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.

Pikudei: repetition or reification

Tv host: "Welcome back to wandering the desert. And building a tabernacle in which to worship God!"

Audience member: "What, I can't hear you!!"

Tv host: raises voice "I said, WELCOME BACK TO..."

Sometimes we repeat ourselves. In fact, this happens often that we are asked to repeat an argument or a statement because someone else didn't hear or understand. This second time we speak more clearly, try to reiterate the point within a better framework. Whatever the reason, we speak twice.

However, the Torah rarely demonstrates redundancy. Words are chosen carefully and not wasted. Each word, each letter even, has a purpose and any additional letters would be excessive. Our Mitzvot are present in the Torah, irregardless of how fleeting their mention might be. That indeed is the purpose of the Mishna and Gemara; to explain and expand.

What then, do we make of repetition? Parshat pikudei, the last parsha in the book Shemot, is a reiteration of the past few parshiot, in particular Trumah and tetzvah. We are faced with a present tense retelling of story of building the Mishkan. The description is again detailed and the various jewels and colors necessary for the construction are specific to the end.

Noticing this redundancy in passing, I mentioned it at my weekly Torah study. As it turns out, Chabad rabbis also had a question about this. Their explanation centers around  Moses's commune with God. Rabbi schneerson argues that Moses's soul is already elevated to another level, the level of the heavens, so he can commune with God. Yet the people are not, so they must receive the instructions again, this time from Moses.

When I consider this issue, I see the idea in a slightly different light. First, it is possible that this is a demonstration of multiple authorship. The redundancy in Torah, with slight differences often regales the reader with the form knowledge that a descrepency between sources may have occurred.

Another explanation centers around God. God is this central character in the Torah and we do not take lightly the words which God utters. Therefore, it should come as no surprise that we reveer the actions God intends us to take. Following that line of logic, a repetition of the instructions of building the Mishkan is reasonable, even logical. How can we possibly imagine constructing the resting place of the holy God in any manner less than perfect?

Third and last, the whole book of Shemot, exodus, tells the story of the exodus from Egypt. The sensibility of ending this chapter of the saga with a description of how the Hebrews built the tabernacle is not only reasonable, but marvelous. Only a short time before, they were slaves in Egypt and now they are building a tabernacle of precious jewels and metals. This is definitely a demonstration of God's power and ability.

Whatever the reasons are for repetition in the Torah and in particular in this parsha, we may never know. In fact, we may not need no know. What we can know is that there is  God and God's dwelling place, which we do respect.

Also, we have officially finished the book of Shemot, which means next week we move onto a whole different method of communication and passing on knowledge: vayikra, Leviticus (the laws!!!)

Shabbat shalom!'

Ki Tisa: repentance to humanity

The psychological deprivation is astounding. Although the metal sheeting that serves as a roof is patterned red and white, there seems to be a distinct lack of color. No where is this more apparent than in the contrast between the muted tones of the metal walkway and the brightly colored jumpsuits of the boys walking through. Wrinkled men and women, intermingled with the vibrant life of youth, wait patiently for their number to be belted out by the garbled loudspeaker.

This site, the Qaladiya checkpoint, resonates with denigration and active dismissal of humanity. Instead of focusing on the necessity of treating every human as created בצלם אלו-הים, betezelm elohim, in the image of God, this check point focuses on demoralization and how to demonstrate Israeli superiority. As people who only recently experienced being hoarded into cattle cars, how is it that we can imagine a torture chamber of a fenced walkway, roughly the width and height of a human body? Only once a trigger is released does the mechanical turnstile progress to let in the next victims to search and questioning.

When human beings are placed in unfamiliar situations, they look for solutions to bring peace to the tumult this circumstances naturally brings forth. In pars hat Ki Tisa, the Israelites tell Aaron: עשה לנו אלוהים אשר ילכו לפנינו כי-זה משה האיש אשר העלנו מארץ מצרים לא ידענו מה-היה לו, Make for us a God who/that will go before us because this Moses who brought us out of Egypt, we do not know him (Shemot 32:1). This translates into the golden calf, for which Aaron takes all of the gold and jewelry and makes the calf. Instead of destroying the Israelites and just making Moses and his offspring a great nation, God listens to Moses's pleas for salvation on behalf of the Israelites and repents. As it is written in Shemot 32:15 וינחם ה' על הרעה אשר דבר לעשות לעמו, and God repented for the evil which he spoke of doing/wished to do onto his people.

Repentance is the key difference between these two stories. In each, we get a group of people or entity acting as the persecutors, and the victims of the persecution. In both cases, the victims have done something wrong (although arguably not at all on the level of the punishment which they are being served): the Palestinians have raised a number of terrorists and attacks did rock Israel for a number of years while the Israelites created a golden calf after being specifically given the Ten Commandants, which include a prohibition against idol worship. However, the Palestinians are not bad people as a whole, nor do they deserve to be treated as if each individual person is likely going to explode the next Israeli they see. Their address should not be a limiting factor, but it serves to strangle their life capabilities. The Israelites were untrusting of a man who brought them out of Egypt to then leave them standing in the desert as he ascended a giant mountain shrouded in mystery. Who wouldn't be in search of a physical reminder of what meaning their lives hold and which God brought them out of slavery.

The constant struggle between finding the proper balance of truth is tiring. Sometimes humans seek the easy route to simply move on with life. Yet in doing so, the minutia of meaning that exists between the words said and the actions taken are lost and evaporate from accessibility. With the situation of God and Moses, the repentance that God offers of his harsh words, we see that there is a possibility to not lose the beautiful and therefore maintain blessing and truth to life. Unfortunately, the situation and circumstances between the West Bank and the rest of Israel is not one entity against a nation, but rather two nations in direct competition with another. The checkpoints and barriers separating people and worlds, or simply families, are not going to end anytime soon. This week's Torah portion urges compassion and repentance, appreciation for the other in an unthinkable situation. Might we be able to appreciate the other, our brothers and sisters, and see them as human beings deserving of righteousness? Or is that too much to ask of a people who pride themselves on have the third best military capability in the world? Maybe, one day, there will be open borders and interactions between people. But today, God has redeemed the people, and God's self, while the Israeli military still condemns herself to violating human rights and denigrating other lives.

May this Shabbat be one where we explore the meaning of inclusion and understanding, and we recognize our fellow human being as just that, human. May it be God's will.

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.

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

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.