Trumah: God's blueprint

Every building in the process of being built starts with a rough sketch, eventually becoming a hard sketch, then a blueprint, a model and so on. This process entails that all details of the structure are known to everyone involved and that no surprises show up along the way. That initial sketch though, physically describing the dream to become reality, is the real masterpiece. It takes something from nothing, creating form and design straight from the imagination.

It should come as no surprise that the Torah also contains aspects of detailed architecture. Although the Jews spent years building the pyramids in Egypt, and also have the history of a giant ark in their back pockets, the first time the Jewish people are instructed to build something under the auspices of being Jewish, they are at the foot of Mt Sinai, receiving life instructions from God. Rather fitting then, that they should receive the building instructions for an alter in which God's presence can be felt and convened with.

However, we often dislike intricately detailed instructions on how to do things. This parsha contains those minutia that are a personal plague, especially as description and not depiction; two and a half chapters worth of minutia to be exact. Exodus 25:10-27:19 is a line by line description of how the ark of the covenant should be built; the kind of wood, the kinds of decorations (elaborate and extraneous to the actual building itself), the curtains and the knobs. Considering that this would be the place God planned to rest, as God remarked:ועשו לי מקדש ושכנתי בתוכם, let them make for me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them (Shemot 25:10). God obviously has an idea of what God desires/needs, but why? Why does it matter what the place where God resides looks like? Even bigger than that, isn't God all around us (even if we are unaware of God's presence), as is read in Berashit 28:16?

These questions and more bombarded me as I perused this week's parsha, parshat Truma. Although named Truma (meaning giving without expecting anything in return), and in a way, the parsha is about giving the ultimate sacrifice without payment, a place for God to reside and in which they can perform future sacrifices, the parsha seems to be more of a physical instruction manual than a spiritual one. However, maybe God is also giving a gift to the Jewish people. Without their knowledge, the building of this holy site and the dedication/determination that will go into it, likely brought the builders an experience of spiritual commune. Not something to take lightly, nor something that everyone can say about their lives. In addition, the joy the ark would bring was worth the sacrifice of time and effort that went into it, so it makes more sense to have detailed instructions, making the process as simple and transparent as possible. Yet that still begs the question, for what does God need such an elaborate sanctuary, with certain colors of blue, purple and red; cherubim; gold and curtains?

Instead of thinking of this ark of the covenant in terms of what God needs, we must think of this in terms of what the Jewish people need at the current time in their Exodus. They have just left permanent residence to follow some guy they don't really know, into the desert, without any chance of safety and permanence along the way. Rather terrifying for me to consider. Therefore, this ark offers a solution of permanence that may still be transported, granting the Jewish people a semblance of belief that might be hard to come by in an otherwise disparate situation. The specific directions buoy the people by demonstrating that there is order in the world and the structure gives the people a physical reminder of God's presence in their lives.

Although we don't have an ark of the covenant and frankly wouldn't all be able to access it if one existed, we do have many ways of representing our Judaism to ourselves. We have necklaces and bracelets with symbols of our Jewish identity, tattoos with important Hebrew words. We may don t'fillin or a tallit, pray on a daily basis or keep Kosher. Whatever the ways, we also must have the physical representation of God's presence in our lives. The challenge is to recognize that presence and appreciate it, respect that it often times must be seen before us before we can realize it. Therefore, this week, my goal is to find the physical presence of God everyday, in the variety of different activities I take part in, to see where I feel God's presence most. Also, the question of whether or not I need a physical item or place to feel God's presence, or if it is inside of me.

God's presence in often felt for people in synagogues. However, this past week, a synagogue in Ra'anana, the town where I work, was vandalized. The link to the article on the vandalism can be found here. This outrage demonstrates to me that not everyone, even in a place where Judaism is in the majority, respects and appreciates the variation among people (and Jews). I cannot understand how people think that prayer in a reform way is blasphemous, simply because it is not Orthodox or an aspect of the service was not included.

May this be a Shabbat of rest, menucha, and peace, shalom.

May it be God's will. Amen.

Law and order...Sinai edition

I went to a class on parshat haShavuah, the week's Torah portion, this past Monday. I arrived on time and found the rabbi had already begun. Within minutes, I had challenged what he was saying and engaged him in dialogue. We were meant to be discussing parshat mishpatim, the Torah portion on laws/regulations, but hadn't gotten past the first verse, ואלה המשפטים אשר תשים לפניהם, and these are the laws which they should place/put before them.

The rabbi had opened the book to the parsha and was reading verbatim and then explaining the already detailed explanation. Instead of focusing in the word mishpatim, we focused on the word lifnay-hem, before them. There were three explanations, only one of which I remember. This was a comment by rabbi schneerson, a rabbi from Chabad, which talked about the fact that there are three kinds of laws: חוקים, עידות, ומשפטים, (all meaning something along the lines of laws, ordinances, commands). However, each has its own interpretation in Jewish law. The hokim are the laws that we follow, not necessarily given a reason, not even making sense. Rather, we follow them just because. There isn't really a rational behind it. Aidut are laws that make little sense when we learn of them, but do seem to have basing in the Torah. The last category, mishpatim, is the one that most interested me. These were laws that made sense without question and came directly from the Torah. They didn't need explanation. Obviously, this weeks Torah portion is considered to be one of mishpatim, yet I was surprised. Why are witches a problem? And why do we need such specific laws on how to keep a woman and what to do with a virgin? These don't seem very obvious or reasonable to me...I asked the rabbi to explain how this made sense and he gave me a logical explanation (which wasn't so memorable because I cannot seem to recall it). We settled and moved on.

Later that night, and all through the week, these differentiations have bothered me. But more than that, this entire portion. Why does God give us the Ten Commandments in the previous portion, and then continue to give us specific guidelines for specific situations? The Ten Commandments are general life rules, but these are very particular circumstances in which to be placed. I don't personally know of any witches or people with oxen, nor do I believe the slave trade is still functioning. However, I do realize the necessity for guidelines, for specific rules to govern ones actions. Every government has found that in order to keep the peace and maintain autonomy, there must be guidelines to follow. God is simply setting up God's ruling system from the beginning, giving us the guidelines right after we verbally sign the contract (in the previous parsha).

Therefore, as with any rules, we must take these in stride. We recognize that there is a time and place for every rule. Instead of automatically following each dictum, we must carefully consider the logic of it and our understanding. Only then can it truly become a mishpat, a law with reason, and we can follow it.

Yitro: Creating levels

This week's parsha is one that most people dream of writing about. It's got the Ten Commandments, the ten holiest instructions on how to be good people, Good Jews and is the beginning of knowing who we are and how to go about fulfilling that. Yet before we receive this benediction, we find Moses running out to greet his father-in-law, Yitro (Jethro in English), and hearing some well timed information that will certainly come in handy to Moses.

Moses had been spending all of his time sitting outside and waiting for the people to approach him, so he could judge their disputes, and give ruling on their problems. Yitro quickly recognized how time consuming and mundane this could be and suggested his son-in-law use his time more efficiently. Instead of listening to every argument, he should teach his men the laws and rules, making them into people who hate injustice, like truth, and know where they should walk (Shemot 18:20-21). This is a system of both incorporating others into the process of adjudication and ensuring that Moses has more time to communicate with God and deal with other issues as they arise. The explanation of these new men comes in verse 18:21, ושמת עליהם שרי אלפים שרי מאות שרי חמישים ושרי עשרת, translated to and you shall place on [the people] ministers of thousands, minsters of hundreds, minsters of fifties and ministers of tens.

This process of ruling in levels is very sensible to anyone who has ever worked in an organization or the army. There is always another higher-up to whom we must report. As we go up the chain of command, the person to whom we report becomes increasingly more responsible for both greater numbers of people and a more diverse work load (usually). Along the chain, there are people whom we feel may not belong in their positions or may not have the experience or knowledge to successfully serve it, but we must still determine the most effective way of working with them. Regardless, the process is the same as it has been from the Torah.

Moses was cautious to use this system. He was the initial one in whom God trusted, how could he then trust the men to understand the issues and judge them effectively. That is one of the scariest things about teaching someone to do your job. They may very well be more talented than you are, or find an analysis that you personally didn't pick up in. Yet this is also the place where the most joy may arise. As we allow ourselves to truly be a teacher and pass on our own knowledge to others, we find the pride and beauty in another discovering what we have not. We recognize that although we may be superior to the individual in rank, their opinions and descriptions often do hold significant value.

This Shabbat, may we recognize that is system of rank and order may irk us or cause us frustration in our daily lives. Yet may we also recognize that the system acts as a balance for us and still allows us to get our voices heard. By engaging the system, we can often find the answers which we seek. When those answers do not appear, that is the time to seek out Moses, and sometimes even the head honcho, God. God's presence is everywhere, informing our decisions, but sometimes the more pure interaction with God is necessary for a proper conclusion. כן יהי רצון, may it be God's will

Riding 4 Reform

Dear Friends,

Hopping back on my bike for the first long ride in over two months is daunting. I knew I might fall, struggle, or even be forced to walk my bike up a more steep incline. But I also knew that I would finish the ride, not giving up or wavering in my determination.

I rode 49 kilometers today (about 30 miles) and can already feel it in my body, just two hours later. Yet I am proud of that accomplishment and the knowledge that I will be ready for the Ride 4 Reform in just a few short months.

The ride will take place March 23-27 and is a 5 day, 50km a day challenge. Having participated in it last year, I know that it is a wonderful combination of my two favorite things: riding and Judaism. The ride is done in conjunction with the Israeli Movement for Progressive Judaism (the IMPJ), with which I have come in close contact this past year. After searching for five months for a place to pray and feel at home Jewishly, I finally found a place that works for me. Unbeknownst to me, it would not exist without the financial support of the IMPJ. To learn more about the IMPJ and Progressive Judaism in Israel, see: http://www.reform.org.il/Eng/About/WhoAreWe.asp

You may be asking: so where do I come in? The answer is this: you can help me in supporting the community to which I now belong. I would not feel at home without the help of the IMPJ, and the ride directly supports them.

Therefore, I ask for your help. Each rider needs to raise at least $2,500 in order to participate in the ride. Please consider donating, even as little as $5, or as much as $500! Every little bit is a step closer to my goal! The following link will take you to easy to use instructions on how to donate: http://riding4reform.org/Eng/2014/Pages/PaymentInstructions.asp#CreditCardDonations

Thank you for your support,

Elana

Song in the sea

Walking through the sea of reeds, must have been the most terrifying them! Seriously...trying to walk on dry land, in the middle of the desert, while constantly worrying about the walls of water on either side of you roaring down, collapsing and killing you and everyone you've ever loved. More than that, you would know that death would not come slowly. The Israelites ask the question of God: why did you take us out of Egypt, simply to punish us and make us suffer? You simply want to be able to bury us in the wilderness (Shemot 14:11). The pain is absolutely apparent, and the worry palpable.

Envisioning the two walls of water towering overhead is inconceivable, yet I spend many days feeling like everything is balancing precariously in the wind, ready to fall with the slightest disruption. Yet, I must go on. So too, were the Israelites unable to simply halt their journey, knowing that hopefully, they would reach their destination. But more than that. It is more fearful to stand in the middle of precarious situation than know you are slowly on the way to safety. Therefore, the Israelites kept going.

Our lives are similar to this crossing of the Red Sea. We must keep our eyes up and allow ourselves the peace of mind of knowing that we will soon reach the end, and the sea will close over our enemies, that we will be saved. Whatever myriad of enemies or tribulations we face will also pass and we will soon be on the other side of the sea, watching the sea recede back to normal.

My wish for this coming Shabbat and week is that we may all find our places of dry land, and continue on without fear or trembling, rather seeing that our happiness will eventually come back.

New Years?

There are many new years in the Jewish tradition. Mishna Moed, masechet Rosh Hashanah begins by speaking of four of them. One in Nissan for the kings, one in Elul for the tithing of the cattle, one in Tishrei for the years and shmita, and one in Shevat, the new year of the trees. There is no mention here of how Nissan is the first month of the year. However, in this week's Torah Portion, pars hat Bo, we are told החודש הזה לכם ראש חדשים, "this month is for you the beginning of the year" ראשון הוא לכם לחדשי השנה "it is for you the first of the months of the year (Shemot 12:2). Rashi translates this to explain that this first month is the month of Nissan. Also, according to some, this also means that the month of Nissan is the most important. Yet, if this is the case, why does the Mishna not mention Nissan as the Rosh Hashana, the new year for the years?


Truthfully, this leaves me baffled. The only mention of any season or time of year is a whole chapter later, in Shemot 13:4, when we hear that the Israelites are leaving in the month of Aviv (which in modern Hebrew is actually the season of Aviv, of spring). No month names are given and no understanding of why this particular month is named Nissan, or why we know it happens at the turn of spring.
Some possible explanations are as follows:


1. Nissan might be translated as our miracles, meaning that this is the foremost miracle to befall the jewish people and therefore the most important one. Therefore, the month of the miracle should be the beginning of the year and should mark how we tell time from here on out. Yet, what about when Chanukkah happens a few centuries later? Should we then change the months to better represent the events which have befallen us? Later in the Tanach we get mention of Nissan as the first month. Esther 3:7 begins that "in the first month, that is the month of Nissan…" purposely mentioning Nissan as the first month (yet Esther is considered one of the later books and so does not necessarily mean it was written around the same time as the Torah).

2. The Torah was written based on the agricultural calendar. That means that the first harvest and the end of the harvest happen around the same time each year. Were we to look at the cycle of nature here in Israel, we see that the first fruits (Shavuot) are taken in Sivan and that the seventh month, Tishrei, in which we celebrate the festival of booths (Sukkot) corresponds with the end of the harvest. These months are counted backwards from the first month, which we think of as Nissan. In this sense, it makes more sense that Nissan is the first month.

3. The word Aviv has come to mean spring and Nissan does mark the beginning of spring, of rebirth. The exodus from Egypt is a rebirth, a recommitment from a people who knew nothing but slavery and suffering. Therefore, the name of Aviv may represent the beginning of the year, and show us that time began when the Jewish people began to experience life outside of servitude. It makes sense, then, that time would begin in the spring, where all is newly born and blessed with life again, because the Jewish people are also experiencing the same unique metamorphosis that the world undergoes.

4. Mechilta on Shemot 12:2 (2:7) basically uses Tishrei being the seventh month as the proof for Nissan being the first month.


5. Basically, the three pilgrimage festivals are used as proof texts for each other, mentioned in both Leviticus 23 and Deuteronomy 16. Deuteronomy 16 actually does mention the first month of the year as Aviv again, with regard to Passover. However, it says שמור את חדש-האביב, literally guard/keep the spring holiday. If we read it as two nouns, this is a description of the time, not the specific holiday. However, commentary takes it to mean that the month is the month of Aviv.


Taking all of this into consideration, where this first month is the month of Nissan and the seventh month is the month of Tishrei, and there are many other new years which we have not even discussed, we see that the Torah does not give us a straight answer. We do not definitively know which month is the first month or what we should call it, nor where exactly to place it on our calendar (the lunar cycle aids with that preciseness). However, what we do know is the importance of the month of Aviv, of Nissan, of this new year. This is the new year that marks the new birth of the Jewish people. This is the beginning of the formation of our peoplehood and identity, our personhood narrative. Regardless of what the proper name for the month is or why it is where it is, we find our identity is solidified and made constant by the practice of counting time and recalling momentous occasions.

There is no explanation of why the mishna choses to not name Nissan as the month meant for the celebration of the new year. The seventh month is only mentioned in Leviticus 23 as a time for sacred occasion, not necessarily as the month in which we should celebrate the years. These semantics are not important, however. Rather, we must focus on the recognition of the time when our people was saved from slavery and brought out into Aviv, spring and in Nissan, our miracles.

Even as we as a people see Passover as a time of newness and our miracles, we see that there are many moments when we can find rebirth and beginning. The secular New Year is one such time. So even though there is a definitive name for our secular calendar months and we know exactly where we stand in the calendar year, we can still find renewal at this time of year.