Putting a Face with the Name – Parshat Shlach Lecha 5779

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I’ve written about naming and the meaning of names before, but it seems it keeps catching my eye in various places in the Torah. I always recall how we named our two children. With our daughter, we had a few good alternatives, but Shiri was our favorite girl’s name. For Matan, it was a little different. Most of you know that his English name is Max, and his Hebrew name is Matan (meaning “gift”). But we never actually use his English name. You see, for both children we were more certain about the girls’ names than the boys names we picked, but we didn’t know if Matan would be a boy or a girl. Although “Max” was a top contender, it somehow didn’t seem to match as perfectly as we hoped when Duncan had to tell the hospital his name after he was born. Even at his bris I wasn’t so sure about it, and by the time we did realize that we were calling him Matan instead of Max, it was past the time when it would have been easy to legally change it. Despite the fact that filling out medical and other legal forms is somewhat complicated now, saying his Hebrew name each day is still a delight and joy to remember how incredible this gift is.

Names convey an identity in a couple of ways, including how we relate to family members as well as to our religion. As you probably know, the Torah is full of examples of how religion influences names. Think of the changes of Avram to Avraham, Sarai to Sarah, Jacob to Yisrael. Moshe gets his name because the Hebrew root means to be drawn up as he was drawn out of the water.

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.

We tend to think of Joshua as the hero of the story because he was one of the two spies who returned with an honest, unexaggerated report of the land. However, in the list of the spies we’re given in chapter 13, verse 16 it says, “Moses changed the name of Hosea, son of Nun, to Joshua.” By adding the letter yud, the meaning of his name becomes “God will save.” Rashi interprets this change to mean “May God save you from the malign and influence of the other scouts.”

As early as the Torah, we’re given this lesson that perhaps there’s something more to a name than just an identifier. We have the power to change them, and sometimes they have the power to change us. In Judaism we have a beautiful tradition of changing the names of our loved ones in times of trauma by adding “chayim” (life) to strengthen that person with life. Imagine if we always interpreted the sound of our names being spoken out loud as very short, individual blessings bestowed on us by others. Imagine how much strength would that build. Shabbat shalom.

Day to Day – Parshat Beha’alotcha 5779

Eve Posen1 Comment

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Certain tasks tend to become mundane if you do them day in and day out. When it comes to home life, I wouldn’t mind never changing another dirty diaper or doing laundry again. At least the diapers will be out of our house in another year or less; no such luck with the laundry. In my work life too, there are rabbi duties that are – how shall I put this – less glamorous than others. Turning in payroll, catching up on email, meetings about programming. They are necessary, but in no way exciting parts of the job.

The good news is there are plenty of other daily responsibilities, like reading or singing at bedtime with my children and leading services or engaging in life cycle events, that are never dull, rote, or boring. They are exciting and inspiring each and every time. We all have tasks that we don’t relish doing regularly and those in which we find great fulfillment, and we can only hope they balance each other out.

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 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.

It is in the return of his family to the camp that we learn about what unrealistic expectations have been levied against Moses. As the text begins, God tells Moses to talk to Aaron and have him light the lamps in front of the lamp stand in a certain way. And “Aaron did so.” There was no fight or frustration with this seemingly dull task he was required to do daily. Instead, Aaron just did it. The Vilna Gaon, an 18th century Talmudist, interprets this text to mean, “Day after day, year after year, Aaron’s attitude never changed. His work never became routine or boring. He approached each day with the same sense of reverence he brought to his first day.” That is to say Aaron found joy in the spiritual elevation of performing this task for God and his community.

I am blessed to have found a career that offers me considerably less ordinary routine and considerably more joy in the work that I do. Parshat Beha’alotcha is a yearly reminder to find joy not just in the obvious places, but also in the everyday tasks we are required to accomplish. Day after day Aaron did his job with joy. It was not an exciting job, but a holy one. Think about the things you do on a daily basis and how you might find joy, meaning, and perhaps a higher purpose in them. You might find that simply elevating the simplest tasks removes the mundane altogether. I haven’t made up my mind whether or not that includes diaper changes.

Take a Break – Parshat Naso 5779

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Self-care isn’t a strength of mine. Often I will not be feeling my best, and instead of taking a day off to recover and heal my stuffy nose or calm a fever, I’ll take some medicine and continue to push through. To me, taking time off means falling behind and letting others down, whether or not that’s always the case. In fact, just this past year I had a book engagement that was accompanied by a 103-degree fever. I felt bad for the people I would potentially let down, so rather than cancel, I rallied, downed some Tylenol, and gave the presentation, while refusing to touch anyone to spare everyone from catching my germs. Of course the problem with this work ethic is that I often end up sicker, more rundown, and less able to do my job than I would have, had I just slowed down in the first place.

I’ll go out on a limb and say this is probably a common occurrence for others as well. When you work hard and take your obligations seriously, maybe self-care isn’t as high a priority as it should be. The reality is, however, that when we’re sick, have a fever, and are run down, the best thing we can do for ourselves and others is stay home and rest, away from large groups of people.

Parshat Naso, the Torah portion we read this week, echoes this sentiment. We read about the Israelite society trying to move forward after leaving Egypt and 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. Among these laws is the notion of connection to a community, to God, and to the greater “people.”

Chapter 5, verse 2 reminds us that there were certain milestone moments that required full body and spirit. One of those is at the foot of Mount Sinai, and the Torah even explains that those who were infirm or physically unable to fulfill certain obligations were miraculously healed so they could stand at Sinai. Today, of course, we can’t depend on instantaneous healing; long journeys take a toll on the body, and the Torah is clear that if you are not at your physical best, you must step away from the community in order to heal.

This is the point in the Torah narrative in which the Israelites have formed a society and are creating laws that govern the ways we are to treat each other and our spiritual home. In particular, the text is a reminder that “membership” and belonging anywhere are contingent on taking care of yourself first. If you’re not performing at your optimum level, you’re not much good to the community. While I might want to avoid taking sick days, the reality is that I’m doing more harm than good to myself and our community by coming to work. Although it goes without saying I would gladly partake in some of that miraculous healing if it was offered.

In the Crowd – Parshat Bamidbar 5779

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I am not a fan of large crowds. While I love sporting events, concerts, and theme parks themselves, I also have little patience for the slow way crowds move, I worry about the possibility of losing one of my children, and I can do without the loud noise and chaos. In college at the University of Michigan, the announcer at every home game congratulated us for being a part of the largest live crowd watching a football game in America. Being a part of a crowd of 115,000 or more each game day was equal parts exhilarating and exhausting for me. I always arrived early so I could find my seat, avoid the mad rush at the ticket check, and use the bathrooms before they got awfully dirty. And I always left before the end of the game to beat the mass of people walking back to campus, especially the slower ones who always seemed to get even slower amid the chaos.

Despite my aversion to large crowds, I can’t deny their incredible energy and their power to cause change. This week we read from Parshat Bamidbar, the beginning of the fourth book of the Torah. This text brings us to the accounting of the people, showing us who each of the tribes are, what numbers they hold at this particular moment, and the flag representing their territory. This is the beginning of a purposefully organized society, a big change from the free-flow of wandering in the wilderness and an even bigger change from the tight restrictions of slavery.

The text begins by listing the leaders of each tribe and the census of the people. There are 603,550 eligible males over the age of 20 counted. This number is identical to the census taken earlier in their first year in the wilderness. The figure also presupposes a population of more than 2 million supporting itself for 40 years in the Sinai desert. What’s incredible is these people formed a society, took care of one another, and traveled together. If I thought people leaving a football game in a crowd of 115,000 moved slowly, I can only imagine how frustrating this group must have been.

Yet somehow not only did they exist together in the desert, they also listened to each other and to their leader. They organized, supported, and moved together as a community. It might have been overwhelming, but it also must have been invigorating. Though we may not be quite as close in proximity all the time, we are a part of a crowd, whether that crowd is the local Jewish community or people gathered around their televisions to watch a series finale. As we learn this week, it’s not the size of the crowd, but how it supports one another that keeps it thriving and moving (if slowly at times).

Photo credit: Ken Lund from Reno, Nevada, USA [CC BY-SA 2.0], via Wikimedia Commons

Rainy Season – Parshat Bechukotai 5779

Eve PosenLeave a comment

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One of the questions I’m asked most often when someone in another city hears that we live is Portland is, “How do you deal with the rain?” My usual response is a mix of humor (“At least it isn’t snow”) and honesty (“Yes, it rains a lot, but it’s not pouring constantly; there are plenty of breaks when you can still go outdoors”). Since moving to Portland, I have learned that there is no such thing as bad weather, there’s only inappropriate clothing. Now I know a good raincoat makes all the difference. I’ve also learned that rain is just water. If you’re not afraid to take a bath or shower, there’s no reason to be afraid of the rain.

Of course there are times when rain is inconvenient, like when it interferes with an outdoor birthday party at the park, a story hour at the farmers market, or a Shabbat service out on the plaza, which is rare, but can happen. However, rain is such a necessary part of our existence on the planet that we even have prayers asking God for rain in its time.

In our parshah this week, Bechukotai, the Israelite nation is receiving the final laws of the book of Vayikra, which detail specifically how we should treat one another in various relationships and how we should connect to God. The Israelites have only been out of Egypt for a short period of time, and during this first taste of freedom, they are in their stubborn and rebellious adolescent years.

The text begins with the promise that if these rules are followed, rain will be granted in its season. Today, it doesn’t sound like much of a reward. Hey, good news! Keep all of the mitzvot, and you will get . . . rain. Living in an agrarian society, as the Israelites did, this was important. In our world today, the intention and implication might be a little different.

There’s a midrash in Leviticus Rabbah which takes the idea of the “appropriate season” to mean that God will make it rain only at times convenient for the people, like on Friday nights when most people are at home and no one is traveling. Again, this makes more sense for a different era, in which the agricultural calendar was the basis for everything, and there wasn’t much fluctuation year over year. These days, schedules are made by any number of things – school, work, NBA playoffs, etc.

Perhaps the part we can actually relate to is the promise of sustenance. The parshah reminds us that when we take care of the land, take care of each other, and take care of our relationship with God, we are much closer to achieving a world in balance. And a balanced world is the kind of reward we can all get behind.