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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Start Learning Here?

Posted on March 20, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Imagine: you are about the start teaching Torah in kindergarten, and you have to pick where to start them. Which story would it be? Abraham’s journey, Rachel at the well, Joseph’s coat, Miriam watching Moses gloating in the basket, perhaps the sea splitting or the amazing experience at Mount Sinai?
You would look through the whole text, cover to cover, and then, excitedly, point to the Book of Leviticus: Here! Confused parents demand to know, why and you say, “The sacrifices are pure, and the little ones are pure. Let the pure one deal with the pure things”, at least this is what the midrash said (Psikta D’rav Kahana, 6).
It’s not clear what is meant by this statement, so I allowed myself my own musings.
The Book of Leviticus begins with sacrifices: what to bring when, how and mostly why. The Hebrew word for sacrifices, korbanot, comes from the root k.r.v. which also makes the word karov, to be close, also a relative, and kravayim, internal organs. I’m reminded of another midrash that before the world was created, tshuva was created, that is a way “to come back”, “repent”. This has to be one of our best contributions to humanity’s mental health, the idea that one is not doomed, that there is a way to go back and fix things, that there is a way to get closer, especially when we move away; what a liberating idea.
Let’s be clear: The sacrifices were not a quick fix. Watching one’s animal slaughtered on the altar had to be very (very) hard. I think that for variety of reasons, people must have tried to avoid it. But that did not matter. It matters that it was there, and that this is something we learn early on: having tools to come nearer to G-d; having good and bad, both, within us; having a way to make up, all that is critical.
There is another beautiful and critical lesson right in the first word of this reading, Vayikra, and He called – G-d called Moses, and then spoke. Last week’s parasha ended with the completion of the mishkan, the Tabernacle, covered by the cloud. How would Moshe know what to do? G-d calls him, then speaks to him! Rashi says that G-d calling Moshe first, as if getting his attention, or inviting him into His house, is leshon chiba, a loving way of speaking. Indeed, G-d and Moses model a relationship: G-d Himself doesn’t assume Moses is always available. He calls first. Moses waits, ready to hear. And we teach this two-way communication to our children: We call G-d and He calls us.
But then, if you look at that first word in Hebrew., you might notice the last letter, the alef, is small. Why? What if the alef was not there? The word would be vayikar – “and He chanced”. Commentaries say that Moshe was so humble, he didn’t want to show off that G-d is calling him. Further, this is the book of Torat Hakohanim, the Priestly Law (hence “Leviticus”) but Aaron is barely mentioned. Moshe was thinking about his brother, being considerate of his feelings too. Yes, it is a midrash, but this too we teach our kids early on, as if we say something like: ‘the stories are great: how the world was created, where we’ve come from, who were our forefathers, but if we have to choose between that and how you will behave I your life, in your future, well guess what’…
So maybe this is why children started their Torah learning with because Leviticus includes more than a third of all mitzvoth, and we believe that what we do is what matters; that if we err, we can correct; that we have to be busy building our relationships horizontally and vertically, with patience and respect and love.
Shabbat Shalom.

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Getting Together

Posted on March 13, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

What is the goal of a journey? To see places, to acquire new experiences? If we look at the Book of Exodus in its totality, maybe it’s all about connecting.
We started with shmot, “names”, a list of separated individuals, part of the same family, going “down”. Now the route to “going up” goes through “vayakhel”, becoming a kahal, a joint assembly that works together towards a common goal. I can’t help but wonder if that is indeed the deep meaning of “all journeys”, as the Book of Exodus ends with “bechol mas’eihem“, the idea of making real, lasting connections?
This week’s Torah reading might hold one of the most redundant pieces in the Torah: yet another long list of mishkan (tabernacle) constructions items? For a book that is so stingy with words, why the repetition? There is at least one other place where the same list is repeated over and over again (check out the Book of Numbers, chapter 7). Are those the editor’s typos, too tired and unable to notice he writes the same thing over and over again?
We might deal with Numbers when we get there. As for this week, I’d like to suggest that our reading this week is not a repetition at all. There is a huge difference between receiving instructions and complying with them. This would be like the difference between getting a homework assignment and doing it; between hearing a request and fulfilling it: “honey, could you please…”? “sure!” and it’s done, quickly, enthusiastically, precisely, with no guilt or expectations for accolades. We got the commandments not to murder, not to steal, to keep Shabbat, to keep kashrut, yet no where does it say that we actually were able to fulfill all of them. In fact, it’s obvious that we didn’t, that we fell – and fall – short. After all, that’s what it’s all about: the human struggle to rise above, to “make progress”, to be better today than yesterday, and tomorrow, get up and try again.
And yet, here, something different. We did it!
Indeed, some commentaries consider this parasha to be the greatest miracle of Jewish history. Not the Exodus, the Ten Plagues or the Splitting of the Sea?? We can look at it semi-sarcastically: ‘oh wow, the Jewish people finally do something as they are told, without any arguments, shortcuts, excuses…’ and yet, wouldn’t you say that in our private life we would consider this a miracle? Just imagine: everybody working on a project they don’t completely understand, not its pieces and not how it’s going to come together. Nevertheless, they trust in their task, their purpose, each other, and the final product, and are all on it. Vayakhel. A whole community working together as one.
It’s no wonder then that in this parasha again, we see a connection between the mishkan and Shabbat, each carving a piece in its own dimension: Shabbat in time, and the mishkan – in space. Shabbat also benefits from a community celebrating together, even a just the mini-community of one’s home. It frames the whole week and gives us something to work towards together. We can further appreciate that creating Shabbat is also a little miracle (every week it’s a miracle!) and entering Shabbat – and moving about in it- should be treated with the same respect and reverence like entering a Temple.

Shabbat Shalom.

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More Than Israel Kept Shabbat…

Posted on March 7, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

After spending long chapters in measuring beams, building tables, preparing coatings of gold, fashioning a lamp and other details such as tying loops around the curtains, making olive oil and sewing fancy clothing for the Priest, the Torah portion os Ki Tisa brings in a mix of topics: We’re counting the people, going through more descriptions regarding the construction of the Tabernacle, talk about Shabbath observance, and ends with the famous golden calf. It’s a minute before Shabbat, so I’ll try for just a quick taste of everything.

How do we count the People of Israel? From the desert time to our own days, we do not count by pointing at people and saying 1,2,3… In traditional synagogues, counting a minyan is done with a verse: הושיעה את עמך וברך את נחלתך, ורעם ונשאם עד העולם “Save Your people, bless Your inheritance, guard them and lift them forever” This verse from Psalms in Hebrew has 10 words, one for each man. But Moses and Aaron had to count the hundreds of thousands of people in front of them. What did they do? They did not count with songs but with a “half-shekel” which everyone had to bring. Why “half-shekel”? Why not a penny, a stone or perhaps stand in “threes”, army style? One interpretation suggests: half a shekel so that everyone remembers that s/he is not complete without at least one other person; that in our essence we must connect to others and the world around us, that we are not solitary mountains, hiding away from each other and away from the world.

There are other descriptions about the construction of the Tabernacle and the observance of the Sabbath, and all of a sudden, in the middle of all this pastoral work, the Children of Israel came to Aaron (Moses is on Mount Sinai busy) and seek to create a “God that will go before us.” An amazing story. Some people say, ‘I do not believe in God because I have no proof. If only I could see what a miracle, a tiny miracle, just something” … ever mind the discussion about the countless daily miracles in our lives which we miss or take for granted, but here are the people who must have seen the most miracles possible: the plagues in Egypt, the journey from slavery to freedom, the splitting of the Red Sea, the sinking of the Egyptians army… What else? But it’s all lost in a short time. True, Moses has been away for 40 days, maybe just 39, maybe already 41, but we know he’ll be right back, won’t he? How come they are already looking for alternatives, collecting gold (faster than collected the half shekel for the Mishkan …) and are hard at work on their new god? How did this happen?
We do not know. We are missing pieces of the story, but the Midrash offers to fill it in for us. Accordingly, Satan (whatever it is, we’ll leave it for another time) showed the Children of Israel the coffin of Moses floating in the sky. He created the illusion that Moses died and maybe – just maybe – they will remain in the wilderness without a leader. Important: The Midrash purposely says that what they saw was an illusion, with no real basis for what followed, because it wants to highlight for us how dangerous doubt can be. In order to undermine one’s confidence, you don’t have to destroy it completely or to bring ‘evidence’. It’s enough to plant doubts, safek. It starts gnawing us from within and the rest is history.

“And the children of Israel kept the Sabbath in their generations,” it says in our Torah portion, which we say in the Shabbat morning kiddush. Shabbat is often mentioned near the construction of the Tabernacle Saturday, lest we think that building a mishkan or synagogue for G-d is sacred and important and therefore permissible to violate Shabbat for such construction. But, as Abraham Joshua Heschel said, Shabbat is in the dimension of time what the temple or synagogue are the physical dimension. And while the physical might come and go, the spiritual remains with us everywhere, thus Shabbat takes precedence. Echad Ha’am who was not “religious” per-se (whatever that meant) said that “more than Israel kept Shabbat, Shabbat kept Israel”. Clearly, there were always different levels of observance or else we would not need so many laws, but the bottom line is that Shabbat was key in keeping our identity throughout the generations.
Shabbat Shalom.

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Tetzave 2015

Posted on February 28, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

It is the closing ceremony / party of my daughter’s Garin Tzabar. Garin Tzabar – literally translated as “cactus seed” – is a platform created by the Israeli Scouts, Jewish Agency and others, to accommodate young Jews from around the world, particularly children of expats Israelis abroad, who wish to make Aliya and join the IDF.

We are in Kvutzat Yavne, one of few religious kibbutzim in Israel (check out their canned olives and pickles we as well as olive oil in stores in the US). The kibbutz founders originated in Germany, made Aliya in 1929, spent time in training near Petach Tikva, and moved to their current location, just 6 km east of Ashdod in winter 1940-1941. Its 850 members comprise one of the most successful kibbutzim in the country, which has not gone through privatization, as many others have in recent years. Aside from the pickles factory, they have agriculture, poultry and other small factories including a place for making watches. This past summer, they became one of the religious kibbutzim to host Garin Tzabar.

Participants in this group come from the US, Europe and Australia, and volunteer for an intense, what some call “meaningful” IDF service. They engage in sincere, deep, soul searching; they want to contribute and give to a greater good. On that Sunday evening, on top of the jetlag and being with my daughter, my eyes just welled up each time one of them got up to speak. I owe the seed of the following to that evening.

The Hebrew names of the Torah portions comes from a significant word in the first couple of verses, something that catches our attention: hey you, with the yellow shirt! Ok, we’ll call this section “yellow shirt”, but a more serious look reveals that there are deeper insights.

For example, are Deuteronomy’s Ki Tezte and Ki Tavo coincidental neighbors, or is there meaning to the fact that the first is called “when you go out”, and the next “when you come in”, to the deeper connection between leaving and entering?

And how about these weeks now? Truma, last week’s parasha, tells us to give what we “feel like”, while Tetzave, this week’s parasha, starts with the word command! No longer a choice of “bring what you feel like” (Exodus 25:2) but something that must be done. Which way is it, doing what we want, or answering a call? Yes.

But Tetzave is not only connected to the word mitzvah. Or Hachayim (early 1700) points out that the same root for Tetzave and mitzvah is also the one in Tzavta, togetherness. Truma, on the other hand, comes from “ram”, to go up. It takes both: Truma, giving, especially what we feel like, might make us feel “on high” but has a danger of making us disconnected. Connections are not made by being “individuals” who do what they feel like, but rather from answering a call, from fulfilling one’s duty, from doing what is right.

The parasha continues with the clothing of the high priest, and next week, my daughter too, will be clothed in new garments as she joins the IDF, ready to serve. You must be proud, people say; you must be happy; you must be anxious; you must be teary. What can I say? My Jewish answer is, yes.

Shabbat Shalom. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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