The Blame Game – Parshat Bereshit 5782

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Like lots of children, I had an imaginary friend when I was young. In fact, I’ve written about this friend before. His name was Petey, and he was a ghost. This was before I had a sibling, so in those years as an only child, I could be a bit mischievous on occasion. I know, shocking, right? I have a vivid memory of messing with the clean, folded clothes in my dresser drawer and my parents asking me who did it. I answered innocently, “Petey did it.” How could they blame me, perfect little Eve, for the mess? It was the perfect story: this ghost who could not be seen by anyone but me was the ideal scapegoat. Eventually, Petey became the joke of the family when things would be misplaced or accidents would happen. “Just blame Petey.”

While this worked as a laughable family mantra, it’s not exactly a great lesson as we work to create a world of responsibility for actions and deeds. The real lesson is as old as time, and apparent in the Torah. This week we read Parshat Bereshit, the first portion of the Torah. We are wowed with the story of creation, especially the time and care God put into creating each day, each being exactly as God wanted. We learn about the first people and their experience in the Garden of Eden, including how they learned to build, grow, and be together. The Torah continues with the story of Cain and Abel, the first sibling rivalry gone terribly awry, and the very real consequences put into place after each of these events. At the very beginning of the Torah, we’re also introduced to God as the parent, creating life and making sure everything has its own place.

The first few verses of the Torah are focused on God as creator. However, as soon as there is more than one human being on the earth, the blame game begins. It takes only until the third chapter of the Torah before someone starts to look for someone else to blame for their own actions. In chapter 3 the snake goes “in for the kill” on Eve. The serpent convinces her to eat from the banned tree. She does, then Adam does, and the minute they do, God comes out again to find out what happened. Adam is quick to first blame Eve, then he blames God for creating Eve. Eve blames the serpent, and both humans are punished for this violation of trust.

However, this blame game doesn’t end there. A few chapters later Adam and Eve’s children have a fight. Cain kills Abel, and when God comes to ask where his brother is, Cain is quick to respond with “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Once again, refusing to admit guilt or take the blame.

Why does our Torah begin like this? Why is there blame right off the bat? It’s likely because admitting guilt and accepting blame is downright difficult. We don’t like being “in trouble” or feeling like we may have messed up. That’s human. The Torah also begins here because these early chapters are a cautionary tale about how our actions and deeds can influence the behavior of others. Imagine if Eve or Adam had admitted blame. Perhaps they would’ve then set an example for Cain to also own his behavior. If he knew he would be expected to own his actions, perhaps he would not have been so reactive.

In reality, my parents never really let me get away with blaming Petey the Ghost. Similarly, Adam, Eve, and Cain aren’t let off the hook for trying to assign blame elsewhere. As we contemplate new beginnings, let us be aware that our actions have consequences. The more we learn to take responsibility for those actions, the better those consequences become.

From a Distance – Parshat Ha’azinu 5782

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Until the vaccine became widely distributed, it felt like we were living life from a distance. We got to know new neighbors on our street from a distance. We made people smile with window art from a distance. The kids even maintained their friendships from a distance using Zoom and Google Classroom. They were taught and entertained, and they learned to mute and unmute themselves (if only they could do that in real life too). However, we quickly found out some things just aren’t the same from a distance. As part of my job as a rabbi, making physical contact with mourners and holding them in their time of need was one of those things. For the kids, going to the playground behind our house (because what fun was it to just stare at the playground equipment) was one of those things.  

This week we read the penultimate Torah portion, Parshat Ha’azinu, which has the special honor of being the last section of Torah read on a Shabbat morning. Parshat Ha’azinu is a poem which warns of the negative behavior of the Israelites and explains the blessings that will befall them with the good behavior they are capable of. The text ends with Moses ascending the mountain into the clouds as he takes his leave of the Israelite nation. This parshah is the link between generations, between new and old leadership, and between living on earth (in the land of Israel), and living with God (on top of the mountain in the heavens).  

This section of text ends with Moses standing on the mountain and God reminding him, “You may view the land from a distance, but you shall not enter it, the land that I am giving to the Israelite people.” In essence, Moses is much like my children during our “stay home, stay safe” order. He is standing on the edge of the playground, the place he wants to go the most, and being told he can look but not touch. But it’s in this very moment that Moses shows his leadership. He doesn’t go into the land. He doesn’t have a tantrum. He turns to the people in the next and final section of the Torah and simply offers up blessings.

Why did Moses need to see the Promised Land at all? We’re told it was a different generation that entered anyway, so wouldn’t it have made more sense and been much easier for Moses if he had died before being able to see what he was missing? Sometimes I can’t even have certain foods in the house because even just seeing them in the pantry is too much of a temptation. I can’t imagine what it must have felt like to be Moses and not be able to go into the Promised Land after all this time leading the people there.

Being a leader sometimes means making difficult decisions even when easy decisions are staring you in the face. It means taking a step back and putting some distance between you and something you want deeply because it will benefit the greater good. I’m certain it wasn’t easy for him, but Moses trusted in God and modeled the behavior of what it means to move forward. We won’t be able to fully enjoy the world we leave for our grandchildren and our great-grandchildren either, but it’s our responsibility to lead them to it and leave it in their hands.

Hide and Seek – Parshat Vayelech 5782

Eve Posen1 Comment

Last year during the containment days, as we waited out one of the upward curves of Covid-19, we played our fair share of games of hide and seek. One hide and seek benefit for the parents? When it was our turn to hide, we’d get to hide in a dark room and have a few minutes of solitude while still giving the kids something fun to do. And on the kids’ turn to hide, we could sit down with a book or a cup of coffee for a few minutes, and “pretend” we couldn’t find them. When everyone was home all the time, this would give us a few moments of reprieve to recharge ourselves before we had to return to what seemed like an endless stream of education, entertainment, breaking up fights, and fighting boredom. I’m proud to say only once did the kids get so bored of hiding that they actually gave up on the game and revealed their own location. 

Our Torah portion this week, Parshat Vayelech, recounts something similar to hide and seek with God and the Israelites. This week we read of the difficulty leaders have in transferring over their power, in particular the final days of Moshe and the gift of life he had in living 120 years. The Israelites approach the land promised to them and witness the transfer of power to Joshua. Finally, Moshe writes the words of the Torah and passes down the commandment to the Kohanim to read the Torah. Moshe’s final moments with the Israelites are near, and he prepares for this by coming up with a transfer of legacy, tradition, and history.  

In chapter 31, verse 17 we read that God speaks to Moses and says, “I will abandon them and hide My countenance from them.” Basically, God’s presence depends on the Israelites living by the laws that have been given to them, and if they don’t follow in God’s ways, God will hide from them, and terrible things will happen. What would happen if people stopped looking for God and then stopped following the mitzvot altogether? It could lead to the breakdown of the beautiful society God worked so hard for the Israelites to build and maintain.

The concept of hide and seek goes beyond physically hiding. Whether you’re searching for a person or a solution to a problem, it’s the discovery that keeps us engaged. Without finding answers, without learning, we lose interest and life becomes chaotic and depressing. Without the interaction and mutual understanding to be in partnership, our entire relationship with God would fall apart. Parshat Vayelech is the reminder that our relationship with God is not static. It changes and grows based only on how we continue to seek and find holiness. and connect. In order to go, to move forward on our path in life it is essential not to be passive in looking for that which brings us meaning, but to engage, to look and to connect in any way we can. 

The Curse of Invincibility – Parshat Nitzavim 5781

Eve Posen1 Comment

Our actions cause reactions. As the English 80s rock group The Fixx sang, “One thing leads to another.” You only have to look as far as the local news for the past year and a half to see what it means literally for something to go viral. The domino-effect spread of Covid-19 has changed virtually every aspect of our behavior and our lives. Originally we thought only certain portions of the population were at risk, and while severity does depend on other factors, for purposes of spreading itself, the virus doesn’t know the difference between us. And now because of a more contagious variant, we’ve begun to reinstate some of the precautions we previously had in place in order to protect each other. 

Perhaps more dangerous than the novel coronavirus itself is that there are those who believe that they are invincible or that somehow others are impervious to the spread of the virus. The moral imperative that we must respect fellow human lives – and, sadly, the disregard for this imperative – is certainly not a new idea. The Torah spends almost the entirety of its books focusing on lessons to live a moral and ethical life, and this week we read Parshat Nitzavim, which teaches us this lesson quite clearly. 

The Torah portion begins with God telling the Israelites about the covenant they are making together and how binding it is. In the course of the text, God implores us to choose life. The goal is to see blessings and curses and to know that when we make choices, it affects not only us, but all those in our community. This is clear in chapter 29, verse 18 as we read, “When such a one hears the words of these sanctions, he may fancy himself immune, thinking ‘I shall be safe, though I follow my own willful heart’ – to the utter ruin of moist and dry alike.” The Torah is warning us against those who think themselves or their family members to be invincible. 

Believing you’re immune or impervious to the world isn’t heroic or courageous in any way. It’s a curse. God reminds us that this mindset ultimately leads to devastation and to the destruction of our society. Judaism is not “every person for themselves.” It is a religion based on the strength of our relationships and connections. It is a religion that is fulfilled when we’re in community and looking out for the good beyond our own homes or our own needs. What we’ve learned in the 18 months since Covid-19 has taken hold of our society is exactly this. We’re all in this together, and as such, we must work together towards what strengthens us.

All Consuming – Parshat Ki Tavo 5781

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Did you nibble on your children when they were young? I find that I can’t help it, and I mean this in the most motherly, unaggressive way you can imagine. Especially when my kids were babies, they were totally irresistible with their little rolls of love and sweet faces. I would devour them with my kisses. A few years ago, researchers developed a term for this feeling, which they call “cute aggression.” In other words, it’s the point at which something is so cute you just want to smoosh it or eat it up. Of course that feeling goes away as they mature and get a bit smellier and lose those baby rolls, but I still live for their snuggles (when they’re willing to snuggle). 

What’s been difficult these last 18 months is realizing how much we depend on human contact as a coping mechanism. We continue to give so much of ourselves without realizing we’re depleting our human contact reserves without the ability to refill them as often as we could before. This week, the Torah has an interesting and seemingly macabre teaching about how we give of ourselves physically and emotionally.

Our Torah portion this week, Parshat Ki Tavo, brings us closer to the final lessons God wants the Israelite nation to learn before they enter into the promised land. Our text reminds us again of the blessings and curses that come to us as we choose to follow or ignore the laws of the Torah. Specifically, we learn of the requirement to make an offering of “first fruits” for the priests in the Beit HaMikdash, and the different ways in which we are supposed to thank God and give praise (before prayer was a daily activity). Finally, the text reminds us of how we’re supposed to take time to rebuke one another when we’ve taken a misstep and the ways in which we can do so with compassion and kindness.

In the giving of these rules and laws we receive a strange lesson: “You shall eat your own issue, the flesh of your sons and daughters that God has assigned to you, because of the desperate straits to which your enemy shall reduce you.” At first glance, chapter 28, verse 53 is rather odd if not downright troublesome. Is God predicting that we’re going to need to eat our own children because of our enemies? That certainly makes me question if God has our best interests at heart. What could this mean if we move past a gruesome literal interpretation?

Perhaps the verse is a metaphor for the way in which we might “devour” or consume each other’s needs in times of trouble and moments of distress. This verse also reminds us that in old age, or in periods of struggle, we often turn to each other and give of ourselves in ways that might be all consuming. But that reminder comes with the warning that we risk depleting our personal resources when we let ourselves be consumed.  

Part of our daily humanity is finding the balance between giving and receiving support. When we don’t support others, we become disconnected from the community and turn into enemies, but when we don’t draw boundaries for ourselves, we can become our own enemies. May we take this lesson with us into the new year.