It’s a fast-paced world, where information is abundant and opinions are often polarized, and the ability to discern truth from falsehood, wisdom from folly, and right from wrong has never been more critical. As we navigate the complexities of our time, as usual, we turn to Torah for guidance. 

Parshat Shemini recounts the dramatic events of the eighth day of the Mishkan’s inauguration. The day begins with joy and divine presence, as Aharon and his sons bring offerings, and fire descends from heaven to consume those offerings. However, this moment of holiness is abruptly interrupted by the tragic deaths of Nadav and Avihu, who bring an unauthorized fire before God. Their fate serves as a stark lesson on the boundaries of sacred service.

Later in the parshah, the Torah outlines the dietary laws of kashrut, specifying which animals are permitted for consumption and which are not. The section concludes with the commandment to be holy and distinguish between the pure and impure, reinforcing the idea that holiness requires conscious, thoughtful choices.

The Torah states: “To distinguish between the impure and the pure, and between the living things that may be eaten and the living things that may not be eaten.” (Leviticus 11:47) This verse reminds us that holiness is not accidental—it’s a product of intentional discernment. Just as the Israelites were instructed to differentiate between permitted and forbidden foods, we are tasked with making ethical, spiritual, and moral distinctions in our daily lives.

Parshat Shemini, with its focus on distinguishing between the pure and the impure, teaches the importance of discernment in our lives. This theme is beautifully encapsulated in the blessing:

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha’olam, hanoten l’anu binah l’havdil bein hatamei v’hatahor.

“Blessed are you, Adonai our God, sovereign of the universe, who grants us understanding to distinguish between the impure and the pure.”

The blessing hanoten l’anu binah l’havdil bein hatamei v’hatahor reflects this sacred responsibility. It acknowledges that discernment isn’t merely an intellectual exercise but a divine gift. We ask God for the wisdom to see clearly, to separate the essential from the superficial, and to make choices that align with our values.

At this moment in time, when we’re bombarded daily with competing narratives, when justice and truth both feel elusive, we must embrace the responsibility of discernment. Let us commit to seeking clarity in our decisions, ensuring that our actions reflect holiness and integrity. May we use the skill and blessing of discernment wisely, for the betterment of ourselves and the world around us.

From deep fakes to instant school research papers, new advances and discoveries in AI are just as controversial as they are useful. Artificial intelligence has been around for decades, if not longer, but the recent surge has led me to think about the ways in which it might relate to modern Jewish practice. AI can summarize and regurgitate information, but its accuracy depends on the reliability of the source and the program’s competency in synthesizing details in a meaningful way.

The first example that came to mind was the transmission of rules and what happens when the information we have might not be fully accurate or may be filtered through another source. Our Torah portion this week, Parshat Shemini, digs into this question as Aaron’s two sons offer up strange fire to God and are themselves burned as a result. The question is did they have exact instructions or, like a pre-telephone game of telephone, was something changed in the transmission of information from Moses to Aaron to them? 

As an experiment in message transmission, here’s an excerpt of what the chatbot ChatGPT came up with when prompted: “Write a sermon on Parshat Shemini in the style of Rabbi Eve Posen.”

Shalom, my dear friends. As we gather here today, I want to talk to you about this week’s Torah portion, Parshat Shemini, and the powerful lessons that it has to teach us about the role of ritual and tradition in our lives. In this portion, we read about the consecration of the Mishkan, the portable sanctuary that the Israelites carried with them throughout their journey in the wilderness. We learn about the intricate details of the sacrifices that were offered, and the precise rituals that were performed, all in service of creating a sacred space where the presence of the Divine could be felt.

But what does all of this mean for us today? How can we, living in a modern world that is so vastly different from that of the ancient Israelites, find meaning and relevance in these ancient rituals and traditions? One answer lies in the power of ritual to connect us to something greater than ourselves. Whether we are lighting the candles on Shabbat, reciting the prayers of the seder, or fasting on Yom Kippur, these acts of tradition and ritual have the power to transport us beyond our individual lives, and to connect us to a larger community, a larger history, and a larger sense of purpose.

But ritual is not enough on its own. We must also strive to live our lives in accordance with the values and principles that underpin our traditions. We must be kind and compassionate to one another, and work to build a world that is more just and equitable. We must strive to live with integrity and humility, and to always remember that we are part of something much greater than ourselves.

As fun and fascinating as this experiment is, it’s also a reminder of the humanity that’s inherent in human creations and what gets lost when that piece is missing. And when we get so much of our information from social media and online “news” sources it’s more important than ever to verify and validate before we take what we read as fact, or we risk “strange fire” by spreading misinformation. In case you were curious, yes, the image on this post was created with AI.

I have a finicky relationship with food. It’s not that I don’t like food; on the contrary, I LOVE food. I’m the type of flavor seeker who adds spice and weird combinations of sauces (some might call it fusion) to every meal. Trust me, I wasn’t always this way. When I was a child, my parents thought they were raising the world’s pickiest eater. How could they have known back then that my own children would make my younger self look like a dream eater?

As a parent of picky eaters, we’ve had so many conversations about what foods are healthy, what fuels our bodies, and why trying new foods can be fun. And, as a kosher-keeping family, we also have the conversations about why we can’t have a quesadilla if we’re still hungry after we have hot dogs for dinner. Ultimately, it comes down to finding the balance between eating both for pleasure and for fuel. 

Our Torah portion this week, Parshat Shemini, digs in to this conversation in a way that allows us to elevate our food choices. The parshah begins with the words “On the eighth day” after the priests have been installed. The text picks up with the narrative of creating a holy leadership team of Aaron and his sons, who unfortunately make an offering without the appropriate directions or intentions and end up losing their lives. Following this tragic story are the laws for making time holy with sacrifices and laws for making our bodies holy by following the laws of kashrut.

At the heart of this portion are the laws about which animals are kosher and which are not, how we’re supposed to treat the animals, and the reasons why. It boils down (no pun intended) to some general rules. Animals that cause harm to others are not kosher. Animals that are “unclean” or don’t clean themselves are not kosher. Animals that torment or stalk others are not kosher. The Torah gives us these categories because our insides should support our outsides. In other words, we are a people that lifts up bodily care and cleanliness, and we discourage waste and excess.

These laws are inconvenient in our modern world and often challenging, and yet they fill mealtime with intention and presence instead of gluttony and indulgence. Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally willing to indulge on occasion, but I do so with the full intent of understanding that nourishing my body is a mitzvah. And of course I try not to overdo it. 

When does your temper flare? Like everyone, I have my limits. I’ll lose my temper when I have simply been pushed until I cannot contain myself anymore. In these heated moments we’ve all experienced, it’s nearly impossible to offer compassion, space, or understanding as to what others might be feeling. Whether well-founded or not, feelings of betrayal and disrespect block us from seeing the bigger picture, and it can take time to reconcile these feelings. While a temper isn’t a trait we necessarily admire in our leaders, I can take comfort knowing that leaders in the Torah, like Moses, have also let tempers flare. 

To change the subject briefly, the Torah provides interesting insight into the grieving process, particularly in the portion we read this week, Parshat Shemini. The parshah begins with the words, “On the eighth day . . .” after the priests have been installed. The text picks up with the narrative of creating a holy leadership team of Aaron and his sons, who unfortunately make an offering without the appropriate directions or intentions and end up losing their lives. Following this tragic story are the laws for making time holy with sacrifices and laws for making our bodies holy by following kashrut (keeping kosher).

In the moments after Aaron’s sons Nadav and Avihu fail in their roles as priests and die in the process, Moses has a hard time containing his rage. He lashes out at the remaining priests, Eleazar and Ithamar. He questions their frame of mind; he yells at them. Why? Because in this moment Moses cannot be reasoned with. He can only express his rage.

Is it right for a leader to rage publicly? That might be up for debate. But what’s clear is that lashing out doesn’t prove useful. Yes, Moses needed to grieve in his own way, but for his nephews and brother, he really needed to share words of comfort, of understanding, of guidance.

Parshat Shemini brings to life the realities of emotions, and emotions like grief and anger hit each of us in unique ways. It’s a complicated lesson to learn: being able to control our emotions while acknowledging that our emotions need to be let out in healthy ways. But that’s Judaism in a nutshell, being able to hold more than one idea at a time. 

On a family trip a few years ago, things were not going how we had planned. The kids were cranky, the lines at the airport were long, and TSA was not particularly helpful or friendly. Nothing seemed to be going our way, and it didn’t help that Duncan and I weren’t quite seeing eye to eye that morning, to put it mildly.

As we were walking into the airport, I had Matan strapped to me in a baby carrier on my front (he wouldn’t go on my back), my backpack on my back, two kid backpacks, a bag with food and snacks, our checked bag, and the car seat carrier in my hands. No fewer than three people stopped me before we even got to the check-in counter to ask if “she had her own ticket” (indicating Matan, who still had long hair at the time). By the time the third employee asked me, I snapped back, “He is two and a half, and he has his own seat!” The woman was rightly offended at my overreaction, and Duncan stepped in hoping to diffuse the situation with, “She’s mad at me, not you.” He was right, I was annoyed at him, and I took my anger out on the first available target in my path. We all express misplaced anger sometimes, but that doesn’t make it any less hurtful when it happens. 

It’s probably no surprise that misplaced anger can often be seen in the Torah. This week we read Parshat Shemini, which details the specifics of kashrut (the laws of keeping kosher) and what it means to eat Jewishly. The text begins with the anointing and first acts of Aaron’s sons, Nadav and Avihu, as they make their entrance into the celebrity of the priesthood, and continues with the specific details of how they should act in giving an offering. Tragically, Nadav and Avihu take advantage of their role as priests and pay the ultimate price for it. Moses, Aaron, and the remaining sons Elazar and Itamar are left to move forward with ritual and leadership all while deep in their own grief. The Torah doesn’t dwell on Nadav’s and Avihu’s deaths or the surrounding circumstances. There is work to be done, and onward the Torah moves.

In chapter 10, verse 16, Moses goes on a tirade against Elazar and Itamar. The Torah actually reports that Moses is angry with them and then berates them for not doing the purification offering the appropriate way. Aaron steps in after Moses expresses his rage to remind him that priests in mourning are not permitted to eat of the sacrifice. And again, Moses moves on.

A commentary on the text from Leviticus Rabbah hypothesizes that Moses was still so consumed with his grief that his knowledge of the law left him. His ability to maintain emotional stasis for himself and toward others was simply clouded over during his mourning. Parshat Shemini offers the reminder that the best way to manage stressful or traumatic situations is to know ourselves, check in with our own emotions, and if possible, find a way to channel those emotions in more productive and less destructive ways. Fortunately my airport outbursts are few and far between, but it’s these exact types of moments that allow us to grow and learn and work to be the very best version of ourselves.