Memory For All Time – Parshat Beha’alotcha

As we continue to weather the Covid years, I’ve found myself wondering which of the lessons I’ve learned will stick with me. Will I carry with me the lessons of resiliency or will the need to have a completely stocked pantry be what sticks? Will I return to the comfort of rigid planning, or can I carry with me a more go-with-the-flow attitude I’ve had to adopt? And, how will I keep myself from forgetting? 

During the early stages of the pandemic, I was quite mesmerized by historical fiction about the 1918 pandemic, which brought a certain comfort knowing that even as awful as it was then, I was born into a world where the nasty scars from it have all but disappeared. I also read it to get a glimpse into what might become part of our everyday lives in the wake of a societal rebirth.

Habits are often formed in response to specific circumstances, but then change as the world around us changes. If I want to hold on to any of the good habits I’ve developed throughout these years, I’ll need to do some active work to keep them alive. This is a lesson as old as Torah.

Our parshah this week, Beha’alotcha, lands us with Aaron and Moses as they get into the daily requirements of their jobs. This section of text begins with instructions for the purification of the Levites as they do 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, 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.

At this moment, the Israelites have left Egypt and the story of Passover is both fresh in their minds and a world away in this first new moon of the second year following the Exodus. God notes this moment and then instructs Moses and the nation on how to reenact the story of the Exodus so that they would not forget. Keep in mind, the nation is still in the desert. They’re a mere 12 months removed from slavery, and yet that story, the miracle of crossing the sea and the wonderment of God, might no longer be fresh in their minds. Therefore they must review the story before it is too distant a memory to really be carried on.

If you try to glean something from an experience after the experience is over, you might miss quite a bit. At this point we’re not quite out of the pandemic, but hopefully far from the height of it. This is the time to remember the lessons we’ve learned. This is the time to make some habits permanent. 

Do the Work, See the Results – Parshat Naso 5782

Wouldn’t it be nice to get results without putting in the work? Sometimes we call this “magical thinking.” I often wish I could find an easy way out of certain tasks. Whether it’s doing the dishes or changing the bed linens, I wish I could access my inner Samantha from Bewitched and simply wiggle my nose to have everything back where it goes. When I’m nagging the kids to clean their rooms, I wish the magic of Mary Poppins would somehow descend upon our house to get us to the finish line. And do I really have to work out and eat sensibly? Why isn’t healthy living easier? As we learn over the years, results don’t come by magic; they come by putting in the hard work, by gritting your teeth through that last mile, or by bringing in one more bag for trash in the almost clean room.

On the positive side, there’s much more satisfaction to be had from the end of hard work than if no work was required. There are also lessons that can only be learned through putting in the time to accomplish something. The accolades you receive for something you’ve completed feel even better when you know your participation helped get it done. We see this in the Torah too, including when Moses finally takes ownership of his leadership role and when the builders of the Tabernacle take pride in their artisanship. 

As we read Parshat Naso this week, we see the Israelite society trying to move forward after leaving Egypt and establish 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. 

In this section of the narrative, the Israelite nation is ready to move, and they’re working to situate the Tabernacle, the heavy ark constructed of gold and wood, which carries the tablets of stone that God inscribed. This was no lightweight piece of furniture. To move it required all hands on deck. The language suggests that the Levites, those non-land holders, the helper people of the nation not often described as physically strong, were to portage the Tabernacle on their shoulders.

This protected group, for whom the community is supposed to provide, is commanded to take on physical labor for the people. Noting how this physical labor contrasts with their normal roles of washing feet, the Kotzker Rebbe, the great Polish leader and scholar, comments, “One does not acquire the least spark of holiness without effort.” In other words, doing the work is what opens the Levites up to understanding the divine.

So too for us, doing the work allows us to find moments of sanctity, togetherness, and pride in a job well done. To achieve the reward of holy community, or perhaps even any reward at all, we’ve got to do the work. Get dirty, get a little bit sore, and don’t wish away the social and personal growth that’s just as gratifying as the finished product.

Pulling Your Weight – Parshat Bamidbar 5782

I love being a part of a collaborative team. Nothing gives me greater joy and satisfaction than when I’m a part of a “we” especially when “we” are creating, bouncing ideas around, and supporting each other. It’s rewarding when all that work pays off in a beautiful end product that exceeds everyone’s expectations.

My one anxiety about teamwork is worrying that I’m not contributing enough or pulling my weight. If you’re not feeling creative or you’re struggling to complete a task, it can feel like you’re letting the entire team down. I value the hard work that others put in, and I expect the same from myself. By the same measure, I tend to hold others to the same high expectations I have for myself, and I struggle when those expectations aren’t met, despite the fact that they are my own expectations, no one else’s.

Being part of a team is really about the benefits of accomplishing something together. When we combine our strengths, it shouldn’t matter if all members are pulling their weight the entire time nonstop. We can allow moments when a team member or two can take a break to catch their breath without having the whole team fail or fall behind. Problems arise when neither the weight people pull nor the breaks they take are evenly distributed. We’re warned about this type of disparity in our Torah portion 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.

As the different roles of the tribes are laid out, we receive the lists of physical, mental, and emotional labor that each officer and their tribe must commit to in order for the entire nation to succeed. Notably in this list, those with titles like “Chief” are not exempt from physical labor.

Specifically, we find out Elazar, the Chief Officer, is assigned to guard duty. Elazar is one of Aaron’s sons, and he’s one of the highest authorities in the nation. His job is no ordinary desk job. Instead, he’s got hard labor. Why? Because according to the Jerusalem Talmud, “There is no special privilege in the palace of the king.” In other words, there is no room for an “honorary” position in the service of God. 

Judaism is built around the notion that each of us has a purpose and work to do in building and maintaining our society. Parshat Bamidbar reminds us that who’s on the team or who they’re connected with isn’t nearly as important as what you can accomplish together with the personnel and skillset you have.

Walking in God’s Ways (Without Being God) – Parshat Bechukotai 5782

This past weekend was one of those jam-packed weekends parents are all too familiar with. Multiple birthday parties and other events, not to mention time spent at synagogue for services. On top of that, the kids took turns staying home from school, one on Friday and one on Monday, because of a cold that made its way through our whole house and turned out to be Covid for one of us. Needless to say, our moods have not been cheery. 

I am by no means trying to prove what a “normal” mom I am; rather, there’s a very relevant Torah tie-in here. I was guided by our portion this week, Bechukotai. Parshat Bechukotai is the final portion in the book of Leviticus. It acts as an epilogue to the holiness code and continues to guide us in our pursuit of societal and personal happiness. We see laid out for us the ultimate reward system for living a life of mitzvot. At the heart of the text is a follow-up to the blessings that come to those who follow God’s ways and the curses to those who don’t. Interestingly, the text spends more time explaining the consequences of veering off the path than on the blessings for following the mitzvot.

The parshah begins, “If you follow My laws and faithfully observe My commandments . . .” Some commentators have understood “My laws” as “the laws that I Myself follow.” In other words, it’s an admission that these are also God’s laws. In addition, the verb for “follow” literally means walk or go. Leviticus Rabbah infers that humans “walk” in God’s ways, but angels “stand” in the presence of God. Unlike angels, when we human beings do wrong, we have the ability to grow and change and learn from those errors in judgment.

So what do I do when I realize I haven’t been my best self? I apologize. I’m honest and I admit to my family that I’m not perfect and could have reacted differently. Then I actually do my best to model reacting differently. 

To walk in God’s ways isn’t to behave like you think God might behave (or worse, as if you are God). It’s to have enough awareness of your actions to know when you’ve done wrong and the capacity to forgive when others have done wrong. To walk in God’s ways means to change, but more importantly, to recognize that we can change, especially after a mistake.

The Golden Rule – Parshat Behar 5782

There is perhaps no rule more golden, more paraphrased, or more often repeated than “Treat others as you yourself would like to be treated.” From the first time we’re taught as children how to interact with peers through the rest of adult life, this rule seems to be our default instruction. But why do we need reminding time and time again? Because our instincts include an element of self-preservation. It’s natural to want to be the best or the strongest. Kids want to be faster, older, taller. Adults want to feel intellectually superior. These are broad generalizations of course, but the point is that the “golden rule” isn’t necessarily human nature, which could be the reason we have to refer to it so often. Versions of the golden rule also echo throughout our Torah, perhaps because human nature can often lead us astray, or perhaps because it is just that critical to a functioning society, or maybe a little bit of both. 

This week we read from Parshat Behar, the penultimate section of text in the book of Vayikra. The text details the laws about “returning” the land in Israel during the shmita (jubilee year) and how slaves and land are returned to their prior status. We also read about what happens to Jewish-owned land in the diaspora in the jubilee year and how we are to help those who are in need within our own communities. The text ends with another warning against idolatry.

As the Torah continues to detail the ways in which we’re supposed to respect and value the land we live on, it also offers insight into the notion that respect for people and their dignity is also an imperative. In chapter 25, verse 43 God implores landowners to not deal ruthlessly with their workers. The word used here that is usually translated as “ruthlessly” is b’farek and only appears in this section of Torah and also when describing the ways that Pharaoh treated the Israelites in Egypt. The direct meaning of the Hebrew word as explained by the Mishneh Torah connotes a prohibition against embarrassing or humiliating the slave in an attempt to emphasize the master’s power over them. 

There is something inherently ruthless about exerting power through humiliation. It doesn’t just break the golden rule, it completely erases it. It’s sad and frustrating and even dangerous when this type of attack is perpetrated, whether by a country against its people or by an individual against another individual on social media. I look forward to the day when the golden rule is human nature and treating others as you want to be treated is the default, not the lesson that needs to be taught over and over again.