Preparing for Shabbat

D'var Torah given this Monday at HUC. 

I love running on Friday morning. The run feels great and it’s time I don’t have during the week. Then, I return home to make challah and prepare my part of Shabbat dinner, spending time in the kitchen, spilling flour and tomato sauce, getting even more gross as I go through the day. Of course, I make time for homework, but the Shabbat preparations really take up most of my day. With only minutes before candle-lighting, I finally shower and change my clothes. As I step out of my dirty clothes and into the shower I feel a sense of calm. And as I don my Shabbat outfit, I feel enveloped in calm.

We all feel this need to change out clothes sometimes. We wear a different outfit everyday, sometimes multiple outfits a day. We change for special occasions. The Torah also understands that people need to change their clothes for special occasions.

In Leviticus 6:4 we read: וּפָשַׁט, אֶת-בְּגָדָיו, וְלָבַשׁ, בְּגָדִים אֲחֵרִים; וְהוֹצִיא אֶת-הַדֶּשֶׁן אֶל-מִחוּץ לַמַּחֲנֶה, אֶל-מָקוֹם טָהוֹר. He took off his clothes and put on new clothes. He took the ashes to outside the camp, to a pure place. For greater context, this verse is prefaced by the High Priest, wearing his linen uniform to move the ashes to the edge of the alter, changing his uniform, and then going out to perform the second duty as stated above. He changes in order to perform the second required duty associated with the ash of the עולה, the burnt offering.

Exodus 28:43 says that the high priest should only wear his priestly garments in the area of the sanctuary. This makes sense. Yet the Rabbis still had questions about the strange wardrobe change. Rashi and Ramban quoting Rashi, commented on it, saying אין זה חובה אלא דרך ארץ, this isn’t a requirement, but rather the right way to act. They determined that the High priest was not required to change his clothes. Instead, it was a suggestion to demonstrate proper intentions. There are two explanations for this. In one, the High Priest should not dirty his fine linen clothes in disposing of the ash, so he changes into older linen clothes. He still wears בגדי כהונה, priestly clothing, but he does not dirty the grandest ritual garb, saved for the most important of offerings.

The second explanation comes in the form of a parable. When a man makes wine for his master, he dirties his clothing in the process of making it. It would be disrespectful for the wine maker to serve his master in those dirty clothes. So too would disposing of the ash outside the camp in dirty clothes be disrespectful of God.

Both of these interpretations focus on cleanliness and respect for the ritual itself, as well as the master before whom it is offered, in this case, God. The Priest must demonstrate honor for God, and does so by way of a clothing change.

From these verses, we learn the importance of clothing changes in order to make rituals more meaningful and distinct. This is further demonstrated by the Maharasha, a commentator living in 16th/17th century Poland, on the Talmud, in Shabbat 114a, who talks specifically about women’s preparations for Shabbat. He suggests that Levit 6:4 particularly focuses on women who spend their entire Friday preparing the house and meals for Shabbat. These women work diligently to ensure a meaningful Shabbat experience, and likely get dirty,  their hair and clothing imbued with the smells of cooking. Especially these women, the Maharasha says, who may not even attend synagogue for Kabbalat Shabbat, should make sure to change their clothes. They too need to differentiate between the holy acts of preparations for Shabbat and the bringing in of Shabbat itself.

Although Leviticus 6:4 speaks about the high priest and the necessary actions he must take to fulfill his duties in the most holy and respectful way, the general concept of changing one’s clothes in order to demonstrate distinction is applicable in many realms. This change allows a mental and physical distance between the two events or times, even when we don’t specifically see it.

I find this distance most relevant as I move to welcome Shabbat, both physically and spiritually. I need to feel the distinction between Shabbat and the rest of the week, which I do through a clothing change.  Though the Rabbis tell us this clothing change isn’t imperative, we learn that it is “the right way to act.” Shabbat is a holy time and must be treated as such. Were we to enter Shabbat either unwashed or in unclean clothes, we would not be in the right spirit to welcome Shabbat. Rather, we must allow ourselves to be transformed.

This Shabbat, in whatever way you choose, I invite you to try something new. Try separating yourselves from your everyday and putt on something different, something meaningful. Try welcoming Shabbat with a sense of דרך ארץ.

And yes, I did go for a run. And I did get all dirty. But I also showered more than 1.5 hours before Shabbat!

Time in the Heavens...

A thought, while writing about Judaism:

We allow inanimate, fixed objects like the sun and mood to fix our time and our celebrations, especially in Judaism. Think about that next time you are waiting for Shabbat to end (so you can do Havdallah) or waiting to eat after fasting (like I will do tomorrow for Ta'anit Esther).

This doesn't mean we always hold by it, but I wonder what that means? Why do we feel so tied to these beliefs or the things that time determines for us?

Conversion in Commandments?

Friends,

Its been a while since I've last posted. Each Shabbat, we get a new Torah portion and new life experiences to lead us along, and they can sometimes get in the way of scheduled things. However, this week, parshat Mishpatim, finds me back with Congregation Beth Aaron in Billings, MT.

Throughout my week, almost all of my classes have discussed the Torah portion to some extent. Whether it was a midrash that touched on it, a prophet who is included in this week's Haftarah reading, or a d'var Torah that someone wrote specifically to relate the class to the parsha, each class has touched on Mishpatim; these laws and rules that are so essential to the foundation of the Jewish people.

Each one inspired me, but one has stuck with me. It is a metaphor for the larger picture of the Exodus, from the Exodus out of Egypt to the reception of these laws, to the fine tuning of these laws..

The first: This idea stems from a verse that occurs in multiple utterances throughout our Torah, found twice in this set of verses in Exodus 22:20 and 23:9. Reading, כי גרים הייתם בארץ מצרים, "for you were strangers in the land of Egypt" this verse seems innocuous at best. So what? We were strangers, foreigners when we were slaves in Egypt and understand the trials and tribulations of what it means to be in a place that is not your own. Except my teacher had another explanation. What if, instead of telling us that we were strangers in Egypt, the Torah is trying to tell us something else? The word גר, ger, in English means stranger, but it can also mean convert. Maybe the Torah is demonstrating that we were converts in Egypt (and went through a reverse conversion through the process of leaving Egypt, which I will get to in a moment) and therefore understand what it is like to be a convert, to be someone who has taken on a foreign religion and attempted to wear it as a mantel while still connecting to the old religion in some way.

I'd like to argue that our conversion in Egypt, while living/working as slaves was a fake conversion. We, the Israelites, did so in order to convince Pharaoh that we weren't going to do anything to him, and therefore that we were relatively harmless. Even more, we were likely forced into it (later Jewish history, in the Middle Ages, understands that a forced conversion does not hold up after the oppressors leave), making it null after the fact.

However, because God decided to remember and re-establish (or establish for the first time-it depends) the covenant with the Israelites, they all needed to convert to the religion that God wanted them to follow: a monotheistic, rule-filled religion with God at the forefront. Having experienced slavery and the Pharaoh's religion (a practice with multiple god-like deities, each of which supposedly brought different blessings into a person's life) for 400+ years, the Israelites memory of their previous encounters with religion and the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob may have ben non-existent. God needed to remind the people of what that entailed.

Therefore, instead of the book of Ruth being the first conversion story in our Bible, the story of the Exodus is a giant conversion story, where we go through the conversion process. There are three acts one must perform/undergo during the conversion process, to mark one's place among the Jewish people, being circumcision, mikveh (ritual bath), and standing before the Rabbi (and the community they choose to join). These three acts are all represented in the Exodus story.

The first, circumcision, can be seen in the Passover sacrifice of Exodus 12:6-7. It is a not a physical defilement of one's body, but the pascal lamb is an extension of the Israelite people, as this was one of a few meager possessions during slavery. They were asked to keep the lamb for 14 days, slaughter it, and then use the blood on the doorposts of their houses, so the angel of death passed over their houses. These acts, of both killing the lamb and rubbing the blood, demonstrated a physical action to show God the people are part of the covenant. Circumcision is exactly that.

Mikveh is a ritual occurance where one dunks him or herself fully into "living water" (water that is natural, flowing, and naturally fed) a number of times in order to be made ritually pure and ready to take on an obligation or commitment. For a person undergoing a conversion, it is a huge step in the transition into the Jewish community. It, along with the other two processes describes, is another way of demonstrating that one has decided to cast their lot with the people.

In our story, it is the crossing of the Red Sea that demonstrates Mikvah. Through the crossing, we immersed at some point and therefore came out on the other side, clean, free of the Egyptians and their army, and ready to take on God as our supreme being. Although not exactly how Mikveh works, this is more or less a good correlation.

The last step is coming before the Rabbi and answering a few key questions. After months of study, a person will often come before the Rabbi, before the ark, and answer a few questions about their commitment to Judaism and their commitment to this people. They finally proclaim, before their community, God, and all Israel, that this is the people to which they belong and that this is where they feel most compelled to commune. Right before the Israelites get the Ten Commandments, offered to us in Exodus 20:1-17, God asks if we will do them and we answer, נעשה ונשמע, we will do and we will hear. We are committing ourselves to following the commandments and doing as God asks. We are fulfilling the third part of these three actions.

The reason this is so pertinent here is that line that occurs twice here, talking about גרים, strangers or converts. As we experienced this process, we understand how meaningful, but how difficult it can be. Due to this, we cannot live in a bubble as a Jewish community. We as a people have undergone so much stress and disappointment over time. Our job, as a people, is to continue to maintain that communal identity while simultaneously reaching out to others around us. Whether converts or not, people who are strangers among us must be welcomed to learn. We were unsuspecting converts, coming upon Judaism because it was placed upon us. Our job, in today's world, is to help other people and groups understand us so that they might know what it means to be Jewish.

As a religion, we do not proselytize, which I appreciate. But we must accept and treat those among us, those who are converts, as equal members of our community, ready to do their share. Once someone chooses to cast his or her lost with us, they are part of the Jewish people for life. Our role is to welcome them with open arms.

Ken Yehi Ratzon.

Learning and Bo

Learning is a great thing to re-discover. This week, as the last three plagues are upon us and God/Pharaoh are debating whether or not the Hebrews can leave Egypt, I am struck by how easy it is to become complacent when we don't know what will happen. Not only that, but after 9 plagues, the people are told to celebrate Passover - a terrifying thing if one doesn't understand the context: you, go take a lamb, kill it, and spread its blood on the doorposts of your house. Why, you ask? Because you want to keep your first-born sons and animals. Okay, you respond. That works.

But truthfully, all of this is a little hairy. I, for one, don't listen that well. However, and this is a big one, if things are presented correctly, or we can listen, everything can work out well. Honestly, things did work out well for the Israelites. They got out of slavery. Then, of course, things began to deteriorate again, but let's focus on one calamity at a time.

As I was sitting and learning a piece of Midrash for class on Monday, I was stuck by this. We were told to learn for 120 minutes tops and then quit, no matter where we were with the text. We didn't have this un-ending misery ahead of us, but rather a tenable, manageable amount of time (although it loomed like forever at the beginning). What I discovered is that when broken into pieces, anything can be manageable, and anything can make sense.

Therefore, maybe the reason the plagues are broken up, why there are multiple explanations of Passover, why the people are so willing to just go along with Moses's plans is that they are mostly given in small chunks (even though they hit one after another). The people are able to (barely) digest one thing and then given the next. Not a perfect plan, but A method of working.

Needless to say, I won't be working like that (no stops ahead) during my studies. Rather, I will work to separate my challenges into reasonable and manageable chunks. Hopefully in that, I will feel more prepared to face each chunk and piece of learning.

Shabbat Shalom

Actively Stand Up

This week's sermon in Billings, MT on Martin Luther King, Moses, and anti-Semitism.

Martin Luther King Junior. Espoused as one of the greatest speakers of his time, a charismatic leader who led the fight for racial equality in America. Here in Billings, as in much of America, he symbolizes the need for recognition of different kinds of people, different ideology, religion and ways of life. He symbolizes hope, continuity, connection. Yet here, he also helps demonstrate the Not in Our Town attitude, the unwillingness to continue to let hatred of any sort, especially in the form of anti-Semitism, rule.

MLK Jr. spoke eloquently. Yet many leaders do not. In fact, our great Jewish leader, Moses himself, complains of being “heavy mouthed and heavy tongued.” (Exodus 4:10) He does not feel prepared to rise to the task of speaking to Pharaoh and helping bring the Jewish people out of slavery in Egypt. In fact, when God asks Moses to go to Pharaoh, here is what he says:

Hebrew (Exodus 6:12). But Moses appealed before God, saying, ‘The Israelites would not listen to me, how then should Pharaoh heed me, a man of impeded/uncircumcised lips’.

Moses is so unsure of his ability to convince anyone to listen to him, not the entirety of this burdened people nor the great Pharaoh, that he tears himself down in front of God. Not heeding the call of God, he takes the easy way out, telling God he is not capable. Moses stands at an impasse: he can either go ahead and attempt to act, or he can remain frozen by fear and insecurity.

The events that transpired in Paris this past week come to mind. If you’ll indulge me for a moment, I’d like to suggest that we, as Jews in Billings, California, or even Israel, are at a turning point, like Moses.

A week and a half ago, a French satirical magazine, Charlie Hedbo published a cartoon depicting the Prophet Muhammed. The next day, 12 people from the magazine (including one policeman) were dead at the hands of Islamic-extremists who felt that they were avenging the wrongful use and depiction of their prophet. What transpired were a series of police chases and disturbing circumstances, ending with a total of 17 people dead, including 4 of the 19 Jews held hostage by related extremists in a Paris Kosher supermarket.

These events were the result of Islamic extremists. They were acts of baseless hatred. Yet, they sparked fear into the hearts of the French public as well as people around the world. That was the intent of the terrorists: evoke fear and separate people. Make them distrust their neighbor. Yet, Jews everywhere started when they heard of these Paris hostages, of all the deaths. The news became personal, hitting too close to home. A Jew is a Jew, we care for our own. Yes, we care for people as a whole, but when our own people are attacked, it becomes much more personal.

Regardless of who dies, destroying the sanctity of life and taking any of God’s children is wrong. It is a desecration of God’s holy name. In fact, our tradition teaches that if one takes a life, it is as if one destroys an entire world. This sentiment speaks to us clearly at this time, after the events of the past week and a half, as well as during this particular MLK weekend. We must stand up and add more worlds to our own, not diminish the ones already in existence.

Exodus 2:23 reads Hebrew …and the children of Israel sighed because of their hard work and they cried out, and their cry for help came up to Adonai from/because of their work/bondage. God could not heed the call of the people until they cried out to God in pain (the pain of bondage). Not until the people actively expressed the misery they experienced as slaves could God act and try to deliver them from slavery.

God must hear our voice. We must make our voices heard. Not just in a single cry that then dies out and disappears, but a constant call, a constant disdain for pain and death so that God will continue to hear again and again. Then our voices will be heard. Then God will, like with the Israelites in Egypt, bring about change and help the people out of their current sorrow. We can help.

And in Egypt, God does. God hears our cry and decides to use Moses, the one who claims not to be able to speak, to help bring the people out. God pits Moses against Pharaoh, the great ruler of Egypt, who feels his actions are correct, that he must continue to enslave the Israelites, even when Moses pleads, even when he threatens the onset of plagues. Pharaoh’s heart is constantly hardened. Moses, of uncircumcised lips, attempts to bargain, plead, demand, beg for the freedom of the Israelites. The weakling against the giant.

However, Moses undergoes a change: from meek and unsure to a strong and determined leader. He does not have all the answers, nor does he know exactly where he should go. But he continues on. He fights. He demonstrates the necessity of acting and doing at a time when no one else is willing. He overcomes his own hesitancies and personal challenges, in order to act for the greater good. Moses is a beacon, like Martin Luther King Junior.

As all the fear and death that has plagued our world over the past week and a half settles in, we recognize the importance of acting, of not being afraid, of making our voices heard. We must demonstrate our disdain for the current circumstances the world is experiencing and take a stand. Then, God will hear our voice. We are a people of faith, but also one of action. We must let God hear our voice. But only if we too are willing to act and bring about the change. Only if we are willing to help our fellow man and stand by their side. We must take a stand, we must say “Not in Our Town.” We must say, “Not in our world!"

Show you care

Parshat Vayigash, Genesis 44:18-47:27

This week, my fingers feel as though they have been attached to the keyboard, what with finals and CPE (clinical pastoral education) applications. My left index finger even feels like it might have been strained somehow. Therefore, instead of some meaningful or powerful insights for this week, I want to suggest we all be thankful. Because that is what this parsha is all about: family and appreciating them.

Having lost my grandfather last Thursday, I got to experience ALMOST all of my dad's siblings, their spouses, their kids, and my grandmother in one place. We missed Zayde, but he would have loved that we were all together. Joseph is finally tells his brothers who he really is and is reacquainted with his father, Jacob. The feeling of homecoming I felt Saturday night might be akin to how Joseph felt. Bringing people together is important. Telling them that you love them is imperative.

This Shabbat, tell those important in your life that you care. Hug them a little tighter. Make an effort to be together.

Shabbat Shalom.

Zayde, Chanukkah, and Miketz

Tonight is the 4th night of Chanukkah. Having heard two nights ago that my grandfather, David Dalke, whom we all lovingly called Zayde, passed away, I was challenged by the idea of both celebrating Chanukkah and discussing these miracles, when I felt that his passing only brought sadness to my world. In some cases, that is true: he was a beautiful soul and I loved him dearly, but he was in pain, and now I know he has found respite. Yet I also recognize that he would want me to celebrate Chanukkah in the only way he knew how: loudly, proudly, and with a drink in hand (I think I’ll skip out on that last part).

This evening, as I stand (here) on the pulpit [in Billings, MT to lead Congregation Beth Aaron] in T’fillah (prayer) and song, accompanied by my mother (who was already planning to come in for the weekend), I will channel Zayde’s passion for Judaism. He loved it, even as he slept through Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur services, his long legs unfolded in the isle of B’nai Jehudah, being nudged awake by Bubbe when he started to snore. Music will hopefully resonate in the sanctuary and then voices in the social hall as this building fills up with joyous people and excitement for this festival of lights.

With all that, I am reminded of a verse from this week’s parsha, Parshat Miketz. A continuation of the Joseph story, beginning with Joseph interpreting Pharaoh’s dreams (and becoming Pharaoh’s second in command) and concluding with Joseph’s testing of his brothers. He wants to see that his brothers have changed and are not the same men who tricked him in last week’s installment. Joseph accuses them of being spies, keeps Simeon as collateral and sends the brothers back to bring Benjamin to Egypt. They finally bring him, only to have Benjamin accused of stealing Joseph’s goblet of power. And that’s where the parsha leaves off for the week.

However the verse that stands out is one of Jacob’s. Jacob, a curmudgeon who loves Joseph more than his brothers and then Benjamin as his replacement when Jacob is told of Joseph’s “death”, is reticent to send his new favorite son to Egypt lest he be killed as well and not return. Knowing that he has no choice, Jacob relents and begins by telling the brothers, “If it must be so, do this,” wherein he begins to lay out the plan for how the brothers are supposed to go and brings gifts to put them at the mercy of the Egyptians (Gen 43:11). Jacob concludes his explanation with some choice words: "k’asher shakhalti shakholti” if I am to be bereaved, I shall be bereaved (Gen 43:14). He concludes by acknowledging the lack of power he has in the situation and putting the situation - ultimately - in God’s hands. He acquiesces.

This trust in God is not necessarily something I got from Zayde. He was always moving forward with the belief that you had to do your own thing and believe in yourself. That only then would you gain reward in this world and find what you are looking for. I respect that. But I also see the power in understanding that sometimes we have to turn ourselves over to the fate of the world and understand that life happens and doesn’t always make sense. Zayde taught me to enjoy the wind blowing and the changing of the tides, to fly my kite whenever I found the time and to enjoy the good parts of life (otherwise, according to him, what was the point?). Jacob is trying to enjoy life and in the end, must succumb to unforeseeable and rather difficult circumstances. He does it by acquiescing to God’s power. Just like the Maccabees.

The Maccabees won the war with the Greek’s in 167 BCE, short on man power, but strong on belief in God and themselves. As Margaret Mead, an American cultural anthropologist wrote, “Never doubt that a small group of dedicated [individuals] can change the world. In fact, it is the only thing that ever has.” They banded together and conquered the large Greek army, not succumbing to defeat, but rather agreeing to feel God’s power. In so doing, they allowed themselves to be strong and powerful together with God, and bring us what is now our festival of light. Zayde was like one of those Maccabees. He was determined to change the world, in his own way. He told you when you were wrong. He argued until you left the room or agreed with his point. Although he didn’t leave fate to God’s hands, he was like the Maccabee’s in that he never gave up on his beliefs and was difficult if not impossible to steer from his steadfast opinions. He was my grandfather, and tonight I light the Chanukkah candles for him, for the light he brought into my life and the dedication he, like the Maccabees, demonstrated.

Shabbat Shalom and Happy Chanukkah