I can’t remember the last time I had spare change, except for the coins in our tzedakah box. In our automated electronic age, it feels odd to even think about paying for something with actual cash. Aside from making sure that the tooth fairy always has $2 bills for the children, I rarely even go to the bank. As you can imagine, this causes a bit of confusion when parents and teachers try to explain currency to children.

The concepts of numbers and prices are simple enough to explain. But what do we do when it’s time to get out the quarters, nickels, dimes, and pennies and explain how you’d use them in a store? Then come the questions, like why is a nickel smaller but worth more than a dime? Why is some paper money worth more than other nearly identical pieces of paper just because of what’s printed on it? Alas, I’m not an economist, so my best answer involves a shrug of the shoulders with “I don’t know, it just is.”

Money of course means much more than coins and paper. The math is the easy part, even without a lot of change on hand to demonstrate. What is much more difficult to understand when it comes to money are the ways in which those nickels and dimes add up to salaries for work and the value of things. And this conversation is as old as the Torah.

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 what the pursuit of happiness could be. We see laid out for us the ultimate reward system for living a life of mitzvot. It’s a detail of the law of the land, including when it is appropriate to use the land and when it must rest, how we treat workers, prohibitions of idolatry, and the value of our words and promises to others. 

Within this text, as in other parts of the Torah, is the notion that the way in which the sanctuary is funded is based not on a person’s “occupation” but instead on their gender and age. In our modern world, this feels out of place at best and offensive at worst. However, in a closer read of the text, it appears that these qualities are not meant to assign value to human beings; rather, it is shekel hakodesh, the sanctuary or sacred value. While this doesn’t erase the fact that the monetary amounts differ, what it does tell us is that there is a sacred value to each human in the eyes of God and that perhaps we should focus not on the monetary, but on the completed whole that is a sacred community.

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.

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.