How do we make ourselves Holy?

Kedoshim

Kadosh, Holy, is a very difficult word to define; yet one we use often in spiritual conversation and prayer. Holiness is the key that brings together all the diverse laws of the world into something sacred. The type of consecrated, set aside for those who follow the Old Testament and seek God through ethical, moral commandments.

In this week’s double parashah- Achre mot/ Kedoshim We are taught that Kedoshim Thiyu, Ki Kadosh Ani Adonai Eloheim from Exodus 19:2. Through the years, many have been challenged by the text of the Torah and they create layers of meaning.) You (plural) shall be holy because I, Adonai, your God am holy. You, the individual, shall all be holy because I, your God is Holy.

From our Torah: Kedoshim- You shall be Holy: revere your mother and your father, keep Shabbah, do not turn to idols, when you make a sacrifice- do it well, do not reap the corner of your field, do not steal, do not cheat, do not lie, pay your laborer on the same day, do not insult the deaf or put a stumbling block before the blind, do not render an unfair decision, do not hate your kinsfolk in your heart, do not take vengeance or bear a grudge, do not sow your fields with two different types of seed, when a man rapes a slave woman who belongs to another- he shall bring her to the tent of meeting so he can be forgiven… you shall rise before the aged and show deference to the old, do not wrong the stranger in your land, if you insult your father and your mother, you shall be put to death, if a man commits adultery with the wife of his fellow Israelite, they shall be both put to death.

Kadosh can therefore mean different things: sacred, unique, divine, complete, to separate and to be both positive and negative; this is why parashah Kedoshim is the center of the Torah and called the “holiness code”. Living a life with commandments and rules makes for a healthy community and internally healthy people; but, these are God’s rules, not ours. Kedoshim tells us that we must be put to death for insulting our mother or our father. What does God mean with this statement of fact? What does insult mean here? If we castigate our parents in public, are we to be killed? If we share secrets of private home life, are we to be killed? If a teenager in the midst of teen hood, slams a door in their parent’s face, will that child be killed? One of the laws in this code reminds us that we are not God. Yet we are created in the image of God and try to act as God does. So what does the entire holiness code mean; if we cannot comprehend the ineffable one and the mystery, which surrounds Adonai?

I feel that our only option is try to live by the laws as outlined in Parashah Kedoshim. We try to reside in the world of Middot, ethical laws: treating the poor with dignity, honoring the elderly, treating our neighbors the way we wish to be treated, not to cry guilt before a trial which could prove innocence, trust, try to understand, love.

Living with a sense of holiness is living in the present and not thinking our every move; it is living that we are, where we are. There is a story told that describes a disciple trying to just be.

“Where shall I look for enlightenment? The disciple asked. “Here”, the elder said. “When will it happen?” the disciple asked. “It’s happening right now.” The elder answered. “Then why don’t I experience it?” the disciple persisted. “Because you do not look” the elder said. But what shall I look for? The disciple continued “nothing. Just look,” the elder said. “But at what?” the disciple asked again. “At anything your eyes alight upon,” the elder answered. “But I must look in a special kind of way?” the disciple went on. “No. The ordinary will do, “the elder said. “But don’t I always look the ordinary way?, the disciple said. “No you don’t the elder said. But, why not? The disciple asked. “Because you must be here. You are mostly somewhere else, the elder said.

Joan Chittister in There is a Season

 

Kedoshim Tiyu… you shall be holy… ki Kadosh Ani, Adonai, Eloheim… because I, Adonai, Your God am holy. Both Judaism and Christianity believe that we are created in the image of God. Therefore our actions resemble the actions of God. The disciple did not understand that being present requires the absence of knowledge. Doing sacred, whether through prayer, interaction with others, or going about everyday life, requires moments of purpose and moments of pure existence.

• How and where do you find moments of holiness?
• What does holiness mean to you?
• Can you be aware of holy in the moment or only upon retrospect?
• Does holiness need to commanded by God or can we find it on our own?
• Why do we need moments of holiness in our lives?

Your answers may provide us all a better understanding of the Holiness Code. Please make your comments known. You are our teachers, and we, are your willing students.

Poetry for Pesach

1) On the Impossibility of Passover
‘On Passover we celebrate as if we ourselves have been set free’

On my journey

To the Promised Land

My feet have become entangled

In the roots of upturned trees

Across the Jordan

I see homes turned to rubble

By the strong hand and the outstretched arm

Blocking the path to righteousness

Deliverance is held up at the checkpoint

Freedom chooses hunger

To make its case

And what is there left to celebrate

With timbrels and dancing?

I ask my questions

Eat bitter herbs

And count the plagues that we have sent

Cleansed

Refugeed

Absenteed

Unrecognised

Occupied

Besieged

Walled

Segregated

Sewaged over

Passed over

We have melted our inheritance

To cast a new desert idol

And the words from Sinai

Are crushed beneath its hooves

There is no Moses to climb the mountain a third time

Elijah is detained indefinitely

The mission is lost

Freedom is drowned

And the angels gather to weep

It is the first night of the Feast of Freedom

I open the Haggadah

Place olives on the Seder plate

And confront the impossibility of Passover

This year in Mitzrayim

This year in the narrow place

 

                                    Poet: Robert Cohen

 

___________________________________________________________

Pretend there were no memories,

Each generation on its own.

So would miracles and crimes

Alike be lost to their own times.

Crazed witnesses would on their knees

Haunt desperately our doors of stone.

 

 

______________________________________________________

 

Cold passover

this is called “Cold Passover”

this trembling theasurus

scatters act and distracts,

putting a flat pack shelf, and a book on it.

weaving in on a bitter duvet, heavy day of rain

coughing blood and dispatching spat s(p)its of tragics

list is endless, could ride a tractor around it, these tragics

these toes, stone cold, pebbles thrown

Pebbles a pleb, picking octo’****. grab it in. molest.

such a word. vibrates the bodice. searches for encounters.

lusts upon

secretion

secretion

secretion.

battle bursts a stigma. living in. tram scum, squat 20 and press up 16, press the button though, 32 times. that’s a lot of buzzing,

around the body

because the pebble thrown in the water, encaptures rings around

and casts circles, around the head of the body.

Leaves image at the scene for only a limited period.

and in the period, her heavy blood

castrates the pigments.

blotchy rotten teeth, smakcking a few in the punch lines.

a punch upon

the face

the head

the face it

because the heads upon

the rop that’s fixed.

and the toes are cold

stone cold

blue blood

moves swift, like water.

fluid

fluid.

forvere sat the mats that welcome, the passage.

for this is

for this is

the blue time.

© Leanne Bridgewater.Po

It’s all in the Telling

When I was in High School, my mother began organizing our family Sedarim. Each was creative, inspirational and educational. Everyone sitting around the table felt connected to our Jewish past. Somehow, sharing our past, telling the story of our ancestors, always brings to bloom the story of those sitting around the table: how their families came to America, the struggles and strivings of past generations.

Maggid, the poem by Marge Piercy, ties the past to the present in a very powerful and provocative way. The author writes: “the courage to let go of the door, the handle. The courage to shed the familiar walls whose very stains and leaks are as comfortable as the little moles of the upper arm; stains that recall a feast, a child’s naughtiness, a loud battering storm that slapped the roof hard, pouring through. The courage to leave the place whose language you learned as early as your own, who customs however dangerous or demeaning, bind you like a halter you have learned to pull inside, to move your load… the courage to walk out of the pain that is known into the pain that cannot be imagined… we are Jews, she says, all born of wanderers, with shoes under our pillows and a memory of blood that is ours raining down.”

Freedom is reclaiming the stories of our past, discovering what our grandparents and great-grandparents were like as children. Freedom is rediscovering personal Jewish traditions and passing them to the next generation. The afikomen hidden by either the Seder leader or the children, charoset made from an old family recipe, special songs only sung during the Seder. Freedom is being with every aspect of our experiences.

It is not chance that during the course of the Seder, we experience moments of feeling like each of the four children. The wise child, the wicked child, the simple child and the one who does not know how to ask are all aspects of our personalities, and all are revealed during the Seder. We are wise when we share our stories and compare modernity to our traditional past. We are wicked, rolling our eyes at having to hear the same story over and over again, embarrassed by our family members and our old selves. We feel simple as we struggle with the Hebrew which we learned as children. And there are moments, when we feel lost, not knowing what questions to ask, what the rituals mean to us as modern human beings. Living through a Passover Seder is, in a way, rediscovering who we were as children and who we are as adults.

It is no coincidence that the Torah portion read during Pesach deals with Yom Kippur. Yom Kippur and Pesach both center on spiritual, emotional and physical freeing of being, as well as our relationship with God and with others. Pesach and Yom Kippur are somehow intrinsically tied together/ two sides of the same coin. During Pesach we tell of our communal redemption from oppression, while on Yom Kippur we personally look at the ways we oppress others and ourselves. Several of the more modern Haggadot provide exercises and discussion questions that could very well prepare us for Yom Kippur. These questions focus on our behaviors and actions; encouraging us to look at the different ways we enslave ourselves, and how to provide freedom for others.

Pesach and Yom Kippur also ask us to re-evaluate our relationship with God, to determine the path for modern redemption- as individuals and as members of a community. We recall the moments when God’s outstretched hand brought us forth, if only for a moment from a pit of darkness and loneliness- whether in Egypt, at Sloan Kettering or sleep away camp for the first time. We recall the moments when a sea seemed to open before us, and we danced with joy. And those times when we cried out bitterly against God and it seemed as if our voices were not heard. During Pesach and Yom Kippur we reach for God’s outstretched hand and clasp it firmly, gaining strength from strength.

When the world begins to wake from the harsh winter, we too throw off our protective layers and look deep inside, getting rid of the dust, the chametz, to make room for new blossoms and new growth. Pesach allows us to begin the process of self-examination that culminates on Yom Kippur. In the words of Marge Piercy: both Pesach and Yom Kippur are about “the courage to let go of the door, the handle. The courage to shed the familiar walls whose very stains and leaks are as comfortable as the little moles of the upper arm… The courage to leave the place whose behavior you learned as early as your own, whose customs however dangerous or demeaning, bind you like a halter you have learned to pull inside, to move your load.”

It takes that same courage to open the door and look back at where you, where we, have been. To see how far through the desert we have traveled. And that the Haggadah, which translates as the telling and the Yom Kippur Machzor, translated as cycle are truly one and the same. Telling our stories is the cycle of life. Only through expressing the experiences of our past do we learn who we are, and where we are on the journey and that too is Torah. May we all open ourselves to the stories of our past and our present. They are part of the Hagaddah, the telling.

T

Concealing and Revealing

Nachman of Bratslav has handed down to us these words of his great-grandfather, The Baal Shem Tov: “Alas the world is full of enormous lights and mysteries, and man shuts them from himself with one small hand”!

Tales of the Hasidim, Martin Buber

 

We leaned on the Doric columns of the portico of his grand manse. I had known Evan since 2008 when our children met in pre-school and then went to summer camp together. We had become friends over the years and they knew me only as Renee. Evan, who could barely contain his rage, asked the Rabbi to speak with him outside. There we stood silently against the column which we had both chosen; and I waited for him to speak. “Rabbi, I am so angry at God, that I cannot function normally. Kara knows what is wrong but no one else, not my parents, certainly not my kids, nor any of my friends know what I am going through.” Over the years, I had observed that there were times when Evan ran across the camp fields with ease, and other moments, where he could barely make it across the field, having to sit, his face etched with pain. He would make jokes about getting old and we would all laugh, except we all knew that it was not funny. “Rabbi, aren’t you supposed to read people, tell me my story?” “You own the story, you tell it and I will listen.” “Rabbi, I want to know if you see the truth.” I stared straight into Evan’s eyes and stated automatically, “you have some sort of degenerative immune disorder- perhaps MS- and rather than face your fears of the future, you are angry at God.” He slid down the column, as if a balloon in the center of his being had deflated. I slid down beside him. “You know? ” he questioned. “ I know.” “ It’s been more than ten years since my diagnosis and I am still angry at God, in fact this journey has shown me that God does not exist. I went to Temple a long time ago, but found nothing. I have searched for God’s presence in my kids, in my family but now believe that God is bullshit. God is nothing.” We continued the conversation and he was willing to listen as his anger disappeared.

God is never mentioned in the story of Purim. We are supposed to assume that the entire Megillah is one of chance, and coincidence; the exact opposite of what occurs in Torah, where God seems to regulate the ancient Biblical world with outstretched hands, turning our ancestors and their life situations, into puppet master and puppet.

From the outside looking in, Purim is about self-disguise- physically with masks and costumes, psychologically with frat party drinking to the point where one does not know the difference between Haman and Mordechai. Concealed in the bones of Megillat Esther, is a story about suppression and obscurity. The name of our heroine reveals part of this secret: Esther, from the Hebrew root STR means hidden. Esther hides her identity and masks herself to become Queen. Megillat Esther 2:20 “Esther did not reveal her origins,” except to her uncle/cousin Mordechai. Hiding by the palace gates one day, Mordechai overhears two of King Ahashveros’ henchmen planning to kill their liege. Mordechai reveals the secret and is written in the King’s book to thank at a later date. Esther prepares a beautiful meal for her Kingly spouse and the man who desires to kill all the Jews, the hated Haman. She exposes Haman for who he is and in taking off his mask assures his death and the death of his seven sons.

Revealing- concealing. Masks and the truth of a soul. God plays these games with us at different times of our lives. It is interesting to note that on the Jewish calendar, the polar opposite of Purim in time, is Yom HaKiPurim- a day like Purim- the Holy of Holies. Rather than wearing our masks we reveal our truest selves, and strip down to our naked core, seeing ourselves and our flaws in a true to life mirror.

After reading Megillat Esther, we see God’s fingerprints everywhere- in Vashti walking out the door, replaced by Esther a Jew, which brings her cousin/uncle Mordechai to Shushan to rescue the King from a plot on his life, where the King marches Mordechai around, making Haman angry enough to draw lots, deciding the day of the mass murder of the Jews, Esther prepares a meal for her husband and Haman, revealing the fact that she is a Jew, one of the people who Haman wants to kill, which leads to his own death and the death of his family. The Jews are saved- not by chance or luck- rather by a hidden God.

So does this mean that I feel that God controls my life? No. Does this mean that I believe that God knows who I am and recognizes my soul? No. So why do I still believe in God. Here are the seven reasons that compel me:

• Seeing God’s hand in my life.
  1. God does not have complete control over my actions and choices but there are times when coincidence turns my life around. I am meant to be at a certain place at a certain time and there are no ifs or buts about it. I get to the hospital to visit those who are healing at the same time; a former congregant arrives in an ambulance. My husband and I meet at a wedding of the couple that tried to get us together for three years. If we had not laid eyes on each other, we never would have chosen to meet.
• Talk to God.
  1. Many of us have cut off communication with God because we do not receive a spoken answer. If we did, we would be deemed crazy. I once had a congregant who, after shaving one day, saw the image of the State of Israel in his whiskers at the bottom of the sink. He brought in a picture to show me and within a week after the incident he felt that God was speaking to him through his facial hair. Within two weeks, he moved to Israel, leaving his wife behind. Did I understand his motive? No. Do I believe that God speaks though facial hair- who knows, but this man did and changed his life for the photo taken at the bottom of the sink? I understand talking to God as talking to myself about the importance of life. I do not hear voices in return; but I feel a sense of comfort to self-analyze where I am going and where I have been.
• Find beauty in our world.
  1. Detach from the all the I’s- i-phone, i-pad, i-pod, or whatever method you use to fill time and take a walk. Notice the beauty of the trees covered with snow. Look at those around you. Realize that they are all miracles not of your making. God is reflected in nature and in moments that we deem gifts. Find the beauty in your world.
• Learn
  1. Studying whatever you like increases your capacity to expand your mind. In that expansion, realize that the mind has the ability to morph and grow, and heal. Never stop learning and acknowledging that this ability is a gift from God. We cannot live without the brain functioning correctly. The fact that the brain knows what to do and has the ability to retain knowledge, and build upon that is a miracle.
• Appreciate
  1. We have all been gifted with certain skills and abilities. Part of the recognition of our gifts is the simplest: friends, family, and our ability to breathe and live and change our lives. When we hit rock bottom, most of us with the help of therapists, medication and support can help lift us to our feet once again. The most grateful people that I have met are the dying. Although some are angry, most see true blessing over the course of their lives, in what they have accomplished and whom they have loved.
• The most difficult one of all- Trust
  1. “I do not believe because I cannot see and there is no proof.” Ah, but you can feel. I equate God’s existence with the power of love or the wind. We can see how both work in our world; but we cannot truly see them. Living in a society based on proof- most of us have lost the ability to trust; but sometimes you just need to believe and trust. Every morning when I awake, I trust that there will be a day ahead. You may call this Mother Nature or the design of the earth. I call it God.
• The one you can see- Tikkun olam (repair of the world)
  1. We are not put on this earth to hide in our homes, focusing only on self. We are put on this earth to help others. When we perform acts of Tikkun Olam, we feel God’s presence in the world. Were some of the biggest souls in life- Lincoln, Harriet Tubman, Jack Kennedy, Martin Luther King Jr and our present Pope- born to serve God and others or for self-service? They went far beyond personal needs to make a true and lasting difference in our world; and unfortunately some were killed trying to accomplish their purpose because of hatred and ignorance. Yet, I am sure that every one of these heroes, did not see themselves as heroes but responsible for making positive change in the world. They were all people of strong faith and God served as their own personal rock. We are not all meant to change the world; but we are asked to take responsibility for our community and our many passions whether in politics, saving shelter animals, giving money and time to help sick children and adults. We are compelled to help and that obligation comes from somewhere outside of ourselves. Perhaps God.

God is present in our world whether we decide to see God or not. Perhaps, as in Megillat Esther, God seems to be hidden but reveals Godself after the fact. I am not asking you to believe, I am just providing some options of ways to be self aware and open to the possibility that there may be a God, who is there waiting for you to connect. As much as we reach up and around to find examples of God in our lives, God is reaching down, longing to connect.Concealing

Can Clothes Make Someone Holy?

One of the most colorful characters in the Ancient Israelite religion is the Kohen Gadol, the High Priest who took care of the sacrifices in the Temple in Jerusalem. This man, a direct descendant of Aaron, was the highest religious authority during the time of the First Temple and became the dominant political force in the period of the Second Temple. The task of the High Priest was to assure the possibility for atonement for the people Israel, and to provide comfort to the people through a relationship with God.

Perhaps the most dazzling aspect of the Kohen Gadol was his physical appearance and his fantastic apparel.

As we learn from Parashah Tezaveh, the High Priest wore a colored tunic, an ephod of colored stones, crown, breastplate each one composed of a multitude of fabrics and symbolic meanings. The High Priest dressed the way we dress the Torah today. Two of his garments, the breastplate and the headdress call for a closer examination.

On his chest, the priest wore the hoshen, a breastplate, consisting of three rows of four different stones each. On each of the stones was inscribed one of the names of Israel’s tribes.

Why would the high priest need to wear the stones and carry the names of the tribes whenever he did God’s work? According to the Midrash, they were worn so that God would look at the garments of the priest as he entered the sanctuary and be mindful of the merits of the people. In other words, the function of the priest was to remind God of God’s people and their striving for holiness. He served as an intermediary between the God and the ancient Israelites.

As impressive as the hoshen, is the gold band that Aaron would wear on his forehead inscribed with the words Kadosh L’Adonai, Holy to God. Imagine wearing this enormous crown. The people needed to see that the High Priest was holy. As well, when the High Priest would put on the headdress, he would be reminded of the fact that he represented God on earth.

We don’t wear the words Kadosh L’Adonai as a crown on our heads, but they are there imprinted if we look carefully enough. When we see other people, when we work with other people, we should see these words as if they are written there clearly. Everyone is Kadosh L’Adonai, holy to God. This is something that we all inherently know; but tend to forget in everyday interactions. Look at people, truly look at them and you can see the words etched softly on their skin. May we all remember that we are holy as well that we too are created in the image of God. Not only will we treat others with a deeper sense of respect; we will treat ourselves with a deeper sense of respect.

As Hillel taught: If I am not for myself who will be for me. If I am only for myself what am I. If not now, when?

Transforming Community through Who We Are

This week’s Torah portion is one of my favorites, not because of the myriad lines of architectural description- many of you know details are not my thing- rather because words that God says to Moses. V’yikchoo li terumah may’ate kol is hasher yid’veh’nu libo, teak’choo et terumati. Tell the Israelite people to bring me gifts. You shall take gifts for Me, from every person whose heart so moves him. Moses then provides a long list of precious items that the Israelites should bring. But these items are to be brought with a willing heart. And so, those who had a desire to recognize God create the tabernacle in the wilderness.

Did you ever wonder what the true purpose of the tabernacle was in the wilderness? Its not as if the people are living in established communities and have pantries full of goodies.

Rather its hundreds of thousands of former Hebrew slaves wandering through the desert. God gives them the command atop Mt. Sinai to make a portable building in which will be housed the Ark of the Covenant. In the outer courtyard of the tabernacle will be an altar to sacrifice animals for God.

The rabbis offer many ideas as to why the Jewish people were in need of a tabernacle. Some say that it was because of the sin of the golden calf- that is to occur in a few weeks.  And there are those who say that not unlike the other cultures of the day, animal sacrifices to the deity was so common that the Israelites simply incorporated the practice into their religious cult. The sacrifices made the people feel connected to God. They could smell the odor and see the smoke and assumed that God could as well.

If we are to take our tradition seriously, we have to understand why God commanded the sacrifices and asked the Israelites to create a tabernacle in the desert.  After all, the prophet Isaiah quoted God saying: “hear the word of the God, you chieftains of Sodom. ……What need have I of all your sacrifices? I am sated with burnt offerings of rams and suet of fatlings, and blood of bulls; and I have no delight in lambs and he-goats… bringing oblations is futile, incense is offensive to me.”

Does God truly want animal sacrifices? If our only text were these passages from Isaiah, the answer would be surely not. Let’s look at this from a modern perspective. Are any of us here looking forward (as does parts of our tradition) to the day when the third Temple will be rebuilt and the courts of the Temple will again, as the Talmud says, run red with a river of animal blood? Not me. I can’t even look at raw meat.

I love animals and can’t believe that God would want us to kill animals for the sole act of killing animals without eating their meat or using their skins.

Following the understanding of the prophet Isaiah, animal sacrifices were not for God. They were never for God.

So the question is: Why the tabernacle commanded in parashah Terumah and later the Temple at all? There must have been a purpose in making these institutions a part of the religious life of the Jewish people.

Moses Nachmanidies, the Ramban (13^th century. Spain) determined that the real covenant between God and the Jewish people was not that of cultic sacrifice. The real brit, covenant was about action, deeds, tangible, measurable human activity.

Religion is about connecting with others, and thereby connecting with God. There is a danger that religious life can be spiritualized to the point of total irrelevance to the life of the community. The relationship each one of us has with God is direct and requires no intermediaries. Therefore we can pray on the Long Island Railroad, in the library, on a day like today. We can relate to God without involving a single other human soul in this world.

God understood this and on Sinai, gave us a document that needed to be studied together and placed in a holy central tabernacle. Within the Torah- beginning with parashah Terumah, God gifted us a set of blueprints, six times longer than those for the creation of the world where the community needed to participate wholly in its building. Where they could invest their funds and their hearts- and eventually their souls.

God wanted the Israelites to commune and create in an active way for the betterment of all people. Al shlosha devarim- the world stands on three things, on Torah (learning) Avodah (prayer, or sacrifical worship in temple times), and Gemilut Hasidim (acts of loving kindness). In the building of the tabernacle, the ancient Israelites began to understand that God required all three for the Israelites to thrive in the world.

When asked why he joined the dangerous march with Martin Luther King, resulting in his imprisonment, Abraham Joshua Heschel said, “As I walk, I am praying with my feet.”   In life, God expects us to pray to with heart and soul and body.

So the tabernacle was given to the Israelites because they needed a tangible connection to their God and, in ancient Israel, people made that connection through animal sacrifice. The tabernacle was necessary for the people of that era. But as human society matured spiritually, the Temple was destroyed and the rabbis redirected our religious attention to study, to prayer, but most importantly, to deeds of loving-kindness.

Sefat Emet, one of my favorite Hasidic commentators, determined that the people were to be the dwelling place of God, not the tabernacle. We each had gifts to give to God and as we gave them, we became part of the place where God dwelt.

There is no temple today. There is no mishkan today. So where does God’s presence dwell in our own era?

The answer must be in us, as was God’s original design. Connecting with each other, being united with the community and other communities, accepting and tolerating differences with love and understanding makes us part of the mishkan. Keeping Shabbat and the other ritual commandments, praying, performing acts of loving-kindness makes us part of the mishkan.

V’yikchoo li terumah may’ate kol is hasher yid’veh’nu libo, teak’choo et terumati. Tell the Israelite people to bring me gifts; you shall take gifts for Me, from every person whose heart so moves him. May we know our gifts and understand that they are meant to be given away. Our Terumot- our gifts create moments of connection and holiness. When we give them away, we make the world more whole and allow God to be felt in our lives.

Building Relationship and Trust

Rabbi Renee Edelman A Personal Midrash on Parashah Yitro

He loaded the donkeys with their possessions and they set forth on the long voyage to find her husband in the desert. Zipporah led one animal, on its back her sons Gershom (meaning I have been a stranger there) and Eliezar (whose name meant my God is help) – both apprehensive about meeting the father they didn’t remember, the man of legend. Jethro, Zipporah’s father, Moses’ father-in-law led the other animal, burdened with many bundles. For days they wandered in the hot sun, barely speaking, each engaged in internal struggle as they envisioned the future. Jethro tempered his great resentment towards Moses, with a level of pride. As a Midianite priest he could understand the need to follow God’s command, but he could not imagine doing so without his family by his side. It was time for his daughter to be a wife; time for his grandsons to have a father. Jethro, himself, was too old to begin raising sons again.

Zipporah, walking beside her father, rope in her hand, was filled with apprehension. Would Moses be disappointed at her return? Could he have a family and be a leader? Did he want them in his life? She had brought the children into Jewish tradition through circumcision; how would their father feel.

On the back of the braying animal, sat two terrified boys, frightened of meeting their great father- the man who had battled Pharaoh, and led the Israelites through the parted sea. Exodus 18 verse 5, “ Jethro, Moses’ father-in-law brought Moses’ sons and wife to him in the wilderness, where he was encamped at the Mountain of God.” Moses went out to greet his family with joy and spent the evening with Jethro, recounting the struggles towards freedom. But the next day, Moses went back to work sitting as judge over the people from the rising of the sun until far into the night. The dinner that Zipporah had prepared went cold, the two boys off to sleep without a kiss from their father.

When Jethro saw how much time Moses spent counseling the people, he said, “Why do you act alone, while all the people stand about you from morning to evening?” Moses replied, “When people have a dispute it comes before me and I decide between man and his neighbor. I make known the teachings of God.” And Moses’ father-in-law said to him

Lo Tov haDvar asher ata oseh!!!!

This thing you are doing is not right!!!! You will surely wear yourself out and these people as well. For the task is too heavy for you, you cannot do it alone. Enjoin upon the people the laws and teachings, and make known to them the way they are to go….

What a message and how apt for us today- Moses spent so much time trying to meet the needs of others at work, that what was most important to him, was lost. It took Jethro, father-in-law, and non-Jew to teach our greatest leader how to lead the Jewish people and model a balanced lifestyle.

The message is simple but powerful. We, like Moses, are human beings and therefore cannot do it all by ourselves. To even think that we can is pure arrogance because it abrogates the need for other people. Although painful to admit, the office still runs when we are not there, things get fixed, letters get out and patients are seen. As reporter Bill Wilson said, “it seems absolutely necessary for most of us to get over the idea that man is God.” To set limits is to be fundamentally human, essentially limited and not God. We have limits. Moses had limits. Perhaps he was unwilling to delegate responsibility because he was afraid that someone else would not approach the task with his vision. Or perhaps he feared that in delegating responsibility, he would lose ultimate power. Whatever the reason, the need to be needed as the sole owner of God’s word fed something deep inside of Moses- an innate hole that could not be filled by self. And humility was turned into arrogance.

The Hasidic masters teach about humility through a tale. One day a Rabbi, in a frenzy of religious passion, rushed in before the ark, fell to his knees and began beating his breast crying loudly, “I am nobody. I am nobody”. The cantor, impressed by the Rabbi’s display of humility also fell upon his knees chanting, “I am nobody. I am nobody.” The Shamus, who took care of the building, couldn’t restrain himself from joining in and bend beside the two on the floor echoing their chant. At which point, the Rabbi nudging the cantor, with his elbow pointed at the Shamus uttered “Look who thinks that he is nobody.” Humility for show, is not humility at all- it is only conceit. At this point in his life, Moses needed to be taught to step back and relinquish some of his power- not only for the success of the Israelites coming together as a people, but also for the survival of his own family.

Our relationships are similar to those of our ancestors. People work long hours, travel extensively and juggle careers with families. There are more factors trying to pull families apart than keep them together. Part of this is due to the fact that our society treasures the disposable. But relationships are not automatic- and there is not an easier model around the corner. Intimacy is not immediate and everlasting. We do not know our children without spending time with them. We do not grow old with our spouse without struggling through many obstacles and communicating even when communication seems to be the most difficult challenge on earth. Nothing can be built for longevity without first laying a balanced foundation. Jethro taught Moses this, we learn through trial and error.

V’yomer Hotein Moshe aleiv, lo tov ha-Dvar asher ata…. V’yishma Moshe. Moses’ father-in-law said to him, “This thing you are doing is not good… and Moses listened.” We too need to listen to the voice of Jethro and find balance through humility. We need to spend more time with those we love because the more we give to our children, to our loved ones, to our communities the more we give to ourselves. Jethro’s message echoed in the words of Hillel: Eim Ain Ani li mi li, she’asani l’atzmi mah ani, v’im ain achshav eimatai- if I am not for myself who will be for me. If I am only for myself what am I. If not now, when.

Noticing what is around us

From Rabbi Lawrence Kushner, The Book of Miracles

 

Opening your Eyes

When the people of Israel crossed through the Red Sea, they witnessed a great miracle. Some say it was the greatest miracle that ever happened. On that day they saw a sight more awesome than all the visions of the prophets combined. The sea split and the waters stood like great walls, while Israel escaped to freedom on the distant shore. Awesome. But not for everyone.

Two people, Reuven and Shimon, hurried along among the crowd crossing the sea. They never once looked up. They noticed only that the ground under their feet under their feet was a little muddy- like a beach at low tide.

“Yucch!” said Reuven, “there’s mud all over this place!” “Bleech” said Shimon; “I have muck all over my feet. “This is terrible”, answered Reuven.” There is no difference here between being a slave in Egypt and being free here.

And so it went, Reuven and Shimon whining and complaining all the way to freedom. For them there was no miracle. Only mud. Their eyes were closed. They might as well have been asleep. (Exodus Rabbah 24:1)

Reuven and Shimon were used to looking at the ground. Focusing on the mud, they missed the miracle of fish lined up beside them. They missed the tremendous colors under the sea and perhaps the holiest of all, they missed all the Israelites walking together to freedom. We all know people who choose to see the negative everywhere in everything.

Two of my very close friends were diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer the same day.

One was told that he would be dead within six months. He and his wife had a good cry in the car and the next day when he shared his diagnosis, he determined that he would live to see his granddaughter become Bat Mitzvah 18 months later. A world-renowned Holocaust artist, my friend Aaron continued to create. We continued our work on a Holocaust Hagaddah, which we had been writing for ten years that will be published as part of his legacy. He had exhibitions at several local colleges and Holocaust centers and spoke at each of them. The synagogue honored Aaron for all of his beautiful craftsmanship throughout the synagogue. He truly lives in its walls. Aaron’s made it to his granddaughter’s Bat Mitzvah looking strong and beautiful. A month later he succumbed to pancreatic cancer, leaving little notes of projects for his family and close friends.

My other dear friend has lived 18 months with her cancer. She is constantly assured by her doctors that she will live. She has had some hiccups along the way: a surgery on her belly, one to remove a small cancerous growth in her head. The chemo makes her ill, and everything hurts. Although I cannot blame her, she has complained about the hospital food, yelled at the doctors for not healing her fast enough, and yelled at me and my God for allowing this to happen. We used to take walks outside together; now she only goes outside to go the hospital. The doctors tell her she will live and she replies what for. She spends her days walking a hole in the carpet and taking as much zanax as possible. Her suffering is obvious. I can hear the pain in her groans. Her child has not been there for her, her husband is trying but is getting ever more frustrated with her talk of death. She has taken to call me several times a day to ask if she is going to live, seeking my words as truth. I do not know. But I can give her emotional support and repeat the words of the doctor you will live. Nothing gives her joy anymore. Where she used to love the sun, praying at her shul and shopping. She is paralyzed by fear, she cannot write because she cannot focus. She cannot read because she hates every book. All she can do is complain alone at home. I am not living her pain; but her attitude cannot be helping. She will not celebrate good bone and pet scans; because they do not mean a thing in this world she is creating. I cannot help her anymore. She has lost her love for living and I do not know how to bring it back. This disease has already taken my friend’s spirit and soul.

I am living a healthy life and oh so grateful for every minute. I miss Aaron but still have his words, finish the Hagaddah. His final work of art sits on an easel by his bed. Jacob’s ladder, where the angels are going up and coming down. Jacob sleeps curled among the rocks, but his head faces the heights. Vayomer achen yesh Adonai b’makom ha’zeh v’Anochi lo yadati. (Genesis 28:16. And Jacob awoke from his slumber and he said God was in this place and I, I did not know.

God is asking us to look around and notice the beauty in the world and the people around us. Raise you eyes to meet other eyes, celebrate what you have, rather then focusing on what is missing. Although we may not see it at the time, “God is in this place and we did not know.

Humans of the D.C. Mall

We spent the Martin Luther King Weekend in Washington, D.C., celebrating the Bar Mitzvah of a dear friend. I was reminded in the celebration that there are people who are such close friends that you miss them when you are with them and would immediately move next door. This is one of those families. After the festivities, we went to the Mall to visit several buildings in the Smithsonian. My kids are fascinated with history, and although seeing the artifacts in American History, Air and Space, and Native American, they wanted to see the theatre where Lincoln was shot by Booth and sit at that president’s feet at the Lincoln Memorial. The wanted to drive by the White House and walk though the Senate and bring flowers to Arlington National Cemetery to pay respects to our fallen Presidents and Veterans. Too much to accomplish in one rainy day. So we ended up at the mall. My favorite book for the past year has been “Humans of New York.” The faces are so telling and their answers so profound. This book has become so important to who we are as a people that they are creating them in several cities- one such place, The Mall of D.C. We were met by a young Georgetown Student who was taking part in this project. She approached us with ease and I immediately felt comfortable while my kids yelled out stranger danger and she told them that she was a student at a local University here and which was her favorite Smithsonian Museum. She was engaging and so we entered into a discussion. Our words, which were published in the Georgetown paper and await the archives for the next Humans of the D.C. Mall Book. She focused on my profession and was literally enthralled with the concept of a woman being a Rabbi, and with my kids, the article seemed to write itself.
HOME: Weekend Reflections from a Rabbi

CAITLIN CAIN JANUARY 20, 2015

“When I am needed, I am needed. I pray that we learn to become more selfless in a place of selfies.”

Renee, her husband Shane, and their three children came to DC from New Jersey to celebrate a Bar Mitzvah over the holiday weekend. The family ended up at the Mall because the children are history buffs, and wanted to see as many Smithsonian museums as they could before traveling home. Although they enjoyed the trip, the trio was supremely disappointed that Kermit the Frog was not on display at the National Museum of American History. They will be returning during Cherry Blossom Time to find Kermit.

Renee is a Rabbi. She’s not currently with a pulpit, but is still active in the Jewish community; right now, she is working on two books. One is a fictional account of a female Rabbi, and the other is a Holocaust Hagaddah. Rabbi Renee is not only an author, but is also a teacher, sharing the Judaic tradition with children and adults alike. In her position, she also officiates around 20 weddings every year. Returning to the pulpit full-time would satisfy Rene’s true passion for her spirituality, but she has her children to take care of first and foremost.

When I asked their ages, Bailey—Renee’s 11-year-old daughter, donning a lifeguard sweatshirt— confidently asserted that she was the oldest. Twins Jackson and Sophie, age 9, immediately spoke over their sister: “We’re twins,” they declared. Then they playfully argued back and forth, debating who was the “cuter version” of the other.

When I talked with Rabbi Renee Edelman about her weekend in DC, she gave me reason for pause: “I could not help but thinking of the situation of the world, and the fact that every different nation was represented at the mall. I wanted to attach every hand in a long chain to remind us all why it’s important to stand together—not only on MLK day, but every day. We need to be reminded that the only way the world can fight terroism, Boko Haram, injustices in race and religions, especially Judaism and modern Muslim who cannot raise a voice is to stand as one.”

Reacting to Terrorism

Je suis Juif. Je suis Charlie Helbo.

Quand j’ete petit, a 16 ans, j’habitee a Lyon, presque d’Paris. J’habitee avec une familee juif, Orthodox. When I was 15 or 16, I spent a summer living with an Orthodox family in Lyon, about 40 minutes from Paris. My name is Renee, which is mostly male in France, and so the family was shocked when a young woman showed up. They called the travel group and asked for a young man. I listened to my French Papa and foresaw that my time in Lyon would be a disaster. He quickly calmed down, changed the sleeping arrangement in the three-bedroom apartment and embraced me as his petite Americanne. I quickly learned that they knew no English and I knew no words of Arabic or Yiddish. My French and English from the television show “Dallas” would be our only mode of communication aside from charades. Street signs in Lyon were covered with swastikas. At first, I noticed them daily with fear and soon they faded into life in Lyon. I became comfortable with my family speaking French- Arabic in the streets and the soldiers and guards located by the synagogue doors. The family was well known in Lyon, for starting the Orthodox synagogue generations ago, and for their fabrics which were used by French design houses and draped the most famous of bodies.

I became comfortable with having a bodyguard and using a password to enter the shul. I became comfortable weekly revelations on what was occurring on Dallas in America. I became so complacent, that I forgot that I had an etoile juif around my neck, twinkling from my new chiffon blouses. The star was small but covered with diamonds and shimmered in the sun. I had worn it continuously for three years and wearing it was as natural to me as breathing.

On Bastille Day, the Jewish star nearly became a catalyst for a serious event. Susie and I left early in the morning, sneaking out before our guards arose. We had backpacks full of food and wine and cash for shopping. We met friends at the zoo, taking selfies with our small cameras. At the age of 16, we were confident, ready to flirt and be free; and so we did. Right before nightfall, Susie and I decided to head home, ready for the consequences of leaving without our guard, mace and Susie’s small knife. We danced through the park, full of the joy of the day and soon were surrounded by 7-12 Arabic men, our age and older. Susie began to flirt with them in Arabic and they responded. She explained how I was an American, her best friend, living with her for the summer. They turned their attention from Susie to me. I was concerned. I had never met an Arab but had been taught a mistruth, that they were all anti-Israel, and anti-Jewish. One of them grabbed the star from my neck, leaving a large scratch. It was as if time stood still. Susie’s face drained of blood. I wanted to run but they made their circle tighter. Susie explained that I had bought the necklace the other day, and through it was just a star. She laughed off the fact that I was a stupid American but they knew better and started to chant Juif. They took the cigarettes from their mouths to put out on our arms. Several took their lighters and flicked them near our faces to make us afraid. A flame caught the bottom of my jeans, scaring us all. Our assailants spit at my leg and rubbed the flame with their hands until it extinguished. They ran fast and far.

Susie and I sat holding each other, breathing hard, tears running down our cheeks. Then, we too, arose and ran as fast as we could home. Papa and Maman were waiting with anger in their eyes. When they saw our condition, their anger became concern and love. Maman tended to the burns, Papa called the police and we remained silent. The policemen urged us to tell our story. They placed the photos of several of the young men on the table and asked us to point to our attackers. We learned that these young men were part of a gang who targeted and robbed elderly people, and sprayed anti-Jewish sentiments on the walls and swastikas on town signs. Our attack was one of many. If we pointed to their faces and told our story, they could be arrested and taken off the streets. If we remained silent they could escalate their activity. As if we had made a pact, we remained silent. Susie had to live in town. If they knew that she spoke, her family may be in danger. I realized that the attack was due to the fact that I did not take off my Jewish star. I had become complacent. The police left empty handed. Susie and I held each other that night and cried. We put that night away, never speaking of it again.

It has been over twenty years since we spoke. Does she remember that night? Does the smell of cigarette smoke bring back a twinge of pain? Did the family suffer any consequences? Most of all, were we wrong in keeping silent?

As a teenager, I was complacent. As an adult, I refuse to live in fear and will speak out against injustice. Yet my words do not seem enough? After 9/11, I worked in a shul across the river from the Twin Towers. We tasted ash for several months and did our work at the Shul with special operatives on the roof and taught classes in the presence of what the FBI thought was a small terrorist cell near the Synagogue in NJ.

Parashah Shemot

Now Moses, tending the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midian, drove the flock into the wilderness, and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. An angel of God appeared to him in a blazing fire out of a bush. He gazed, and there was a bush all-aflame yet the bush was not consumed. Moses said, “I must turn aside to look at this marvelous sight; why doesn’t the bush burn up?” When the Lord saw that he had turned aside to look, God called to him out of the bush: “Moses! Moses!” He answered “Henani- “here I am”.

Exodus 3:1-4

 

Moses was aware and he responded to God, Henaini- here I am, ready to do your will. The most recent unexpected, horrific forms of terrorism have not hit our shores; but they may. When that day comes, may we respond Henaini through word and work and living life. In the words of Reb Nachman of Bratslav, “All the world is a very narrow bridge, and the most important thing is not to be overwhelmed by fear.”

Je suis Charlie Helbo.