Welcome to the Positivity – Parshat Beha’alotcha 5783

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There are certain moments of childhood that I will never forget. Many of them are positive, built on love and joyful celebration. Of course there are a few (and thankfully only a few) that I will never forget because of the yucky, negative feeling I had in that moment. I distinctly remember a moment when my piano teacher pulled my ponytail to make me sit up straighter, which is probably the reason I stopped learning piano. I remember the first time I got a bad burn from having my fingers too close to a fire. I’m sure you have your list as well. While the negative memories are filled with interactions that felt bad or shameful, the positive memories from throughout my life left me with amazing sensory moments. The smells, the feelings, they all bring back a sense of love and connection, especially when it comes to distinctly Jewish memories. Those Jewish memories are why I became a rabbi, because being in shul and “doing Jewish” offered a sense of peace, beauty, and wholeness.

As I walk into my tenth High Holidays this fall at Neveh Shalom, you probably know by now that one of my main goals in my rabbinate is instilling a love of Judaism built on everyone feeling safe, joyful, and welcomed in our community, and that starts with our youngest congregants, because that’s when those positive (or negative) memories are made. If you’ve seen the carts of fidget toys or noticed a child playing with Wikki Stix, stickers, or puzzles, it’s with this purpose in mind. There are more ways to keep children engaged in services than just scolding them for being noisy. They’re the future leaders of our Jewish community, and they should remember the positive feelings they had being part of it. And this doesn’t stop at children; it’s equally important to make adults feel loved and welcomed, whether that means changing the wording and pacing of prayers and announcements, or creating new programs or connective opportunities so that no one feels left out. But why is this so critical? One answer is in this week’s Torah portion.

Our parshah this week, Beha’alotcha, lands us with Aaron and Moses as they get into their daily requirements of their jobs. This section of text begins with instructions for the purification of the Levites in their holy work in the Tabernacle. We read about the first Passover sacrifice in the wilderness and how to celebrate Passover if we miss it the first time around. Then the text turns toward the Tabernacle itself, the Mishkan, and teaches us that God’s presence hovers over it in a cloud. Finally, Moses’s family – his father-in-law, wife, and children – return to join him and the rest of the Israelite nation on their journey through the wilderness.

In chapter 8, verse 19 we’re in the midst of the work Aaron and his sons should do for the priesthood and the Israelites. God instructs Aaron to perform the service for the Israelites at the Tent of Meeting, among the people, so that the Israelites, who are not usually permitted to be in the holy space, can feel connection without facing a plague for violating the rules. One medieval commentator suggests that this verse offers the message: “May all their visits to the sanctuary be for reasons of joy and not calamity. May all their memories of these visits be pleasant ones.”

Amen! Our work here is to support a positive, welcoming, loving environment where all who enter feel they belong. My fellow clergy and I may sound like broken records on this subject, but it’s some of the most important work we do. It’s how we make those positive memories happen and pave the way for an active, engaged, dedicated new generation.

Where You Fit – Parshat Naso 5783

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I have a deep desire, like so many human beings, to belong, both in a communal sense and a personal relationship sense. If I feel a shift in a relationship that I wasn’t expecting or can’t explain, I start to panic a little bit. Last winter, a dear friend and I experienced such a shift, when texts went from multiple times a day, to once a day, to maybe once a week. As much as I know that relationships change, I struggled with a silence that was painful to my heart. In these moments of uncertainty in relationships, how do we find our footing and step forward, not knowing where we actually stand?

Knowing where you fit in, whether person-to-person or in society at large, is so human an experience that the Torah itself deals with that feeling in this week’s Torah portion. As we read Parshat Naso this week, we read about the Israelite society trying to move forward after leaving Egypt and about the establishment of a successful community. The narrative picks up with a second counting of the people; laws about how we are to treat one another and the property that we own; the blessing of the priests to the people; and the laws of the Nazir, detailing how we might dedicate ourselves directly to God. 

Naso has the distinction of being the longest Torah portion in the entire Torah. It doesn’t include the most number of commandments, but it goes into quite some detail with the ways in which community should be built. The first half of the portion deals with circumstances when one’s place in the community is in question because of their own behavior, and the second half deals with the offerings brought by each tribe as holy space is dedicated. 

Why do these things go together? Why does it take so many words to explain these concepts? Perhaps it’s because establishing protocols, and specifically establishing how to build holy relationships, is very detailed work. There are so many complexities when it comes to community and the individual’s place within it, especially today when we’ve got technology that makes it both easier to connect, and at the same time more difficult to really understand one another. These nuances might come across more easily in face-to-face interactions, but it takes many more words to try to express this in writing.

Parshat Naso reminds us that establishing holy community requires that we examine our communication and that we see one another, not just through siloed words or deeds, but through interaction. That’s how we truly find each other. That’s how we lift one another up and create a fundamentally whole society.

Just Say Yes – Parshat Bamidbar 5783

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Why is it that so many of our asks as parents are met with arguments from our children? Sometimes it feels as if there’s nothing I could say that would be accepted at face value without some sort of pushback. It’s not like the daily expectations have changed that much. For years we’ve been asking them every morning to get dressed, come downstairs, eat breakfast, and get in the car, only to be met with variations on “I can’t because . . .” Why are we still arguing about hard and fast rules that we’ve had for what feels like an eternity?

It is true, however, that every once in a while we start the day with no arguments, and Duncan and I find ourselves marveling at a morning without whining. Perhaps this is a little bit like what God must be feeling in our Torah portion this week. This week we begin the fourth book of the Torah, Sefer Bamidbar. The Israelites are now in the desert, and the groundwork for the structure of their future has been laid. Army leaders are appointed to lead alongside Moses and Aaron, a census is taken of the people, and we learn that the camps are situated in a specific order, each with a flag in the center that tells us which tribe is there. The time spent in Egypt is a distant memory at this point.

In chapter two, God asks the people to line up in order, according to their households and their ancestral inheritance. If you’ve been following along week to week, you know that anytime the Israelites feel uncomfortable or anytime they receive direction from Moses, they complain mightily about the task. Whether the complaint is about the taste of the water or the amount of food, their ability to complain, much like children, seems boundless. Yet, this week, the entire Israelite nation does what God asks without questioning, without asserting dominance or status.

Why this sudden change in response? The text is unclear. No real reason is given, except that chapter three of Bamidbar begins by recounting that Aaron’s sons died because they did not follow God’s procedures. Perhaps the Torah calls this out knowing that the Israelites have short-term memory issues, not unlike a toddler. On the other hand, it also stands to reason that the Israelites are doing their very best to follow those rules and show that they are committed to the future.

This is still a toddler nation we’re talking about, new to freedom and purpose. There are magical moments, but they’re also testing limits. This week’s parshah may serve as a helpful reminder to parents that eventually children will recognize the limits and expectations we set for them and understand that the decisions we make are out of love.

Circle of Support – Parshat Behar-Bechukotai 5783

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I don’t know about you, but my mailbox is mostly filled with solicitations. Some are for the Jewish community (well, in my case most), and others are for wonderful organizations that we’ve donated to in the past, like Meals on Wheels, Boost Oregon, and the Oregon Humane Society. With the overwhelming need in our community at large, beyond just the affiliations we have, sometimes it feels like I just can’t do enough. And yet, that certainly doesn’t stop us from giving. Why? The answer is in this week’s Torah portion.

Behar-Behukotai warns us of the implications of what is essentially a snowball effect. This double portion focuses primarily on the laws of agriculture and land, but what makes this section of text unique is that it takes the notion of land ownership and farming and uses that to create a society in which no one group holds complete control forever.

We read about the 50-year land ownership cycle that requires us to allow the land to rest every seventh year. In the 50th year of the cycle, all land returns to its original owner. Imagine a farmer who falls on hard times because of a drought or poor crop. In order to sustain his family, he might sell off parts of his farm acre by acre. After 10 years he might have nothing left, and he might be forced off the land or forced to find another way to make a living. According to the Torah’s laws, in the 50th year, this farmer would receive back all his land and become his own landlord again. The Torah is helpful in identifying need, but how do we prioritize who we support and when we support them? This is the struggle of wanting to help everyone, but knowing you can’t possibly make an impact everywhere.

As a family, we guide ourselves by Hillel in Pirkei Avot: “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am only for myself, what am I? And, if not now, when?” This formulation, which was also our ALIYAH theme last year, has been one of Judaism’s main principles since the Torah, and our parshah this week speaks of one way to prioritize. First, we redeem those Israelites in captivity, then we find ways to help and sustain others. Our daily Kaddish prayer reminds us of this: “V’all kol Yisrael, v’all kol yoshevey teyel.” Those who dwell in our own community, and all those who are in our midst.

However, the community you make is up to you. You set your priorities by who you connect with, and the important thing is simply recognizing the most immediate need around you first. This week’s double portion reminds us that our innermost circle of support is just one of many ways that we provide for each other.

Working on Shabbat – Parshat Emor 5783

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A few months ago, as my ever-curious 9-year-old was chatting with me about Shabbat and what she was learning in school, she asked me the question I dread. “Mommy, if we keep Shabbat, why do YOU work on Shabbat?” This was after a particularly busy Shabbat with back-to-back services and programming, and it felt like I was gone the entirety of Shabbat. In our house, we’ve got some clear Shabbat boundaries. We don’t do art on Shabbat, and we don’t spend money or go shopping on Shabbat. We do spend time together whenever possible. However, Shiri learned in school that we don’t work on Shabbat. So, how do we reconcile the work that I do?

This week we read Parshat Emor, and we once again find ourselves deep into the commandments surrounding Jewish practice. Parshat Emor focuses on the rules and regulations for the priests, along with the obligations of the Israelites. It covers the observance of certain holidays, including mentions about the holiness of Shabbat, other holidays we are to celebrate throughout the year, and the ways in which we are to treat fellow humans and even animals. The majority of these rituals are meant to be done in public, with the entire community a part of them.

As the laws of holidays and Shabbat are introduced, the Torah uses the word melachah. This word is translated loosely as “work,” but a more precise definition would be “creative endeavors.” The notion is that God stopped creating to celebrate Shabbat, and so should we. That means that Shabbat is about the work of our souls, not the work of our hands.

The question remains: How do you explain this to a 9-year-old? The best answer is the honest one, which is yes, my job includes Shabbat, but I do all my preparation before Shabbat so that I too can be fully present in services and with our community. Being fully present requires preparation. There’s a reason we don’t mourn publicly on Shabbat or create new “things.” It’s because this allows us to live in the moment and actually experience our Judaism. We turn off the alerts on our phones and prepare our food in advance so we won’t stress about our weekday jobs or worry about our next meal. We need the comfort of having as much planned for as we can so we’re not checking off a list, not to mention the fact that checking things off a list would involve writing. 

Do I work on Shabbat? It depends on what you call work. Technically, my fellow clergy and I are all required to be present on Shabbat. However, I don’t consider it work to guide a congregation in spirit and prayer. That is a joy, that is a gift, and that is why I’m a rabbi.