh and the holidays.

This is a big, long, full section of Torah that walks us through conflict and resolution in multiple ways, and then ends with a recitation of how we might find balance and connection to God in celebration of holidays and daily moments. It lays out this structure according to sacrifices. Chapters 28 and 29 list the sacrifices for the daily offering, the new moon, the Passover offering, Shavuot, Rosh HaShanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, and Shemini Atzeret. Each one is delineated by what offerings are made, how we make them, and why they are important. 

The daily offering, the Tamid, the one which is our constant, is said to have been offered in the morning and at twilight. It is an offering that is funded by the people, not just the leaders or the rich, but one that is made by all of us together. When the Israelites were no longer able to practice daily sacrifice, the rabbis determined that prayer, the Amidah, would fulfill this obligation. That is to say that the sages couldn’t imagine a world without a daily interaction with God, both at the beginning and the ending of the day.

Parshat Pinchas is the reminder that each day needs grounding in holy purpose, whether it’s a formal Yizkor service or an hour gardening. But I challenge you to make it your job not necessarily to be the people of Israel in this comparison, but to be the Tamid, the constant. You keep alive the flame that ignites the holiness in the rest of our holy community.