Two-Minute Torah: I Didn't Ask for Sacrifices

Almost the entire Book of Leviticus is devoted to details of the sacrificial and priestly rituals.  In our Thursday night class studying the Haftarah for the coming week, we are seeing that sometimes the connection between the Torah portion and the Haftarah really serves in a way to undermine or soften the message of the Torah portion. While this coming Shabbat we read a special Haftarah for the Shabbat before Passover, the normal Haftarah for this portion comes from the book of Jeremiah, and it seems to blatantly contradict not only the Parasha but the Torah as a whole.

Jeremiah 7:22 says :”when I freed your ancestors from the land of Egypt, I did not speak with them or command them concerning burnt offering or sacrifice.” How can this be? Isn’t this entire Parasha, almost all of Leviticus and much of both Exodus, Numbers and Deuteronomy concerned with the laws of sacrifices?

Abarbanel resolves the seeming contradiction by reading the Haftarah text quite literally. When I freed your ancestors from the land of Egypt I did not command any sacrifices; the command to sacrifice only came after the sin of the Golden Calf. God had originally intended for the people of Israel to serve God only via moral and ethical behavior, but he learned through trial and error that human beings need a framework and rituals. Since God had not provided one, the people devised their own, and it did not work out so well.

Ritual, then, is not something we do for God but rather something God provides for us. I am often asked if God really cares about this or that ritual. My answer is, that I don’t know the mind of God, but every mitzvah we observe is an opportunity to draw closer to God.

Two-Minute Torah: The Golden Path

We start reading the book of Leviticus, VaYikra, this week. It is sometimes a struggle to find meaning in this book which is, as the name Leviticus implies, all about the sacrificial rituals which the Levites performed in the ancient Jerusalem Temple. These rituals haven't been performed for almost 2000 years and most Jews that I know don't really yearn to see them restored.

On the surface, then, the concerns of this week’s Parasha seem very far removed from ours. But even in the context of the details of the sacrifices we can find meaning.
In Lev. 2:11 we read:  "No meal offering, which you shall bring to the Lord, shall be made with leaven; for you shall burn no leaven, nor any honey, in any offering of the Lord made by fire."

Contrary to popular belief, the majority of offerings made in the ancient Temple were grain and meal offerings, not animal sacrifices. Among them was the daily meal offering which was similar to a "laffa," a large pocket-less pita which is quite popular in Israel these days and is also sometimes known as an Iraqi pita. The original matzah was also similar to laffa and some Sephardic communities still eat this soft matzah. The Torah here is specifying that such an offering cannot be combined either with yeast or with honey.

Rabbi Mordechai Ha-Kohen in his commentary Al Ha-Torah writes "Yeast and honey are symbolic of extremes. Yeast is the epitome of sourness and honey is the epitome of sweetness. This teaches us that we should always go on the “golden path”, rather than tending to extremes." Even in seemingly irrelevant details of ancient rituals, we can still find ethical meaning. Our service of God should be balanced, avoiding fanaticism in any direction.

In a world which loves to see things as either/or, Judaism generally encourages us to opt for both/and. Universalism or particularism? Both. Justice or mercy? Both. Ritual or social action? Both. Such an important lesson to be learned from a seemingly insignificant matter of ritual detail.

D'var Torah for Shabbat Across America

There is a Latin phrase from Pliny the Elder with which you may be familiar -- in vino veritas, in wine there is truth. There is actually a similar phrase in the Talmud, Tractate Eruviin 65a, nichnas yayin, yatza sod -- when wine comes in, the secret goes out.

The Sfat Emet, a great hasidic teacher at the turn of the 20th century, taught that this is precisely why we have wine on Shabbat.

Huh? The Sfat Emet says that spirituality is actually secret, hidden. It is internal -- you can’t see it or measure it, but it’s there in the soul of every Jew, and it comes out on Shabbat -- with the help of a little bit of wine.

Shabbat rest is not just ceasing from our labors. The Sfat Emet wrote -- “of course every Jew sets aside his labor on Shabbat. But it’s important that not working on Shabbat not be experienced as a burden -- rather, he should be waiting in anticipation all week for Shabbat, which is where his real life is.”

It’s an interesting thought. Many of us make a distinction between our spiritual practices and “the real world.” We have our spirituality -- whether that is Shabbat, or kashrut, or prayer, or maybe something from another tradition such as yoga -- so that we can go out into the real world better-equipped to face its challenges. But the Sfat Emet says that Shabbat is the real world because it is the day we devote solely to spirituality -- and we can’t do that if our main worry is about what we’re missing out on while observing Shabbat. We don’t rest on Shabbat so that we can have strength for the other six days. We work on the other sixth days so that we can enjoy Shabbat.

The fastest growing group in American society today is those who describe themselves as “spiritual but not religious.” I think what that means is people who have a sense of the holy or the spiritual or the mystical but don’t want to get caught up in lots of rules. And I suspect that the Sfat Emet would have found a lot in common with these folks. Of course, as an Orthodox, Chasidic rabbi he takes it for granted that a Jew is going to follow all the rules. But if you only follow the rules, you haven’t really experienced Shabbat.

Perhaps we can learn from the Sfat Emet too. Instead of merely worrying about what we should ask people not to do on Shabbat, we ought to remind people what they should do as well. So on this Shabbat, I want to invite you to enjoy yourselves and to connect with your secret, inner, spiritual self. Shabbat Shalom.

Two-Minute Torah: "Obedience" vs. Ritual

Someone said to me recently that while Reform Jews have eliminated Musaf, Conservative Jews have eliminated Shacharit. Reform Jewish prayerbooks have mostly eliminated Musaf, the “additional” service said on Shabbat and holiday mornings, because of its focus on the Temple and priestly rituals, which is considered no longer relevant. In most Conservative synagogues, meanwhile, many regular worshippers miss the first hour or so of services entirely and just come in time for the Torah reading, the sermon, and Musaf. I hasten to add that I have often told congregants that this is just fine with me -- better to come for part of the service than for none of the service!

My first couple of years after ordination I was a rabbi in the Israeli Reform movement, which is generally more traditional than North American Reform. Israeli Reform Jews of course use their own siddur, since among other things, how much Hebrew vs. how much English is not an issue in Israel. The Israeli Reform siddur does not have a Musaf service per se but they do have a “zecher la-Musaf,” a prayer which is recited in the place where Musaf would otherwise go. One of the key verses used in that prayer is I Samuel 15:22:
"Does the Lord delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices
As much as in obedience to the Lord's command?
Surely, obedience is better than sacrifice,
Compliance than the fat of rams.”

It is a beautiful, poetic verse, and it nicely conveys the Reform Jewish idea that obedience to the spirit of the law, acts of social justice and tikkun olam, are more important than following ritual commandments.

It was not until many years later that I realized that this verse was taken from the special Haftarah we read on Shabbat Zakhor, the Shabbat right before Purim. Saul, the first king of Israel, has been ordered by God to utterly destroy the Amalekites, including killing men, women, children, and even the cattle. But Saul has left the Amalekite king alive and some of the choicest cattle, which, he tells the prophet Samuel, he has saved to offer up to God as a burnt offering. It is upon hearing this that Samuel utters the statement about obedience to God being preferable to sacrifices.

In its context, then, this verse has nothing to do with social action or any other type of righteousness. It does not condemn prioritizing rituals over social justice. In fact, it condemns Saul’s failure to fulfill the mitzvah of genocide -- the commandment to wipe out not only every Amalekite human but even their cattle.

This ethically troubling mitzvah was eliminated by the sages in the Talmud (Berachot 28a) through the statement that the Assyrian king Senacherib “mixed up the nations” and that it is therefore impossible to perform this mitzvah since we don’t know who, if anyone, is actually an Amalekite. While we read the Torah verses commanding us to wipe out the Amalekites, and the associated Haftarah which condemns Saul’s failure to do so, the actual mitzvah has lapsed into oblivion.

The question I would like to pose, however, is this. Is it legitimate to take a Bible verse out of context and make it seem to say precisely the opposite of what it says in its original context? Why or why not? What’s your opinion?

Two-Minute Torah: Building A Sanctuary

You have no doubt heard me talk about the way American Jews often mistranslate the word "mitzvah" as "good deed" when in fact it really means "commandment." Traditional Judaism is a religion of obligation. The ten commandments are ten commandments not ten suggestions.  Whether we follow them or not is a different matter, but in general the Torah phrases itself in “thou shalt” and “thou shalt not,” not “if you feel like it.” 
The beginning of this week’s Parasha is most unusual in that regard. Last week we read the special Maftir for Shabbat Shekalim about the half-shekel temple tax which was due from every individual before Pesach. The reading was quite clear -- the rich were not to give more, nor the poor to give less. Every individual was to give precisely one half-shekel. But this week we read that the offerings for the building of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, had to be voluntary. “You shall accept gifts from every person whose heart so moves him.” 
Then a little bit later the Torah says: “v’asu li mikdash v’shachanti b’tocham.” “They shall build me a tabernacle that I may dwell among them. “ If you know Hebrew, the phrase is a little bit odd. One would expect the text to say “ v'shachanti b’tocho” – "they shall build me a tabernacle that I may dwell in it.” 
The point is that God does not need a house. God dwells everywhere – the building of the Tabernacle is not necessary so that God can have someplace to live. The building of the Tabernacle is a concrete gesture of love for God so that God dwells among the people. This is why it has to be voluntary. 
Other ancient peoples really did believe that their god lived in the sanctuaries that they built for them. But our God dwells everywhere and has no need of a specific place to live -- although sometimes we might wish that God would just stay in the sanctuary and leave us free to run things elsewhere as we see fit.
What is the significance of the sanctuaries we build today? What role do they play in our lives, as individuals and as a community?

Two-Minute Torah: Subsidiarity, Parashat Yitro

More than twenty years ago, when I was the Hillel Director at the University of Virginia, I was asked to travel to Princeton, NJ with two members of what was then B'nai Brith Hillel's national staff (the Hillel national office is in DC) for a meeting. The University of Virginia is in Charlottesville, about two and a half hours from the District, and rather than driving to Washington to meet my traveling companions I wanted to take a commuter flight to National and then ride with them the rest of the way. The person who had invited me to the meeting was the Associate International Director of Hillel and he agreed that it made sense for me to fly to Washington rather than drive, but he told me that he himself could not authorize the expenditure (which at the time was probably around $150) so we would have to wait for the International Director to decide if the money could be spent.

I knew then that B'nai Brith Hillel was in trouble if the only person authorized to approve an expenditure of $150 was the International Director. And not long after, the B'nai Brith Hillel Foundations were indeed no more. Hillel spun off from B'nai Brith and is now simply Hillel rather than "B'nai Brith Hillel". B'nai Brith Women is now Jewish Women International and B'nai Brith Youth Organization (still known as BBYO) is also no longer part of B'nai Brith. The Anti-Defamation League has long since ceased to be an agency of B'nai Brith and you will search long and hard for even a mention of B'nai Brith on the www.adl.org website.

At the beginning of this week's Parasha, Jethro (Yitro in Hebrew) sees his son-in-law Moses sitting all day while a long line of people wait out in the hot sun for a few minutes of his time. Moses explains that he must sit all day long, every day, to judge the people. Whoever has a dispute brings it to Moses for a ruling. Jethro tells Moses that this concentration of power and responsibility is not good -- it's not good for Moses and it's not good for the people. Moses will burn out from overwork, while the people also get worn out by the frustration of having to wait so long to have their cases heard. Jethro tells Moses to appoint judges under him for every clan and tribe. They will hear the routine cases and only the more difficult will be brought to him for resolution -- and Moses does so.

In Roman Catholic thought, this idea is known as the Principle of Subsidiarity -- matters ought to be handled by the lowest competent authority. This principle was carried over into the Treaty of Maastricht which established the European Union, which can only act if the action of individual countries is insufficient to deal with the problem.

It's interesting that the Torah portion which contains the Ten Commandments begins with a much more prosaic lesson. Concentration of power is bad -- bad for the person who holds all the power and bad for the group as a whole. If any social group -- a nation, a town, a corporation, a religious congregation -- is to flourish, power needs to be spread as widely as possible. Having one leader who is responsible for all decision-making is a recipe for disaster.


 

Two-Minute Torah -- My Father's God, Parashat BeShalach

This Shabbat is known as Shabbat Shirah, "the Sabbath of Song," because
we read "Shirat Ha-Yam," the song at the sea which Moses and the Children
of Israel sang after being delivered from the Egyptians via the parting of the
Red Sea.

There is much that could be said about the "Song at the Sea" but I want to
focus on one half of one verse. Exodus Chapter 15, verse 2 says "The Lord is
my strength and song, and he has become my salvation; this is my God, and
I will praise him; my father’s God, and I will exalt him."

The Chasidic master Rabbi Meir of Premislan commented on the second half
of the verse thusly: "If a Jew says: “this is my God” and tries to serve God
according to his strength and his understanding, then “and I will glorify Him”
- it is good and fitting.

But if he says ”the God of my father”, relying on the merits of his righteous
ancestors, rather than toiling and working hard to find the path of truth,
then ‘and I will exalt Him’ - he is only an arrogant person, empty and
hollow."

If I had a nickel for every Jew who told me that his or her grandparents
were "very religious" or that his or her grandfather was "a very Orthodox
rabbi" I would have a lot of nickels! It's nice that our ancestors were pious,
but pious ancestors don't guarantee that one has a rich and fulfilling spiritual
life, nor do pious ancestors create a Jewish future. While authentic Judaism
is always concerned about respect for the past and continuity with it, our job
is to build the present and the future.

Debbie Friedman passed away two years ago on the first day of the week
of Shabbat Shirah. You may or may not know her name, but you certainly
know her music. She wrote the "MiSheberach" prayer for healing we sing
every Shabbat morning as well as the tune for Havdalah which is probably
the one most widely used by American Jews of all stripes. She did much to
change the very paradigm of American Jewish worship -- from passive to
participatory, from elitist to inclusive. She did much to broaden our liturgy
and song to include not only "our fathers" but "our mothers" as well, most
famously taking a verse from this week's reading and turning it into a song
about Miriam the Prophetess leading the Israelite women in dancing with
their timbrels. Her memory is a blessing and an inspiration.