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.

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.