ÌıThe first part of this week’s parasha is most troubling. Nadav and Avihu bring some type of strange, unsanctioned offering to the sacred altar. There are many commentaries on this story with rabbis suggesting what they might have brought to the altar. Perhaps a foreign, idolatrous substance; perhaps it wasn’t the substance but the way they men brought it; some suggest that the two were drunk when they can into the sanctuary which is strictly forbidden. I cannot make a judgment on their actions as not enough information is provided. But the part that I feel most uncomfortable with is the part where Moses tells Aaron and the other sons not to mourn the death of Nadav and Avihu. They are told to be silent, not to cry,Ìı not to tear their clothing, not to take time to process their grief but to continue their work in the Mishkan or Tabernacle.Ìı
How can we reconcile a God of compassion with a demand for such emotional suppression? On the surface, it feels like a denial of the very humanity Torah usually champions. It suggests that “the work” is more important than the worker, and that the sacrifices must proceed even after the most profound of losses.Ìı Reading this is painful, uncomfortable, and even offensive.
Some might suggest that perhaps the “wrongness” we feel is exactly what we are meant to sit with. This silence isn’t a sign that grief doesn’t matter; it’s a reflection of those moments in life when a tragedy is so immense that words are not just inadequate—they are offensive. By remaining silent, Aaron acknowledges the magnitude of his loss in a way that no eulogy could.
Today, let us remember that while our tradition values the strength to carry on, it must never come at the expense of our right to feel. May we be a community that, unlike the desert Tabernacle, always makes room for the broken heart.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Amy Schwartzman
“How is this night different from all other nights?†This one question turns out really to be four, each about the reason for a ritual in the Seder. In the Haggadah, as we know, the four questions are asked and answered.
But the most interesting questions have no easy answer. They are in the Haggadah, too, but they are harder to find. Here are two that struck me this year:
“Why would we celebrate our freedom by restricting it?â€
Yesterday one of my teen children asked me this question, in our anticipation of the upcoming holiday – and the dread of observing its rules . I began to try to give a simple answer, and then I realized this question is a central message of the Seder. The entire holiday places freedom alongside bondage. We enjoy a feast that took days to prepare, and yet we refrain from any yeast that had time to rise. We tell the story of our suffering in slavery, while reclining on pillows and drinking wine. Personally, I look forward to the week of giving up bread, not because of what I cannot eat, but because of all of the other things I do eat during this week (including multiple jars of peanut butter along with my matzah!) At the same time, the combination of celebrating what we have and mourning what we didn’t have, and what many others still don’t have, is for me the essence of Passover. The Seder and the weekly observance serve to keep this tension as a question in our minds.
“What is meant by the sentence, ‘Arami Oveid Avi?’â€
One of the opening lines of the traditional Haggadah’s Magid section (the telling of the story) is the sentence, Arami oveid avi. Arami means, “an Aramean.†Avi means, “my father.†The word in the middle, oveid, can mean “perish,†or “lost.†In addition, the verb’s form is not clear in the Hebrew. So, the phrase could mean, “My father (Jacob) was a wandering Aramean,†or, “An Aramean (Laban) tried to destroy my father (Jacob).†There are multiple questions that come from this brief statement! Are we recalling Jacob’s migration from Haran to Canaan, or his near destruction by his own father-in-law? The rabbis do not agree, and we do not know. More broadly, which story are we telling tonight? The story of the exodus from Egypt, or the story of the origin of our people many generations before? Or, is the Haggadah’s true agenda to get us to mine our people’s past, all of our families’ pasts, and the experiences of our neighbors, for the stories we long to tell?
Wishing you a meaningful Pesach,
Rabbi Jeffrey Saxe
For me, the text is always the right place to begin. Reading the Torah portion grounds me in our tradition and helps me to make my way out of the darker places to the light. This week’s parasha is called Tzav. At first glance it appears to be quite irrelevant – speaking about all of the different types of sacrifices our ancestors would bring to the Temple in ancient days.Ìı But tucked in among the many offerings is the one upon which I want to focus – the thanksgiving offering.Ìı It’s worth pointing out that the text states that while all other sacrifices will be discontinued at some point in the future (the Messianic Age) the offering of thanksgiving (korban todah) will never cease.Ìı That is to say that giving thanks is an eternal act – even when we reach a time of perfection. The rabbis who replaced animal sacrifice with prayer after the Temple was destroyed added to this, saying that while prayer may someday not be needed (in the Messianic Age) the prayer for Thanksgiving will never cease.
Perhaps, as we look around the world in chaos, one of our first responses must be to offer thanks for our own lives and the personal blessings we have at this time. We can make donations to support those in need or to encourage those seeking democracy. We make a meal for our neighbors going through a hard time or give blood when there is a shortage. We give what we can to others, but Judaism says we must also take time to give thanks for the gifts we have in our own lives. Some of us live with sadness, loss and other challenges, but most of us know love and feel comfort and are blessed with the tools we need to face each day.
Our modern prayer book is full of prayers of gratitude – both those in ancient Hebrew and modern poetry. At the very least we can say ‘Halleluyah’ – praise to the Divine force in our lives that helps us experience the good.Ìı In her commentary on this week’s portion, Rabbi Naamah Kelman encourages us to “take a moment, and count your blessings: blessings that will live beyond our lives, blessings that not only make us whole but also make others whole as well.â€Ìı She also shares this poem by E.E.Cummings:
I thank you God for most this amazing
day; for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
Amen and Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Amy Schwartzman
Shabbat Shalom. I’m back from the first part of my sabbatical and feel recharged and re-energized for the year ahead. Thank you to our congregation for allowing the clergy to take sabbaticals for this purpose.
This week, in our Torah, we begin the book of Leviticus, Vayikra. There is something powerful about opening a new chapter, right? It can be exciting as we become motivated to see what lies ahead. Whether it’s in Torah or in our own lives, new beginnings give us the opportunity to reflect and perhaps make a change.
We finished Exodus with the newly received commandments and are now ready to move forward as a free people with a set of rules. Leviticus opens with God calling out to Moses, inviting him into a deeper level of connection and responsibility. It is a book that focuses on sacred acts, on intentionality, and on how we bring meaning into what we do. And isn’t that what every new beginning asks of us? To be more mindful and more purposeful?
Thinking about starting anew, this is a great time to look ahead to Passover, just two weeks away, and consider how to prepare with intention, rather than simply opening the Haggadah at the Seder and start reading.
So, I would suggest that this is the perfect time to start planning your Seder. Not just what you will cook or who will be there, but how you might make it feel new this year. What can you bring to your Seder that reflects your values—about freedom, the future, the Jewish people, or the world we are living in today? How can you make your Seder more engaging, more meaningful, or even more fun?
Some families invite guests to participate in creative ways, such as bringing a reading, creating a skit, making or showing a piece of art, adding new songs, or even something as unexpected as puppets or multimedia. When people have time to prepare, the Seder can become more inspiring and deeply memorable.
You might consider offering themes for your guests to explore: the historical challenges of the Jewish people, the political challenges we face today, or even the personal journeys within your own family. Perhaps looking at the holes in the Seder: Why is Moses not mentioned that much? Why does the Seder focus on the “Four Children?†How does the political landscape we are facing: wars, Israel, antisemitism, elections, fit into a discussion at the Seder table? Stories of struggle, growth, and freedom are themes many of us think about every day. Can you build something around those themes?
Like the opening of Leviticus, this is an invitation to create something sacred together and to plan ahead, motivated by the new chapter we are about to begin. Starting a new “chapter†in how you lead your Passover Seder may not only transform the experience for those around your table but may also bring renewed meaning and inspiration to you as well.
Wishing you a Shabbat of peace, and the beginning of many meaningful preparations ahead.
Shabbat Shalom,
Cantor Michael Shochet
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The reason this is unusual (for us, here) is that while the Torah chanting cycle that the Jewish world (including us!) follows allows us to get through the entire Torah in a year, our Torah study group reads the Torah chapter by chapter, verse by verse – a process that takes a few years. (With new folks joining all the time – so if you’ve never been to Torah Study and want to come, please feel warmly invited, this week or whenever!)Ìı
So the verses we study in Torah study only coincide with the weekly Torah portion once or twice a year – and when they do, it always feels like a fun moment.
If you do attend Torah study this week, or Saturday morning services, you’ll find us in the midst of an incredibly detailed description of the construction of the mishkan, or worship space, that the Ancient Israelites used in the desert. Vayakhel-Pekudei is a double portion, six chapters in length, all of which are devoted to a different aspect of the process of the ancient ³¾¾±²õ³ó°ì²¹²Ô’s design and assembly.Ìı
One of the striking aspects of Vayakhel-Pekudei is the sheer of verses and words it devotes to this topic. Where the Torah frequently tells plot-heavy stories with incredible economy, Vayakhel-Pekudei reads almost like a construction manual, so detailed are its descriptions. (For comparison: Vayakhel-Pekudei is six chapters long … and so is the Torah’s entire description of the four-hundred year enslavement of the Israelites in Ancient Egypt, Moses’ birth, and the first eighty years of his life.)
If I’m being totally honest, the detailed descriptions of construction in Vayakhel-Pekudei (and elsewhere in Exodus! This double portion isn’t even the whole section of the Torah devoted to the topic!) are … something I’ve had to work to develop an appreciation for. Sometimes, when the design of the mishkan comes up, my mind starts to wander. How many times can you possibly mention blue thread? (The answer, for the Torah, is 34 times, usually in conjunction with purple and crimson thread.)
What has helped, a lot, is that in Jewish tradition, learning (and especially Torah study) is not understood to be a solitary pursuit – it’s something done in dialogue with other people. We come together to study, and when we study, we are invited to learn from each other and from the voices of those who came before us.
Classical midrashim (commentaries from roughly 200-1200 CE) on Vayakhel-Pekudei are fascinating. For example, some of the ancient rabbis Ìıbetween the Torah’s description of the construction of the ancient mishkan and the Torah’s descriptions of the creation of the world. This lends itself to a lot of interesting explorations of what it means for people to continue the work of creation, even (or especially) when they have been through hard times (as, certainly, the Ancient Israelites, less than two years out of slavery in Egypt, had been through hard times). Sometimes, we might feel like if we have been through the ringer, if we have had wrong done to us and done wrong ourselves, we’re not in any kind of condition to bring beauty or opportunities for positive connection into the world. The midrashim on Vayakhel-Pekudei (and the Torah portions themselves) remind us that we can, especially when we work in community with other people.
My time in the TRS community has also deepened my appreciation for the Torah’s (many) verses on the construction of the mishkan. This is the case for (at least) two reasons. First, it’s always a pleasure to learn from and with other people in our community! Every year, the B’nai Mitzvah students writing divrei torah on these parts of the Torah bring their own thoughtful insights, and adults in our community who study together (as in Torah study) do too.
Second, several of the Torah’s verses on the construction of the mishkan have a prominent place in our community’s life. We named our smaller worship space, the Mishkan, after the mishkan in the Torah. And many of our physical decorations in our main sanctuary parallel those of the ancient mishkan, in striking ways. One of the verses about the logic behind the creation of the ancient mishkan (“make Me a sanctuary that I might dwell among [the people]†(Exodus 25:8)) is engraved in Hebrew above the entrance to our sanctuary. Other related verses, about the way everyone in the community worked together to build the ancient mishkan, decorate our social hall.
At TRS, I think a lot about the many people who made (and make!) it possible for all of us to come together as part of a robust community today, both by adding physical spaces to our building, and by contributing ideas, care, and community spirit. Whenever I see the verses of Torah on our doorways and walls, or the deep blue, purple, and crimson threads on our ark, I also think about the ways that our community’s spirit of volunteerism mirrors that of Jewish communities for millenia, all the way back to ancient times.Ìı
In the Torah, as in life, the physical construction of the mishkan was only the beginning. The importance of the mishkan (expanded upon in the book of Leviticus, which we and the whole Jewish world will begin reading next week) was that it was a space for people to connect to God and to each other, and to try to center themselves in their highest ideals. The ancient mishkan was also a space for repair and renewal, a place where individuals and the entire community could experience healing, and new beginnings. May we be so fortunate that our sacred space, that we all work to build together, can afford us some of the same.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Alexandra SteinÌı
Ozi v’zimrat Yah v’yahi li lishuah
Maker of changing tides – Maker of every wave we ride
Oh, we ebb and weÌıflow – But we grow through the highs and the lows
Ozi v’zimrat Yah v’yahi li lishuah
The post Out of Hiding and Into Strength Reflections on Purim first appeared on º£½ÇÔ´´.]]>Cantor Sydney Michaeli
The post Parashat T’tzaveh: Bringing the Light first appeared on º£½ÇÔ´´.]]>This week in Parshat Terumah, we read of the people chosen for the work of designing and creating the Mishkan, from gathering and contributing precious metals, to crafting the Keruvim and the Menorah, to constructing the tent itself. Every member of the community has the opportunity to do their part, as their heart moves them. Rev. Jackson has been quoted this week using a poem to amplify this message to children decades ago. He recited the poem many times, and it became widely associated with him:
I am somebody
I may be poor, but I am somebody
I may be young, but I am somebody
I may be on welfare, but I am somebody
I may be small, but I am somebody
I may make a mistake, but I am somebody
My clothes are different
My face is different
My hair is different, but I am somebody
I am Black, Brown, White.
I speak a different language.
But I must be respected, protected, never rejected.
I am God’s child.
I am somebody.
These words and our Torah portion challenge us to defend and nurture the principle – both American and Jewish – of honoring individuality along with community, and diversity along with what we share. Every one of us will have moments when we falter in this challenge, as Rev. Jackson himself did at one time. Alliances he held and antisemitic comments he made compromised his leadership and damaged his relationship with the Jewish people. But he learned from this experience and became a partner of the Jewish community in pursuing justice and equality. Both in our actions and our words, we too must be open to learning about our own prejudices. We must uphold our obligation to ensure the values of justice and equality remain at the center of American discourse and Jewish teaching.
Whether we do this by offering ourselves as a mentor or teacher, giving to the vulnerable, protesting injustice, or standing up for the stranger, we can each do something make the world a safer and more welcoming place for all.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Jeffrey Saxe
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ÌıAmong the 53 commandments listed in this one portion, one finds itself in the spotlight of our time. In chapter 22 verse 20 we are commanded: You shall neither wrong nor oppress the stranger (Ger) among you, for you were once strangers in the land of Egypt. Surely, we all know this verse well. Not only does it appear 36 times in the Torah, but each year also we read this line at our Passover Seder tables. Now, today, as our country is embroiled in issues of immigration and the truly disturbing actions of ICE, we are hearing preachers of every denomination in America invoke this commandment. No matter your political affiliation, no matter what your views are on the numbers of immigrants we should allow in our country, and even if we all agree that those who are violent criminals should be sent away, all of us are witness to the transgression of this biblical commandment – take care of the stranger, the wanderer, the refugee – they are not an ‘other’, they are as you are and were, a human being in need of safety, security and the basic human rights to which both Judaism and our America are committed.
Let us not forget that it was not only after Egypt that we found ourselves as refugees. Abraham and Sarah left their birthplace so they could have the freedom to worship the One God. Jacob and his sons left their home in search of food. Maimonides escaped persecution at the hands of the Almohads. The first Jewish immigrants to America, who came from Brazil, were looking for a place where they could escape persecution and find economic security. All four of my grandparents’ families fled Lithuania during the pogroms of the 1880’s seeking safety. Abraham Joshua Heschel, Albert Einstein, Mark Chagall, Henry Kissinger, all came to this land to escape the death machine of the Nazis. Are we not the world’s first immigrants, the original stranger and alien?
As we watch the battle over immigration unfold before us, let us not forget our own story. I believe that the Torah demands we remember our years as immigrants, not only because it is part of our story, but because the goal of the Torah is to create a better story for others.
In the coming weeks I fear we will see immigrants under attack in our nearby neighborhoods. I pray we will be spared the violence and upheaval we witnessed in Minneapolis. This Torah portion calls out to us this week; will we be ready to fulfill this commandment next week? Let us not forget: You shall neither wrong nor oppress the stranger (Ger) among you, for you were once strangers in the land of Egypt.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Amy Schwartzman
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