1 Bus, 4 weeks, 42 teens, and more than 2500 miles…

Posted on August 1, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Turns out, the most common question is not – ‘when are we going to get there’? But rather – ‘what are we doing tomorrow’? On the climb uphill, they want to know exactly, what are we doing tomorrow, and is the hike next week more difficult than this one, or maybe comparable to the one the day before yesterday?? I ask them not to worry, not to think at all. They look at me like I lost my mind. it is the hardest thing, to just be where we are.

The opening of the last Torah portion in the Book of Numbers has a great rhythm: “and they journeyed from… and they encamped at…” is the chorus (Numbers 33:5-37), repeating more than 30 times (!) and weaving in the different sites and events. So redundant and boring! Why not hand us a straight list of attractions? Why go over the same names again and again in a style of – ‘we traveled from Seattle to Olympic National Park, and stayed there. And then traveled from Olympic National Park to Portland, and stayed there. And then traveled from Portland to Ashland and… ‘? If it’s so much work to write the Torah and each word matters, just say where you’ve been!
But just like music is made of notes and of the spaces between them, the journey is made of going, and of stopping; of experiencing and processing, of doing and of being.

       * * * * * * *
What would we do with almost endless amounts of money? Building a toilet is probably not the first thing that comes to my mind, but it does to Bill and Melinda Gates. After all the amazing views and natural wonders, visiting their Foundation in Seattle is definitely one of the most inspiring high points of the trip.
* * * * * * *
You can sleep right through the 16.2 sqm town of Tonopah NV with its mostly monotonous desert views, but a tall sign stands out: Mitzpah Hotel. Built in 1907, the history of the Mizpah Hotel began during the great Nevada silver boom and was known to be called the “Grand Old Lady” for its elegant service, comfort, and amenities. The five-story hotel was the tallest building in Nevada until 1929 and featured the first electric elevator west of the Mississippi. But what about its name??
In one of the sites, I find that “Mizpah” is a biblical reference meaning ‘to come back together with those you love’ – not exactly sure how they came up with this. Rav Hirsch translates it as watchtower, where it appears in Genesis 31:49 a mark between Jacob and Lavan, his father in law, when Jacob journeys back to the Land of his forefathers. The Ga’on from Vilna points out that Jacob and Lavan built a couple of monuments: a gal-ed and the mitzpah. Gal-ed from the root of g.l.h. – to reveal, and mitzpah from tz.f.n. to hide (like the section tzafun in the hagada of Passover which is the time to hide the afikoman), maybe symbolic of the need to put boundaries in things that are obvious and less obvious, known and unknown. I’m still impressed that a reputable hotel in NV has a Hebrew name, but then again, we are on route to Zion…
* * * * * * *
The fast of Tish’a Be’av catches us as we travel from Zion, Utah south. Temperatures creep to over 100F, and the bus a/c starts failing. Then we regain and hour entering Arizona… Some have never heard about this day before, and can’t fathom what’s so bad about losing “a temple”; some try it out, abstaining from solids; others skip breakfast and lunch. Few of us fast tenaciously, encouraging each other through the day. The drive continues. With the dizziness of late afternoon, we lean back and tell stories we barely hear and won’t remember. I find an article about Tish’a Be’av being all about confusion which in a strange way, that’s the only thing that makes sense. Finally we arrive safely. This is one evening that everybody shows up for dinner – at 8:03pm – on time.

       * * * * * * *

Last campfire of the trip under the desert starry night sky. The question before the group is, ‘if you could have lunch with someone who is no longer alive, who would you invite’? most ask to meet their grandparents and great grandparents whom they barely met or missed completely. One asks to meet Moses and hear about other journeys through the desert. What would Moses say to us, fellow travelers, some 9000 miles away and more than 3000 years in the future? pack light; be kind; bring food that everybody can eat; use your time well.  There will be lots of times when there is “no service”; talk to your neighbor; input is welcome but don’t complain too much. Enjoy the views along the way. It will be over before you know it.

Shabbat Shalom.

PC.7.2.tamanawas falls

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The Art of Kvetching

Posted on June 25, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Kvetching is an art. How to combine the right amounts of nagging, whining, flattery, with a good cause that needs attention? As we’ll see, the recent film “Inside Out” provides us with a great illustration: It’s the difference between Sadness just coloring all the golden balls “blue” (she really really wants to!!), and Joy running the show, where on occasion, purposefully, she even decides to invite Sadness to take over, as needed. Ok, if this does not make sense, just watch the movie!
By this week’s Torah portion, Chukat, we might be deaf to the “we need water”, “we need bread”, “oh, if only we went back to the yummy cucumbers and eggplants of Egypt”, “I do not like stale bread”!! We also might be confused: sometimes the people ask for water, and get it. They ask for food, and get manna, but this time, the complaints are met with snakes! Like any parent who hadn’t had enough sleep and his child is tagging at her dress again? has G-d just had it and is lashing out, grabbing the first creature He could get His hands on and tossing it at the people?
As a parent, I generally believed that if my kids are complaining, there must be a reason for it. I remember one time when nothing seemed obvious: the baby was just changed, fed, burped, all should have been well, but the whimpering continued. The general advice in such cases is often, oh, they are “spoiled”; they just want to be held; let them cry it out, but I did not – and still do not – believe that this is a right and beneficial tactic. On the contrary: I always wanted my kids to know that someone is going to be there for them; that attention is not a luxury you have to vie or fight for; that being held is not a “bonus” for obscurely being “good”, but a natural part of life; and mostly, that they matter and their voice – valued. So at this time too, I double checked again everything. Do you want to eat, I asked the speechless child? Do you want to be cuddle? Your diaper is not smelly, what is it?
But then, just in case, I did recheck the diaper, which – due to all sorts of ecological convictions, was a cloth diaper and to my horror, I discovered, that the safety-pin was not fully closed, and therefore, in certain positions, slightly scraped the baby’s skin. It wasn’t bad and two kisses and a tickle on the tummy took care of it then and there, but I can’t imagine how I would have felt had I let the baby “cry it out”, and later found out what was going on. It was a very reassuring lesson for the young mom I was.
Sadly, I’m sure that there are other times I’ve missed things, was overwhelmed, overloaded, over-everything. Luckily, G-d has no such issues, and can meet our complaints head-on, every time. Indeed, it turns out that when there is a plausible cause for the people’s complaints, they are answered, even if the presentation is whiny and not polite. Sure, we should strive to speak nicely, but when there is something to it, the presentation can be overlooked, and the content should be attended to. Thus, when there is no water, and they ask for water – water is provided; when they are hungry – they are given food, but here the complaint is different: “נפשנו קצה בלחם הקלוקל” – “we’re sick and tired of the stale bread”, meaning, there was bread!! But, just not good enough. Oh, if only we had donuts!!
G-d doesn’t give them donuts or better bread, and instead, also sends snakes. Why snakes? The nachash (serpent, snake) shares its Hebrew root with nachesh, to guess. Nechoshet, copper, is likewise, soft and malleable. On the upside, Nachshon, was the prince of the tribe of Yehuda who, according to the midrash, walked into the water at the Sea of Reeds so the sea would split. He was a leader who could change his predictable actions, and thus change the foreseeable future. Being flexible is good, at times. In the Book of Genesis, the nachash symbolized death, even though the first humans do not physically die, but they do lose a key component in their spiritual connection with G-d: There and here, the nachash’s “guessing”, slithery nature stands for separation, insecurity, uncertainty and lack of faith. Further, the snake often doesn’t bite because it is hungry, also symbolic of the complaint which goes nowhere, just bites for nothing.
Although G-d is not a “vending machine”, S/He is very generous with us when we need something, and – I believe – we are welcome to ask, and do so in any way we can verbalize our wishes: polite, well articulated words might be nice, but crying and whining are fine too, as long as we have a valid reason. However, if we are taking the gifts we already get for granted, and are dwelling on this and that being just “not good enough”, things might get progressively worse. Not only won’t the “this and that” be improved, but “snakes” will be added to our life too.
This is a daily exercise, which takes no gym fees, no running shoes, no special schedule, just a mental switch: to look around and notice the wow in G-d’s gifts.
Shabbat Shalom.

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The Dilemma of the Oaklandish – Israeli Expat and more

Posted on June 20, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

The Dilemma of the Oaklandish-Israeli Expat
Due to family circumstance, I ended up this past Tuesday evening, in one of Oakland’s “taverns”. The place, reeking of deep fried oils, meat and beer, was packed with “loud and proud” Golden State Warrior fans, cheering and screaming. We walked in when the first quarter ended, and the tension was unmistakable. A victory for the Warriors was not just about “a” game; not even just about the NBA championship. It seemed that everything that Oakland is, was, could be and is known for – was at stake. It was hard not to get swept away. I sadly admit, it wasn’t until one of the fans asked another, how do you pronounce what’s his name, coach of the Cleveland Cavalier, and man, does he have an unusual name, that I remembered.
55 year old David Blatt, is one of the most successful American coaches in European basketball history. As a coach, Blatt has been the Israeli League Coach of the Year four times (1996, 2002, 2011, and 2014). Most recently, he led Maccabi Tel Aviv, winning the Israel League, Israeli Cup and the Euroleague Championship. But all this paled. It was not about comparing sportsmanship. It was a pure recognition that now, on the screen, this is my landsman, and if my landsman is fighting for something, anything! so must I. Aren’t we taught that “kol Yisrael arevim ze laze” (all Israel / Jewish people are interlinked wth each other)?! And yet, cheering for the Caveliers here? That can be pikuach nefesh (endangering a soul)! And what about Oakland, where our home is; the beautiful, soulful city that captured my heart??
In that one moment, 2000 years of Jewish diaspora experience flashed before my eyes, forever torn between loyalties: What are we to do?

Oakland Hebrew Day School brings together so many things I love: Strong Judaic studies, taught by a super committed team; a “Pardes-like” Beit Midrash, and a location that can’t be beat, in the beautiful Oakland hills overlooking an amazing view.
Rabbi Leubitz, head of school, shared his thoughts following graduation. People, he said, long for connectivity and meaning, and the road there leads through gratitude. Gratitude is like any other muscle. We have to deliberately exercise it, daily, with intent. You can let it go and it won’t be there for you when you need it; or you can practice it, strengthen it, grow more appreciative and thus, find yourself living a life that is more connected and more meaningful. He gave all us summer homework: everyday say thank you. Write it down if you think you’ll forget; look for opportunities; reach out and lift your “spiritual weights”.
There is not enough time to say all my thank-yous (and surely not right before Shabbat), but with that in mind, I especially want to thank all of you who donated to my campaign for ReJewvenate. Your support means the world to me. If you haven’t had a chance and would like to participate, the campaign is still going on for just shy of 2 more weeks, and you can follow the link here. Again, thank you, thank you.

The Book of Numbers is full of exciting stories, condensing the period of 40 years in the desert. This week, we read about Korach and his people. As we know, Korach, himself a Levi too, challenges Moses’ leadership and becomes a model to contention in the community, but before we rush to make modern conclusions about who are the current Korachs and who is Moses, we read a strange verse (Numbers 17:5): “… and there won’t be like Korach and hi people”… what does that mean? No more challenges to our leaders? No more arguments? No more ego battles??
Rather, says one of the commentators (Rabbi Brot, the Rabbi of Brisk), such a dispute where truth was all on one side, and falsehood is all on the other – won’t happen again. In disputes that we encounter, we are asked for a measure of humility: each side has a little bit of truth and a little bit of untruth, and from there, we can sit down and seek solutions.
Shabbat Shalom.

lake merrit, oakland

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ReJewvenate – check out my campaign on Jewcer!

Posted on June 2, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Linkedin is announcing it’s time to celebrate my work anniversary: 2 years since I’ve become a freelance writer, educator and some (dance teacher, tour guide, public speaker, student in a PsyD program and more…); 2 years since the “infamous” publication of my article “40 Plus and Screwed“, raising an issue that is still needs attention, therefore under my “and more” of above.

Which brings us to today: ReJewvenate is now one of the chosen campaigns for one of the month long Jewcer campaigns. The link is attached below. This is a comptetion for a match that can help further ReJewvenate’s cause strengthening two primary prongs: 1. Creating  stronger website for ReJewvenate, and 2. Creating a stronger “ReJewvenate @ Pardes” grant, allowing those who had not experienced immersive Jewish learning a summer at Pardes.

Please take a moment to check it out. Your support is greatly appreciated!!

http://jewcer.com/project/rejewvenate-life-begins-at-40-plus

rejewvenate @pardes

 

 

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Shabbat before Shavu’ot – זמן מתן תורה

Posted on May 23, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

It’s a few minutes to Shabbat which will run into a holiday. The cashier at the grocery store wonders if we’re getting extra challah for Memorial Day weekend. We tell her, it happens to also be – Chag Shavuot.
Shavuot is preceded by the Torah reading of Bamidbar, in the wilderness. We closed Leviticus and are opening a new book. That is already nice. A new beginning. The “midbar” reminds us of an openness, space – internally and externally. But Bamidbar has more. For one, it’s called “Numbers” in English. Because it includes a couple of counts of the people. We’re told that there were more than 600,000 men over the age of 20, and yet, it was not a “roughly estimated” count as is done in outdoor events and concerts nowadays. A careful read details exactly how many people were in each tribe. As said here before, we count every one, because every one counts.
This was true also with sfirat ha’omer, the counting of the days between Pesach and Shavuot. Here too, we count each day, because each day counts. Who we are matters. Time matters. Or so we hope. So we “hold”.
Then comes Shavuot, another holiday with 4 different names: The Festival of Weeks; The Festival of the First Fruits; The Harvest Festival, and The Time of the Giving of the Torah, with an emphasis on “time” and “giving”, not receiving. We are not celebrating our acceptance of the Torah. It’s not a time to focus on us, especially when our acceptance is not always reliable. But we’re celebrating our gifts. Like counting to a big birthday, we’ve been waiting patiently. Tomorrow night, in a custom that has grown so prevalent it’s taking place now in communities throughout the world, Jews will stay up all night, commemorating the greatest moment of our existence.
In our shul, we plan to study Mishna all night and I’m honored to share a few thoughts on Pirkei Avot. Wrongly translated as “Ethics of the Fathers”, it is really “chapters”, thoughts of, parts of their lives.
Come tomorrow for more, but for now, I just love the opening: “Moses received the Torah from Sinai”… Didn’t he receive the Torah at Sinai?? But the Hebrew clearly says “misinai“, and not “be-sinai“. What do we mean by “from”? The midrash tells us that Sinai was the most humble of all mountains and Moses learned from the mountain how to be, thus receiving the Torah from it. Moses, our greatest leader, learns our holiest book – from a mountain. Hint: torah is everywhere. It we feel like we are not “getting it”, maybe we need to check ourselves, rather than blame the writer or the content. Then the text continues: “He gave it to Joshua, and Joshua to the elders; elders to prophets and prophets handed it to the men of the Great Assembly”, and then?
2000 years have gone by. Anything could have happened. And everything did happen. This could have been an ancient, shredded, lost manuscript laying around somewhere, but it’s alive and well. On this erev Shabbat and chag, I’m wondering, who did I get my Torah from? How did it travel to my hands, my mind, my heart throughout the generations? Who were all the people who, like me, prepared a Shabbat table, lit candles, said the same prayers, sang the same songs? Who were all the fingers that fumbled the silver Kiddush cup my grandmother gave me? Who were all the souls who stood at Sinai, with me, saying “na’ase venishma”? Celebrating the Giving of the Torah is not just between us and G-d but perhaps mainly between us and all those before us and all those after us. In so many ways, it’s a miracle, and we’re it.

Shabbat Shalom & Chag Same’ach.

shavuot

 

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FOMO & Pesach Sheni

Posted on May 3, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Turns out, people suffered from FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) already in Torah time. Numbers 9:6-14 gives us the details: “those people” came and asked Moses: What if, through no fault of our own, we didn’t get to bring the Pascal offering? Suppose we came in contact with a dead body, thus encountering spiritual impurity, or have been away on a journey? Did we miss out?
Moses after checking with G-d comes out with a great solution: exactly one month after Passover, those who did not have a chance to celebrate and bring the Pascal sacrifice, can do so today, the 14th of Iyar.
It’s a great idea, Pesach Sheni, “a second Pesach”, and in recent years, it caught on in certain circles. We all love the idea that we always have a second chance, and that FOMO? No worries. Just wait a month and you can redo whatever you missed. And even better! If you missed Pesach and have to commemorate it today, you do not need to clean your house of chametz, switch dishes etc. You can eat some matza, and basically, go on with your life.
But then, we must wonder: is there a Hanukkah sheni? Or the more needed, a Yom Kippur sheni? Suppose I didn’t get to sit in the sukkah, may I build one a month later?
And here’s the other side of this “second chance” story: while we can always do teshuva, and we can always make latkes, some things really do not have a second anything. In the business world it’s often said, ‘you don’t get a second chance at making a first impression’. And that’s just one example.
For me, as mentioned before in this blog, today also marks my father’s yahrzeit. My father died young, which meant that certain things would never happen: he couldn’t be at my Bat Mitzvah; he couldn’t be at any of my graduations, from grade school to college; he couldn’t wait for me when I came home for Shabbat from my army service; we couldn’t discuss what my professors at the university taught; he couldn’t read my postcards from my travels; he couldn’t come with my mom to visit; we could never study Torah and Talmud together. worse: my kids have never met him, never listened to his stories, never enjoyed his immense knowledge in music, history, law, cultures of the world, never went hiking with him, never sat on his lap while he played the piano, never heard him sing Kiddush on Shabbat, never held his hand while walking to shul.
What would Moses say if I asked him about all the things I missed out on? I’m afraid he’d say, too bad, darling, and look on the bright side. I’m wondering now if perhaps the reason the people posed the question to Moses in the first place is because they too knew how rare “second chances” are. If anything, today is a reminder to use our time and do what we’re called on when we can.

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skin, clothing, house-walls, what?

Posted on April 25, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

What is the meaning of a sickness that affects a house? Tzara’at, the strange condition which we often erroneously translate as leprosy, affects human skin, clothing and dwellings, but only of the houses in the Land of Israel.
The midrash tells us that this was a way to discover treasures left behind by the Canaanites. When spots appeared on the walls, at times, the house had to be destroyed, revealing gold and silver, jewelry and other goods. Others tell us that it was intended as a motivator for generosity. Suppose we knew that our house might sprout “stuff” if we behave dishonestly, hoard things that are not ours, speak badly about others etc, perhaps that would encourage us to make sure we share more with others, whether it is our stuff, space or qualities.
It’s 5 minutes to Shabbat after a long week, and I’m reading bits and pieces here and there. In spite of the midrashim – in fact, davka because they get so fantastical – I’m deeply bothered by this and struggling to find a connection. It’s so strange that a house can get sick! Then I remember, we did have a “house” that got sick, and we call its loss “churban habayit“, the destruction of our home, referring to the Temple. So maybe, rather than viewing this as an ancient, irrelevant nonsense, perhaps these three elements, skin, clothing and house-walls, all stand for various layers that cover us, layers of our outside. We might think that Torah is only about inside, how to “feel” good, how to be a good person “internally”, but perhaps this is not so.
The kabalah speaks about the idea of light and vessels to capture this light. Especially in this season of sfirat ha’omer, the count of the days between Pesach and Shavuot, we look at how we prepare ourselves to receive the Torah. Maybe this reading is trying to tell us that while there is light inside us, being all created in G-d’s image, we need a vessel to hold hat light, and to share it with those around us.

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In Silence

Posted on April 17, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

I’m sitting between the embroidered pillows on the purple couch at my aunt’s sunny living room, my feet rubbing against the soft carpet, indoor plants shading us from the slowly accumulating spring heat. In front of me is the mahogany bookshelf, loaded with ancient manuscripts and new colored coffee table books, side by side: an edition of old prayer books, miraculously rescued from Germany; the history of the Haifa Refinery; where to hike on the weekend, Amos Oz. A delicate tea-set behind the glass cabinet doors. The chess pieces on the desk, ready to go, white pawn to e4.
Everything is immaculate, almost shiny. In spite of the stream of people, many of whom I’ve never met, some know more about me that I know about them, there’s not a speck of dirt on the glistening tile floor. Voices are mostly hushed, as my aunt, fumbling with an invisible thread on her light sweater, tells again and again about his last few days, the routine check-up, the surprising diagnosis, the rush, the sudden new realities: uncomfortable chairs to sleep in, bland meals at his bedside, raspy breathing at night. Then silence.
A silence that breeds new stories I haven’t heard before.
Shiva often invites conversations about family history, where we came from, what was it like, who looks like who, how are we all related, and remember when… Someone asks my aunt what I think is a stupid question: when did she and her family come to Israel. Stupid, because after all, I think I am so “good” with such information, easily recalling birthdays, astrological signs, immigration years, old phone numbers no one needs… I jump to reply, “1935”. Yekkes that we are, everyone I know in my immediate family left Germany well before the war. In Israel of the 60’s and 70’s, we were considered lucky. There was really not much more to talk about.
But my aunt gives me one of her looks. “1935”, she says slowly in her heavy accent, “is when we left Berlin. But that is not when we came to Israel”.
“So… 36”? I try to gain my footing.
“1949”, she says, lowering her gaze.
“What on…?”
“1935 is when we left for Holland”, she explains, looking away.
“Holland??” I am alarmed now, “that doesn’t sound so good!”
“Well, it wasn’t. Ah, but what am I blabbing here? Our story is boring. Anyone for more coffee? A slice of poppy seed cake perhaps? It’s delicious. Some fruit?” she gets up towards the kitchen.
I am 33 years old. My almost 18 months old baby is comfortably sleeping off her jet-lag in my lap, and I am finding out, for the first time in my life, that my aunt was in hiding in Amsterdam for years; that she decided not to leave her mom, thus refusing to join the risky escape plan her younger sister and seven others ventured on, heading to freedom in Switzerland through Belgium; that she had a brother who died elsewhere just before the war ended; they she and her mom were turned in, sent to Bergen Belzen, then to detention camps in North Africa; that when she arrived in Israel – with her mom – in 1949, she was the same 5’6’’ but barely 100lb; that she would never be able to have children of her own because of the experiments she was subject to in the camps.
I never knew.
Silence was the way so many survivors chose to deal with their pain.
Silence is also the way Aaron, the high priest, responds in this week’s Torah portion, Shmini, to his sons’ tragic death.
Our sages offer “reasons” to what happened to them: they were drunk, they were selfish, they were haughty, they just happened to be too close to the fire – and the more they struggle to find explanations, the more it’s obvious that we don’t know; that we can’t know. Because even if we agree that they were guilty on all these accounts, we would still be faced with the question, whether any of these – or all combine – deserve a zapping death penalty?
Aaron’s reaction is described in two words: Vayidom Aharon – “And Aaron was still” (Leviticus 10:3). Did he cry and Moses comforted him, thus he was still after the consolation? Did he know what his sons do wrong, maybe even warned them, thus he now knew there was nothing to say? Or was he in too much pain, everybody celebrating around him on that day the mishkan is finally dedicated, what should have been the happiest day of his life, while he watches his own children go up in smoke?
And that word, “vayidom”, expressing an inward silence, perhaps related to the word dam, blood, and perhaps similar to the English expression, “bloodcurdling” – horrified, mesmerized, unable to speak, as if his blood separated itself within him and froze, so great was the blow.
What is the “appropriate” response to tragedy?
Is there one?
Surrounded by Yom HaShoa and Yom HaZikaron, these are fair questions. As the “next generation” of the Holocaust, we were resentful. We wished we were told more. We wished we were explained. Why were they silent?? We, yesterday’s future, should not be treated like children who had no idea, and therefore should be “spared” the details. Or at least, so we wanted to think of ourselves, so we say now, slightly arrogantly, and in retrospect.
In reality, all we could do is accept the survivors’ silence with our own respectful silence, not a silence of forgetfulness or criticism or haughtiness, but one that is like a secret handshake of those who share in the same pain.
Shabbat Shalom.

 

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Pesach: A Love Story

Posted on April 9, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

“A love story”, this is how a friend of mine defines her journey, and not as many would call her, a “chozeret bitshuva” חוזרת בתשובה, or as I tease, a “born again Jew”. A love story.
Pesach perhaps is one of the times this love is most obvious. And not, as it might seem, because of the tremendous effort of cleaning, preparing, cooking etc before the holiday, but in the deeper meanings around it.
I’m looking at some notes I collected over the years, and notice something I haven’t seen: the Hebrew word ba’aviv is almost identical to “be’ahava”, with love, and definitely identical in its gymatria, simply, the letter yod of aviv split itself into two “equal” heh’s in the word be’ahavah – באהבה = באביב. A coincidence! Or not?
Indeed, we’ll never know. It’s up to us to decide what we want to see. That too, is what Pesach is all about, and that too, is love.
In the TaNaCh (the Jewish Bible) there are 5 “megillot” or scrolls: Song of Songs, Ruth, Lamentations, Ecclesiastic, and Esther (שיר השירים, רות, איכה, קהלת ואסתר). We just read Esther during Purim. Which one should we read over Pesach (customs vary between reading it after the seder, on Shabbat Pesach or the 7th day of the holiday, tomorrow)? Which one best reflects Pesach?
The Song of Songs is that book that, as a teen and pre-teen in TaNaCh lessons in regular public school in Israel, you flip to, instead of falling asleep over the wars of judges and intrigues of the kings. You hope no one will see you blushing as you read through and think, what is this?? In the holiest book of our people??
The rabbis had the same debate, but it was Rabbi Akiva who is quoted in the Mishna, insisting: “the whole world is only worthy as the day the Song of Songs was given to the People of Israel; for while all the writings are holy, the Song of Songs is the holy of hollies”.
Here are a couple of quick quotes (translation of Machon Mamre):

י דּוֹדִי צַח וְאָדוֹם, דָּגוּל מֵרְבָבָה. 10 ‘My beloved is white and ruddy, pre-eminent above ten thousand.
יא רֹאשׁוֹ, כֶּתֶם פָּז; קְוֻצּוֹתָיו, תַּלְתַּלִּים, שְׁחֹרוֹת, כָּעוֹרֵב. 11 His head is as the most fine gold, his locks are curled, and black as a raven.
יב עֵינָיו, כְּיוֹנִים עַל-אֲפִיקֵי מָיִם; רֹחֲצוֹת, בֶּחָלָב–יֹשְׁבוֹת, עַל-מִלֵּאת. 12 His eyes are like doves beside the water-brooks; washed with milk, and fitly set.
יג לְחָיָו כַּעֲרוּגַת הַבֹּשֶׂם, מִגְדְּלוֹת מֶרְקָחִים; שִׂפְתוֹתָיו, שׁוֹשַׁנִּים–נֹטְפוֹת, מוֹר עֹבֵר. 13 His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as banks of sweet herbs; his lips are as lilies, dropping with flowing myrrh.
יד יָדָיו גְּלִילֵי זָהָב, מְמֻלָּאִים בַּתַּרְשִׁישׁ; מֵעָיו עֶשֶׁת שֵׁן, מְעֻלֶּפֶת סַפִּירִים. 14 His hands are as rods of gold set with beryl; his body is as polished ivory overlaid with sapphires.
טו שׁוֹקָיו עַמּוּדֵי שֵׁשׁ, מְיֻסָּדִים עַל-אַדְנֵי-פָז; מַרְאֵהוּ, כַּלְּבָנוֹן–בָּחוּר, כָּאֲרָזִים. 15 His legs are as pillars of marble, set upon sockets of fine gold; his aspect is like Lebanon, excellent as the cedars.
טז חִכּוֹ, מַמְתַקִּים, וְכֻלּוֹ, מַחֲמַדִּים; זֶה דוֹדִי וְזֶה רֵעִי, בְּנוֹת יְרוּשָׁלִָם. 16 His mouth is most sweet; yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.’
That him (chapter 5). And her (chapter 7)?

ב מַה-יָּפוּ פְעָמַיִךְ בַּנְּעָלִים, בַּת-נָדִיב; חַמּוּקֵי יְרֵכַיִךְ–כְּמוֹ חֲלָאִים, מַעֲשֵׂה יְדֵי אָמָּן. 2 How beautiful are thy steps in sandals, O prince’s daughter! The roundings of thy thighs are like the links of a chain, the work of the hands of a skilled workman.
ג שָׁרְרֵךְ אַגַּן הַסַּהַר, אַל-יֶחְסַר הַמָּזֶג; בִּטְנֵךְ עֲרֵמַת חִטִּים, סוּגָה בַּשּׁוֹשַׁנִּים. 3 Thy navel is like a round goblet, wherein no mingled wine is wanting; thy belly is like a heap of wheat set about with lilies.
ד שְׁנֵי שָׁדַיִךְ כִּשְׁנֵי עֳפָרִים, תָּאֳמֵי צְבִיָּה. 4 Thy two breasts are like two fawns that are twins of a gazelle.
ה צַוָּארֵךְ, כְּמִגְדַּל הַשֵּׁן; עֵינַיִךְ בְּרֵכוֹת בְּחֶשְׁבּוֹן, עַל-שַׁעַר בַּת-רַבִּים–אַפֵּךְ כְּמִגְדַּל הַלְּבָנוֹן, צוֹפֶה פְּנֵי דַמָּשֶׂק. 5 Thy neck is as a tower of ivory; thine eyes as the pools in Heshbon, by the gate of Bath-rabbim; thy nose is like the tower of Lebanon which looketh toward Damascus.
ו רֹאשֵׁךְ עָלַיִךְ כַּכַּרְמֶל, וְדַלַּת רֹאשֵׁךְ כָּאַרְגָּמָן: מֶלֶךְ, אָסוּר בָּרְהָטִים. 6 Thy head upon thee is like Carmel, and the hair of thy head like purple; the king is held captive in the tresses thereof.

Once we get over the imagery (a belly like a “heap of wheat”?), what is most striking are the intense details. There is no “he’s a good guy”; “she’s a lovely person”. No generalizations, but a great attention to every little minutia: “you know, the way he smiles…”, “the way she tilts her head just so…”, “what did he mean by….”, “what was she thinking when…” When you love somebody everything matters. Small things are not small, for good and bad. A tiny gesture can mean the world. A stupid word can ruin a whole day. Everything is important. Everything has significance. Similarly, just before Pesach, this is what we’re looking for: every little spec of chametz, every crumb, it all must be burned, for between lovers there is no room for “little things”.
But then comes Pesach eve, and what do we celebrate? That G-d “passed-over” our homes, that G-d spared us, that we were taken to freedom and liberation, that we were given another chance.
Through what great merit did we deserve this? Have we done anything great? So we were slaves, big deal! What are we whining about? Other people were slaves, and- remained slaves, assimilated into their master nation and disappeared. The fact that we know the “rest of the story” doesn’t mean we can take it for granted. Why are we here? Is there truly anything magnificent we can point to that we have done? Our sages tell us that there are 50 gates of “tum’a” טומאה, “spiritual impurity” and distance, and that we made it to gate 49. But nevertheless, G-d “passed-over” us. He knew we had sunk deep; He knew we were no longer in our best, but He had another plan for us and He saw the “big picture”.
And that too is love.
Rashi says that the word “u-fasachti” ופסחתי “and I will pass-over”, means “vechamalti” – וחמלתי “and I have shown compassion”.
But the same root – p.s.ch – פ.ס.ח. can also mean lame, someone who is limping is a “pise’ach” פיסח, and therefore, describing situations that incomplete.
So which way is it?
The prep has to be meticulous. Such is winter: we count rain days, precipitation, temperatures, clothing, supplies. But when spring comes, that’s all gone. The windows are open; heater is off, and we are joyful to see just the smallest blossom. There is no way to “measure” that. We say thank you not because the tiny flower is physically greater than however many months of darkness and cold we had, but because it’s here; because it exists . We “forgive” all the hardship. And our joy and appreciation “skips over” all the previous days. Chametz also shares its root from “to miss out” (lehachmitz- להחמיץ ), while matza shares its root with fullfilment (lematzot – למצות). detailing alone doesn’t make for a happy life.

This is also what the Song of Songs says (chapter 2):

ח קוֹל דּוֹדִי, הִנֵּה-זֶה בָּא; מְדַלֵּג, עַל-הֶהָרִים–מְקַפֵּץ, עַל-הַגְּבָעוֹת. 8 Behold! my beloved! behold, he cometh, leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills.

Love is both about attention to details, and about skipping over; about hard work, and about skipping for joy, and the art and challenge is to know when to apply which. Perhaps figuring that out, is the true journey and exodus from slavery to freedom.
Chag Sam’each & Shabbat Shalom.

Song-of-Songד

 

This blog is partially inspired by word of Rebetzin Yemima Mizrachi, Jerusalem, Pesach 2012, happily found during Pesach cleaning, Oakland CA, Pesach 2015.

 

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Thoughts on Pesach Cleaning and Tzav; Shabbat Hagadol and even The Elections

Posted on March 27, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Pesach is here, and with it, the cleaning panic. Everywhere I look there is “stuff”, and in every bit of the stuff, there could be chametz!! The prospect is daunting. It seems like we should spend every wakeful second with a shmate in one hand and a killer spray in the other.
Then I think of the priest in the opening of this week’s reading, who gets up early in the morning, and goes out to clean yesterday’s ashes. Sounds simple, and we might think that garbage removal is of no concern to the holy Torah, that it’s all about the real task, the real essence of worshiping in the Mishkan, of being close to G-d!
Turns out that the priest who does the clean-up, first has to wear special clothing “linen garments and linen pants” (Levititcus 6:3), then “lift up the deshen”, what is translated as yesterday’s ashes and in Modern Hebrew the word for fertilizer, and place it by the side of the altar. Note “lift up”, sharing the same root with truma, donation, and the name of the parasha that deals with the construction of the Tabernacle. Note, that there is a specific place where to put yesterday’s ashes, and it’s not in the garbage. Instead, it’s by the altar, by the eastern side, the side of the entrance for the people which represents the nation (Rav Hirsch).
So before we start the day, we need to clean up yesterday. There is no way to build a new fire on the mess left behind. How come the all consuming fire of the sacrifices didn’t actually consume everything? How come the all miraculous, divine mishkan didn’t clean itself up, like some form of a modern self-cleaning oven? Surprise. Life is messy. Yesterday leaves its traces and we need to deal with our past by ourselves, not through any miracle. And while initially this was stated about the altar, we can understand it also emotionally, psychologically, spiritually.
And yet, that past cannot be tossed away. Who we were yesterday is part of us today, and today, is already tomorrow’s yesterday. We have to contend with – and value – that. Where we come from, individually or as a people, matters. We clear the place for today’s work but we keep yesterday by the altar, as it too, is part of today.
And last, we might think that clean up is not part of our holy work at the Mishkan, that it’s someone else’s job, or that it’s something we just have to do in order to get to do something else, “more fun”, “more real”, “more holy”. Comes the Torah and says that this too, is avodat kodesh, holy work, even with its own special clothing.
We don’t have the Mishkan but we have our own homes and our own Pesach cleaning. We might resent it, try to avoid it (write about it instead of do it…), argue with it, but the reality is, the holiday would not be the same without it. Getting the gunk from behind the fridge and oven, that too is part of our journey to freedom.
Shabbat Hagadol
The Shabbat before Pesach is called Shabbat Hagadol, and as often is the case, the fact that no one can knows for sure the reasons for this name, doesn’t prevent us from calling it so and having many – all good – explanations why.
Mine is much simpler: traditionally, a shul rabbi gave only two drashot a year, on the Shabbat between Rosh hashana and Yom Kippur, and on this Shabbat before Pesach. The first is obvious – as it’s the season of repentance but this one was his longest (which is one of the “reasons” for the name “the great Shabbat”), but why give the longest talk davka on this Shabbat?
So we all know what happens when there is nothing to do on Shabbat afternoon, and Shabbat is getting longer and spring is in the air and it’s really hard to resist that urge to ‘just move a couple of little things around’, after all, Pesach is right around the corner, and you know how stressful it gets, and what’s more important than to prepare for our journey to freedom
So we stay in shul a little longer, and a little longer, and because it’s the “great Shabbat” maybe even the women come too (:-) and hopefully by the time we come home, hungry and tired, all we want is to enjoy the last tchulent for the next 8 days (oy, how will we make it!!) and take a nap. Because while cleaning is avodat kodesh, on Shabbat we already have so much kodesh, we can leave this one to Sunday.
A Word on The Elections
I know, I’m treading dangerous waters, and this gets even worse if you consider the fact that politics is not my thing and I often miss all sorts of “little” things (omg, he said what?!) maybe because I grew up in a news-ravishing country and usually preferred the music stations (I know, I know, don’ shoot!). So short of reserving some space on wordpress here, I really have no great knowledge, and yet, people occasionally ask me so here goes:

I was a teenager, working an evening shift at a local coffee shop, when the country stopped to welcome Egyptian president Anwar Sadaat. The person shaking his hand was not a “predictable” peacenik, but the notorious Menachem Begin who sat in the Knesset opposition for almost 30 years, waiting just for the chance to teach the Arabs a lesson about land for peace. And he did.

He’s not the only one who rose to power saying one thing, then did another. Specifically, major wars and settlements construction in Israel took place often under “left wing” / “labor” governments, while major evacuations and peace treaties took place often under “right wing” governments. So my hope is that while Israel’s leaders may love drama and catchy slogans, many of which are said in the usual “old” MO, reflecting – and using – fear, when the time comes to act, they will continue to be pragmatists who look for the country’s well-being and seek peace.

Shabbat Shalom.

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