One of the most powerful experiences of living a Jewish life is the way in which tradition, values, and physical artifacts are passed down from generation to generation. To say a prayer and know that my great-great-grandparents also said that prayer, and know that generations that come after me will say it opens up an intense feeling of connectedness and peace in my heart and soul.

The connection of l’dor v’dor, from generation to generation, is one of the founding pillars of Judaism. There’s a reason that so many moments marked throughout the Torah and the rest of the Prophets and Writings use the phrase “As God promised Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.” It is because our ethical, moral, and cultural behaviors are more than a story; they are a way of living that’s passed from one generation to the next.

We see some of the first elements of this in our Torah portion this week. Our Torah reading comes from Parshat Tetzaveh, which details the specific articles of clothing a priest and those close to him are to wear. This is special attire that distinguishes them from others in their service to God. These clothes are meant to add an aura of holiness to the priests as they complete their sacred duties. Since these vestments and garments are to be used for such a unique purpose, God also gives special instructions regarding who is to make them. After we receive these specifics, we learn about the details of what is on each garment.

When Aaron and his sons are elevated into the priesthood, Aaron is tasked with passing down not just the priestly vestments, that physical reminder of their place in society, but also the ethical role the priest will play. In other words, what Aaron is to leave as a legacy to his children and all the generations that come after him is more than a tangible, touchable artifact. It’s also the way in which they should act in the world as leaders, upstanders, and moral exemplars for the nation. 

I have beautiful physical possessions handed down to me from relatives, and I cherish them and look forward to handing them down to my children. But I also take comfort and pride in the knowledge that I’ll be handing down the values, experiences, and life lessons that my parents passed to me.

My husband Duncan has adopted the considerate habit of making a subtle noise, like snapping, when he walks into whatever room I’m in. It’s because he knows I startle easily in one very specific way. Spiders don’t usually scare me, and loud noises are more annoying than frightening, but for some reason I never hear Duncan approaching from the hallway to our bedroom, and when he suddenly appears or starts talking, I’ll scream and jump as though he was a stranger. My “mom ears” are so attuned to the noises our children make that it doesn’t happen with them. And at work, I can always hear the sound of shoes in the hallway at Neveh Shalom outside my office to know when people are approaching. However, after too many times of my own husband startling me, he has started snapping his fingers when he’s coming into a room when I’m alone so that I’ll know he’s coming. It’s a subtle, but incredibly helpful gesture. It’s all the little things we do that make a marriage work, right?

Believe it or not, this tactic is also taught in our Torah portion this week. Our Torah reading this week comes from Parshat Tetzaveh, which details the specific clothing items that a priest and those close to him are to wear. This is special attire that distinguishes them from others in their service to God. These clothes are meant to add an aura of holiness to the priests as they complete their sacred duties. Since these vestments and garments are to be used for such a unique purpose, God also gives a special instruction regarding who is to make them. After we receive these specifics, we learn about the details of what is on each garment.

As Aaron is given directions for the clothing to wear when he enters the Holy of Holies, we learn that he needs to attach bells to his outfit. While it seems clear that the bells serve an auditory function, why would that be necessary? If we believe in an all-knowing God, is it not strange that God wouldn’t know where Aaron was at all times? And if God is everywhere, how could Aaron be coming from a room where God wasn’t already present?

The common interpretation is that the bells are a general act of both courtesy and respect. First, no one, not even God, should be startled when “walking” into a space. Second, announcing ourselves is a way of respecting others by expressing kindness through greeting. And finally, by requiring that Aaron does this for God’s benefit, it’s the Torah’s way of modeling that it should be done for all people, as we are beings made in the image of God. 

Yes, marriages are built on honoring the other individual through all the little things we do, but so are entire communities. The reassurance of even a wordless greeting is just one way we show we’re in partnership with each other.

You may know this about me, but I am a creature of habit. Some habits are helpful, like my habit of making sure clothes aren’t inside out before they go in the laundry (since I’m the one who always does the folding). Other habits are more superficial, bordering on ridiculous, like having a certain outfit I always wear on airplanes. Most habits fall somewhere in between, and have just become part of my daily routine for one reason or another. 

In particular, my favorite habit is one that began when I had children. We now sing the Shema together every night with them at bedtime and sing Modeh Ani upon waking up. This routine, done day after day, provides me with a way to verbalize my connection to both my children and our faith. It’s a nightly proclamation that there is a God, that God is one, and that we are connected to God.

Even though I’m a rabbi, I haven’t always been able to find that daily connection. In rabbinical school I prayed with a minyan at least once a day, and often three times a day, and while I loved the ritual that filled my senses, it didn’t always bring me a connection to God in the same way that seeing the ocean or going for a sunset walk did. However, I learned that simply having the ritual itself was enough of a connection, and “feeling it” every time was much less important. This idea begins in our Torah portion this week, Parshat Tetzaveh. 

In Parshat Tetzaveh, God gives the commandments for what clothing the priests will wear, how they should be fashioned, and the materials that should be used in their fashioning. The priests are designated to wear special clothing that distinguishes them from others in the service of God. These clothes are meant to add an aura of holiness as they complete their work. Since these vestments and garments are to be used for such a unique purpose, God gives a special instruction regarding who is to make them. 

The ritual part comes towards the end of the portion, when we receive the laws of the “regular burnt offering.” In Hebrew this is called the Olat haTamid, and it is the core of the sacrificial system. Twice a day a lamb was wholly burned on the altar. Needless to say, we’ve long since removed literal sacrifices from our worship, but when this ritual was put in place, it was a big step for the Israelites. Having a priest designated and a sacred altar prepared, the Israelites now finally had a physical way to connect with God twice a day. 

The 19th century Orthodox rabbi Rav Kook suggests that until now, holiness was manifested only occasionally and sporadically in the world. Now that Israel has received the Torah, the world would know holiness on a regular, daily basis. The daily offering is the commandment to stop at least once a day and connect with God in whatever way you can. From daily minyan or a daily walk to a tight snuggle and Shema before bed, the parshah and our Torah remind us that it’s the act of doing that makes the habit. 

At our twice-monthly Tot Shabbat celebrations, we sing about how “God is everywhere, and God is one.” We then ask the children to tell us where they might find God, and the range of answers is beautifully diverse. We find God in the sky, the trees, the sun, and the moon. And apparently we find God in places like ice cream, unicorns, and fire trucks. We find God in our mommies and daddies, and we find God in our hearts.

Every time we sing this prayer, I am awestruck by the different ways in which our children are able to “see God.” They understand and acknowledge that different circumstances call for different visions of God, and the way their week has gone is often the determining factor in how they see God working in our world. Most importantly, however, they ALWAYS see God.

In Parshat Tetzaveh, the Torah portion we read this week, God gives the commandments for what clothing the priests will wear, how they should be fashioned, and the materials that should be used in their fashioning. The priests wear special clothing that distinguishes them from others in the service of God. These clothes are meant to add an aura of holiness to the priests as they complete their work. Since these vestments and garments are to be used for such a unique purpose, God gives a special instruction regarding who is to make them and what they are to look like. 

There are precise garments and colors that the Priest is mandated to wear. They are made up of linen and wool and defined by certain colors as well. According to Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, a modern commentator on the Torah, the linen represents the vegetable/plant world and is white, the color of purity. The wool, a symbol of the animal world, is red, purple, and crimson. Other garments are blue, like the sky. Each color and material represents a different part of our world, a different level of connection with our natural surroundings, and thus a different type of connection with God. 

Just like these various articles of clothing, there are many levels by which we may connect to God and each other. It might be on an earthy, deep, dark crimson level, or flying high like the bright blue of the sky. We might feel plant-based and pure, but relatively still, or we could be purple and red and animalistic in our tendencies.

The High Priest wears each color and material as a representation of how diverse our community is, and the priest serves them all at any time and any stage. What a wonderful example for leaders today. Though they may not represent it by their clothing the way the priests did, modern leaders must be equipped to work with a variety of people and maintain a variety of relationships. This is the type of community in which God is most surely present.

If you’ve spent any time with me in recent years, you may have noticed that I have a particular fondness for shoes. I LOVE shoes. The best ones are versatile and can take an outfit from dressy to casual and vice versa. The best part is that usually shoes fit no matter what other size issues or feelings I’m having with the rest of my body. I rarely have a “fat foot” day, and most of my shoes put a big smile on my face.

I have a particular penchant for Converse now that we’ve moved to Portland (where the parent company Nike is based), and when it comes to design, the sparklier, the better. My sequined high-top Converse are my favorite shoes. The minute I saw them my whole face lit up, and I knew I had to have them. I received them as a gift with the promise that if I wore them, I’d brighten other people’s days as much as they brightened mine. And every time I wear them, I get smiles and hugs and lots of awesome conversations. The shoes certainly don’t make the rabbi, but the rabbi’s shoes can definitely make people smile.

Our Torah reading this week comes from Parshat Tetzaveh. Parshat Tetzaveh details the specific clothing items that a priest and those close to him are to wear. This is special attire that distinguishes them from others in their service to God. These clothes are meant to add an aura of holiness to the priests as they complete their sacred duties. Since these vestments and garments are to be used for such a unique purpose, God also gives a special instruction regarding who is to make them. After we receive these specifics, we learn about the details of what is on each garment.

Notably, the priests do not receive shoes, as they do their work barefoot. They do, however, wear ornate tunics and clothing made specifically so that others will know that they are a priest. This is reflected today on our Torah itself, which wears ornate clothing so it will always be seen as precious and special. I read this text and wonder if we treated our bodies as the priests did – in other words if we dressed ourselves so that we were recognized as individual, unique, and special – would we be better able to celebrate personal style and choices?

My sparkly Converse are definitely a bold choice for a rabbi to don as footwear, but they also identify me and my personality. That’s an individual choice. While they may not be everyone’s first choice to wear, they certainly make me feel confident and proud, and that’s the feeling I want to impart to students and congregants.

Parshat Tetzaveh comes as a yearly reminder that while we shouldn’t judge each other based on clothes, clothes do have the ability to set us apart as individuals and the power to influence how we feel about ourselves. Wear what makes you you, just as the priests did and just as the Torah does. Wear what brings a smile to your face, because you deserve it.